Real women...

In this age of Photoshop and 'celebrity', young women (and increasingly men!) are bombarded with overly sexualised images of the 'perfect body'. Impressionable women are led to believe it's desirable to look like a 12 year old boy, and what's worse, that it is 'normal'.

It's not. Women are designed to have curves, lumpy bits, and breasts. We're all different, amazingly, beautifully different, and we should celebrate that. We should embrace it.

It becomes increasingly difficult for women to understand they do not need to lose 'that extra five pounds' or indeed that they need to gain weight or have a breast augmentation, because of the celebrity obsessed idea of body image that now prevails.

So what do other women of your height and weight look like? You might be surprised. You may look in the mirror, and at the scales, and hate what you see, but how do you compare to other women?

Have a look at www.mybodygallery.com and you may come away a little shocked. It's a fantastic site where you can enter your (real!) height, weight and body type and see what other, *real* and unairbrushed women look like.

I was pleasantly surprised to find my boobs and post-pregnancy belly are looking pretty good compared to other women the same build as me.

Even better, when I entered my 'ideal weight' in.... I was a little shocked by how skinny the women looked, how few 'curves' they had and how much I didn't actually want to look like that!

I'm still on a health inspired weight loss effort, but I now have a more realistic goal and an understanding that other women DO have flabby bits, sticky out tummies, love handles, hips and *breasts* and that it's NORMAL too!

Organisation...

I am not a very organised person. I would actually go as far as saying I'm a very unorganised person! Because of this I spend too much on food, laundry can pile up and worst of all the occasional bill gets forgotten about.

I've decided that this needs to change. It's one thing for me to be a disorganised mess but Froglet doesn't deserve that!

So, I've written up a cleaning schedule to be followed with daily, weekly and monthly tasks - that's going on the fridge so I can't ignore it!

I've also got a new calendar with sections for mummy, daddy and froglet's schedules. This will become invaluable as I go back to work next week and with mummy and daddy both working shifts we're going to need to be organised to make sure childcare is properly sorted!

Finally I'm getting round to doing some decorating I've been planning for the best part of a year! Pictures soon. We went antiquing this weekend in preparation for that - such fun! I love antiquing. One of the stores I walked into (whilst carrying Froglet) has changed hands though and was less the thrift store it used to be, and more of the '£3000 table store' - oops! We beat a fairly sharp exit!

Perhaps to reduce the amount of effort involved in being more organised I can get Froglet to help with the laundry? She's recently developed an interest...

I'm mobile...

Blogger finally has a mobile app!

Hooray!

Given my ancient laptop has pretty much given up the ghost and I have therefore been pretty much offline since Froglet was about four months old (four months ago!)... this is a good thing!

Hopefully it means I'll be able to Blog more regularly and without causing me extreme annoyance.

My dating Froglet has changed rather in the last four months. She's mastered sitting up, commando crawling, pulling herself to her feet, and now cruising! She's on the 98th percentile for height, and the 65th for weight. I think she's going to be tall and slim like my father (genes that sadly skipped my generation).

Froglet is such a happy, bubbly child that when she is unhappy, grumpy, or miserable with teething pain, it's pretty shocking. It's hard to deal with her like that as it's so unusual for her. But we're learning, I would go as far to say she's learning almost as much as me!

Every day is a new experience, a new joy, and the creation of memories to be treasured forever.

We celebrated Froglet's eight month birthday today by sharing a bourbon cream. The results were particularly hilarious. Happy eight month birthday my darling girl. <3

Love from Mummy

PCOS and infertility - you CAN get pregnant!

Since my first post about how my husband and I conceived I've had a few questions from people going through similar problems. We got pregnant, and I believe you can too.

With specific regard to PCOS and a low sperm count I can only tell you what I know about our own situation. I'm not a doctor and you should consult yours for specific advice about conceiving in your particular situation. Here goes.

