Chapter 3....Ouch

Having Braxton Hicks contractions since being 5 months pregnant, I had got used to my stomach going slowly hard until it felt like steel.

The first time it happened I almost took myself to the hospital as I was convinced it was the real thing.

By the end of the third trimester I looked forward to experiencing one, even though it took my breath away as it solidified into a solid ball...then gently subsidised - a little like the blood pressure machine where it pumps up until it fits snugly, then that release rush when the blood starts pumping around again.

 It felt good that my uterus was practicing the technique...together we could breeze through this.

 The night of the 'nesting' I went to bed feeling on top of the world. I had washed a dawer full of baby clothes, now all fresh smelling and folded up in the newly painted chest of drawers.

When I got up to go to the toilet in the early hours I noticed a small 'plug'. I called the maternity hotline...pre-Google days..

 She told me I had had a show and could expect my waters to break anytime. I asked if I should panic, but she reassured me that I should be fine travelling to the hospital. I panicked anyway.

We lived half an hour away, so I figured I should get Pete to get up and get dressed. He jumped out of bed, threw some clothes on and disappeared downstairs.

I got dressed, thought about putting my contact lenses in but somehow felt glasses may be a better option. My gas permeable lenses had a habit of making my eyes water or me losing one.

I threw everything out of the bedside cabinet in a panic until I umearthed my seldom worn specs. I had forgotten they were broken and held together with celotape.

A sharp pain feeling like a dagger being dragged slowly across the bottom of my bump took me by surprise. Big ouch. It only lasted a minute but felt like a lifetime.

I brushed my teeth, put on my shoes, as best I could as I couldn't bend to tie the laces and brushed my hair. Looking in the mirror with excited anticipation I made a mental note to get some new glasses.

I called out to my noticeably absent better half. He was busy making his packed lunch. This was part of the advised plan from our antenatal classes. Possibly the only piece of information he took note of, that and him taking a good book.

The  'dagger' returned for another slow breath stopping moment...huge ouch.

I did start to panic a little, and when I opened the front door at 4am I could feel the thick fog in the back of my throat. A third intense pain stopped me in my tracks as I was unable to stand, let alone walk. I had never felt pain like it and assumed it must be at the end of labour already as surely it couldn't get any worse.

Pete tried to coerce me into the car. I felt like a solid mass unable to step forward let alone bend. The contraction subsided and I quickly jumped in the front seat and put my seatbelt on.

"Pete I'm going to be sick"...

He managed to find a carrier bag in the side pocket in the car...and passed it to me just in time.

The contractions continued on our slow journey through country lanes darkened even more by the dense cold fog.

They were 5 minutes apart, and excruciating ...I prayed we wouldn't break down.

Arriving at the hospital we pressed the bell for maternity and the door clicked for us to open it.
We got into the lift, Pete carrying my enormous hold-all packed to the brim and his sandwiches.

I was carrying a bag of sick, wearing glasses wrapped in celotape, precariously balanced on my nose.

The lift doors opened, I gave the welcoming nurse my bag of sick.

This I was certain was never mentioned in practical parenting. In my mind I imagined us walking in, smiling, holding hands with the odd kiss of assurance from my husband.

We were shown into a private room, I wasn't allowed on a ward due to the sickness as it could have been a bug. As I changed into my new T-shirt style nightie bought especially for the occasion I had that heart stopping moment. This was a week before 'D' day...I had pencilled in shaving my legs the following week. I looked down at my very hairy legs...and tried to reassure myself that surely lots of pregnant mums have hairy legs...the shocked expression on the young assistant midwives face told me - perhaps not quite this hairy. I carefully climbed onto the metal bed. A contraction built up to a crescendo as I was halfway up,. This made me pass wind loudly. Romance was officially dead.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, Or ask Pete to buy a razor, but this adventure was a far cry from the planned birth I had configured.

Once settled in the bed, I felt a different level of pain passing across the pit of my stomach. This one I recognised and told the nurse I needed to go to the toilet quickly. She gently explained that as I had had a show I couldn't go to the bathroom in case of infection.

I considered suing Practical Parenting at this point for selling this 'birth' plan as a guaranteed easy
time....well this had been my interpretation.

Having  diarrhea in a bed pan was not at all ladylike. A midwife walking round the room spraying not one but two air fresheners clinched the moment.

