Peter & Jane

The whole 9 months & beyond...

[peterandjane]

I ain't got no milk

Breastfeeding. You know what they say? Breast is best. Well, that is unless you simply can't. Sigh, here I sit while my husband feeds my dear Mila upstairs. Perhaps my failed plan has had some wonderful consequences.

After my bleed out in the hospital I was instructed not to breastfeed for 48 hours. I needed to get my strength back after my blood transfusions and my uterus was in a state of shock. Breastfeeding would just have put unnecessary strain on everything. I was not despondent at all. I had the name of a trusted lactationist (lactation consultant) on hand and the sweet relief that my baby girl had already "latched". Not only that, my breasts were huge during my pregnancy and I was pretty sure there was a lot of milk in them. 

Two days later I was ready to get this feeding thing done. My lactationist, my mom, a nurse and my sheer will were all ready. We decided to start the process twenty minutes before Mila was due for her feed. I woke my baby up, threw off my inhibitions (and top) and got to it. Many of you will know how unglamarous the first moments of breastfeeding are. I had numerous hands helping out and Mila sucked like it was no one's business. She had absolutely no problem latching. She sucked and sucked and sucked. There was nothing. She sucked some more and still nothing. Then she proceeded to scream, I had to feed her but I clearly had nothing to give her. A bottle was made and she cooed with happiness.

When I was discharged from hospital I was given a list of prescriptive drugs that I could get to help me "get milk". I decided to relax and not put extra stress on my body. I armed myself with a lot of Jungle Juice and as many natural alternatives I could find, including Brewer's Yeast and Prolac. We left the hospital with the highest hopes.

Home was another story altogether. Firstly, I had no clue what to do with bottles or formula. I had a couple of Medela bottles that came with my breastpump but that was it. I sent David out to buy some formula but we had no idea which one to buy. We just bought one that looked right. What a disaster it was! I tried to breastfeed Mila before she was very hungry but it would result in nothing and then I would bottle feed her formula.

She had had Similac formula at the hospital but we had put her on NAN HA at home. It resulted in major constipation. Into the early hours of her second night at home we rushed her to the emergency room after she reeled in pain for four hours straight. The doctor told us she was simply constipated from the change in formula. I was already plagued with guilt that I couldn't produce milk for her, now I was so ill-equiped in dealing with formula that I had caused her so much pain. That, coupled with extreme sleep deprivation, leaves you feeling a little bit blue.

I was beyond exhausted. I knew it couldn't be normal. I knew that there was something fundamentally wrong with my body. A couple of days later I went to see my GP who tested my haemoglobin levels and they were shockingly low. He told me frankly that my body would not produce any milk until it had produced adequate blood. Your body prioritises what is most essential for your well-being. Being able to breastfeed wasn't as important as having blood. What did I do? I soldiered on!

I started taking Eglonyl which most people swear by. It is an antidepressant that has a side-effect of milk production. I was excited to feel happy and upbeat and get my milk flowing. Unfortunately, I had such a bad reaction to it. I started to feel a sense of terror; as though something was about to go horribly wrong. It was horrible. I couldn't stop feeling anxious. I immediately went off it. I couldn't be paranoid and sleep deprived! 

Aah!!! It wasn't working. Oh, I was going for biweekly iron injections to help boost my blood. It was tiring. I tried and tried and tried. I remember expressing for twenty minutes on the strongest setting on my breastpump and I got 1ml as a result. I erupted with excitement and put the mill into my dear daughter's mouth with a syringe. 

Finally, a month later, it was time to admit that it just wasn't going to happy. I looked at my daughter and she was growing, she was perfect, she was so content. That was it, I allowed myself two more minutes of misguided self-pity about not giving my daughter the best and being a failure and then that was it. I have breastfed my daughter, for all five minutes. I proudly mix my formula in public and let everyone think whatever they wish. I love that my husband and parents have been able to spend time feeding her and bonding in such a special way. I also really really love Medela Calma bottles. I do, however, hate sterilising. May that end soon! 

[peterandjane]

Birth - Part Two

After the surge of adrenalin had subsided, my husband and the guys went downstairs to a cigar and celebrate the moment. I was left with my mom and a very patient midwife. It was time to start breastfeeding. I was very eager to start as soon as possible. There are so many theories about when to start but I wanted to know that Mila could latch. And, latch she did. She took so easily to this new experience but only lasted a few minutes. She was exhausted from her grand entrance into the world and I gave her to my mom for a few minutes. I just needed to get my breath.

