Brave or Foolish?

This follows on from the story here.

At 32 weeks my first daughter had an injury at nursery which led to her needing a general anaesthetic and seven stitches in her lip and cheek. And many, many hours of waiting in A&E departments. That set off contractions but thankfully they went no further after some nurses let me lie down on a fold-out bed next to her.

At 34w3d, B had a follow-up appointment to check on her injury. Whilst we were in the waiting room, I noticed my contractions were getting quite regular so before we went home, I decided to pop over to the labour ward to get them checked out. Sure enough, they were frequent and strong, so they admitted me and monitored me.

After an hour they decided to give me steroid injections to help baby’s lungs, and tried patches to stop labour. This seemed to have no effect except to make the contractions more regular and painful. After two hours, the decision was taken to remove my cerclage after 16 weeks of wonderful service! Time for yet another spinal. The first doctor was unable to remove the stitch despite the instructions that came with it as it was done so well, so they had to call in a very senior doctor to do it, who did it very quickly! Unfortunately I had torn through the stitch in places. I immediately dilated to 4cm and was put on the labour ward, fully expecting the baby to come. But she did not, and the contractions tailed off.

The morning after my stitch came out, I realised that my hindwaters (the bit between baby and the way out – not the whole lot) had probably gone. And I was leaking fluid. Not that the first midwife I told believed me, and she threw the evidence away (doctors and subsequent midwives demanded to know where the evidence was from me.. I had to explain but I was told a midwife would never do something like that.. err..) As a result I was kept in the hospital to check for infection. I spent five nights in there with only my phone for Internet access, and sharing a ward with three other women, as is usual for NHS maternity wards. B would run riot on the rare times she could visit.. and those were the only times I could see Steve too as he still had to work, and the hospital was an hour (or more in traffic) from home. I had a few visitors though!

The stay was not the most pleasant experience, especially compared to my American adventure where they felt bad about the colour scheme of my private room.. although admittedly it was a nice American hospital and if I’d had private care in the UK I am sure I would have had a much more pleasant stay too but nobody can afford that! My second night a woman in the bed opposite (separated by curtains) went through most of her labour in agony, singing and praying as she went, for most of the night until somebody finally believed she was about to give birth and bothered checking. Cue panic. Various other things kept me from sleeping too, especially the horrible TV unit that made hard drive clunking noises next to my head all night. Another woman snored all night, and others had screaming babies. I was desperate to escape as it was doing me and therefore baby no good at all.

Finally they discharged me, and even managed to fit in a hairdressing appointment (knowing it would be my last for months!) but at a routine check-up a few days later, I mentioned I had been feeling a bit weird the night before, and they checked my heart rate and it was 120, even when resting. It was a humid day, but this was still weird. After blood tests revealed nothing (they don’t always in the first 24 hours of an infection) they decided to keep me in for observation, but I had no sooner been reassigned back to the ward, husband sent home with B when a new set of doctors came on and decided they weren’t going to take any chances and they were going to induce me right away!

Frantic texting later, B deposited with the in-laws who very fortunately happened to be in town (normally they live hundreds of miles away in Cumbria) and a bit of hasty driving, and the husband returned just after I’d been taken up to the labour ward. After sticking plenty of antibiotics in me, they started the induction. Slight increase in contractions. They upped the dosage. The contractions remained large, but not excrutiating. I slept a bit and pretended I was hardcore as I was on the maximum dose. The most painful bit was flushing the IV line which had been put in a bit funny, which I did need the gas and air for.

After 8 hours on the full strength of the drip, I hadn’t dilated any further than when I’d started. In fact, I’d dilated to a weird shape of 6×3cm. The midwife (very nice lady, I’d also seen her the previous week) was fairly new but even she knew that wasn’t right! A new team of doctors came in, had a chat amongst themselves and told me they were pretty sure it was scar tissue from the stitch (and probably the tear) stopping me dilating. They wanted to give me another spinal (yay, my third in four months) to check and then almost certainly it was going to be a c-section.