Hubbie told me he couldn't have children early on in our relationship, when we were eating dinner at my flat one day. It's the main reason he and his ex split. It wasn't in her 'life plan' apparently. Rest assured if I ever meet her in the street I shall enjoy showing off our beautiful daughter and laughing in her face!

My response to hubbie when he told me was, 'there's more than one way to have a baby'. I told him about my PCOS and that I wanted to have a baby and that I 'knew' it would happen.

I knew I loved my husband very early in to our relationship and I knew that if we wanted a baby we could do it.

We talked about adoption, ovary drilling, sperm and egg donation. We talked about using clomid - a fertility drug that has been documented as working very well for women with PCOS but can result in multiple pregnancies! We familiarised ourselves with the requirements for adoption and IVF in our area. We both knew we'd have to lose weight to do either. Our game plan was to spend 2011 getting fitter, adjusting our diets and not giving the GP any excuse to put us off IVF. We planned our wedding for October 2011, a month long holiday in the USA, and decided we would see our GP early in 2012 to discuss our options.

To that end we both tried to take control of our diets. Hubbie stopped drinking and eating kebabs! We both took vitamins from the end of 2010. I even took folic acid as I had read it can help women with PCOS to get pregnant. I have also been taking metformin since 2009 when I was diagnosed with my PCOS and type 2 diabetes. Whilst I never had a lot of common PCOS problems (excess hair, spots etc) I had struggled with my weight since about 20 (I'm 29 now). Not only did metformin help stabilise and eventually help me start losing weight, it also helped regulate my cycles. I'm pretty sure I only ovulate every other month as I could feel the pain of it!

The first thing any decent doctor will tell you when you're struggling to conceive is to stop trying. Stop monitoring your cycle. Stop taking your temperature and calling your husband home from work to have sex! Stress plays a major part in the inability to conceive. The absolute best thing you can do is have sex every two or three days throughout your cycle, and enjoy it! You're making a baby, not planning military operations!!

The basis of us getting pregnant was that we did all these things above and we weren't trying. Sex was fun and spontaneous and neither of us were stressed! Froglet was conceived during a quickie on the sofa before hubbie went to work ;) we enjoy pointing out the spot to people when they're sitting on it!! We had to bring our wedding forward and cancel our honeymoon, but the payoff was our gorgeous daughter!

You can do it too, good luck

Vix
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How to leave a comment 101

It appears that a lot of my readers don't have a google account and cannot leave a comment. Oops!

I've now reset the comments function which allows non google account users to leave a comment. I am not currently going to ok these before they're published but if comments become offensive I shall.

All you have to do as a non member is click below where it says 'comments' and a comment box will pop up!

Please leave your name on the comment so I know who you are, and feel free to comment on past or future posts!


Vix

Xx

My Birth Story - Part Two

I was wheeled into the brand new maternity unit at the Lister Hospital in Stevenage at about 10am on Tuesday the 18th of September, barely three hours after it had officially opened! It was developed at a cost of over £16 million, and includes beautiful midwife and consultant led units as well as a new special care baby unit and brand new theatres.

It's amazing. It's incredibly clean and the facilities can't be knocked. I was lucky enough to receive one on one midwife care at both hospitals, which was wonderful and incredibly reassuring.



Because of the problems I had already had with my delivery I was going straight to the consultant led unit. My dreams of a calm, peaceful water birth finally went out the window. Whilst there is one birthing room with a pool on the consultant led unit I was told I would have to be monitored constantly and therefore it was not an option for me.

The room we were directed to was lovely, large and clean, and most importantly cool. It had it's own air conditioning unit, bathroom (with large bath that was probably as good as a pool!) and a midwife station. This was a fabulous invention as far as I was concerned, because it meant my midwife could sit there to write her notes up and so she never had to leave me. You don't realise quite how important that is until you go into labour! I had my mum and my Hubbie with me too, the perfect combinations of birthing partners.