The nurses were in and out of my room with various different machines. Some were checking my blood pressure and others were adjusting my drips. The room was hazy and soft - the kind of light you see in soap operas. I could see my mom's delight as she held her first granddaughter. The moment was serene and calm. I realised I was cold, very cold.

My body was overcome with shivers and goose bumps. I was freezing and couldn't get warm. I tried rubbing my arms and putting the sheet up high. It was a very strange experience. I felt as though I had hypothermia, which was an exaggeration of course. The next moment, everything changed.

My gaze was still on my mom but I felt myself loosing consciousness. I felt as thought at any point I was going to faint. I can only compare it with the feeling you have as you are going under general anesthetic. It was terrifying. I felt out of control of my body. Within a few seconds I had completely blacked out. What I remember next is coming round to David's face pressed closely to mine. All I could smell was the cigar smoke. I remember seeing terror in his eyes. At that point I blacked out again.

What had happened was something that happens to a very small minority of women after their deliveries. I had a PPH (Post Partum Hemorrhage). This means that you experience an unusual amount of blood loss. In my case my uterus had literally exploded instead of contracting like it should. When you breastfeed your body is wired that it helps your expanded uterus to start to contract to its usual size. I had the opposite experience. As Mila fed my uterus was exploding, just like a balloon. This meant that I was bleeding out at a scary rate. 

My mom remembers me going as white as a sheet. She immediately called the nurses to attend to me. My blood pressure was undetectable on the BP monitor. For her it was one of the worst experiences to have to witness. The nurses weren't sure what was happening. Thankfully my mom had the intuition to lift up the blankets that were covering me. She recalls that I was covered in blood. It was gushing out of me at such a speed it had started to pool on the floor. I know this sounds grotesque but it is just simply what happened.

One of the first miracles of that moment happened next. My gynecologist had made plans to go to the gym straight after Mila's delivery. At the last moment he decided to take a walk around the area - which just so happens to be right by the hospital. The midwife on duty was so panic-stricken and frazzled she didn't know what to do. She called him and he was able to get to me within a matter of minutes. Had he not been so close I would have died on the spot. This isn't a dramatic touch to the story, it really would have happened. The Linkwood Maternity Clinic is adjacent to the Linksfield Hospital and only has maternity staff working in it. This means that I would have had to be transported to the hospital to see surgeon or even a doctor had the situation been different.

But, my doctor got there in time. He went into full combat mode. I was given oxygen and he started to manually contract my uterus. In order to do that, he had to massage me with the full force of his body. Imaging someone kneading dough? This is what he was doing to my stomach. I am so grateful the spinal block was still working - imagine how excruciating that would have been? He shouted orders at the nurses and snapped them out of their fear and got them to be proactive. He called the anaethetist (Grace) and the pediatrician and told them to get back to the hospital. The only way to control the blood loss was to go back into theatre. This time it would be under general anesthetic and they would have to remove everything - including my womb.

I looked at David in the corner of the room and started to cry. I knew I wouldn't survive another surgery with the amount of blood I had lost. I was so fragile and I was using every bit of strength in my body to stay awake and look at my husband. I kept thinking that I couldn't believe he was going to have to raise a daughter all by himself. I was heartbroken that I had only seen Mila for an hour at the most. I couldn’t even remember what she looked like. I lost consciousness after that moment.

Our doctor was a Godsend. He didn't stop massaging me despite how exhausted he clearly looked. A lady two doors down had been in labour since early that morning. As I was on my way to surgery a nurse came to tell the doctor that this lady had to have an emergency c-section right away. The baby was in distress and wouldn't make it if they didn't get it out immediately. There was only enough staff (it was close to midnight now) to handle one operation at a time. The doctor agreed that they should do the c-section as quickly as they could and I would go in straight after. This meant that he could not stop massaging my stomach for a second. If he did, the blood flow would not be under control and I would bleed out. 

While we waited for the theatre to become available, they gave me a blood transfusion. I was given universal blood because there was no time to get blood from anywhere else. That, accompanied with the drugs and oxygen, managed to wake me up and stabilise me. To distract me from everything the doctor told me stories about being a medic in the army. His ploy worked, I was able to only concentrate on his voice and not the impending surgery. I remember one of his stories was about how he used to be so good at putting in IV drips that he once did it on a moving helicopter. I don't know why I remember that, but I do.

