Saturday 23 January 2016

The final countdown

So here I am again, wired up and lying on a hospital bed. Oh joy. I'm on and off for an hour as the baby keeps shuffling away from the monitor. I get a break when I'm sent for a scan and am greeted by the same midwife as before. She explains the scan will be the same as before, with measurements taken and the baby's movements being checked. The midwife makes a start and I quickly hear the baby's heartbeat but as I look at the large screen on the wall one thing is clear. The baby isn't moving at all.

After nearly twenty minutes of being scanned the midwife calmly tells me that the baby is probably asleep. She suggests I go back out to the waiting area and drink some ice cold water from the water cooler. The midwife shows me out of the room and calmly closes the door. I put my bags down and as I shuffle past the other expectant parents. I see her go at speed across the waiting area and into a side room. I see her outline through the frosted glass of the office and can see her on the phone. When the midwife calls me back in she tries to reassure me as much as possible but it doesn't work.

I am scared. Probably more scared than before. When I, when we, set out on this journey I knew it wouldn't be easy. It took us six years to get here and I hoped to enjoy this time. The pregnant time. The waddling time. The nesting time. Yet I am more scared and worried than I ever have been.

I can't look at the screen. I look at the ceiling fighting back tears. I finally glance up at the screen hoping to see a movement. Hoping our little bean is OK. Then there, with the smallest movement, a little arm raises up and gives a royal like little wave.

"There we go. Baby is OK, just not very active and a bit sleepy."

I'm sent back to the ward for more monitoring. Another bed. Another hour. Another midwife but this time a doctor too.

"I've had a look at your notes and the amount of episodes of reduced movements, along with baby's position and growth and the prints from your sessions on the monitor and I'm of the position we will admit you tonight and look at inducing you as soon as possible."

On the outside I say "right, ok". On the inside I'm thinking shit, shit, shit, SHITTTTTT!!!

The doctor tells me he will need to check with his senior and will come back to see me in the next half and hour. When he comes back there's a change of plan. A complete change. They are going to send me home. I am lost for words. He tells me it's best if I am nearer to 38 weeks than I am now and to go home. What the hell. Thirty minutes ago I was having a baby and now I am being sent home.

I get off the bed and sit in another waiting area until my lift arrives. The midwife that has been one of those monitoring me today asks if I'm OK. I say I'm waiting for a lift home and she looks a bit puzzled. Yeah, your not the only one love.

Two days later and I'm back. I have felt no movements since the previous lunchtime but things are different this time. I am putting my foot down. My midwife, Angie, told me before two days ago that something needed to be done. Time to be more assertive. Time to get something done.

There's no need. Another round of monitoring, urine samples and a visit from a doctor and I am going nowhere. I am being admitted. This is it. In the next few days I will be a mummy. Just stay healthy little bean. Hold on, Mummy's coming, well, you are and I can't wait to meet you.

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