My lovely midwife, Becky, advised that the first thing we had to do was check how I was going. I was still only 2cm dilated, and my contractions had stopped completely by this point. As it was now 20 hours since my waters had broken, and because I had meconium with the second gush, the decision was made to induce me. The doctors and midwives didn't think it was safe to let me labour any longer on my own, it was clear I wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

I apologise if the timeline isn't completely accurate, as you can probably understand the whole day ended up being a bit of a blur.

I was advised that I was going to be put onto a syntocin drip, which is a synthetic form of oxytocin (the hormone that usually starts labour). Interestingly a large dose of adrenalin (as I would have experienced during my panic attack) can cause less oxytocin to be released as your body decides to stop labour until it's safer to deliver. Clever eh? But I needed to get my baby out, so the syntocin drip was going to be my new friend... or maybe enemy?

When they told me I would have to go on the drip, I was also advised that I had group B strep (from a swab I'd had at 34 weeks) which was the first I had heard of this. I was of the understanding that group B strep can be very dangerous for the baby, but I was told IV antibiotics would sort it out, so I had a double cannula put in. The first of many rather painful cannulas whilst at the Lister!

Now, I don't know about you, but whilst I was pregnant anyone and everyone who could would tell me about how awful their pregnancies were. The ones who had had a syntocin induction told me just how ferocious the contractions would be as result. When I heard I was getting the drip, I begged for an epidural.

I had prepared myself to have to fight for an epidural, but surprisingly it was agreed straight away. However the anaesthetist was busy (aren't they always when you need them?) which was understandable, but the doctors wanted to start the drip straight away whilst we waited for the anaesthetist to arrive. Now, the idea of this made me a little nervous but it was quite clear by now that they were worried about getting the baby out, so I agreed.

Thankfully, someone was looking down on me that day, the anaesthetist actually arrived before they'd finished setting up the drip. The anaesthetist said that I had the perfect back for an epidural! I know that for some people it doesn't work very well, but for me, it was amazing. I couldn't feel any pain within about 10 minutes, although I could still move my legs. Not that I was allowed to get up! With the epidural, catheter AND the CTG monitor, I wasn't going anywhere.

With the drip they start you off quite slowly and build up the rate of the fluid. Now, given how well my epidural was working, I couldn't feel a thing and watched the monitors entranced as they told me I was having some fantastic contractions!

This part of the day was great. I was in no pain. My contractions were ramping up again. I had a second burst of energy, and spent the afternoon chattering to the midwife whilst my poor husband slept deeply on the delivery room floor, and my lovely Mum dozed and rested in the comfy chair in the room. I realised later that I should have been trying to sleep too, but anyone who's ever spent any time in a hospital will realise that that's near impossible when people come in every five minutes to ask you questions or poke or prod you.

Around about 2pm I was examined again, lots of excited anticipation as my contractions had been going so well. I was barely 3cm dilated. It was incredibly disheartening. I could see the midwives were surprised, and there was some early mutterings about caesareans if I didn't progress.

I was so frustrated but I knew I wasn't going anywhere for a while, and Hubbie was close to passing out he was so exhausted. Mum and I talked him into going home and getting some sleep, we promised him that we'd call him if I progressed or any decision was made about caesareans etc.

Off he toddled, and Mum and I were left to chatter and try and distract ourselves until the next examination.

Five pm examination, I was 3cm.

Around six, I was 3 cm.

They told me they'd give me another hour, and if I hadn't made any progression at all the doctors would review me.

At half seven, I was 5cm. Thank heavens! Oh my goodness we were so grateful, I was finally making progress.

Hubbie got back around 8pm (having had a sleep, a shower and food he was feeling much better), and I was still 5cm. A more serious discussion about caesareans was had. The midwife advised that by now, given the baby was happy, I probably wouldn't be having a caesarean until the morning.

It took some effort, but we managed to convince my Mum to go home and get some sleep, again we promised her that if anything changed we would call straight away (yes, even at 3 in the morning Mummy). She left after lots of cuddles, and I actually managed to doze for a little while I think. Before yet another examination at 9pm (seriously, everyone at the Lister had seen my noo-noo by now!).