Just before the c-section was wrapping up, my blood pressure started to beep on the machine. Colour came back into my cheeks and the room lost its haze. Something had changed. I felt much better. The doctor also noticed a change. What he was doing was clearly working. I pleaded with him to not do the surgery unless he was absolutely sure. After a little while he thought it best to get the opinion from one of his staff.

As luck would have it, Grace was the only one who was still around. She had come in to do my surgery but was pulled into the emergency c-section. She had cleaned up and come to check on my status. Her and the doctor did all their checks and they both agreed that I had stabilised. Now the test, what would happen if he stopped massaging me?

By this stage I had regained feeling in my legs and was starting to feel the pain of my abdomen. He lifted his hands off and we waited to see what would happen. Everyone was hovered over me, ready to rush me off at the slightest sign of blood. There was none, it had worked. The delay waiting for the Caesar had meant the doctor had manually got the blood flow under control. My uterus was now the size of a small stress ball. It had worked. 

I have never been more grateful in all of my life. There is nothing that compares to the sheer feeling of relief when you are faced with death and terror. I felt like the luckiest girl in the entire world to have sidestepped such a terrible ordeal, let alone another surgery. I just wanted to see my baby but I was exhausted - utterly finished. Perhaps the emotions of everything had taken more of a toll on my body than anything else.

The stress of the situation was profound. At one point I noticed that there were ulcers in my mouth. They seemed to be growing at the speed of light. I was so scared they would get too big and stop me from breathing. After I had been given the all clear, I asked Grace to take a look. She told me that it was just a manifestation of stress, aggravated by the situation. I couldn't believe it! Apparently if you're prone to such things and you are in a situation like this, they will flare up. Twenty minutes or so later they had completely gone. 

I later found out that it wasn't just the fact that Mila had breastfed that brought on my PPH. After a c-section you are given a specific drug, in your drip, to help your blood clot - the very thing that stops such a bleed out from happening. In all the euphoria after my baby was born, I hadn't realised that my drip wasn't working. To be fair it wasn't my job to keep tabs on things - but someone obviously didn't notice that it wasn't working. This meant I had gone at least an hour and a half without this particular drug in my system. That, coupled with the stimulation to my uterus, caused the bleed out. All the unknowns, all the things you never think will happen. 

But, here I sit, with my three-month-old baby in the other room. She is perfect, she is healthy and I am indebted to my amazing sister-in-laws who took turns feeding and holding Mila while I was being attended to. I can't even begin to thank my darling mom and my sacrificial husband for how hard they worked to be brave for me but also for caring for Mila the entire time I was in hospital. Because my uterus had gone under so much stress, I wasn't allowed to breastfeed Mila while in hospital. I simply had to rest. David and my mom took turns looking after me and feeding Mila. I could have just relied on the nurses (we were in a private hospital after all), but I was so blessed that my daughter had the most loving Imma (Grandmother in Lebanese) and Dad to take care of her. 

[peterandjane]

Birth - Part One

Well the my big day finally arrived. Due to an overbooked theatre, I could only go in for my c-section at five in the afternoon. That meant a considerable amount of wait time. David went to work to get things tied up before he would be on paternity leave. That left me alone, in the hospital room, again. 

The feeling of waiting was profound. It can only be compared with the feeling I felt moments before the car arrived to pick me up to take me to my wedding. You're ready, prepared and full of anticipation. Yet, you have to wait. Wait for one of the biggest changes in your entire life. I reflected on how calm and quiet these moments are. No background music, no slow-claps starting, just you and a long pause.

Eventually, at about 3 'o clock, the anaesthetist arrived along with the warmest greeting. Grace, lived up to her name the entire time I was in hospital. She walked up to me and gave me the biggest huge. Her huge white smile offset by her dark skin. She put me at ease and stroked my head. With that she performed her first miracle, painlessly putting my drip in. 

The next hour or so went a lot quicker. My incredible parents came early to sit with me and distract me. Their undying support even more evident. There was my mama, sitting on the chair in my room. I couldn't believe that I was about to enter a world she was an expert in. All my preparation and all my reading felt insignificant in that moment. I felt helpless.

David arrived and he looked overwhelmed. I knew he had probably had to work at a million miles an hour to get his work done. His life was going to change even more profoundly than mine. I had had nine months of physiological changes which served as a emotional preparedness. For him, he had the twenty minutes before I was wheeled downstairs. I was glad I had asked his colleague to buy him lunch that day. I needed to know he'd be okay. Up until this moment he was the only one I had to worry about. 