We waited a few hours for the team to become available, then it was time. I’d barely been told “yes, it’s scar tissue – you’re doomed to c-sections from now on” when they started cutting and within seconds, or so it seemed, at 11.18am on Saturday 15th November, at 35 weeks and 5 days, baby C was born safely at 6lbs 14oz, screaming her little heart out with Apgars of 10 and 10, by c-section at Kings College Hospital, London.

We spent three further nights in hospital, due to her blood sugar issues which were resolved, and then we brought her home. Aside from a jaundice scare, she’s been super healthy ever since, exclusively breastfed and hitting all her milestones.. and loved to pieces, of course. There is not a day, or even an hour that goes past that I do not realise how very lucky and grateful I am for her – I cannot emphasise this enough.

I’ve been thinking about what happened a lot. I did more research online. Turns out that the US doctor used a very unusual form of a regular McDonald stitch, which is placed very highly. A normal stitch may well not have been able to save her, with only 3mm there to hold onto. Who knows if I’d stayed at home and, just supposing, I’d got myself a private scan at the same time as I did in the US. I’d have had to go to the local hospital at Queen Elizabeth once the findings were revealed, and who knows if they would have been able to place that sort of stitch? Admittedly the chances would have been fairly good given the skills of the doctors at Kings College, however I would have been under the care of doctors at Queen Elizabeth who may well have decided to do a regular stitch themselves (if I was lucky.. they may well also have just waited for me to miscarry thinking a stitch was impossible at this stage.) I would not have known any better, as there would not have been the time to do any research, and nor would there have been the time to transfer me elsewhere. Assuming they did manage a regular stitch, there is no way to know if it would have saved her, all we can say is that the odds were hugely improved by me having such an experienced and knowledgeable doctor. That doctor saved her life, and probably not many other people could. Which of course makes it all the more remarkable that circumstances led us to his front door at exactly the right moment.

- My husband getting the job, and me convincing him to accept it because the training was going to cause issues
- My office having a US office so I could go with him
- Having a bad feeling strong enough to convince me to need a scan – a scan not routinely offered at that time on the NHS, nor would they check for cervical length
- Feeling happy to spend $800 on such a scan. Maybe my friend losing her baby was what it needed to convince me
- Having a baby due in October 2006 which meant I knew the mother who knew to recommend her perinatal group
- Getting there early enough to save her but late enough to see a problem – what timing!
- And that perinatal group containing possibly the only doctor that could save C in the world, or at the very least one of a very few!

Before we set off for America, I had been complaining bitterly about being on the wrong end of odds.. mostly because of the measles, but for a whole bunch of other things too. This was my payback. 2008 was utterly miserable. C arriving safely meant so much – if I’d lost her too after everything I don’t know what I would do or how I would cope. It’s why I feel such a strong need to help people who have not been as lucky as me.

Here is C at 8 months old on Wednesday. Here she is! All 19 and a half pounds of her!

If you would like to read more about the birth and see more photos, please take a look at the page I made here!

What it took to make this baby in numbers:

16 weeks – the length of time the stitch lasted – it was never predicted to last more than 8-10 weeks and I was told by every doctor to expect a very premature baby.

17 weeks and 1 day of bedrest (120 days)

18 scans, although most were very brief.

15 nights in hospital whilst pregnant; 8 in the US.

6 nights in hospital whilst not pregnant, but related to getting pregnant.

28 days spent in hospital to get this baby, 21 of them whilst pregnant.

5 operations – two general anaesthetics and three spinals.

6lb 14oz (3.118kg) birth weight

11:38AM 15th November, 2008 – time of birth

0 – amount of uncooked stilton consumed.

1 – healthy baby girl.

And here, for now, is where my Pregnancy Dramas end. From further research I have found out that in order to have more children, due to the damage to my cervix I will always need a stitch in future. And be holding my breath throughout the entire pregnancy. Oh yay!