As the gap in between contractions got closer, it felt more like one continuous knife swiping exercise.
Fortunately I had no back pain at all.

I was begging Pete to get the aneathatist for my now urgent epidural. He smiled sweetly and reassured me, reminding me of my desire to have a natural birth with just gas and air.

I swore like a raving crazy woman and punched him.

They bought in a canister of gas and air and showed me how to use it.

After examination they said I was only 1cm dilated so it could be hours.

Pete left me with the mask permanently over my mouth and nose..as there was no defining gap in the pain. My now fairly scared husband had gone off to eat his packed lunch, grab a cup of tea and read his book.

My music cassettes and good book were still intact inside my hold-all...I hadn't had time to even think about them.

The nurses had left me to rest and gone to try and find the aneathatist.

Apparently Pete came back twenty minutes later to find me as high as akite, delirious and dribbling. The romantic side of giving birth had yet to emerge.

He called the nurses in as I started to wail deeply  like a cow mooing with a sore throat.

I remember having the urge to push. They assured me that I would be no where near ready so soon.

I insisted and possibly threatened to bite someone if I couldn't push.

The nurse calmly examined me again against her better judgement, then with a suprised shriek said I was 10cm dilated. She had no idea how it happened so quickly. It was to late for an epidural. An image of a concrete football crossed my mind.

The pain changed its orientation and depth. I was now getting respite in between the urges to push.

The monitor attached to the babies head showed he was now in distress...obviously taking after his mum.

The nonstop wailing and deep throated mooing got louder. I recall wondering who was making that dreadful noise as I was under the influence of the lifesaving gas and air.

I realised it was me. The nurses swept into action releasing the brake on the bed and mumbling something about emergency as they trundled me out into the corridor and off to the operating theatre.

My thoughts were with anyone coming onto the ward at that moment to be met with this horrendous noise evidently from a cow giving birth, on a hospital bed.

Pete ran next to me holding my hand, I was just mooing all the way. I seriously couldn't stop the noise exuding from my mouth, as hard as I tried.

Once in the the theatre they gave me an emergency episiotomy.
which is a deliberate cut to facilitate a faster exit for the now weary baby. As I pushed on the command of the midwife, I had the mixed feelings of nooooo this IS a concrete football and wanting to stop - to I've got to keep going to get our baby out.

Six pushes later our little boy was born.

As they laid him on my chest I looked at his beautifully shaped head, his tiny body, all beautifully messy. I looked up at Pete and we both smiled. This was the precious moment I had looked forward to for so long. Pete lent over and kissed me then our new son..

Praise God..4 hours from the first contraction he arrived safely.  It was the perfect birth after all...

Chapter 2'

Nine long months later....the evasive blue line came into view. Hallelujah!

 Pregnancy tests back in 1988 were relatively new...many women were still getting confirmation from their doctors. Pete was happy but reserved as he was unsure of the accuracy of the test.

 No amount of jumping around the room in ecstatic joyous relief convinced him ..."Susie you are only 2 days late...

" His mum said the same in shocked surprise when I telephoned her.."7th April next year? Are you sure you are pregnant? How do you know already?"

 But I knew, I 'felt pregnant'...and was instantly nauseous... My mother in law said afterwards it was the longest pregnancy she had ever known. I was not adverse to the 'wait until 12 weeks have passed'. In my ignorance I thought everyone would be as delighted and excited as we were and anyway how could I keep it a secret for another couple of months?

 The beaming smile waned a little as the constant nausea turned into constant vomiting. This quickly became a well executed operation if leaving the house. Armed with plastic carrier bags and kitchen roll I could usually travel no more than twenty minutes before stopping and exiting the car hurriedly.

 The bags were useful for example crossing the old Severn bridge on our return from an 'in law' visit to Wales. No where to stop - so puking into the doubled up bag was the way to go. Pete just held off long enough to pull over on the hard shoulder before he jumped out to throw up to.

Visiting my best friend was a 45 minute journey - I could do this with one stop on route, then as Iarrived she would ensure the front door and toilet door were open wide. I would pretty much abandon the car and fly through to the downstairs loo - just in time.

 Five long months of embarrassing moments pursued. My hormones raged worse than premenstrual tension ..a tidal wave of tears for no reason one moment to hysterical laughing the next...then wanting to bite someone..to giving everyone a hug.

