A birth story: Part Two

My baby has been born – yay. So the worst is over, right? Right!? 

Dont you just love a postpartum haemorrhage? You’re there, trying to figure out how the squirmy thing on your chest just came out of you, when you slowly become aware that everyone is still running round panicking and your husband is so pale you can practically see through him.

Welcome to Part Two.

1) The War Zone

I won’t go into too much detail here to spare you bringing your dinner back up, but let me just say that it got a bit messy. So messy, in fact, that the Dr had to be stopped from leaving the room once it was all over as he was treading bloody footprints everywhere. Literally.

2) The dreaded shower

With the worst (ha) finally over, I was wheeled back onto the ward feeling like I was on my way to the crematorium. A not-so-helpful-midwife informed me that I needed to get up and get moving as I now had to take care of my baby (thanks, wasn’t aware of that) and if I had a shower, I’d ‘feel like a new woman’. The only new feeling I experienced was that of collapsing and having to press the alarm bell to be rescued. Cheers for that.

3) Something is wrong

I knew it. I just knew. I’ve never had a baby before, but judging by the weary, delighted and mobile parents that were packing up and going home around me, I knew that something wasn’t right.  I sent my husband to the midwife station multiple times to tell them that I’m sure this isn’t how you’re supposed to feel post-birth but he just kept getting sent back telling me to ‘rest and eat’. Finally, 24 hours later, the observations machine alarm went off when checking my pulse and heart rate and it was eventually identified that I had blood poisoning. Cue people suddenly taking me very seriously and tripping over themselves to heed my every request (including clearing the entire ward so that my husband could stay overnight and keep my daughter alive since I was bloody useless to her).

4) Still something missing…

So I’m on an antibiotic drip, my husband and mother are tag-teaming at looking after my daughter and after a sleepless night trying to stay vertical enough to feed and change her on my own, the staff kindly offer us a hospital room free of charge – possibly out of guilt for not noticing that I was almost literally on my deathbed (it’s my story, I’ll be dramatic if I want to). My husband can now stay overnight without any rule-breaking and I can alternate between taking clothes off and layering up to fight the persistent fever (I put them on for medical staff and guests obviously). However, something is still not right. It takes about 5 nights for them to find the missing piece to the puzzle – I need a blood transfusion. 2 lovely red packets of heaven later, my ghostly pale face is flooded with happiness.

The second I’m unhooked from the transfusion, I hop up, grab and sandwich and take the best shower of my life (despite them being crap hospital showers).

I then set about actually becoming a mother rather than a guilty, bed-ridden bystander that spends every second worrying she isn’t able to bond with her baby. Turns out, we bonded over our mutual dislike of the whole shitty situation anyway and it’s been true love ever since.


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