Blessed With Peace

All the walls painted a blueish shade of white, desperate to appear homey instead of clinical, swelled inward around her, as if trying to subtly choke her without the midwives noticing. Visions and beliefs, once so clear, blurred and spilled over her eyelids in suffocating silence, something akin to grief.

She had plans for this baby; she was going to shape this baby's soul and nature with these plans. All she had imagined for eight endless months was birthing her precious child in love and tranquillity in the peace of her own darkened home, in a pool of warm calming water. She was going to have a baby associated with that element, a gentle, flowing water-child, soft and peaceful and able to love.

She was new to babies and birth but had done all she could to be ready for this moment. Well, not this moment, but the moment of her dreams and plans. This moment engulfed her, frightened her, grieved her. She was being told that there was no chance for a natural birth, let alone a homebirth or a waterbirth, and the section would be booked for 39 weeks gestation.

Hours later, she gathered the blankets around her body up to her neck in the late afternoon, pulled-curtains semi-darkness, and allowed the sadness to slowly and warmly trickle over her. She spoke quietly but audibly to her unborn baby, telling her all plans she had for her, apologising to her for what would have to take place, and blessing the child who could live thanks to the very technology and science that so frightened her. She prayed her baby could still be born into the serenity she imagined would mark the child's life, though her entry into the world would be far from serene.

The day was booked - 2nd of February, Groundhog Day. But instead, four days earlier, her body once again resisted her intentions and bled its warning. She was brave but only briefly. Bravery turned to concern which turned to anxiety as doctors waited, stoic experts. Tears once again, this baby more acquainted with fear now instead of peace. Finally, she was wheeled into the room, more blueish-white walls, more homelike-attempts, and she greeted the moment she would meet this child who had consumed her every thought. Please, God, let there be calm. Though this baby will not flow into the world as she should have, bless this baby with the gift of sweet peacefulness.

******
The girl born into blood-soaked hands in a room of bright lights and irrelevant chatter was indeed blessed with sweet peacefulness. Her mother's wishes were granted, not in the way she had wished them, but granted nonetheless. Her daughter flows through life with cheerfulness, joy, kindness and gentleness, along with comical clumsiness, like green water tripping over a stony, crooked brook, squirrels and bluebirds giggling nearby. She is indeed her mother's water-baby, pure and bright and deserving of her name: "white, fair" Fifi.

Happy sixth birthday.

Ante-Natal Depression

Sometimes things come up to write about that you never even considered writing about, whether because you didn't think people would be interested or you didn't even think of it as something to expound upon. We have experiences every single day; some of them are significant, some are insignificant, but most things can be related to, and many things can be valuable to others.

One of my friends asked me a question about an answer I gave on my 40 Questions. I mentioned that I experienced depression while pregnant with Jaguar and also with Lolly. I never thought much about it when I mentioned it, but actually this might be something worth talking about.

People are becoming very aware of post-natal depression, and it's about time. It's a very real and debilitating condition, requiring various levels of treatment from counselling to medication to lifestyle changes. Yet there's this other condition, very similar and closely related that receives little to no attention at all: ante-natal or pre-natal depression.

According to patient.co.uk, 10% of women experience post-natal depression. 10-15% experience depression ante-natally (and it goes up to 19-25% in poorer countries). But I had never heard of it, and I'm willing to assume most of you haven't either.

My pregnancy with Fifi was great, in large part thanks to my independent midwife Allison Ewing. But hiring a midwife is expensive, so come round 2 with Lolly, I knew I'd have to use the NHS (whose midwives in my area are thankfully really great, pro-natural birth and homebirth-friendly). Still, I worried. I was attempting a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) and wanting it at home at that.

I thought my original sadness related to these concerns, but as the pregnancy progressed past seven or eight weeks, I became distraught. I didn't know what was wrong with me, except I knew the thoughts and feelings and wishes I had didn't make sense, weren't rational and most certainly weren't acceptable. I had feelings and thoughts I couldn't even share with Scott, I was so ashamed of them. Wishing for a miscarriage, envisioning doing harm to my toddler and hating myself and believing I was the wrong mother for this baby inside of me were some of the feelings that even now I'm ashamed to speak about.