Moments before we left for theatre, the Joburg highveld unleashed the most wonderful thunderstorm. The weather marked the moment and I was delighted. Doesn't everything feel more exciting and special when a summer thunderstorm is happening? 

I waved goodbye to my parents and clutched David's hand tightly. This was it.

The doors to the theatre opened and I panicked. I couldn't believe what it looked like. I had never been conscious in theatre before. It was horrible. Bright, crowded with machinery, freezing cold and disorientating. I didn't want to be there. I couldn't believe that I had never Googled what the inside of a theatre looked like. I wanted out. It felt like everyone was in a hurry and it didn't look clean (it was spotless, I was just freaking out).

Grace walked in and told me it was time to lean over for my spinal block. She started by injecting me with a local anaesthetic. It stung just like a bee sting. I arched my back and stared into David's eyes, anticipating the worst. Grace was unbelievable. It took her a few attempts, and another injection, but I didn't feel anything. It was the most painless experience. This was a procedure I had prepared myself for and I was so thankful it wasn't as scary as I had anticipated. An entourage of staff rushed in and took their posts. I was petrified. I had forgotten about why I was even in the room. I was just so scared.

My legs hung over the side of my bed and within a few seconds started to tingle and, then, went dead. I tried with all my might and strength to lift my legs. I tried to wiggle each toe - to find any feeling. I was so grateful the spinal block had worked but nervous I hadn't "tried" hard enough to feel something. Sigh, I really was panicking. It was obvious the effects of the drugs were working and the nurses moved my dead-weight body onto the operating table. Here, all dignity went out the window.

I really can't understand why anyone would want to be conscious for any surgery, it just feels so undignified. Anyway, I was laid in a crucifix position: both arms stretched out and my side and my legs, unfortunately, lay wide open. I was very self-conscious but, then, the pethidine kicked in. 

Yes, yes, a caesar is not the "natural way". But, I was so grateful for the rush of pethidine because it calmed me right down. I knew that this was one of God's small graces to me. My gynae and the paediatrician walked in, looking professional in their scrubs. At that moment I started to get excited. I was having a baby! 

We were told that the sound system in the theatre was down so David decided to play a song (I have no idea what) on his iPhone. I just stared into David's eyes and tried not to hear what was happening. All I really remember is my doctor telling us that he had begun. He then chatted about the weekend's news with his team (Oscar Pistorius, blah). I couldn't believe it was all happening so quickly. I felt nothing except the motion of being moved. It was a strange sensation. I had an incredible big "screen" and I was grateful. I just wanted to hear a scream, I didn't want a running commentary of what was happening.

I had just settled into what was happening when I heard my beautiful daughter's voice for the first time. Her scream was nothing like the babies in all the movies. She was not screaming, but crying, in a very eloquent way. I couldn't see her. David rushed over to take pictures and just kept saying, "She's so beautiful". She was safe, she was out.

She was rushed to the little table where they get all her facts and do her Apgar score. My little overachiever got full marks. The gentle paediatrician announced that she was 3.95 kgs, 50 centimetres and her head circumference was 35 centimetres. They wiped her face and took a footprint and gave her to David. I looked over my left shoulder and saw a mop of jetblack hair. There was my girl, my Mila Ada Chong. Born at twenty minutes passed five on a Monday afternoon. 

David brought her to me and I held her on my chest. I felt calm. She looked so squished. The steroids had affected her. Her face was very swollen and she had two huge (but cute) cheeks. I kissed her head and struggled to find an appropriate emotion for the moment. I knew I loved her more than anything but I felt more relief. For nine months I had worried about her for every minute of the day. I worried she wouldn't survive pregnancy, I worried she wouldn't be perfect, I worried that something might go wrong with the delivery. All my worries were gone. Here she was. 

David held her close while they stitched me up. It didn't take long and he handed her over to me. She felt bulky in all her blankets. I just wanted to take her all in for a moment but I knew our families were in the waiting room dying to see her.  As they wheeled me through the doors I caught my mom's gaze first. She was beaming and my I was filled with immense pride. Everyone rushed to get a peak at the cutie I had in my arms. Along with my parents we celebrated the moment with David's elder brother and his wife and my brother and his. Cameras flashed and our first moment as parents was giddy. I looked down at my sleeping baby and thanked God for her life.

[peterandjane]

Stealing a crib

The weekend dragged along. I read books, watched DVDs and tried to avoid the only news that was on constant repeat: Oscar Pistorius. There was very little to do except get my blood pressure checked every hour and, nest. 

