‘The clock is ticking, don’t leave it too long’ and ‘one day you’ll change your mind’ is what people would say when I told them that I did not want children. It was only a few years ago that I was adamant I never wanted to have any.
That was until I met Trevor, a Cornishman, who quickly become my soul mate. When we first got together, we was completely inseparable. We would spend as much time together as possible and chat endlessly on the phone when we was apart. It was clear very early on that whilst being from completely different backgrounds, we was in fact a perfect match.
Only five months into our relationship, we decided that we wanted to live together and soon after I relocated from east London to Newbury. We had also discussed the possibility of a future with children.
In May of 2014, we travelled to Paris for our 1st anniversary where Trevor got down on one knee and asked me to be his wife, much to my complete surprise. We had discussed marriage before but his proposal came completely out of the blue. Without any hesitation, I said yes although before checking that he had sought my dad’s permission. Of course he had, Trevor is perfect.
On returning home, the excited bride-to-be that I was, I began to collate ideas for my, I mean our, perfect wedding. Until… my period was late. No way, I could not be, right? Further days past and still nothing. I told Trevor and he just smiled. We decided it best that I took a pregnancy test without delay and boom, two lines appeared immediately. I just broke out into a grin and my whole body immediately shook with excitement. We both just cuddled, didn’t say a thing for what seemed forever. We felt no anxiousness or doubt, it was meant to be.
I was very lucky and did not experience any nasty pregnancy symptoms. The weeks flew by and all the tests came back fine. The scans, the kicks and the hiccups just filled us with love and we could not wait to hold our little ‘person’, to become parents. Even if that meant growing up. We chose not to find out the baby’s gender. Why spoil the surprise? We decided to call my bump Lily, as Trevor had been calling me Pickle recently.
At week 30, the day after bringing home the buggy (you know how the old wives’ tale goes), I noticed blood in the bath when showering. It took me a few seconds to realise just what was happening but only a millisecond to go from calm to crazy. I literally screamed the house down, ‘get that buggy out of my house!’. I was alone in the house at the time and everything happened in slow motion. Trevor cycled home in record time and it wasn’t until we was in the ambulance flying down the M4 that I felt the baby kick. I just sobbed and at that very moment, I realised just how much I wanted and needed my baby. Nothing else mattered but my family.
The rest of my pregnancy dragged and I was anxious the whole time. Soon enough, at week 39, my last day at work had arrived, a whole year off I thought, I couldn’t wait, the past few months had been tough going. For the next week I hoped that I would go into labour straight away, I killed time by scrubbing the floors, cleaning out all the kitchen cupboards and cleaning the windows but nothing worked. Not even the suggested pineapple, curry or nookie.
On Jan 28th, now eight days late, I had given up and finally decided that the baby would come when it wanted to. Why rush a good thing? I was sat minding my own business on the birthing ball, rolling my hips when I felt a tingle in my tum. I thought nothing of it as I had been having Braxton Hicks quite bad. About twenty minutes later, I was making myself a cuppa when it happened again. The penny dropped and it looked like I was also about to.
I called Trevor to come home from work and by the time he got home (just twenty minutes), I was on all fours with tears streaming down my face. Wow, labour really did hurt. A little later, I got into a warm bath to soothe the pain which seemed to be working nicely, although it did still hurt. We called the hospital and they told us to make our way in. An hour later, we arrived at the hospital and I had now been in labour for five hours. I must be ready to push I hoped, this pain was too much. They checked me over and I was only 4cms dilated. I could not believe it.
All through my pregnancy I had said that I only wanted gas and air, at this point I would have let them cut my arm off without a fight if it would have helped. A couple of hours later, they checked me over again and I was only 6cms dilated. I got into another warm bath and was sucking on that gas and air like you would not believe. The pain was unbearable at this stage and the midwife suggested Diamorphine, damn right I was taking that option. They took me out of the bath, administered the drugs and I fell asleep on the bed. Phew!
An hour past and the pain intensified, it turned out my pain threshold was poor. Suddenly, my waters broke and I had made a mess all over the place. Unfortunately, the baby had pooped and there was meconium in my waters. I was moved immediately to the delivery suite, wahoo – time for action, I thought. Now 9cms dilated, the end was in sight but another hour passed whilst I walked around trying to let gravity take its course but things seemed to be slowing down. I felt like I was being ripped open from the inside and I could have killed someone at this point. Poor Trevor’s hands were black and blue by now and his back broken, he had been amazing. I was given more Diamorphine to help with the pain and a little after the midwife said I would need inducing to bring me on to 10cms as things were progressing too slowly. Do it, just get this baby out.
At 10cms, the midwife removed my gas and air, I was going to die, surely? It was finally time to push and boy did I push for a whole hour. With every push I prayed that it would be my last. With that, the midwife left the room and a surgeon came in to check me over and suggested an immediate forceps delivery. Suddenly, there was no fewer than ten others in the room prepping me for surgery and Trevor went missing. I screamed for him and he appeared in his scrubs looking like Clooney but this wasn’t the time to swoon. I was given a consent form to sign and couldn’t begin to tell you what was written on it but I signed it anyhow. I looked at Trevor, and without a second thought made him promise that he would see to the baby’s health before mine.
We was rushed down to theatre and I was given seven injections in my back to paralyse me from the shoulders down. At last, nineteen and a half hours later I felt no pain. I was told that I had three rounds of pushes only and then I would need a C-section. Six minutes later and on the third push, our gorgeous baby boy, Jack aka Captain Jack, was born at 7:12am weighing 9lb1oz. I had never felt a love like it, it was a different kind of love, the love of a captain.
It turns out that giving birth is really quite tough but I would re-live every ounce of pain again if I had to. Well actually, I want to because next time I am going to get it right, I hope.
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