I didn't know where to turn or who to talk to. I spoke to Allison on the phone but couldn't bring myself to tell her what I was really going through. I called a suicide hotline, but the woman had no idea what I was talking about and said frankly, 'It's just hormones, it'll pass.'

Incidentally, what a uninformed thing to say. 'It's just hormones.' Hormones are a (generally-speaking) uncontrollable aspect of our biology. Whether it's hormones, a virus or a deficiency, it's all serious.

After that, I couldn't speak to anyone, so I kept it all to myself. I tried positive thinking. I tried ignoring my feelings. I tried deriding myself into never thinking such awful things again. And after a few months, as I merged into my third trimester, the depression subsided. I was left thinking what an idiot I had been, how it had been 'just hormones' and what was I being so dramatic about?

I never really dealt with any of those feelings until I got pregnant again with Jaguar. Suddenly, around the same time, the same thoughts and feelings started trickling back in. But this time I was prepared. I realised this must be how my body works and this time I would work with my feelings, not condemn them.

This time, when thoughts of miscarriage came into mind, I knew I didn't really mean it and I didn't beat myself up over it. When I felt angry towards my children and worried I'd do something I regretted, I asked for help or removed myself from the situation or held them in a tight bear hug instead while I cried out all the anger. I let Scott in this time, and he helped tremendously, putting me to bed early every night, running hot baths for me every day, giving me lots of time away from the children to cope with my feelings.

This time around, my depression turned into an awful fear that I was damaging or even going to lose my child with my negative stress hormones pulsing through me. I was having a difficult time beyond the pregnancy with some things, and those things left me in tears most days. I asked for a referral by the midwives for SNIP (Special Needs In Pregnancy) but never actually got an appointment until I was almost full term. I knew I ought to chase it up, but part of depression is not wanting to burden other people, feeling like you are overreacting and need to get a grip of yourself but are unable to, and not having the energy or motivation to make yourself get better.

I worried this time it would last into the post-natal period, especially if I didn't succeed in getting my homebirth or if I ended up with an induction or section. Luckily, the depression lifted again at the end of my pregnancy, and even though my homebirth didn't work out again, I felt content that I'd birthed naturally at least without any assistance.

Even though I 'coped' better the second time around, it didn't mean those months were easy. They were stressful, upsetting, painful and isolating.

I have no miracle words of wisdom or any solutions for how to cope with depression during or after pregnancy; I only have my story, and I hope it helps someone else feel less alone in their struggles.

The Language of Birth

I've been meaning to go through all my draft posts that for some reason or another never made it to the light of day. Several of them were worthless, like a couple of sentences started and never finished. Then others were fully written but never published and I don't know why.

Below is one such post, which upon re-reading I think is still good. It was written while I was pregnant with Lolly. It's about the language of birth.

****

Me several months pregnant with Lolly

I'm re-reading the birth stories in Ina May's Guide to Childbirth to give me some encouragement while I wait for the arrival of little Spooce. Ina May comments at one point that early in her career she felt free to change some of the words surrounding childbirth, the main one being her change of the word 'contraction' to 'rush'. Marie Mongan does the same in her book HypnoBirthing, changing 'contraction' to 'surge'. I'm sure many others have done the same.

I agree with what they've done. As a graduate in English, I recognise how much language affects our thinking and perceptions. Ina May says it doesn't make sense to use a word that implies tightening, when the purpose of contractions are to open and thin the cervix. While I still call them contractions myself - calling them rushes or surges just sounds too contrived for me, though I think they are perfectly acceptable to use as long as they make you comfortable - I think it's really important to use words that don't negatively affect you psychologically.

I'm thinking of this, because at my last ante-natal clinic, the midwife was on the phone with the hospital scheduling an appointment for me, and she referred to me as 'the woman who was very keen to have a home confinement'. (For the record, I'm not having a home birth now; I will be going to the hospital's midwife-led unit.) The phrase 'home confinement' irrates the crap out of me. Why does the medical community have to turn every phrase into something horrible sounding? Home 'confinement' sounds like house arrest. Why not just simply call it a home birth like everyone else in the world?

Baby Shower

Saturday was my baby shower, organised by the lovely Cheryl. It was seriously such a great party. I felt so incredibly touched to have had someone think to throw me a shower and then to have so many people show up.

