C Section and the happiest moment

We arrived at Kingston Maternity Wing at 10 am on Monday 10th June with no contractions and no stress.

I felt a bit like an imposter, walking unaided to the reception desk, not stooping over clutching my back, not in agony, not wondering how long labour would last. I carried my overnight bag over my shoulder laden down with that day's newspaper, a fat copy of Vanity Fair magazine, as well as the essentials for a 3 day stay in hospital. It would be a completely different experience to the 5 day ordeal of natural labour to introduce Barnaby to the world.

Just 35 minutes before the delivery, I had entered theatre with my iphone glued to my right ear as I took our first booking for our yet to be completed Cornwall house. I relayed the pre-booking to Alex excitedly, as I bent on my side in a foetal position on the bed, whilst a huge giant of a man called Jack inserted a needle into my back to deliver the epidural. And not for the first time I wondered why I hadn't opted for this magic numbing liquid the first time round.

The worst bit of the whole procedure was just inserting the catheter into the top of my hand. I remembered it really hurt with Barnaby, but I had so many other pain triggers and exhaustion to contend with, that it got lost in the mire. For those who haven’t and will never have a Caesarean Section, it is very hard to describe the feeling and sensation other than to assure that it doesn’t hurt and it’s incredibly quick.

Dressed in blue scrubs, Alex was at my head end (of course), together with the anaesthetist and his junior, and 3 others whose role I couldn’t confirm. I looked above to the ceiling and in front to a blue curtain which hung above me and dropped down to just below my chest, leaving me with my breasts which I cupped with my hands, not sure of what else to do except to flex my hand which was still irritated by the catheter. If that’s the worst pain, then this is a synch, I thought.

For the first 15 to 20 mins after the epidural, the anaesthetist had sprayed my body from my feet to my chest with an icy compound to check the function of the drug. On my left hand side, I could tell the epidural was working well, but on the right hand side, the numbness stopped mid-way up my body. Like with all medical procedures, I started to doubt myself as to which was the right answer when asked.

"What do you feel? What do you feel now?"

“Air, cold liquid, nothing” were my answers.

The Consultant Obstetrician arrived just 5 minutes before delivery and left shortly after, to cross the corridor to the other operating theatre where they were tag teaming deliveries that morning to catch up on their schedule.

Everyone involved in the procedure had read my notes, and so the small talk of choice was:

“so what’s going to be done about the aneurysm?"

At least it gave me an identity, I had reflected, in this ‘one born every minute’ maternity ward conveyor belt. The other question was of course

“Do you know if it's a boy or girl?"

To which I had replied “not really, but we’re both convinced it is going to be another boy”.

Only Barnaby would be proved right.

There was no sense of pain as the Doctor and midwives prepared to pull out our second born. I could sense a fair amount of ‘shoving’ going on, which climaxed with the sensation that all of my internal organs seemed to be shoved up towards my breasts which I was still clinging onto. Just as I was beginning to get concerned with this crescendo of activity, I heard a baby’s cry, and saw a tiny bundle covered in white gunge, held aloft the blue curtain.

"Do you want to see what you've got" the mid wife said.

The next words were from Alex:

"It's a girl!" he exclaimed, and a huge smile lit up both our faces.

It was a complete shock, and I think this was the happiest moment that I have ever felt. And the sense of wonder and joy, that had been absent during my second pregnancy, instantly came coursing back, like a shot of adrenaline into my heart.

Of course the day we got married, and the birth of Barnaby, were extremely happy occasions: but the wedding was spread over a period of a day, and when Barnaby was born, as happy as I was when he latched onto me, I was quite delirious with exhaustion and pain. Whereas, when Harriet arrived, just 35 minutes after entering the operating theatre, I couldn’t have been more lucid, more shocked that it was a little girl, and more appreciative that she appeared so perfectly well, after the assault course of MRI’s that she had joined me for.

The night before, Barnaby had gone for a sleep- over at his best friend’s house, and as my head had hit the pillow at our home in Putney, I had looked up next to Alex and said

“A healthy girl with brown eyes please”.

Her eyes were blue at birth, but no matter, like the rest of her tiny features they were gorgeous, her cry already seldom and I felt an instant protective bond. I couldn’t have felt more blessed, and a summer of great sport, sunshine and family happiness would follow.

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I write this blog from the same buzzing café in Putney that I wrote my blog for 5 continuous days in the hormone laden week preceeding Harriet’s birth. Today, Harriet sleeps beside me in her slightly tatty blue Bugaboo pram, satiated from a good slurp of milk post 16 week vaccination at the clinic opposite, fuss free as usual.

I reflect that I feel completely relaxed on each day when it is just Harriet and I. Maternity leave on these days truely feels like a holiday and her mellow nature is contagious. My heart is full with the sense that we have been blessed with our hilarious, demanding and happy Barnaby, and his smiling, placid sister. But all the while in the background I have the thought of saying goodbye to my family ahead of the impending operation that I need. By the time I get the aneurysm dealt with, it will likely be fully 12 months since it was first accurately diagnosed and I became aware of a 3cm diameter time bomb in my neck. I long to get it over with, and return to this café to describe the moment of emotional relief when I wake up from the operation and realise the surgery had gone to plan. I pray for that moment and hope that it will come soon. In the intervening days, weeks and months, I will continue to bury thoughts of the alternative scenarios in a pocket deep in my mind.

“The Surgeon” up next, when Harriet’s lunch time sleep, and a day at nursery for Barnaby next permits.