A few weeks back I had what many of you fellow mums have had. You wake up in the middle of the night with an insatiable desire to spring clean your entire house and make sure everything is disinfected. Our house already smelled of mite spray and Milton. Yet, all this time in hospital gave me another go at it. Despite being in a private hospital, that clearly had impeccable levels of hygiene, it simply wasn't good enough.

Firstly, I got David to bring all of the baby's clothes and toiletries to my room. I already had her little bag packed but I insisted on having everything with me. I rearranged the room at least five times and badgered the nurses to get me additional pieces of furniture that I thought we absolutely necessary. Armed with my mite spray, I disinfected everything in site. I created a "baby changing station" and laid out all her toiletries in a row. Her first outfit (babygro) was laid out. I made sure that everything would be ready for her. 

As a result of having over 72 hours to examine every nook and cranny of my room, I found many things wrong with it. The lazy-boy couch was rickety - I demanded the nurses deal with it immediately, the air-conditioning didn't work - my parents graciously brought me a fan in the middle of the night, and (most importantly), the crib provided by the hospital was slightly off balance. Needless to say, the nurses were not happy about swapping out this item - apparently they had more pressing matters to deal with. So, quite irrationally, I snuck into the unoccupied rooms in the middle of the night and found one I preferred. A great deal of stealth was required to pull of this stunt, a feat made especially hard because I was pregnant.

I sprayed the new crib down with mite spray, put my own sheet on, put a few soft toys in it to make it more welcoming and finally drifted off to sleep.

[peterandjane]

An eventful summer's night

  I called David to tell him the news. He was having a business lunch and went into a panic. He thought that I was having the baby immediately and was rushing on his way to the hospital. I managed to calm him down and told him he needed to go home to get my hospital bag. The excitement finally set in: our baby was on her way.

Because we had caught things in time, the doctor thought it best to administer steroids over a 48 hour period.  I checked into the maternity ward and was given strict instructions to relax as much as I could for the weekend. It felt like a contradiction to be in a hospital room but feeling quite well. The nurse gave me the first injection of steroids and it stung. Arrangements were made and the mad rush of the day started to subside.

After a long bath and an insipid meal, I said my goodbyes to my family and off they went. I was left in an averagely comfortable room with a laptop filled with movies to watch and a mind filled to the brim. It was impossible to concentrate. I tried to watch one of my favourite movies, Breakfast at Tiffany's, but all I kept thinking about was my little girl: What would she look like? What were the steroids doing to her? Was she okay? Would she last until my caesar? What if something had to go wrong now? We've come so far! My anxiety levels were through the roof. I also started to feel flush and an irritating rash had developed all over my body (apparently a side effect of the steroids).

I just couldn't manage to sleep. I knew I needed as much sleep in reserve but all attempts were futile. As the clock edged toward midnight I heard a commotion outside my door. I was excited, something was happening. As I opened the door, a nurse was carrying the chubbiest little baby I had ever seen. His brown hazel eyes were wide open (very rare for a newborn) and he was covered in a sheen of vernix. I remembered his brave mama when I was getting settled into my room. She had come in with mild contractions. Her doctor wasn't available to see her and he told her to stay the night just for precautionary measures. She was in no pain and just slightly uncomfortable. Just before midnight she went to the loo and, what only happens in the movies, she went straight into labour. She didn't have the strength to get to the emergency button. Her little baby was born right there on the bathroom floor. So much for paying the exorbitant private hospital fees. A midwife managed to hear her screaming and came in to cut the umbilical cord and get the baby off the floor. She had a good night's rest and went home the following morning. Sigh, if only that were my story.

That night there were many other deliveries and not all of them were successful. A well known exclusively natural delivery clinic had three of their patients rushed to the hospital in the middle of the night (they don't have the necessary medical interventions that mainstream hospitals have). Of the three, only one baby survived. I was sober that night, for more reasons than one. 

[peterandjane]

Long weekend

We arrived at the maternity unit and went for another NST (Non-Stress Test). This time I was given a snug beg, a TV to watch and a few kind words (the marked difference between the day and night staff of a hospital).  I felt nothing. It was strange because the machine clearly registered some movement and the nurse assured me their was a heartbeat. Still, I felt nothing. I dosed off a bit and was woken up by a nurse telling me that I was having contractions.

