I've had a couple of countdowns during my time writing this blog. None of them were quite like counting down the days I spent in hospital to end my pregnancy. I had this weird sense of de ja vu then, like I'd already written about this to you and just forgotten. I suppose the past week or so has been a bit of a blur. A blur that has resulted in me no longer being pregnant, now bleeding, aching, full of teeny holes from too many needles... and really sad.
On the Thursday (25th October) I had to go to the hospital for roughly an hour to sign the paperwork to end my pregnancy and take a tablet. The tablet would put an end to the hormonal changes that result from pregnancy, and begin to prepare my body for what was to come. In 48 hours (Saturday) I would return to the hospital and begin (properly) to end my pregnancy. I was told that because I am a first time mum that it might take more than 24 hours to actually induce the labour, so it would probably be Sunday when I had her. So I basically prepared myself for my baby's life being over by Sunday.
On Saturday I went into hospital at 9am like I was told. Michael came with me, carrying our big bag of stuff. It wasn't put together with the same love and hope that goes with packing your hospital bag but it had pretty much the same sort of stuff. Just without the things that my baby would need... but I did take a blanket and a teddy bear for her. I was given 4 tablets internally (vaginally) and then every three hours after that I was given the same tablets orally. They were meant to soften my cervix to make way for my baby to arrive.
By Midnight-ish I did actually think she might arrive. Gooey mucus/blood stuff came out of me and they said this was "a show", and that hopefully my waters would break soon.
Only she didn't arrive that day. On Sunday I was given the same tablet that I had on Thursday. They couldn't give me the same medication again because trying to make my uterus contract for so long could damage my body. So it was basically a quiet day of more waiting. Michael was a bit agitated by the night time because he was obviously frustrated that nothing had happened yet. I knew how he was feeling but I was pleased in a way that my body was refusing to give her up so easily.
By this time I'd had codeine and paracetamol tablets and a pethedine injection. The pethedine made me really sick, which was horrible because I had also been struggling to eat so I was basically just throwing up lots of chemically-tasting stomach acid.
I did manage to sleep quite well in hospital though. And on Monday they gave me the internal tablets again followed by the oral medication. My contractions weren't as strong as they were on Saturday evening though and I began to question what would happen if she still didn't arrive. I was told they may consider "manually removing her". I wasn't entirely sure what they meant by this, but I assumed they meant a C-section (which was true). We were told that it still might happen today but we could tell they were having a few doubts by this point.
Tuesday was probably the worst day of the whole experience, but the more I try and remember the full sequence of events the more it all blurs into one. Basically they inserted a balloon catheter into me. The idea is that they inflate thse small balloons inside you to ease open your cervix (fun!). I had this tube dangling between my legs from 11am and they told me that at 11pm they would remove it. They decided at 11pm though that they weren't going to do that, and that they were going to leave it in overnight and break my waters in the morning.
At this point I was bleeding most of the time, kind of like a light period. Plus I had the added discomfort of the tubes between my legs. I was told that if my cervix opened enough and labour started that the balloons would drop out on their own, so I kept paying too much attention to them, wondering if every time they hit against my legs whether they had eased out a little bit. I think I slept OK though that night.
Wednesday morning, I was wheeled into the room that they'd taken me to to put in the balloon catheter. A male doctor did the balloon catheter stuff so that was a first for me as well. I've never had a male doctor near my vagina. It wasn't as bad as I thought it might be, though I just wanted them to hurry up and get her out by this point to be honest. He smiled when he was taking out the balloon catheter at something that was unusual. I think he was able to just watch it deflate rather than having to do anything to it, but I didn't bother asking.
Once it was out I was relieved because it had been the most uncomfortable part of the whole process. Then they broke my waters. Although it was a weird sensation it was absolute relief to feel that warm fluid escape from me. To know that she was going to be here that day was just like letting out a big sigh of relief that I'd been holding in since Thursday. At some point earlier (less than 48 hours earlier) I'd already had a canulla put into my hand to give me fluids as I was really dehydrated from being so sick, so they were able to just connect me up to the stuff that would make my womb contract.
I didn't really get the urge to push. I just felt so fed up by around 2pm that I thought I'd push a little and see if anything moved. She popped halfway out of me, bottom first and I had to call the midwife. I'd lost a large clot a little while before so I wasn't sure at this point whether it was just another large clot or not. Fortunately it was definitely her this time. After another push she was out, and then fortunately after a few more after that my placenta came away on its own as well with the small help from the injection that they would normally give women to help them deliver the placenta. I didn't need a D&C like they thought I might, as they had warnde me that with first time mums in my position the placenta doesn't always naturally come away.
Poppy was born at 2.25pm on 31st October 2012. She weighed 410g, less than 1lb.
She was perfect. She didn't look unwell. She looked fast asleep. She didn't have a moment of life beyond my body, but I'm OK with that. She looked so peaceful. I've taken a number of photographs of her with us and in a moses basket. I love to look at them before I go to sleep at night. I'm going to get them printed out so I can frame some of them, and put them all into an album as well.
They gave her a little pink knitted hat to wear which I was able to keep, and they wrapped her in the blanket that I had taken for her. They look little cast impressions of her hand and footprints which will be made into a hanging plate with her name and date of birth on it. They took ink prints of them too and put them in a little remembrance book. They took their own pictures of her as well but I don't like them very much as the light quality and poses weren't right. She did actually look dead in them instead of asleep.
We stayed overnight with her and in the morning I asked for a priest to come and bless her before we said our goodbyes. It hurts more than anything out of the whole experience, but I found out after the priest had gone that he wasn't the Catholic priest I had asked for. Which I should've expected really but I didn't really think very logically. I thought that a Catholic priest might reject me for my decision, but I did not expect them to reject my innocent baby. Needless to say I won't be entering a Catholic church again to worship or recognising as a Catholic any more. I can't belong to a group that believes my choice to prevent my child suffering was wrong. I didn't end her life because I didn't love or want her, but because I was told she would die anyway. "Incompatible with life" they said. I will never ask for forgiveness for my actions, because they were chosen out of love and compassion.
I've spent my 1 hour of free internet time at the library typing this out instead of getting resources together for my uni work. Not particularly clever of me but never mind. It is £1.50 for half an hour after this free hour. I don't think that is particularly reasonable. I might write to the council and ask them to review their policies.
Anyway, I'm home now. I'm trying to get a firm hold of my life and find the positivity in this situation. People keep saying things like "you'll be a mum soon" and "you'll have another baby".
I am a mum now. It just happens to be that my baby didn't survive. I hope I will have another baby, which I will try for once my body has healed and I am ready, but it won't be a replacement for Poppy. He or she will just be her little brother or sister. That's all OK. My daughter is perfect and she always will be. Of course I'll ache for her, but that's just natural. But this is right in its own way because of these circumstances.
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