Fast Forward 11 years...

I now realise that children are a mixed blessing.  I have two wonderful daughters who I love with all my heart and would not trade for anything - on a good day any way.  I am not certain how I would survive without Nigel Latta, my Guru on all things childrensicle. http://goldfishwisdom.org/parents.  My favourite quote being “Relax, we are all bad parents”

The truth is that so much has changed since those long ago days of nappies and nightmares that now I can only look back in fondness.  Aahh, the memories… 

In most respects now I feel much more in control, except when I don’t.  I have learned some essential rules of engagement and I can usually even put them into practice on a daily basis. Impressive don’t you think?

Rules:

Shouting does not work (unless the TV/Stereo is too loud) so save it for the days when you really need the release.  Kids don’t react to shouting they react to consequences.

When you are angry try to take your voice low (maintain eye contact) and speak really slow.  Stay Calm!

Never go to bed angry and always remember time passes differently for kids.  While we can stew in our fury for hours after a melt down or blow up, your little spawn has moved on within 2 minutes and cannot comprehend why you are still angry.  Especially if they have already muttered a half hearted apology.  Take a deep breath and move on, you will eventually anyway.

I am constantly reminding myself that they are just kids and my expectations are probably too high.  What parent actually has kids that keep their rooms tidy and do what is asked without hesitation or question?  If you are out there please make contact!!!

Back to my story, second time round...

So Haydn went off to his meeting (two and a half hours away) and I went to the hospital.  I went to the reception and asked, “Hi,” I said, “could you please direct me if I think that I am in labour?”  

The receptionist looked at me and with a twinkle of humor in her eyes replied, “That would be the labour ward Madam.”

“Oh no” I tried to explain that I was having a c-section on the 18^th but just needed to be reassured and my doctor was in surgery and so I had been told to go to the hospital and she would see me in between her other patients.  

The lady smiled a sympathetic smile probably thinks, “poor porridge brained woman...” but says, “Yes, madam, that would still be the labour ward” she smiled and pointed the way.  

Feeling stupid I walked on, this time a bit more prepared.  When I arrived at the labour ward I told the charge nurse that I was there to be checked by my doctor and had been told to come here. The ward staff were expecting me and a nurse showed me to a small room where I was fitted with a fetal monitor and told that someone would be in to check on me soon.   

It was so reassuring to hear that strong, loud and fast heart beating away in my belly.  By the time the midwife came in I was grinning from ear to ear, it felt like she was kicking against my spine and stretching, her heart was thumping along and I knew that we were both okay!

After looking at the monitor, print out and doing a quick internal, she said to me, “It looks like you are both getting too impatient to wait for the 18^th eh?  Dr will be in to see you soon.”  She smiled and left me wondering what the heck she meant.  (Can you see where this is going?  Maybe now you understand the porridge brain affliction).   

About 20 minutes passed and my doctor came in, she looked at the monitor, the report, etc and said to me, “Well you are in a hurry aren’t you?  I am just going to do a quick routine hysterectomy and then we will bring this baby out.”  Once again I was confused, “why do I need a hysterectomy?” I asked really confused.

She laughed, “Not you Tracy, another patient!  Then I will do your c-section, you are in labour silly.  You are already 6cm dilated and this baby is not gonna wait much longer.”

“I’m in labour?  But, I didn’t bring my bag, Haydn thought I was overreacting” I tried to explain.  (Yes, of course in hind sight it is a funny story).  

I finally managed to convince her that I was okay enough to make the 8km drive home, get me bag and be back within half an hour.  Once I got back to my car I rang Haydn, who thought I was joking but eventually agreed to turn around and come back to Joburg.  Next was my mom, who turned around on her way to work, she would stay with me until Haydn got back.  My gran was tasked with finding me a video camera – we had one for Megan and so we have to have one for Jenna!  

When I got back to the hospital I phoned Haydn, “the c-section is going ahead at 11, will you make it?”