  I had asked Pete to help me in my mission not to 'eat for two'. Being only five foot I realised it would be so easy to be five foot wide after nine months. I became addicted to anything beginning with 'ch'..chips, chocolate and cheese in particular, preferably all on the same plate.

 Pete worked very close to me so he picked me up on the way home one night. I had committed to enjoying chips once a month...only. Driving home I suggested we could have chips from the chip shop as I was starving. My caring husband suggested calmy that we had only just eaten chips two days earlier...." I think it was the first time I've ever growled in my life. He looked a little scared but continued in a supportive way by driving past the chippy.

 I don't know who was most surprised by the torrent of tears that flooded down my face. As Pete reversed up the road, he said ok but you can pop in and buy them as there is no where to park properly...which made me cry even more.

 Pete returned with the chips, he said nothing and drove us home. Another hormonal incident was at the local pub..I fancied a jacket potato with cheese and salad. The cheese grated, but unmelted and of course salad cream. As the owner tried to explain they didn't do jacket potatoes my bottom lip started to tremble and my eyes filled with water. Pete looked on in despair waiting for the inexplicable, totally over the top crying fit...fortunately the owner was married with children and recognised the 'I must have this exactly'and 'now'look.

 I shall be eternally grateful for his graciousness and delicious lunch as ordered. Pete was fast realising hormones were a force to be reckoned with. Thankfully the last four months were a dream. I loved every minute of the pregnancy once the sickness subsided.

 The anticipation was exciting and was only marred by my friend, cuddling her firstborn son..describing his birth..."It was just like 'cr***** a concrete football". Lovely.

 Lying in the bath watching the 'alien' trundling round making my tummy into all sorts of weird and wonderful shapes Was mesmerising. If I had known this undisturbed bath time would be a long forgotten luxury, I may have enjoyed it even more.

 Pete would spend hours with his hand on my tummy as I excitedly announced it was  kicking ...just there..put your hand there, grabbing his arm and forcing him to feel the 'kick'.

 I was ignorant of the fact that babies/ children will never perform on demand...starting in the womb.

 Peters forever 'resigned' face tried to look interested after twenty minutes of me moving his hand.."there, no here, just to the left...press..hold did you feel that?"

 I used to 'spoon' him in bed, so he could feel the baby move and start the bonding. He would sleep through it undisturbed..snoring serenely...whilst I made frequent visits to the toilet. God's way to prepare us for those sleepless nights.

He wasn't impressed that the baby kicked his cup of tea in the air whilst I used it for demonstration purposes.

 I loved wearing maternity Dungarees and a couple of tents often donated by kind friends ..I shall be eternally grateful I was too early for the now trendy 'showing the bump off' look...

 In those days Mothercare had the monopoly on the maternity clothes...no other high street retailer thought to help us out. I was grateful in later pregnancies for the introduction of the maternity jeans...which I lived in for the duration and beyond of all future pregnancies.

 We were fortunate that a dear friend donated almost all of the baby stuff we needed, and the week before 'D' day my nesting instinct kicked in. I had left work on the Friday as I had remained so well, with a week to prepare for the much awaited arrival.

I was both content and petrified. I had read every issue of 'Practical Parenting' since the positive test result. This informative magazine was full of happy stories, advice on pregnancy, birth and the early years. I was prepared.

 The eating 'ch' food was diminishing,but glugging Gaviscon from the bottle increased....often whilst driving, swigging it by the gallon...my bump stopping the steering wheel turning easily as my short legs meant I was squished too close.

 I recall being quite judgemental of other parents whilst pregnant. Watching an unruly youngster throwing his food then himself across the table in a restaurant, I fondly hugged my now huge tummy thinking awww ours will not do that, we will just talk sweetly to it....

I very quickly learnt that judging was not an option...as invariably our children over the years have managed at some time to not only throw themselves over a table but actually fly the full length of the restaurant...whilst screaming 'poo face' at the top of their voices.

 Also I hatched a plan to start talking to the new baby on arrival, smiling broadly so he or she would respond and be the most smiley baby ever to have lived. There was a slight flaw in my plan - I discovered later...1) Babies didn't care about your ideals and 2) they were born with their own personality...it transpired our firstborn preferred the grumpy look.

