Teeny Tiny Guy’s Birth Story

My c-section was scheduled for Friday 1^st August 2008 as the baby had been breech in my UU since about 20 weeks. I was 39 weeks on that day, and in the preceding days felt sure that I was going to go into labour at any moment. I was amazed to have made it so far, having dodged the very real threats of incompetent cervix, preterm labour and IUGR.

My mother-in-law stayed at our house on Thursday night so she’d be there to watch TBB in the morning. I went to bed but woke at 1am with a terrible cough that prevented me sleeping so I gave up and got up. I watched crappy television until it was time to start getting ready. I’d already packed my bags so there wasn’t much to do but shower, dress, and kiss TBB goodbye.

We stopped at McDonald’s to get breakfast and coffee for DP, and I put Emla cream on in the car park.

We were to arrive at the hospital, now a very familiar place after weeks of appointments and extra ultrasounds, at 7:30am. I was second on the list, aiming for a 9am c-section. We checked into Women’s Assessment, where my friend K was waiting to offer support, then we were called back to a small room. My friend G then arrived armed with a cooler pack of frozen breastmilk just in case.

I changed into a gown with absolutely nothing underneath and a robe over the top. My midwife took blood and checked my blood pressure and pulse, and a tech came and did a quick ultrasound to check that he was still breech. The anaesthetist came to say hello and to tell me where on my back to put my Emla cream.

It was then time to wait. And chat. And for me to cry intermittently.

After what seemed like an eternity DP and I were led away to what I want to call a holding cell. I kept crying and repeating “I don’t want to do this” and “I’m scared”.

The two lovely doctors who were going to deliver my baby came to say hello and introduce themselves. I was extremely fortunate to get the much sought after Big Guy, and I’d heard a lot about him but had never met him.

A nurse put an IV in my hand and started a drip and stuck heart monitoring stickers on me, then DP got changed into scrubs and there was more waiting, crying and “I don’t want to”ing.

After what seemed like both an eternity and no time at all, we were led to the operating theatre. Apparently they usually take women there in a wheelchair, but I had requested earlier to walk. Much much much more crying and “I don’t want to do this” from me.

In the theatre I tried my best not to look at anything. I sat on the table with my feet on a stool and my back exposed. I was shaking and crying and feeling sick. My back was washed and the local anaesthetic done, which I didn’t feel due to the Emla.

It was then time for the spinal and I was terrified. I tried to control my crying, and got it down to silent tears and “I don’t like this” and tried to hold as still as possible. It didn’t really hurt but it was the most revolting feeling I’ve ever experienced. A bit like seriously intense, beyond belief, pressure on the left side of my back. It seemed to go on forever, then I started feeling some pins and needles type sensations.

They had me lie down and put a drape up across my chest. They then announced that they were going to put a catheter in. I got really scared. I didn’t think I was at all numb and did NOT want to feel that happening. It felt as though they were moving my legs around but that was all.

I think it was at that point that I started to tell anyone who would listen that I wanted the baby to go straight to DP as I was shaking and feeling sick and knew I wasn’t going to be able to hold him safely.

The anaesthetist asked if I wanted some Fentanyl and I readily agreed. He also ended up giving me four different anti-nausea drugs. I still felt sick and was shaking but the drugs helped. Somebody put ice on various areas of my stomach. I was scared because I was sure I could still feel it every time.

Nobody told me when they were going to start which for me was a good idea as I probably would have freaked out. It felt as though someone had placed a hand on either side of my stomach and was jiggling it. It seemed to last a while and then all of a sudden there was a baby being held up in the air. He didn’t cry at all, just quietly and calmly looked around. DP started worrying because he wasn’t crying, but I told her he was fine, I just knew that he was. It was an awesome moment. We found out later that he was born at 10:03am (DP’s birthday is 10^th March).

He did end up needing some breathing help, so DP went over to the table with him while they suctioned him and made sure he was ok. Moments later she was back next to my head with him (and his placenta, attached, wrapped in cloths). I gave him a kiss but I don’t think it occurred to me that I could have touched him with my hands.

One of the lovely nursing staff took some photos. DP suggested that he was indeed C@llum Ri1ey, a name we’d liked for years, and I agreed. It reminded me so much of the moment we named our first son only with the roles reversed.

Putting me back together seemed to take forever. I kept asking if they were nearly done. Eventually they were and at some point I was somehow moved from the operating table to a bed and taken to recovery. DP walked alongside me with both of us holding the baby. DP held him while the recovery nurses checked me out then he was placed naked on my bare chest so we could try breastfeeding. I remember saying “I can’t believe people CHOOSE this!” and “I don’t like this” over and over, and I had the shakes. I had a look at his tongue tie, which the paediatrician had noticed in the theatre.

The recovery nurses periodically asked me to move my legs and at first I couldn’t. I was trying, willing them to move but they just wouldn’t. Eventually they did and I was able to be wheeled, holding the baby, up to the postnatal ward. I was annoyed to find I was in a shared room but it turned out to be temporary while they waited for a single room to be ready.

TBB and my mother in law came in to meet the baby and my friends did too at some point. I started drinking water and took some probiotic powder to counteract any ill effects of the antibiotics I was given during surgery. We gave some baby probiotic powder to TTG in an attempt to normalise his gut since he wasn’t exposed to the bacteria he would have ingested if he’d been born vaginally. I had something to eat, I remember jelly and a cheese sandwich.

DP was freaked out by the idea of not doing the vitamin K injection and I relented, which I now regret. It was given while TTG was breastfeeding in order to comfort him.

The lovely paediatrician came to see how we were doing. I asked for TTG to be weighed as I was curious and he fetched some scales, despite a horrible midwife (“we’re not nurses we’re midwives”) claiming it was impossible. 3.7kg and 51cm long with a 39cm head!

