I wrote about my birth story as quickly as possible, and now, 15 days postpartum, I want to document as much of this as possible too!

I can’t quite believe that the last 2 weeks have happened; even living through it, the experience feels like a dream. My post about my labour ended after the I was given a recovery room, and so I’ll pick up from just before. The photos are of me in the labour room… looking completely washed out, and feeling much the same.

Just before 6am, after H had made me some toast, the midwives came in and asked if I was ready to move. I felt panicky, because I had a catheter in and my legs were stiff; the last thing in the world I wanted to was stand up and walk. Mum told H to go make me a tea, and when he left I consented to getting up. I had not been at all embarrassed or awkward throughout my labour, but I didn’t like the idea of H seeing me so weak. They brought a wheelchair in and coaxed me out of bed which honestly was more painful than any contraction I had experienced!

Once standing, I had the task of sitting in the chair; I ended up only half sitting and being taken to my room. With some difficulty I managed to get into the bed. Looking around the baby wasn’t there – he was still in the corridor with the other midwife; I got a bit panicked again but they brought him in and despite all the pain and exhaustion, I felt better.

Over the next hour I had more toast and got H to remake the tea as it was much too strong! I began to pep up a bit and started doing the rounds of telling people that Theo had arrived at last. Mum and H had done most of it for me, but there were some people I wanted to tell specifically. Mum left to get ready for work around 7:30 and I told H to nap – he was exhausted and I couldn’t sleep but I knew about an hour later I’d need to crash. It was quite cold in the recovery room so H covered himself with Theo’s blanket – not the best idea because baby couldn’t use it until after it got washed but oh well. The midwives came in a couple times to check on us, and then Mum brought my Grandma in at 9 am.

After that, I’m pretty sure I slept for a few hours. My Dad and brother visited… and Mum kept popping in. H did everything for me, including feed me lunch because I had both cannula’s still in and I was being given 3 units of blood. Every time baby needed a feed, someone had to prop him up and position him for me so he could latch – I felt entirely useless, and even though I wasn’t crying, I could feel myself sinking lower and lower. Being told at some point in the day that the haematoma would take around 6 weeks to resolve itself (and being given ice-packs to help the swelling; which really stung as well) did not help matters.

I had the catheter in all day and the next night too. They encouraged me to walk and after the blood transfusion had finished Mum helped me shower. I remember her using the soap sponges and washing the blood off my legs and then helping me dry. It was the first time I had really been able to see the swelling and it made me cringe. I wasn’t really able to move but rather had to slide my feet along the floor because lifting them was too painful – I was shuffling in a half squat because the swelling meant I couldn’t bring my legs together. The midwives told me all this was normal, so when they offered pain relief, I refused it – if I was going to be like this for almost 2 months, and I wanted to breastfeed, I did not want to be drugged up the entire time. Looking back now, it feels like a lifetime ago; I can’t quite believe the transformation.

The next morning (Friday) they took the catheter out which made things slightly better. Without the cannulas in as well it meant that I could hold Theo as long as he was given to me and then taken back to his crib. H still did pretty much everything but I tried my best to stay positive and avoided thinking about more than 1 day into the future. Obviously this wasn’t practical but it was the only thing that kept me going. The midwife told us that Theo looked a bit jaundiced so asked me to express some milk in case we needed to top up his supply because he wasn’t feeding enough – this was not what I wanted to do because my plan has been from the beginning to only breastfeed him for at least the first month and then I would consider bottles of expressed milk. The machine I had to use was extremely painful; I would compare it to a painful nipple twist being repeated over 15 minutes. They did light test after a few hours again and told me that even though he looked a bit yellow still, it was nothing to worry about, so the colostrum stayed in the fridge. I ended up requesting to use it on Sunday evening because I thought I’d go home the day later; we fed it to him with a syringe at 3 am but it wasn’t enough so I ended up feeding him for another hour anyway.

The weekend came and went, and I had some visitors – I stayed in bed, or shuffled slightly because I didn’t want to let on how bad things really were. H wheeled me into the day room once, so that I didn’t have to walk and sit down again… and I asked my parents to buy me a doughnut pillow to make things a little easier, as well as Arnica 30 which was recommended to bring down the inflammation. When people were around it was easy to be positive, everyone was excited by Theo and it was wonderful to watch and listen to them talk about this tiny human that H and I had created. It didn’t feel (and still doesn’t) that it was possible for me to have had him tucked away inside me for so long.