Hallelujah! I was 8cm dilated! I even posted to my facebook to tell all my friends who had been religiously following my updates and were anxious to know if we had delivered yet. 8cm! The midwife got all excited, I had progressed 3cm in an hour, surely things were finally happening? Mum was called back - she had only just settled herself in at home - and promised she was racing back to us as soon as she could.

After I made that phone call things do start to get a little vague, you'll understand why shortly.

I think Hubbie popped out the room for a little while to get a drink. I know there was a little while whilst I was alone with the midwife, and I think it was at this point. The midwife wanted me to change my position on the bed to get ready for pushing (up until now I'd been propped up into a half sitting position which was lovely and comfortable), she lowered the head of the bed gently. An alarm went off. That wasn't very nice, it was an unpleasant noise. The midwife sat me back up again, and the alarm stopped. She frowned, and lowered me down again. More alarms. The baby's heartbeat was going haywire, it dropped to 60, and then was lost altogether. I think one of the most terrifying points of this whole experience was when I saw that heartbeat disappear off that monitor. I so frightened. The midwife sat me up again and the heartbeat came back but it was rather erratic. I'm not sure if she pressed a button calling others, but fairly soon there were more midwives in the room, as well as an obstetrician.

Hubbie must have been back at this point because we rolled our eyes at each other, the obstetrician was the one I'd had run ins with at the QEII when I was 34 weeks pregnant. He wasn't the most pleasant man in the world, rather condescending and brusque. Not the sort of person one wants delivering their baby!

He examined me, prodded my stomach, and decided the baby was getting distressed because my contractions had become too powerful. The decision was made to turn the syntocin drip off and give the baby the chance to recover. They also attached a probe to the top of her head (yes, whilst she was inside me, think about it...) which would more accurately measure her heartbeat. Unfortunately CTG machines have a habit of slipping or loosing their connections. With this new monitor attached and the lack of syntocin her heart rate improved and everything was a little better, I was even told I was 9cm dilated, progress indeed!

My the time my Mum returned everything had improved, I was still contracting but something strange was happening, I was starting to feel the contractions. After so long of having a working epidural I was confused by this and told the midwife, but she didn't seem concerned.

By around 11pm, my contractions were slowing down yet again. I was beside myself at this point. It seemed that without the drip my body was just too tired to work how I needed it too. The drip was restarted.

There was one small problem, my epidural had been stopped when the syntocin had been stopped, and now with the syntocin returning I had little to no pain relief (although this wasn't realised at this point). The contractions were startling, I ought to mention I hadn't had a contraction since around 7am that morning, I had almost forgotten what they were like. And yes, they really are much worse with the syntocin, I was in agony. I had to keep asking the midwife to turn the machine down as in my confused mind I thought that perhaps that would stop it hurting. It really didn't. It was all go now.

At around midnight I started to feel the urge to push. Hubbie and my Mum seemed to have got a second wind at this point i.e. they were being rather hyper and trying to make me laugh. Not easy when someone's in labour. I started what is lovingly called 'involuntary pushing' - I honestly couldn't help myself, but I didn't know what I was doing and given my legs were still quite numb I wasn't sure I was even doing anything!

The midwife (who was not the lovely Becky who I'd had during the day, but another lady), examined me again and said I was '9 and a bit cm', meaning that if the baby came now, she would likely get out ok. Empowered by this I put a bit more effort into my 'involuntary pushing'. I thought about everything I'd seen on One Born Every Minute and strained as hard as I could, I even surprised myself by not making too much noise.

I watched the clock creep towards 1am. I was examined again. Success, the midwife told me she could see the top of baby's head! Apparently she had a large bruise on the top of her head, caused by the duration of the labour and how long her poor head had been in the birth canal probably.