DP took TBB home. We’d decided she would sleep at home with him as he was quite upset about being away from me. K washed TTG’s placenta and transferred it to the colander and bowl I’d brought along. Salt and lavender oil was applied.

I was finally moved to my proper room. The midwives wanted to change my gown, bedding and the padding beneath me. They made me roll and move and it wasn’t fun! I told them not to bother with another gown as I didn’t see the point. I started taking paracetamol and codeine and a dose of Voltaren.

I spent the entire night with TTG on my chest; staring at him, breastfeeding and sleeping a little. K stayed to observe us and ensure our safety since I had drugs in my system. I was surprisingly awake considering I’d been up since 1am. And I was hungry! K found little packets of crackers in the patient kitchen, and so began my late night cracker fetish.

I still had the horrible cough, and it was not fun coughing so much right after abdominal surgery. I realised that I hadn’t had a “quilt photo” taken of TTG, but it was ok as he was still less than 24 hours old. More salt and lavender was applied to his placenta, which was drying out very quickly, and it was transferred to the bag I’d made. His cord, which was short to begin with, was shrinking rapidly and becoming unmanageable. It was almost all dried and brittle, and I began thinking about cutting it (not what I’d originally planned).

At 5am it was time for my catheter to be removed, my drip disconnected and to get up. I was scared about the catheter as I remember the look on DP’s face when hers was removed. It wasn’t as bad as I expected but it felt revolting.

Everyone says that the first time you get up is truly awful and they are not wrong. My friend K helped me get up and get to the shower. Just moving my legs seemed impossible, but eventually I shuffled to the edge of the bed in a sitting position. I really didn’t think I was going to be able to get up! With lots of support I stood up as best I could, and shuffled to the shower chair. It felt as though all my organs were going to fall out my vagina. That shower was the best thing I think I’ve ever felt. Mind you, the bathroom looked like a murder scene afterwards.

Back to bed, with my almost naked baby I went, and waited for breakfast to come. I was on “light diet” for the first couple of days, but the food was still pretty good. DP and TBB came to visit later in the morning.

Some time in the afternoon I decided to have DP cut the cord. I was really glad to have been able to provide TTG with the gentleness of at least the first part of a lotus birth. I felt he was close to separating from his placenta, and he understood that the length of the cord was making things a bit tricky. DP took the placenta home and it’s in our freezer awaiting burial on his first birthday.

I had been told that an assessment of his tongue tie would need to be carried out by two lactation consultants, and a score given before it could be released by a paediatrician. The LCs were not in until Monday, so it was done then and the score indicated releasing was necessary. However, the paediatrician wanted to leave it and wait.

We opted to do the newborn screening tests. It seems the midwives expect to just come and take the babies to the nursery, do the test then bring them back. Not my baby! I took him to the nursery and insisted the blood be taken from his heel while he was in an upright position (so gravity could aid the blood flow) and while he was breastfeeding so as to make it less traumatic for him.

By this time I had a crack in my right nipple and knew the tongue tie was causing issues. The poor little guy couldn’t stick his tongue out at all. Concern was also raised about his hips.

When I woke up on Tuesday morning my milk had come in. Oh my goodness, I’ve never experienced anything like it. Breasts like rocks, unable to fit in my enormous bra. And I was ready to go home. TTG had a jaundice test done as he was looking a bit yellow, and the paediatrician said the results came back at levels that usually called for treatment. I informed him that I was not concerned, especially since my milk had come in, and he agreed to just re-test the following day. I’d also had to say goodbye to my favourite nightshift midwife, and we both cried. She was wonderful. Her first shift with me she came and introduced herself, and said she’d leave me alone but to just ask if I needed anything. She was a great help with breastfeeding during the nights.

It took ages for the doctor to come to do my discharge paperwork and when she did she dropped a bomb. “I don’t like the sound of that cough and your chest is rattling so I want to do a chest xray in case you have pneumonia.” I understand she was being cautious but I felt fine other than the cough, and my temperature was fine as well. It was the same virus that TBB had just had, brought home from kindy. She started me on antibiotics, which I chose not to take as I knew I didn’t have anything wrong with me other than the cough and I did not want to run the risk of thrush, especially since breastfeeding was already challenging with TTG’s tongue tie (eventually released at 10 days old).

DP had come in the afternoon hoping to take us home but I was waiting to go to radiology. She went home and came back later in the evening, but I was still waiting. Finally they were ready for me. I expressed some breastmilk so it could be fed to TTG via syringe if he got hungry while I was gone. My friend M was also there and I knew she was also an option to feed TTG, as she was breastfeeding her son who is two months older.

Lo and behold, no pneumonia, but I had to wait for the official report to be read by the doctor. We gave up waiting and DP went home to TBB while I resigned myself to another night in hospital. Later that night DP rang with a distraught TBB in the background. He had an earache and wanted nothing but me. I was sobbing my heart out because I couldn’t be there for him. The baby blues exacerbated my reaction, which would have been pretty strong anyway. My friend M brought over some paracetamol (ours was out of date, we use it so rarely) and TBB calmed down when he saw her and took some medicine.

On Wednesday morning I began my campaign to get out of there. I harassed anyone and everyone. DP came after dropping TBB at kindy, and we gave TTG his first bath and dressed him for the first time. The outfit we’d bought was a little too small, he was one long and skinny guy!

It was almost 3pm by the time I was discharged, so we drove straight to kindy to pick up TBB. He was so excited to see me, and wanted to show everyone his baby. It was adorable and I cried.

It’s surreal to think that I was ever pregnant after waiting so long, and that the little frozen embryo became this sweet little boy.