By Sunday, my baby blues hit. I was worried about coping at home and asked to stay an extra day. My midwife was great, and we talked about her son and things I wanted to learn or was unsure about. She never forced her opinions on me, but she was frank, she gave me the medical opinion, the alternative opinion and then her opinion as well. It was the first time I had spoken about Theo’s future since being pregnant. That evening I had my daily bath with lavender oil and milk; it was meant to help reduce the swelling, and lessen the pain a little. I used Theo’s crib as a support system as I walked to the bath and whilst in it, the concoction worked. The room was quite cold though so H took Theo back and I dried off and started to make my way back to my room – I got about halfway and I was in tears. H by this point had come out to see why I was taking so long and helped me back into the room – this time, I caved and asked for pain relief. It felt like instead of getting better, I was getting worse.

And I was right. On Monday morning, my midwife asked the consultant to sign off on my discharge and have a look at the swelling. At first she said there was nothing the be done, but on a second look, she saw I had developed an infection over the weekend and my body had tried to expel it. There was now an opening and so she said I was to undergo general anaesthetic and have it drained.

This was the worst day. 

Despite the pain and the discomfort, I had been “dealing” with it, but general anaesthetic was synonymous with poison for me. The few times I have been under it before, I have reacted very badly, and this was no different. I whatsapped my Mum and H saying that I wasn’t going home and that I had to go into theatre later in the day. Mum called immediately and told me she would come see me as soon as possible, and H arrived a little later. I was already hyperventilating by the time mum arrived and she took a long time to calm me down. Looking back, this was the lowest of lows for me.

I’d had breakfast so I had to fast and they said they’d take me in around 5 pm… it ended up being 2:30 pm which was good because it meant Mum and H had more time with me after – not necessarily great for them but much needed for me because I was a mess. I expressed some milk (by hand, the machine was much too painful) in case I wasn’t able to feed him due to being groggy, and it’s a good thing I did because the cannula in my hand meant I couldn’t hold him. The doctor I had was lovely, and very reassuring, though even still, as I got wheeled to the theatre room I took a picture of Sri Swami Satchidananda and was chanting my mantras the whole way.

Coming out of the anesthetic was even worse than going under. I react so badly that for over an hour I was dizzy, nauseous and a sobbing mess. Not the most attractive I’ve been but an unfortunate reality. At this time, H held my hand a lot but my Mum was the only one who could calm me. It was probably good for H to see me like that, but it was not something I ever wanted him to see.

Mum made me a few very very sweet teas and the midwife made me stand up and go pee. I was amazed – I could actually stand and I wasn’t 4 inches shorter than I should have been. Even better, I could almost bring my legs together entirely! Once the drugs had worn off, barring the fact I was to be on super strong antibiotics, I was like a new person; or rather, I was like myself again rather than the girl I had become. I didn’t have a bath that evening and I requested that they take the cannula out so that I would be able to hold Theo properly – this probably was a good thing for them too because they had 3 births that night so were kept very busy; the last thing they’d have wanted was to be called by me every time Theo needed a feed or change, and I wanted to be able to do it independently.

By morning I felt amazing. He woke up early and I spent the morning walking around and rocking him. I hadn’t imagined being able to do that for months. I was still sleep deprived and I probably should have slept a little during the morning but I couldn’t – I was too excited at the fact I’d pacified my baby by walking around with him in my arms!
I showered, put a little bit of make up on and put on my going home outfit as soon as the Dr came in and gave me the all clear. This was an interesting experience in itself; I had a different Dr from the one who did the surgery and he had a little bit less of a gentle touch. He examined me, and took out the packing that had been left to help soak up the blood, telling me that the wound would heal on its own now, and that I should only wash down there with warm water and no soap. He then proceeded to tell me his advice would be not to put a mirror down there to see what the damage was because it was really quite horrible. At the time, I was rather taken back by this, but now I just think it is such a funny thing for him to have said.

H arrived soon after I had got ready, wheeling in the pram, and he was amazed to see the difference in me; I told him all about my night and morning and that there were 3 new babies. Then the midwife I had that day came in and gave him the Vitamin K, showing me how to do so because the last dose will be at home, and then came the heel prick test. This was torture for me – he cried so much and all we wanted to was cuddle and comfort him. It took forever as well but finally H was able to give him to me and I put him on my breast to calm down. We went into the dayroom and met 2 of the new mums, I had my lunch and took my antibiotic while Mum spoke to the sister of the ward about my experience – apparently she had only seen 3 cases like mine in her 30 years of working in midwifery.

Finally we were ready to go. I had been allowed to leave on the condition of coming back the next day to be checked again, but that was worth it to go home. It was a hard walk, and the pram was very much needed as a support system for me, but being outside, being able to walk home with my baby, and most of all, being able to go home before H left back to the UK.

The 5 days were some of the most difficult of my life so far, and now 3 weeks later I don’t feel like it really happened to me. It’s like remembering a good dream turned bad. But every time I look at Theo, even when he’s been up for 12 hours straight or won’t let me put him down, I would do it all again. He is thriving and I fall more in love every day.