<-- Back to the list of birth stories
In early September I departed the country in which I am currently posted to return to Germany. As I may or may not have written many months ago, I have no immediate family left, except a brother who however lives in the States. In other words I did not have a 'home' to go to in Germany. However, for the time I knew I would be in Germany I had sorted out furnished accommodation, which at the end of the day turned out to be the flat of a friend, who is currently abroad. Obviously the downside to all this is that I would eventually be returning from hospital on my own to an otherwise empty flat with a baby, with no one around to help me. My two aunts who live 50 km away did offer to come by, but to be on the safe side I preferred to plan without counting them in, as they are both in their late 60s.
I knew all along that I would be giving birth by elective caesarean having been told in no uncertain terms that I stood a high risk of rupturing my uterus during normal contractions as the result of an open myomectomy I had two years ago at that point in time. In addition to that, Yara was in breech position as from 30 weeks, which somewhat sealed my 'fate'. Before anyone starts feeling sorry for me let me just point out that as far as I am concerned the above only helped me get what I wanted all along, as one of my biggest fears is to have to give birth vaginally.
On 25.09., at 34+3, I had an appointment with the Head of Obs/Gyn in the hospital of my choice in order to schedule my elective caesarean. The Department Head was the same Professor that had operated on me two years ago, and he explained to me that considering the position of the baby, the scars on my womb from the operation two years ago AND an irritating new fibroid he would prefer to operate rather sooner than later. Eventually we settled for 37+4 (17th October) as d.o.b.. Having a deep, yet baseless fear of epidurals I asked to have the caesarean under a general anaesthetic. In addition to that, I requested to have the bladder catheter inserted AFTER the general took effect, providing that this would not endanger my baby in any way. The Professor did say that having the catheter inserted after the general was a bit unusual, but fine with him and that he would pass on the information to the anaesthetist in time. He clearly remembered not taking my warning about being very pain sensitive serious enough two years ago, which resulted in me screaming the operating theatre down when they tried to insert the IV. He also ok'd my request to stay longer than the usual max. 10 days post-caesarean in hospital. Again this is somewhat unusual as most new mums are anxious get home as soon as possible. In my case however I knew I would be going 'home' to an otherwise empty flat without anyone to help me, and wanted to be as fit as possible. To sum it up, the appointment and all the information I received relaxed me so much that I began seeing the entire birth as a bit of a breeze.
As I was informed that various tests and scans had to be run prior to the c/s, preferably a day before the caesarean, I strolled into the hospital's labour ward on Thursday, 16th October, feeling very, very relaxed. No sooner was I in the labour ward did I feel somewhat out of place: My smallish bump of 91cm circumference was clad in a loud, tight, non-maternity t-shirt and I swayed in on high-heeled boots pulling an aluminium suitcase behind me, probably looking like I was about to go on my last holiday prior to delivery. In contrast to that were two girls in labour sensibly walking up and down in order to speed things up. I knew then it was time for a reality check! Thankfully no one wasted much time and I was taken into one of the delivery suits to have some blood was drawn (ouch), and to be placed on the CTG (reassuring but boring) as well as scanned extensively (love that). By mid afternoon I was through and checked into my room in the regular ward. I just could not imagine staying on a maternity ward and having to share a room with one or two other women and their babies and had therefore opted to have a private room. Now I am a bit of a cleanliness freak and am one of those people that first of all inspect the bathrooms in hotels, offices, etc., and a hospital is no exception. The en-suite bathroom turned out to be unacceptable: the shower curtain had mildew speckles on it (yuck); the tiles just above the sink had toothpaste stains on them (gross); the knot in the alarm bell rope next to the toilet had a thick layer of dust on it (OMG); the wall tiles looked like they had a thick layer of lime on them and needed a good scrub (ugh); there were hairs on the floor tiles in the shower corner (argh)... To be honest, I was appalled to find a bathroom in an otherwise clean and tidy ward in such a state. It was obvious that not only had someone not cleaned after the previous occupant left, but that the bathroom had clearly not been intensively cleaned in a long time. So off I trundled to the head nurse, describing the state of the bathroom and asking her to please sort out the problem or move me into another private room. The head nurse tried to distance herself somewhat from the problem by pointing out that an external company is in charge of the cleaning. Um... yes, fine, but SHE has to make sure the job is done properly, right? Eventually a handyman replaced the yucky shower curtain with a clean one, and 30 min later a cleaning lady came in, explaining that the lady usually in charge of cleaning that particular ward had gone home for the day. Very politely, I made it clear to her that that may be the case but I insisted on having a clean bathroom TODAY, and would she please see to it that the worst of the dirt is cleaned, and "if need be" continue the following day. The lady relented, and an hour later not only was the bathroom somewhat acceptable but the lady supervisor of the cleaning company came by to apologize and explain the situation, which, after much grilling turned out to be the usual grim story, i.e. a private cleaning company paying its workforce as little as possible to do as much as possible in an impossibly short time.
