8 November 2012
She was gone, it was all I could think, even though I only held her for five minutes I loved her every tiny bit of her. What were they doing with her? I hadn't possibly had long enough to save a mental image of her. The doctor finished up with me and the nurse gave me a bed bath. My dignity had flown out of the window as soon as what felt like hundreds of people had entered my room during the delivery so the bed bath was actually good. It rejuvenated me and woke me up a little. I was mega tired, and slightly frantic that I still couldn't feel my legs and go and see my daughter. After about an hour they got me in a wheelchair and took me down to special care baby unit, the journey through the clinical corridors and into the surgically intimidating stainless steel elevators, seemed to take an eternity. Then we came to the main door for special care. The nurse buzzed us through and I mentally prepared myself to see my baby. Unfortunately I couldn't prepare myself enough to see what I saw. She was utterly tiny, laying on her front with a drip in her ankle, a tube in her nose and a swollen head with bruises appearing either side. Dried blood on her head was also apparent. I sobbed and sobbed until the doctor came in. She explained that the drip in her leg was a long line drip it carried nourishment straight to her heart, and the tube in her nose was to extract waste products from her stomach which was full as her body couldn't pass it due to the duodenal atresia, thus until she had the op she wouldn't be able to feed. A basic motherly instinct that was taken from me. I couldn't feed or comfort my baby whatsoever. The swelling and bruises on her head was due to the failed ventouse and forceps delivery and this should subside over time. She honestly looked so fragile and tiny my heart wrenched at the fact that in a few hours I couldn't even sit with her as she'd be taken by ambulance to Leicester royal infirmary for her op. "We have some good news though" the doctors words cut through my deep thoughts. "We have ran a few tests and your daughter doesn't have Down syndrome. So this is a huge positive". Luck was finally on my side and my mood lightened. If she had come through those odds she was a fighter and she would make it through the op no problem. They only let me sit for half an hour and then the nurse wheeled me back to my room. I was given a room by myself as the post labour wards were full of new mums and their beautiful bouncy babies, and I didn't have mine. At 8pm they wheeled me back down to special care to say goodbye to my daughter and sign relevant consent forms for the op which was scheduled for tomorrow. They wouldn't discharge me until tomorrow because of my blood clots so this was the last time I could see my baby before she'd have her op. I was distraught, she had been in this world 7 hours and I had held her for 5 minutes and only sat with her for half an hour. When I got into her room she was in a little incubator with a blanket wrapped round her, machines everywhere and beeping constantly and she had her eyes closed. Then it started, she started, crying. I couldn't touch her, hold her or comfort her. It broke my heart. The nurse tended to her, doubly heartbreaking and the doctor knelt beside my wheelchair. (Yup I still couldn't feel my dammed legs). She talked me through the op. It would take 6 hours, she would be in intensive care for a week at least, sedated and would be on a ventilator to help her breathe afterwards. After that 3 weeks at least in hospital, which was 55 miles away from my home, her home. She also mentioned the complications, risk of infection, new borns having breathing trouble after the op and the fact that the risks were high of her not surviving the op altogether. She put the consent form in front of me, starred where I needed to sign and once I'd signed they wheeled me out of her room. They stuck me in the corridor, where I could see and hear other sick babies, tears ran down my face and they brought her into the corridor heading for the ambulance waiting to take her to her fate, and cure hopefully. They stopped beside me and I looked into her incubator touched the plastic and said "mummy loves you, be strong, I love you more than you'll ever know, so make sure your fighting hard so when I see you tomorrow after your op I can tell you again, and again for the rest of your life." With that they left me there and wheeled her in her little fishbowl to the ambulance and I watched her go. 2 doctors a nurse and two paramedics accompanied her. At least she wasn't alone. I sobbed a lot in that stupid corridor, until a man came over and crouched beside me. "Are you okay?" He asked.."not really no" I replied.."I'm the Chaplin and I know your baby is terribly sick but she's in good hands.. God will..." That's it I snapped, I thanked him for his kind words but I told him the only good hands she was in was the medical entourage that had left with her, and that if god was so loving why did he let this happen. He soon left me alone after that. Around 11pm that night while I was sleeping, not very well but trying to, someone shook me gently. It was a nurse from special care baby unit. She'd brought me a Polaroid of my baby and a whole lot of kind soothing words. I took the photo an hugged it all night, and her kindness will stay in my heart forever. The next morning I woke and felt dreadful, physically I felt as though I'd done ten rounds with Mike Tyson, and emotionally I felt worse. I was eager to get the hell out of there and begin my journey to go see my baby. And at 2pm I got lucky, they discharged me! Giving me my injections for my blood clot to take home (yup still had those bloody things to do everyday) and advising me about stupid pelvic floor exercises. After getting lost in Leicester I finally arrived at 7pm! Found my way through the maze of corridors and found myself outside the door to children's intensive care. I pressed the buzzer and told them who I was and a nurse actually came to the door instead of buzzing me through. "Your daughter is still in surgery, they shouldn't be too much longer, wait on those chairs and they'll come get you when they're done." Great! My girls op was at 1, they'd been in there for such a long time, dread washed over me and my mind if it was a car would've got a speeding ticket it was working that fast. Just then a gentleman in scrubs came out. "Hi I'm Mr Nour, please follow me". He took me through some double doors into intensive care and into a side room, and then he told me to sit down. I nearly wept as I thought she'd died in theatre. "So the operation was a success, obviously as a new born there are still post op risks but she has overcome the biggest one today! Your child is a fighter miss". He then spent ten minutes drawing and explaining what he had actually done, told me she was on a ventilator and would be for at least 48hours and then said I could go see her. I thanked him profusely, this man was my daughters saviour! And mine come to think of it. So here goes I thought, I'm about to go see my child my beautiful child. I was scared anxious and a tiny bit excited all at the same time.
To be continued...and thanks for reading :)
Life Pt 3! • Opuss № I