Cheryl's mum hosted the shower at her beautiful home and provided tons of gorgeous food. There were crackers dressed with cucumber, cheese and sausage, vegetables and dips, crisps, scones with jam and clotted cream, tea and cold drinks. My sister-in-law also brought a dark chocolate mousse cake and some cookies, and I made an angel food cake, complete with fresh strawberries and cream.



(I wish I had a picture of Kate's chocolate cake. Oh my, it was heavenly.)

Cheryl organised several games, including 'Baby Bingo', a baby anagram, 'Pass the Parcel', a memory game (in which I got to keep all the items I remembered) and prediction cards where everyone predicted the baby's name, weight, time of birth, etc. Whoever ends up being closest gets a special present from me and Scott... that is, if we can find the cards, as they are currently MIA. Oops.

I also got loads of gifts. Opening presents in front of people now that I'm an adult is far more embarrassing than it was when I was eight. Luckily, I loved everything I got so there were no awkward embarrassing moments where I had to fake a reaction. Everything was lovely. I got mostly gorgeous clothes, but also a few really special items like a clay hand print kit, a 'baby keepsake capsule' and a hand-knitted jumper. It was all so thoughtful and wonderful.

You can click on the flickr set from the shower. Why I needed to post all the pictures, I don't know, as they mostly all look the same, me looking like a big stripey whale sitting in a chair making really terrible faces. I think maybe it's the variety of terrible faces that made me put each picture up. Or maybe laziness in not wanting to go through and choose the best (or worst) ones. At any rate, feel free to just look at a few and you'll get an idea of what the shower was like.

Also you can see my last week bump pictures. I'm sure I'll take some pictures before the birth and when I get to hospital and all that, but this is the last official week of my pregnancy... unless for some horrible reason they put it off and make me wait until Monday or something... oh my goodness I will die if I have to sit in a hospital over the weekend waiting to have this baby. Anyway, no dwelling on that, we'll just all assume that by this time Friday (9pm) I'll be cuddling my darling baby and all will be well and good.

I can't believe I only have three more days in my home to get ready. Notice the To Do list though... it is definitely dwindling!

The Hosptial - My Second Home

I have yet another hosptial appointment today. In case you haven't been talking to me personally, let me just sum up the visits I've been having to make: a 35 week scan, a 36 week scan and consultant appointment scheduled for a Thursday but cancelled due to snow and scan rescheduled for the Friday, a 37 week scan yesterday and chat with obstetrician, and consultant appointment rescheduled from Thursday to today. I feel like I'm never out of there.

In interesting developments, but developments not interesting enough to make a difference, my placenta has moved a significant amount, but not significantly enough to change the necessity of a cesarean. In medical terms (because I'm totally down with it now), from a mainline view, the placenta is 3cm away from the os, but from a rightside view, it is less than 2cm. Some experts say 2cm is enough for a vaginal birth, but unfortunately, in my situation, the placenta is still wrapped around the baby's head somewhat, and though the bit that is less than 2cm away is thin, 1cm from that is a cotyledon which would be very bad to rupture. The obs said they'd be happy to keep doing weekly scans if that's what I want, but he also sort of implied that there probably isn't much point. He was a good doctor; both Scott and I really liked him. I trusted his opinion, as he very clearly showed us how it would all work, by indicating how far the cervix would dilate in vaginal labour, where the head would be engaging and by labeling the scan pictures with all the necessary terms for us to take home and to show the consultant. He also explained how and where the cesarean incision would be done, which was helpful to me. He gave me some grave facts about how the cesarean would take place, but those are the kind of facts I've been wanting someone to give me.

My midwife will be attending this consultation with me today. I'm very grateful, as Scott has to be at work. My midwife is great and seems to be in agreement with me and Scott about all the decisions we're having to make. I'm really, truly glad we hired her. I may not be getting my homebirth, but I could not have asked for a better carer throughout my pregnancy and beyond. She'll be around after the baby is born too to help me with breastfeeding and post-natal care. She's great. I highly recommend her.

So anyway, if a date ever gets decided upon... well, I was gonna say I'll let you know, but I might not! I don't know if I'll want to keep it to myself and close family and friends or not. But you WILL know when the baby is born, complete with pictures, because Scott won't be allowed to stay at the hospital with me all day, so blogging will be one of his many chores while I'm laid up with a big slice in my gut. That and washing the nappies I send home with him everyday from the hospital.