Right, let me get back on track with the birth story. That night, after being awake for ages reading a Faye Kellerman book, I slept really well. At 0700 hr on 17th October I was showered, gowned, in the hospital’s sexy stockings, the IV insertion area on my left hand was gradually being numbed with a local anaesthetic cream (remember your's truly is a certified whimp). I was still dead relaxed and raring to go. My oldest girl-friend was with me. I was moved to tears that she had driven over 200km to be with me on that day, to do what a dad would usually do and to take photos. At 0715 hr two nurses came in to take me down to the labour ward where I was rolled into one of the delivery suits and introduced to the midwife that would take delivery of my daughter as soon as she was taken out of her one room apartment. The caesarean was scheduled for 0800 hr and in the meantime I was put on the CTG for the last time and had the top hairs of my bits shaved off. Thereafter the midwife wanted to insert a bladder catheter, but I stopped what would have anyway been a futile attempt, explaining that it was to be inserted in the theatre after the general takes effect. At 0750 hr I was rolled into the caesarean theatre, where I greeted everyone with a cheerful 'good morning'. Things started off a bit strained when a woman (did not know who she was then) asked if the bladder catheter had been inserted. As the midwife's 'no' did not sound very confident, I raised my head and explained that the Professor had OK'd having it inserted after the general because of my extremely low pain threshold. To underline the issue I pointed out that trying to insert it prior to the general would only result in me screaming the place down. With nothing more being said to this effect, I was rolled further into the theatre where the rest of the team members were busy readying themselves. The person in charge of inserting the IV was surprised to see my plaster with the local anaesthetic cream. He did agree though that it certainly was worthwhile when I did not even flinch while he inserted the IV. Then the Prof. and his lovely deputy that I remembered from 2 years ago came in. Both were amazed to see me lying there so chilled out. I could honestly say that having full confidence in their capabilities brought about a large part of my calm. Both then trundled off to another part of the theatre. A moment later I heard raised voices from the direction they had gone to, but could not fathom what it was all about. Minutes passed without anything happening, leaving me wondering what on earth was going on. After what seemed like ages someone set up a curtain in front of my bump, which prompted me to ask about its purpose in a friendly yet curious tone. A man who I had not previously noticed replied tersely saying 'Why do you want to know that? Do you now also want to perform the operation yourself? There is no point explaining its purpose to you now, you are going to fall asleep in a moment.' The last thing I remember from the theatre is first of all a feeling of total shock at the rudeness and then feeling the anaesthesia take effect but wanting to fight it to have a verbal go at the rude man.
According to my girl-friend the first thing I howled for upon waking up were painkillers. This was, however, in a semi-conscious state, so I remember none of it. Apparently I sounded something like this: "Painkillers, painkillers please. I need painkillers!!" And while painkillers were added to the drip "Are you sure those are the strongest painkillers you have?" Sadly, the first thing I recall after more or less fully waking up from the general anaesthetic is that horrid man in the theatre and me wanting to verbally sort him out . At least this is the first thing I consciously told my girl-friend; I was still so shocked that I did not even ask to see my baby !!!! Then I remember feeling very cold and shaking uncontrollably. No idea what was done to relieve that. My girl-friend then asked if I did not want to see my daughter. It was only then that I remembered why I was in the hospital in the first place! Of course I wanted to see her! She was brought to me straight away. Obviously she was cleaned and dressed by now. Her eyes were semi shut, and I remember feeling totally awed by her, trying to comprehend how this gorgeous tiny creature of 2630 grammes (5 pounds 13 oz) and 48cm (approx. 19 inches) could possibly have come out of me. Initially I was afraid to hold her, scared that I would break something or so. The midwife, noticing my fear, placed her next to me in bed. Fab idea, because that way I had time to get used to her presence without having to really hold her IYSWIM. Once I appeared sufficiently relaxed, the midwife suggested seeing if she would latch on. This, my little hungry angel did without a second thought. It really is an instinct.