It was decided I would start 'organised pushing', so exciting! I would be given an hour to get the baby out. One hour, I could do this. My Mum and my Hubbie took their positions at the top of my bed near my head. They were both amazing, so encouraging. Every time I had a contraction I was told to try and get three long pushes in... I tried my damnedest. With gritted teeth and making surprisingly little noise given how much pain I was in - remember at this point, I had no pain relief at all after the epidural had worn off, and I was so very tired.

I tried so hard, I really did. My Mum kept telling me she was proud of me, but somehow it just wasn't enough.

I was examined again by the obstetrician at 2am. The baby hadn't come down at all, or rather apparently she kept coming down and going up again. I heard the obstetrician say to another member of staff (I've no idea who, the room was full by this point) that he thought the baby had the cord round her neck which is why she wasn't 'descending'. I was in tears. I was just so exhausted, terrified by the number of people in the room and what 'wasn't' happening at this point. I remember whispering to my husband 'I just want her out'. 'I know,' he said, 'I know'.

From now on, some of the details are a combination of what my Mum and my Hubbie have told me and my own memories.

There was an anaesthetist in the room. The obstetrician was discussing the use of forceps to assist getting the baby out. The anaesthetist advised the obstetrician that my epidural wasn't working and that he recommended I have a spinal block. 'Do it then,' the obstetrician said. The anaesthetist said no, he did spinal blocks in the theatre where everything was under his control, he suggested I go to the theatre now. His request was denied, his colleague wanted to try the forceps. The anaesthetist said he'd be back in ten minutes to take me to theatre then.

I can barely watch the scenes were women have forceps deliveries on One Born Every Minute now. The size and shape of the forceps make me wince.

My legs were hoisted up into stirrups - I still couldn't move them properly though the pain relieving effect had completely worn off, and the doctor got ready. He inserted the first forcep and I screamed. I let out a blood curdling scream. My husband works in the ambulance service and he said he hadn't even heard dying people scream like that. He'd torn me internally with the forcep. Despite my screams of pain, the second forcep was inserted, and I let out another scream. The doctor had torn me again.

I will forever be glad that my husband was standing by my head and didn't see the blood on the bed or flowing onto the floor. Unfortunately my poor mother did. I wish she hadn't, but it's also created a bond between us that will never be broken.

I was screaming uncontrollably at this point. I was utterly terrified, something was going very wrong and they wouldn't listen to me. 'Push,' they kept shouting. I can't, I couldn't, something was wrong, I could feel that she was stuck, wedged. I knew she wasn't coming out that way. I couldn't understand how the doctor couldn't see it. The next few minutes are a blur. I know the forceps were removed. I was told not to push. I remember sobbing to my husband that I was scared. I was screaming at the doctors to 'just get her out, something's wrong, you have to get her out!'.

The next thing I knew, the anaesthetist had appeared at my shoulder and was telling me in a wonderful calm, quiet voice, with one hand on my shoulder, that he was going to take me theatre and sort everything out. I believed him.

There was a lot of noise, and people moving about, restructuring my bed (they take the end off when the put you in stirrups), and sorting me out to go to theatre. The obstetrician appeared again and started reading me a consent form for a c-section. He was babbling through the pros and cons, and I snapped at him, I told him to 'just give me the fucking form'. To be fair, I remember thinking this but not saying it (though my mum and hubbie both said I did so I must have done!) but I hadn't got a clue what he was saying and just wanted to speed up the process!

My husband has since said to me that if I hadn't survived the delivery he would have used that form to argue that I wasn't in my right mind. The signature looked nothing like mine. I may as well have signed it with an X.

After the 'form incident' there was a few minutes were I could just talk to my husband. I remember him gripping my face and telling me it was going to be ok. He was so very brave, one of the many reasons I love him. I was so scared. I made Paul promise me that he would have skin to skin with the baby if they knocked me out with a GA. It was my way of asking him to look after her if I died. I was entirely convinced that one or both of us were going to die in the theatre. I was almost certain it would be me, and I was almost grateful. I so wanted my baby to live, it seemed a good hand off. That didn't stop me being scared, I was terrified, shaking and crying uncontrollably. My poor mother, I wish she hadn't seen me like that. I kept saying 'I love you' repeatedly to both of them. I was trying to say 'goodbye' without actually saying it.