Not even my best disco moves could prompt a smile.

 After finishing work I had a week to get 'the bag' complete. On my first day off I washed all the cutsie babygros and vests ready to put in the chest of drawers. The sun shone brightly for the end of March and I enjoyed the thrill of pegging out tiny clothes on the washing line..the warmth of the sun making me dream of walking the new baby down quiet country roads..not long now.

 The suggested music cassettes were carefully chosen and packed, a good book...and a comfortable nightie.. I freaked a little if I thought about the size of a concrete football, but I had my Detailed birth plan ready..what could go wrong...

Chapter one

I watched with admiration as my new husband rolled the carpet up effortlessly. Having been married for a grand total of 8 weeks I had already learnt that Pete was multi talented. Apparently like his father he was a natural at DIY.

This was a relief as the romantic cottage in the country,I had  convinced  him to buy as  our first home together transpired to be a very damp hotel for woodworm. So removing the carpet on the first Sunday to enable the damp course to be installed was slightly alternative entertainment than I had envisaged.

I also quickly learnt that this gorgeous man was incredibly patient...no growling as he worked hard on the preparation, no rebuking my insistence that this WAS the perfect starter home for us.

Pete had preferred a slightly cheaper bigger terraced house on a modern estate. Practical, convenient for work as we only had the one car, and required absolutely no work at all.

"Willow Herb Cottage", Tubbs Lane, Highclere...like something lifted from the latest Mills and Boon. Neither of us have ever been 'skinny' so "Tubbs Lane" was surely a sign...

Pete loved tea, which was a great discovery...my dear departed grandad drank tea in copious amounts so I had this wonderful notion that God had Blessed me with a gentleman just like my grandad. Perfect.

My job then and now is to supply Pete tea in conveyor belt style if he is maintaining the house. Actually this also applies if he's sitting watching TV, waking up, working from home, eating...just being in the house. This system works well. I can do tea. I am traditional to the end, sorry all you feminists but it really suits me to "look after" this handsome man.

Back to the carpet rolling...obviously the perfect time to discuss future plans...both of us were keen on a big family...I quite fancied 3 children, maybe 4 ..Pete wanted 6!

Knowing this I embarked on a roller coaster of emotion.

If we were to be Blessed with a big family then surely we should leave the timing to God, not use contraception. You never know what problems may lie ahead and at 25... Time could run out!

Although he doesn't ever remember agreeing to this hastily hatched plan...the pill was binned that night. I thought we shall just carry on as normal. It wasn't as if we were especially trying, but being newly married, surely once a day was normal?

I'm not quite certain how quickly this 'whenever' approach rapidly descended into a desperate ' I can't get pregnant' obsession - possibly a few days, as the unexpected period arrived.

3 months later I considered purchasing a pregnancy test ready...after all my very regular period was 2 hours late. The distress in the toilet...5 hours later could possibly have been heard by our neighbours.

Pete tried to console me by saying surely you don't always fall straight away? It could take months...as you said The Lord is in control. It will be in His timing. Yes I relented of course....maybe next month.

I decided The Lord may want me to be more proactive - a cushion under my butt after the deed may make them swim faster...

Another hysterical moment of 'negative' the following month, this time at work...so I had to keep it under wraps and try not to look too upset, I kept telling myself  "In God's time" ...but surely God knew I wanted one 'now'.

I sound like a spoilt child, which I possibly was, but the all consuming broodiness had taken control of every inch of my being.

After 9 unsuccessful months I concluded I must be infertile and went to see the doctor. It was embarrassing explaining to her the enormous frequent efforts we had gone go to conceive this much wanted baby.(
(Pete was oblivious as he was more than content to be patient...happy for it to happen 'whenever'.
I think most of my waking thoughts included a new position that may make a difference.
I would look longingly into prams and coo over cute babies. Was it hormonal? Was I just mad? Pete humoured me and would bring me a cup of tea whilst I rested for at least twenty minutes, following any activity.
The elderly lady doctor reassured me that although many accidents occurred after only one consummation...it could take up to two years. Two years! Well I knew Peter wouldn't complain but it seemed forever to wait.

She sent me on my way,only to return if I wasn't pregnant within another 9 months....that night I finished with a headstand against the wall.