I must have heard her say "movement" instead of "contractions" because I look relieved and started to walk out the door. She stopped me and told me that, in her opinion, my contractions warranted a visit to the gyane. Yes, they were Braxton Hicks (tiny pre-contractions), but she said my "labour" was well on its way. This was now very interesting. As luck would have it my gynae was just about to leave for the day but told me to pop in for a chat.

I arrived at his rooms and I could see his was preoccupied. I couldn't believe I had to draw this unnecessary trip to the hospital out. I waited in his room and he told me that he needed to do an "internal". This means he wanted to see if my cervix was soft and whether I was dilated or not. I had read about this - however, no one mentioned had mentioned the unexpected pain and discomfort I would feel. Then again, if someone is rearranging your internal organs it is likely to hurt. The doctor said "hmm" and told me to meet him in his office.

"Well, I can tell your baby is already in the birth canal and is making her way out."

"Okay, what does that mean?"

"Well, you need to be admitted and given steroids. I'll check on you in the morning then we'll do a c-section on either Sunday or Monday. See you tomorrow."

"A c-section? You mean she'll be born this weekend? Admitted where? To the hospital? I think I need to chat to my husband quickly."

That is how my long weekend started. I walked into the waiting room with a look of shock and horror on my face. I couldn't believe that everything was happening much sooner than expected, more accurately, sooner than I had planned. 

[peterandjane]

[peterandjane]

No kicks

I woke up on Friday the 15th of February and was relieved that the pain I had experienced the night before had subsided. The usual aches and pains still made themselves known. I got up and had a cool shower: being heavily pregnant in summer meant I was constantly clammy. 

By mid-morning my Dad came to pick me up and take me to my parents' house. I had given up driving the week before because it was proving to be difficult to wedge myself in between the steering wheel and seat. While laying on the couch, I realised that I hadn't felt the baby move much since I woke up. I had had breakfast and a distasteful decaf. For weeks I had been counting her kicks diligently and wondered if I should be worried by her calm.

I have to make a detour here. The reason I didn't immediately rush off to the emergency room was because a week ago I had rushed off to the emergency room. I hadn't felt her kick in almost 48 hours and after gulping at least a gallon of Coke and eating a hearty meal - nothing had happened. I had a NST (Non-Stress Test) done and all was perfect. The disgruntled midwife kept insulting me and telling me I was paranoid. That didn't bother me, what bothered me was the insane heartburn I got from lying flat on my back for twenty minutes. If I had known the test was that long, I would probably still have gone. Sigh, the things we do. 

Anyway, by lunchtime I called my Mom at her work and told her I was a little worried. We debated what we should do and thought it best to just pop by the hospital instead of leaving it until late that night. I have a flare for the dramatic and decided it best to deal with a daytime nurse. Casually we made our way to the Linkwood Maternity Hospital.

[peterandjane]

Valentine's Day

Just short of 37 weeks I woke up to on my second Valentine's day as a married woman. Next to me was my husband and arched in front of me was my unborn baby. The night before was restless: filled with heartburn and visits to the loo. It had been decided that natural birth was out of the question - quite simply, my placenta was too low.

I yawned and rolled over. A rare moment of anti-porridge brain and energy had resulted in a Valentine's gesture that I'd almost forgotten about. I rushed to the dining room, assembled my cupcakes and a dramatic washi tape sign which was my gesture to the one I loved. That was that. While my dear husband went off to work, my day would be spent watching whatever mindless series had been occupying my current unemployed state.

After two afternoon naps I finally got up to shower before going out with my date. I wished our city apartment had a bath to ache my cetacean-esque body. Nonetheless, the cool of the water and rush of our high-powered water pressure were much welcomed. I got out and sat on my bed to brush my teeth. As I got up to get back to the bathroom an almighty pain volted through my abdomen. It was unbearable. I immediately sat down. A few seconds later I tried again, the pain continued. My toothpaste-filled mouth was now on fire and I made a grand attempt to get to the bathroom and 'spit'. 

As any first-time mum knows, you are always in a mild state of panic, and my knee-jerk reaction was to immediately called my own mum.  Her response was to rush to the emergency room. My sister-in-law called back a few minutes later and told me to take it easy. I lay down until David (my husband) arrived home. In that time the pain subsided and I thought I was home free. 

We made or way to Arts-on-Main for an outdoor screening of Paris Je T'aime. The setup was lovely but beanbags proved to be a problem for an almost-term pregnant lady. We lasted through the pre-screening of Jurassic Park and halfway through the main event. We sipped lemonade and ate pizza and really should have made more effort to savour the night before it all began.