Suddenly the rude man from the theatre appeared at my side and introduced himself as the Head of the anaesthetics' department. He apologised for his rudeness and did his best to explain himself to me. Apparently the woman who had asked if the catheter had been inserted when I was being rolled into the theatre was the designated anaesthetist for the c/s. She considered the planned procedure (i.e. general anaesthesia THEREAFTER insertion of catheter) as risky/dangerous for the baby, and therefore refused to perform her task. With her walking out, the Head of Obs/Gyn called in the Head of Anaesthetics, who, upon hearing what the problem was and as a father of 4 himself, also was not at all happy with the planned procedure and wanted to refuse as well. Seemingly the Head of Obs/Gyn said that he had assured me that the planned modus operandi was safe and that it was too late to psych me up into accepting an epidural without major hysterics. When he threatened to move me to another hospital the Head of Anaesthetics relented, moved across the theatre to my side, and made his rude remarks to me. Obviously this episode also explained the raised voices I had heard in the theatre while waiting for things to happen. Of course I was shocked to hear all this, but was in no state to decide there and then whether Y had really been put at risk or not. In the end, probably more in order to get rid of him, I told the Head of Anaesthetics that I could forgive him but would never forget the incident.
With Y cuddled next to me and accompanied by my girl-friend, I was transferred to my room on the mothers-and-babies' ward soon afterwards. Until about noon I drifted off occasionally, and there are quite a few funny photos of both Y and myself fast asleep in those hours.
As written earlier, I had told myself that I would need to recover with as little stress and strain as possible, because only as a fully recovered mother would I be able to take good care of Y on my own upon release from hospital as a single mother. For me this meant staying in for as long as possible, knowing that every easy day there without any household chores is a quicker step towards full recovery. After all, what do I gain by theoretically making myself able to e.g. hoover a carpet a week after a c/s when I know only too well that I run a much higher risk of damaging the still sensitive abdominal tissue? Depending on one's character, I am sure it can take quite a bit of inward self-persuasion to think along those lines, but I assure you it worked for me. That and booking a single room where no one disturbed me and I could do whatever I wanted were THE best choices I could have made.
Though officially I was not yet allowed to have any liquids, I could not care any less about this because I felt absolutely parched. Thankfully, my girl-friend grew tired of my stubborn mumblings and eventually gave me some water. I assure you, never did water taste so good.
I had my hormone-induced 30 mins of baby blues on the same day, and it all revolved around the general anaesthetic/catheter issue, which was brought up again when the Professor came in to check on me and to apologize for all the grief that had been caused. Of course a good portion of guilt came into it as well, but I recall being mainly angry that the issue had somewhat ruined what had started out as a perfect day and given my confidence a bit of a dent. Oh well, at least there were no more tears from there on.
As is usual with c/s mums, a nurse helped me out of bed and into the en-suite bathroom in the evening of that same day where she cleaned me up and showed me how to go about it myself, especially with the lochia flowing heavily. Thankfully, the hospital provides maternity pads and the like, so I did not have to worry about running out of anything.
In the first couple of days, I left the clothing and nappy changes to the nurses and only fed and cuddled Yara. To be honest, I was also not yet mentally ready to dress my tiny and fragile-looking little girl. I was afraid of accidentally hurting her! Thanks to all the fantastic information I had gleaned off BGH I knew that such feelings/emotions are not strange and therefore did not feel in the least bit worried, let alone inadequate. On the second day her b/f became a bit sluggish, so I was connected to the electric breast pump and later bottle-fed her the colostrum. She seemed to rather take to drinking from the bottle, and as such I decided there and then that we would not be going down that road just for the sake of ease. If need be I would try, try and try again in order to help establish normal b/f as soon as possible. I knew it was normal to lose some weight in the first days, was therefore not at all worried and did not relent. My patience and persistence soon paid off because by the evening of the third day she was drinking from the breast as if she had never done anything else.
Thanks to whatever pain relief medication they gave me and probably my naturally ability to heal quickly, I was soon moving about like nothing had ever happened, albeit with a few twitches here and there initially.
The rest of the days went by in breeze of loads of cuddling, getting to know my daughter, taking in loads of really good advice from the b/f counsellor and nurses, relaxing, receiving visitors and pigging out on the very good hospital food. At some stage the staples holding the incision together were removed, which was entirely painless non-event. By day 7 no one would have suspected I had ever had a c/s recently and the nurses would jokingly ask me if I was in hospital as a patient or on holiday. In the end I stayed for 12 days! On the day I checked out I knew that my longer than usual stay in hospital had been well worth it. When I left the hospital I not only FELT like a very confident new mum; I definitely was one too. As such, nothing much surprised me in the following weeks and I had no problems adapting myself to Y's rhythm and finding my own routine within it.