At some point, for anyone who is interested, I plan on posting my birth plans (the one I had for vaginal delivery in case I should need to deliver in hospital and the one I have for my cesarean) somewhere on my site for anyone who is thinking of writing a birth plan themselves but don't know where to start. Obviously our plans will be different, but maybe mine will help someone get started. Allison (my midwife) said my birth plans were excellent, and then we both chuckled at the thought of the doctors reading them. They'll probably just laugh. But who cares? I'm going to make a pretty sign to hang on the wall above my bed stating the most important parts of my plan so any nurse/midwife/doctor who comes to my bedside will be sure to know what I do and do not consent to. :) I'm going to be a PAIN. It's my right, after all.

Nesting and Egg Whites

My midwife was here this morning. The baby's head is still not engaged (probably because of the placenta) so that means, for the purposes of this post, that I am not going to be going into labour anytime soon.

Which explains the lack of 'nesting instinct'.

Sure, I got out the broom today and swept the floors, which I don't make a great habit of doing on a regular basis, but that was only because Allison was coming over, and I don't want her to think I'm a complete slob. Which, these days, I am. And I did my daily load of laundry and dishes, which is becoming second nature now (hurray!). But folks, there are no clean baseboards or cubbards in this house.

However, I'm baking an angel food cake right now. Why? For what event? No reason, no event. I just wanted to see if I could make an angel food cake. You know, from scratch. I'm a bit dubious; I don't think this one is going to turn out so well, as I sort of messed up at one point. And all ya'll Martha Stewarts out there know how fickle egg whites are - they are not to be messed with. So we'll see if this cake turns out or, well, in.

So I'm now wondering - could the nesting instinct take its place in the kitchen? Do some women go on baking crazes before the baby's born instead of cleaning ones? I kinda hope not, at least not for me. Because seriously, the house could use a crazy hormonal spring clean.


[UPDATE]
The cake turned out pretty good! I might've left it to bake a little too long, so next time I'll chop off about 5 minutes or so (I had to cut off some burnt edges). But the consistency is perfect - and it tastes good too!

I've been so seriously overwhelmed this past week. While I can feel Schmooker moving all day long (she likes to dig her little heels into my side), I don't feel like I'm about to have a real baby. We had another ultrasound scan today, and the tech let us see a really lovely view of her face - her little eyes and nose (even the nostrils!) and her fat little lips - but it still doesn't feel real. I worry about why this is.

I can't picture the birth at all. It all seems so surreal. And also so far away. Maybe it's just been a surreal week, with Scott off work and me being exhausted and over-emotional and all the baby washing done. Maybe time feels like it's stopped a little. But I just feel very un-ready for all this to happen. I don't feel like I can do this. I'm tired and worn out and depressed and stressed out and I can't imagine adding a human baby to the mix. Scott's not feeling anything like I am so he's finding it hard to relate to me. He's very ready to meet his daughter and become a daddy. I'm lagging behind, mostly just feeling apprehensive and unprepared. Not to mention ridiculously emotional, which he can't get his head around at all.

It's not just the pregnancy that's stressing me out. I feel like the whole world is too much to handle right now. Yet when I try to ennumerate all the things I'm concerned about, they fall the floor in only a tiny pile of useless scraps. There is nothing major or pressing in reality that is causing me such exhaustion, just small things that feel bigger than life. Well, that's not really being fair to my situation. I DO have several things on my plate right now that really are a big deal and not trivial at all: getting a mortgage, trying to find a house and coping with the deaths and illnesses of people I care about. But then, on top of that, I feel flooded with the everyday tasks of simply existing: making dinners, keeping house, trying to sleep, maintaining relationships...

The way I'm talking, you'd think I was in transition!

However, the birth is still very far away. Or very far away as I see it. And nothing has been officially decided - there's been no date set for the section and because of the section, I've dropped the habits I'd taken up of preparing for labour and anticipating it. So it all feels like the pregnancy has stopped. The climax will never come. The watching and waiting is over. My body is in the hands of doctors, and it no longer has a job to do.