“Trace, tell them they have to wait," there was a brief pause,"we are a bit lost!  We thought we could take a short cut and now we are not sure where we are, we are going to have to back track and find our way.” Haydn was a bit hysterical; I think he was feeling a bit stupid.  Eventually he convinced me to delay things as much as possible, I was not amused.

My mom was there, check.  The video camera was there, check.  I had been shaved and prepped, the only thing missing was Haydn.   They were just about to wheel me out of the ward when in walked the man of the moment.  He rushed to me and kissed my forehead apologizing for not taking me seriously.  This resulted in the nurses shouting at him and dragging him into a change room to get dressed for theatre.  The next time I saw him, I already had been "spine blocked" and the doctors were scrubbing up.  Because I was only 36 weeks along, there was a separate team just for my Jenna, in case she needed them.

When she was born with 10 precious fingers and toes, she needed to be incubated for a bit longer than normal but other than that she was fine, perfect even.  My second thought was that she looked so very different from Megan. 

It is amazing to me how different my two birth experiences were and how much more confident I was with Jenna.  I was also lucky to have a private room (the hospital was one of my clients) this time and so she was in my room the whole time.  By 5pm I was up and successfully breastfeeding, at 6pm I walked out to see Megan and show her, her new sister through the viewing window.  She was almost two and did not really know what was going on.  Just two days later we all went home, now a family of four.

I Digress...

Yet another classic example of Haydn not taking me seriously.   

It has happened so many times but still he has not learned.  When I had the kidney stone, (a pain I might add, that is likened to childbirth), he complained because I wanted to go to the hospital at 5am and Meg was still sleeping.  He asked me to wait until she woke up.  Eventually I managed to get it into his thick skull that this was killing me!!!  So we woke Meg and dropped her at my folks and went to the hospital.  

While the doctors were examining me, he called my mother, from the other side of the curtain and said, “I am sure she is just constipated, or something!”  Yes, you heard right "constipated"  because that would really make me feel like I am dying!  Not only did I have several Kidney Stones, but they were so big that they had to be surgically removed.

Sometimes I wonder how I have managed to put up with him for so long.  I must really, really love him.  The bible does say that “love is patient” after all, ha ha!

Second time round,

Back to the story...

Ok so to recap, back to 23^rd December 1999.   I had felt "a bit off" for a day or two and then it dawned on me that I was late, not late for work but L A T E!  I went to the pharmacy a bought a home pregnancy test, the old faithful that had confirmed Miss Meggie-moo.  Naturally, I was too anxious to wait for the morning, so when I got back to work I went straight to the loo.  After five minutes, there were two blue lines and an incredibly astounded me!

I calmly walked back to my desk and emailed Haydn.  If I recall correctly, I typed, “Just passed that test with two blue lines, eeeem hello?”  Within seconds, the phone rang.  “Yes.  No, I am not kidding.  I am going to ring the Dr now.  I love you too.  Bye”

The next morning I was at my Gynae’s rooms at 07h30, I was a high risk patient because of my previous miscarriage.  She did an internal scan and the news was not great, my world collapsed around me.  “No, please no.  Not again!”  I was about 3 weeks pregnant and the scan was not promising.  I was sent off for the bloods that do the qualitative hormone count.  By the time I got home, later that morning It was all over, I had started bleeding and I knew what that meant.  I curled myself up into a ball and gave work a complete miss, it was Christmas Eve and supposed to be my last day anyway.  

At around noon my doctor rang.  “The bloods look good, I think it may all be okay.”

“No, it’s not, I am bleeding, it’s all over” I replied.

“That could be from the internal scan, is the bleeding heavy?”  she asked.

“No, not heavy, but I haven’t got the courage to hope.” By now the tears were sliding down my face and my throat hurt like hell from the effort of holding in my sobs.

“The best thing for us to do is wait a day and then repeat the bloods again, if they are still climbing, then your baby is still growing and you are still pregnant” she sounded more confident than I felt.