I struggle to even reread the last paragraph without crying. I had to take a break whilst typing this.

My Mum couldn't come to theatre and we had to leave her there in the delivery room. I later learned that she was asked to pack up all my things and vacate the room immediately. She sat in a cold corridor until five thirty in the morning. That was the only bit about the Lister I could be disappointed with. They ought to have a family room for such situations. She certainly could have done with a cup of tea! I also later learned she phoned my younger sister in tears. Whilst she'd managed to be brave and smile for me, as soon as I'd gone she broke down. I'm so glad my little sister was available to talk to her and offer some support.

As we approached the theatre room Hubbie was led off to change into scrubs. I was transferred to the theatre bed (incredibly painful experience) and a number of theatre staff started bustling around me. They hoisted my legs up into another set of stirrups - these ones were higher and I had to actually be strapped in. My husband reappeared in scrubs. Lovely ;) He had the top tucked into the trousers, bless him.

The anaesthetist, the wonderful Jamie Price, was by my head trying to calm me. He started a spinal block. Within moments my pain had gone. It was such an incredible relief. I'm not sure whether I had rather a lot of the drug but when he brought my husband to me and settled him down in a chair by my head, I couldn't actually focus on my husband's face! My right eye wouldn't focus at all, and I can remember squinting at him and giggling because he was pulling faces at me.

I didn't (or couldn't) acknowledge what was going on at the other end of the table. I understood that they were going to try with the forceps again now that my pain was under control. I still expected to have a c-section. I was wrong. Within seconds my baby had appeared and was placed briefly on my stomach. The relief! The love! My goodness, that moment is crystal clear and will stay with me forever. She was purple, but she opened her eyes and looked at me - I knew she was all right. She was born at 2.46am on Wednesday 19th October 2011.

She was swiftly removed and taken over to the point where they clean the baby up and cut the cord. Hubbie was called over to do so. I was straining over my shoulder to see her, laughing and grinning my head off. Dr Price patted me on the shoulder and said 'you're a different girl to how you were five minutes ago!'. 'I know,' I replied, 'and it's all down to you, I love you!'. He had the good grace to laugh.

I heard my baby cry, but still no one had told me whether it was a boy or a girl. I expected her to be a girl, but I didn't know for sure. I asked Dr Price, and he returned with a grin and told me she was a girl. 'I was hoping you could call her Jamie' he laughed. If we hadn't had a name picked out already I may well have done I was so grateful to him.

She was soon wrapped in a towel and brought over to me to try and cuddle. I was desperate to have skin to skin contact with her, and managed to unfurl the towels a little and press her chest against mine briefly. No one seemed too keen about this, but it was very cold in theatre.

Within moments though my husband was asked to take her out to the recovery room. I gazed after him as they went. It was warmer there, I reasoned to myself.

Whilst all this had been going on apparently my placenta had been delivered (I didn't feel a thing) and they had started stitching me up. There was muttering about third degree tears and the bleeding not stopping. I didn't care, I was so happy I couldn't stop grinning to myself. I was nearly an hour being stitched up, most of what I could feel was my legs swaying back and forth whilst they bashed me about. Lovely eh? Still they seem to have done a good job.

As they wheeled me out of the theatre and to the recovery room I managed to call a feeble 'thank you' to the theatre staff. Despite my general dislike of the obstetrician I was grateful to all of them. They saved my daughter's life. They saved my life.

In recovery I was greeted by a glorious sight, my husband cradling our tiny daughter. She was 7lbs 8oz and she was perfect.

My beautiful, perfect little Froglet.

My Birth Story - Part One

On Saturday October 15th 2011 I started having some contractions again, they were pretty irregular and I wasn't too worried. After all the false starts I'd had, I was pretty sure this baby wasn't going anywhere until I was induced on my due date (October 24th).