Of course, I know in my head that it continues to grow and nurture a baby, but the feelings that before accompanied this beautiful knowledge no longer comfort me. Instead, I trudge tiredly through each day, crying over everything and feeling alone and powerless. No doubt my mom would tell me to 'buck up', but if she did, I'd probably, you know, cry some more. I don't know how I'm going to cope for the rest of this pregnancy and when I've suddenly got a helpless baby to keep safe, comforted and alive. I want to give up.

But Scott tells me that's not an option. I wish he could take this on for me, just for a few days. A good night's sleep and a large gin and cranberry would do me good.

So yeah, I've officially had ENOUGH of pregnancy. I feel the size of the Titanic, and I'm just about ready to sink.

The Best Laid Schemes...

Since before I was even married, I knew I wanted to have a waterbirth.

Since before I was pregnant, I knew I wanted a homebirth.

Since I've been pregnant, I've researched, learned and made decisions very important to me about the childbirth process and beyond. I've made decisions about labour and delivery, breastfeeding, vaccinations, babywearing, co-sleeping and diapering. All the decisions I've made have been carefully considered and are deeply important to me.

I've been preparing for this point in my life to take place for a while. I've visualised it all - from contractions starting to birthing my beautiful daughter in a warm pool of water in my living room and putting her to my breast for the first time. I've looked forward to experiencing this drug-free, embracing all of it, no matter how hard and painful. I knew this would be a defining moment in my life. I wasn't scared; I was excited. I cherished the idea of a gentle birth with no one around but me, my husband, my midwife and my baby.

All along, however, I knew there was a possibility that things wouldn't go as planned, but I remained optimistic. My pregnancy has been great, aside from the usual aches and niggles. I've had no big issues like high blood pressure, swelling, bleeding or anaemia. I've been in good health. My baby has been in the optimal foetal position for weeks now, despite the anterior placenta. I've had no reason to be concerned that things might not go as planned.

Except for the low lying placenta. At 20 weeks, I was a bit nervous but was assured from all sides that these things are common and usually don't interfere with the labour at full term. Always the optimist, I took that on and didn't worry myself.

Three weeks ago, the placenta was still low, but it was uncertain how low. Again, I didn't worry too much. At that point I was only 32 weeks along, with time to spare, and again an optimistic outlook. I continued to plan for the homebirth, with a few precautions. I held off on ordering the birth pool 'just in case' but kept up with the other things I knew were important. I signed up for aqua-natal. I pumped up my birthing ball. I started a list of essential oils and teas and other labour accessories that I wanted to purchase before the big event.

But... 'The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men/ Gang aft agley'.*

My scan yesterday confirmed placenta praevia. At 35 weeks, the placenta is still on the edge of the os (internal cervical opening), meaning there is no real chance it will move the necessary 2cm or so in time for the birth. If left to give birth naturally, the cervix would start dilating, and the placenta would then be in the way of the opening. The baby would start bearing down, causing the placenta to rupture and, well, as dramatic as it sounds, we'd probably both bleed to death. So we can all do the math here: I won't be having my homebirth.

This news, while upsetting, wasn't surprising. I knew all along it was a possibility. But now that the possibility has become the reality, I have a lot of issues to come to terms with. A lot of those decisions I made, which are so important to me, have to be reformed. Probably the most difficult will be seeing my baby's umbilical cord cut immediately. It was one of the most important parts of my birth plan, to keep the cord in tact until it stopped pulsating and the placenta was delivered. It is my strongest belief that the blood in that placenta belongs to my baby, with all its antibodies and oxygen. When confronted with the possibility of having a cesarean earlier on, I'd decided to speak to the surgeon about this beforehand and insist on the placenta being born with the baby, cord in tact, like a lotus birth. It was one of those things that made a cesarean seem a little less awful.

The scan, however, reveals that the placenta is anterior - in laymen's terms, it's in the front of the uterus. In order to get the baby out, it will be sliced through. As you can imagine, this means lots of blood, which means the absolute necessity that the cord is clamped as soon as possible to keep both of us from hemmoraging.

I feel powerless. I feel gypped. I feel like a failure. I feel ashamed. And I know in my head that all of these things are silly, that not a single one is true. Yet deep down, I can't help the utter disappointment presenting itself in these ways. It's a relinquish of control that feels too hard and too unfair. There are feelings of sadness, regret, loss and wounded pride. I feel grieved that I won't get to experience this birth the way I planned it. I feel unempowered. I feel downright selfish.