I think that her confidence gave me some hope, I took a deep breath and we discussed a plan that included me getting medication to strengthen my cervix and Haydn and I still driving to Gonubie, East London.  On Boxing Day I would have a second blood test down there and we could take it from there.  Haydn and I discussed it and agreed that we were not going to tell everyone – especially if I was going to have a miscarriage for Christmas.  The dark days were back!

Christmas lunch was at mom and dad’s mountain house.  The day was difficult and after lunch we left for Gonubie.  This is an 11 hour drive from the Highveld down through the Free State into the Eastern Cape, it is a long journey.  We arrived at about 3am and went straight to bed, in the morning Nana looked after Meg so that we could catch up on some sleep.  Boxing Day was a public holiday, but it was also the day that I had to have the next blood test.   

The only blood lab open was at the hospital and so off we went.  After explaining to three people why I had to have the bloods done, a nurse came to me and explained that as it was a public holiday, they were only handling emergency cases and that I should rather come back tomorrow.  In true Tracy style, I lost the plot, “Do you mean to say that for me to find out if the bay inside me is alive or dead is not an emergency?” I enquired at the top of my lungs.  The nurse stammered and muttered, everyone in the waiting room shuffled uncomfortably.   

Before she could string a sentence together a Doctor rushed in and ushered us out of the waiting room and into a consulting room.  With a vague apology he told the nurse to do the bloods and tell the lab to put a rush on it.  With my adrenaline still pumping, bloods were drawn and we left with a promise from the Doctor that he would contact my Gynae with the result as soon as possible.  In the car I burst into tears, frustration and anxiety overcoming common sense. 

At about six that evening she called, “the blood levels still look good but unforturnately it is not conclusive because the test was conducted by a different lab and the counting methods differ, so to be absolutely certain, you will need to go back to the same lab again in 2 days.”  

Argh!  When will it end, I just wanted to know, one way or the other, was I or wasn’t I?  The stress was unreal!  Another two day wait, another blood test.  It all just seemed so cruel!   

The next blood test was quick and easy, the lab must have been forewarned as they were very professional and efficient.  On the 28^th of December it was confirmed that the foetus was still growing and therefore the pregnancy was still viable.  But, to add to our worries the sonar scan measurements insisted that I had been 1 day pregnant when I had undergone, general anaesthetic to have kidney stones surgically removed.  This meant that our baby had been exposed to radiation from x-rays, etc, just 1 day into her creation.  

Once again, my doctor assured me that the amounts of radiation were not enough to be of major concern and that our baby was going to be fine.  But there was still that lingering worry that this little girl (we saw in the scan that she was a girl) who was still holding on to life, was not going to be normal.  At 36 weeks I went on maternity leave, it was Friday.   On the Sunday we took Megan to Emmerentia Dam for a day out, on her scooter.  It was hot, I felt so uncomfortable and tired it felt like I had walked a marathon.  The rest of the weekend went by in real discomfort.

On Monday morning I was dressed by 6:30am, Haydn teased me that I was on maternity leave, had my little porridge brain forgot?  “No,” I replied, “something is not right, I am going to the doctor”.  He laughed again and said, “well she is only coming out on the 18^th so you may want to take some time to rest and stop worrying.  I am going to Vereeniging for a meeting today.  Call me if you need me.” 

Nurse

I employed "Nurse" when Megan was about 9 months old and had been on antibiotics on and off for over 5 months.  Our paediatrician told me that the only way for my baby to actually get well again would be to take her out of day care, permanently.

That all sounds very simple, but we were a two income family and there was no way we could afford to go down to one.  We were 25 and 27 with a mortgage and a baby, there was no disposable income!  In South Africa you get your 4 months maternity leave and you get your ass back to work.  