But it's also so important to explain that I feel thankful. I feel really, really rescued. I keep coming back to the realisation that, were I living only 150 years ago, me and my baby would be living our last days. We would have died. My husband would be left alone to grieve the loss of the two most important people in his whole life. When I think on this, all I can do is praise God for what He has allowed us to learn in the past century! Because of His grace and mercy and love, my baby and I have a chance to live. How can I feel gypped when faced with a truth like this!

Yesterday, I did a lot of crying. I won't say that today I am completely over it, but I can honestly say that I am more at peace with the situation. I will be having a cesarean. I will be having our baby in the hospital. I will have to give up many things that were important to me. But I will have my daughter. My husband will have his wife and child. In the end, the birth of our daughter takes place in one day. While I wanted that first day to be special and gentle, it is only one day. We will have the rest of her life and ours to love her and care for her and assure her that we will always treasure her. In the end, the way she comes into the world is not what counts. I'm coming to terms with the truth of this. I feel okay about being disappointed, but I won't be consumed by it. God has given us the special gift of this child. I'm looking forward to meeting her. I thank God that He does not relinquish control.


*Or, in other words, 'The best laid schemes of mice and men often go awry.' (Robert Burns, 'To A Mouse')

Maternity Leave

Today is the official start of my maternity leave. It feels so good knowing all my workmates are back at work today, and I'm sitting in a stripey t-shirt and yellow sneakers trying to decide if I should shop first, shower later or shower first and shop later...

Should probably shower first, huh? I could dry and straighten my hair and feel fab, then go for a coffee...

I need to buy milk and ice cream (essential), pick up Scott's prescription and pick up some more of these comfy t-shirts at Primark for £3 each.

I am going to phone up the physiotherapy centre at the hospital to register for aqua-natal, starting next week. Wish I could start tomorrow, but tomorrow is my scan and midwife appointment.

I'll probably do a bit of tidying. I need to wash the cover on the baby mattress, and this week I'm going to start washing the baby clothes and sheets so they'll be fresh and ready for the arrival of Schmooker. I'm doing my best not to fall for all the consumer traps like special sensitive skin baby laundry detergent and what not. Did mothers back in the medieval times have special sensitive skin baby laundry detergent? Did their babies all die? I'm trying to keep some perspective on this whole new-parent thing. Perspective being something I need when you look at how bananas I've gone with buying stuff.

Speaking of stuff, a friend of mine, Cheryl, is throwing a baby shower for me! She's married to a Canandian so she was aware that baby showers were big in 'North America'. So she asked if I wanted one. I was tickled pink! The idea that someone would throw me a baby shower is so touching. For those not in-the-know, baby showers aren't really done here. A lot of people think it's bad luck to buy stuff for the baby before the baby actually arrives. And many, if they do buy ahead, won't keep the things in their home until the baby arrives. If that's the case, then that explains all the morning sickness, backache and heartburn I've experienced throughout my pregnancy, because I've been buying baby stuff since I saw the two pink dots!

Still on my To Buy For Baby list (consumer trap warning!):
- some newborn prefold nappies (for those first few meconium days, so I don't ruin my beautiful shaped nappies)
- a room thermometer (I know! Medieval mums didn't have those either, but I can't help but be convinced that my baby is going to sweat and/or freeze to death in our temperature-unstable house.)
- my sling (I've been saving up for this thing for months)
- my nursing pillow (I've been assured by internet and real life friends alike that this pillow really is the best)
- the pram/carseat (which is being purchased by my mother and father-in-law. I'm going to go for a three-part travel system with an infant carseat so I can put off buying the real carseat a bit longer. It's something I have yet to research, and I'm actually pretty terrified of the carseat research process, because I don't know what I'm looking for.)
- the bedside cot (which I'll get when my mom gets here)

Ah, maternity leave. It's bliss.

And as an interesting (?) sidenote, I've lived in Scotland for almost 2 and a half years, and I don't know the radio frequency numbers for a single radio station. Radio 4 is starting a series today on the perils and pitfalls of working from home... and I don't know where Radio 4 is.