There is no such thing as “working for families” or “work, life, balance”.  I remember how I cried that first day, it felt like my right arm had been ripped off of me and I had to just be brave and “drive away”.  That was the hardest thing in the world.  (Trusting a virtual stranger with your most precious possession, getting into your car and driving away).  The first day I lasted a whole 3 hours and went back.  The next day I started work for real and handed her over from 7am to 5:30pm.  

To say “that day sucked” would be a very kind embellishment of the truth.   The greater insult was that we had to pay R600 a month for the privilege.  It seemed an impossible idea but thankfully God had already worked it out for us.  The Little Stars Day-care Centre had to downscale, they were going to let go of 4 staff.  Nurse, who worked at the centre, was one of the staff that they were planning to make redundant.  

She was Megan’s favorite and it all worked out, we offered Nurse the job and she happily accepted, her hours were cut and she only had to take care of 1 child for the same wage.  We were all really happy and most importantly, Megan got healthier.  It was much easier to leave her at home and time moved on.

Stupid Cupid

Apparently having a baby makes you stupid.  Perhaps you have heard the term “porridge brain”?  This refers to the mushy uselessness of your brain while pregnant and for the years to follow.  My theory is that this condition lasts at least two years, from pregnancy to the time your baby is walking and saying a few words.  The “toddler” is a very cute and deceptive name for that time when your baby evolves to a walking bundle of cuteness! 

It is at this time that I was at my most vulnerable.  “Oh she is so cute, we could have another!”   What were we thinking?  Before we knew it we had 2 children under three.  This spells “hard work” for young stupid parents!!!  There was an upside to this bad idea, her name is Jenna.

It was the 23^rd December 1999, Megan was a year and three months old.  I was working at a recruitment company and Haydn was with a Medical Aid Firm.  We had a stay at home nanny called (I kid you not) Nurse. 

Firstborn

As Meg was gently removed from my plundered womb, I heard the nurse say, “oh look, the cord is wrapped around her neck” (providence then that I had to have the c-section).  With that safely unwrapped, she was whisked away by the pediatrician for a quick check.  As soon as all was deemed okay they laid her on my chest.  My first little blood-link, flesh of my flesh, the emotions were overwhelming!  (Side note: I am adopted and so this was the very first face I had ever looked upon that shared my DNA).  There is really no way to do adequate justice to how I felt looking upon one of my greatest masterpieces!

Haydn went off with Meg to have her measurements and things and I remained behind having all my internal bits put back into the right places and then I was stitched up and wheeled back to my room.

In time, Haydn and our precious cargo were brought back to me.  There she lay in her trolley cot, all wrapped up and tiny.  We were so in awe that we just watched her for ever so long.  We were green and uncertain, wanting to touch but afraid that we would break her.  

In swooped a photographer, “Hello, would you like a photo of your new baby?” she asked in a much too loud and chirpy voice.  Of course, we agreed.  Then were stunned to see the said photographer, with no medical skills at all, promptly unwrap our priceless newborn and give her a little nudge waking her and then shooting off a flash into her astounded little eyes! “Okay, I’ll send that off to you as soon as I receive payment.  Bye now, and congratulations!”

Wow!  If that woman could touch our baby, surely we could?  We looked at each other and Haydn (with my permission) gently picked her up.  We both had little cuddles and then let her sleep some more.  Sweetness, tiny precious little sweetness...

I must have slept for a while during which the spinal block wore off, the pain explodes into an unfathomable range.  What the hell?  The nurses inform me that my Doctor has left for overseas, an emergency, I shall be attended by a locum.  I have previously stated I do not want to invite a lawsuit and so she shall not be named.

This woman walks in (I kidd you not) a black mini skirt and fishnets, long red finger nails and an attitude of “how dare you disturb me”.  My blood pressure was too low and so that meant that she would not give me any pain medication, she half sat me up and told me that figuring out the whole breastfeeding thing might distract me.  Let me say that sitting after a c-section, with no painkillers since the spinal block (where they cut open your belly, then tear through your stomach muscles and remove a baby from your womb) is worse than back surgery!  With tears rolling down my face I try to latch on my baby.  Either my breasts or my baby were broken – it did not work!  Grunting, she who must not be named, pulls at my nipple and then squeezes it in such a fashion that I thought she was trying to pierce it with her thumb (indignity – yes sir).

“Oh, well.  If your milk does not come in by tonight you can have Eglonyl” then, to the nurse, “No pain meds until her BP is back up to #$%^@! (whatever) and ring me if there is no change by 5pm” with that she walks out, not even a goodbye.  

The nurse came in and helped me to lie down again.  Sympathetically she suggested that since Meg was hungry, perhaps Haydn could give her a formula feed instead.  I was in pain and desperate to do something right and so I conceded and Haydn gave her a bottle.  No-one explained to me that once a baby has fed from a bottle that they may not take to the breast because they have to work much harder to get the same nourishment.

My BP improved and after about 8 hours I was given pain killers and things got better all around.  I learned how to bath, clean and feed my baby.  After 4 days in hospital we were released back into the wild.  Nappies and formula became my constant companions; my new fragrance was O’de puke fume!

Expressing milk...  Isn’t that a lovely turn of phrase?  Mmm, not so much when you have to milk yourself with a suction cup and a handheld pump!  I tried so many things but she was not at all interested in feeding from me.  It was important to me that she had my milk so that she would have the antibodies that I had lacked as a baby.  So I took the next logical step.  The Eglonyl kicked in but there was no chance that my little princess was going to suck on those things.  I wanted to do the right thing by my child and so I pumped and pumped and pumped some more.  I now have empathy for the humble cow.  I marveled at the manner in which a hot shower caused a deluge of white sticky stuff to shoot from my chest.  I am sure that I could achieve a distance of a meter and a half!  Ridiculous!  I had to keep a towel at the ready to protect my carpets for at least 40 seconds after my departure from a lovely hot shower.  From hot cloths to cold cabbage leaves (Google it if you want more details) my chest developed a life of its own.  After six weeks, I reverted to formula.

Birth, babies and the bizarre...

My first successful pregnancy was incredible, nothing could get me down, I was so happy!  I had morning sickness for almost half the time and not just in the mornings either.  It seemed like when I was not vomiting, I was sleeping.  From being a habitual insomniac, I needed to take naps during the day and usually still fell asleep around nine!  My emotions were all over the place and poor Haydn bore the brunt of that.  

I clearly remember all the excitement of my sonar scans, not even minding that I had to pee in a cup and jump on the scale at every visit!  Watching that little life grow inside of me was amazing and wonderful.  However, as always nothing is ever easy with me.  I developed “PUPPP” this usually begins in the third trimester and is more common among women carrying twins and those having their first baby. The eruptions usually show up first on the abdomen around or in stretch marks (if you have any) and may spread to your thighs, buttocks, and arms. PUPPP is harmless for you and your baby, but it can itch like crazy!  What they don’t say in the articles is that you scratch so hard that you make stretch marks look like red bumpy flames.  After your baby is born it all goes away, except the stretch marks – they are there to stay.  

(http://www.babycenter.com/0_itchy-skin-during-pregnancy_9450.bc)

Naturally being a young mother (25), I was very unhappy with how my body looked and once expressed my dismay to my dear husband.  (If any men are reading – you may want to take special note of this - for serious brownie points!)  He said the most wonderful thing and from that moment on, I wore my stretch marks like badges of honour.  He said, “Don’t ever look at those” referring to my unsightly stretch marks, “without looking at her” referring to my baby.  Ok, back to the birth...

My back surgery enabled me to “plan” my deliveries more than most people, I had to have a c-section and so had some say on the date.  On the 21^st of September we got up early and prepared to go to the hospital.  I was so excited!  It was incredible to discover that I was actually in labour when they put the foetal monitor on my belly, she was as ready as we were!