So that weekend I pottered about, did some last minute things in the nursery, repacked my hospital bag yet again! All the going up and down the stairs was having a strange effect on my bladder - I kept leaking and was having to wear a pad and change it frequently. On Sunday evening, after a nice warm bath, I got out and actually wet myself, clearly the baby was really sitting on my bladder! Still I was looking forward to my brother, his girlfriend, and their daughter visiting on the Monday.

(I'm typing this with Froglet fast asleep and vying for space on my lap with the laptop btw!)

My niece, we'll call her Munchkin, arrived with her parents on the Monday morning. Her mum, my sister-in-law, was also pregnant, just two weeks behind me. Now Munchkin is a beautiful, vibrant, loud child. Combine her with my Shih Tzu puppy Max, and there was rather a lot of hyperactivity, shouting, squealing and much laughter that morning. I was having a few contractions whilst sitting on the sofa with my sister in law, accompanied by a few 'Ooh's, and she chuckled at me when I wondered out loud if perhaps Froglet was going to make an appearance before I was induced. No, we both said and laughed some more.

I waved my brother, SIL, and munchkin off at lunchtime, then told my husband I was popping up to the loo. My bladder, honestly, it was getting worse and worse. I waddled up the stairs (by this point my SPD was so bad and my bump so big that it was pretty hard to get up and down the stairs) and went to the loo. I'd got into the habit of checking the loo paper for blood fairly early on in my pregnancy (after a friend had had a miscarriage, my paranoia knows no bounds!) and I still did it at this point. I frowned. Not only was there blood on the loo paper, there was a lump of what looked like, for want of a better word, snot.

"Argh," I wondered out loud. "Is that my show?" - a lovely word learnt from forums like netmums.com and askbaby.com.

I liased with Hubbie, and a couple of mummy friends, and the consensus was that it was my show. I allowed myself to get a little bit excited, everyone I'd spoken to had said they'd gone into labour within a few days after having their show.

That afternoon was spent with my husband asleep on the sofa (he had taken his paternity leave from October 16th as I was no longer able to drive and had a lot of hospital appointments still to go to). Hubbie's excuse was he 'needed the energy for the 4am run to the hospital'.

Photographic evidence of Hubbie asleep on the sofa:



I, for my part, was bouncing up and down on my birthing ball as I watched TV as it was the only position comfortable for my increasingly painful back.

By 6pm Paul had woken up and I phoned my mum for a chat, and to tell her about my leaky bladder and my show. As I sat in the comfortable leather armchair, with my feet up on the pouffe (also a comfortable position), and chatted away, I felt another little gush of wee. I said to my mum, "Oh bugger, I've wet myself again". Then I felt a gush, that just kept coming. "Oooh," I said to my mum. Followed by another, "Oooh!" "What?" Mum asked. "I think my waters have broken!" She descended into laughter and so did I, it was ridiculous. Here I was, on the phone, and my waters were gushing all over me, my trousers and the (thankfully) leather armchair.

I said a quick goodbye to my Mum and rushed upstairs to the bathroom, closely followed by my Hubbie. I managed to get onto the toilet where my waters continued to gush. I managed to salvage the pad I was wearing, the liquid on it was strawcoloured and it smelled like, well semen to be honest! It was now obvious that all the leaking I'd had over the weekend was actually my waters and not urine. Despite the suddenness of it all I was pretty happy at this point.

However the date, Monday the 17th October happened to be the day that the hospital we were booked into (the QEII in Welwyn Garden City) was closing it's maternity unit. I had obviously been informed of this in advance and had checked out both hospitals, but the QEII was our preferred hospital as that's where my consultants were based and also where I was born. I really wanted our daughter to be born there.

So, because it was closing that day we decided to phone the delivery ward to check which hospital we should be going to when things progressed (as when my waters broke I was only contracting irregularly). We phoned the QE2 and they said they were actually accepting people until 0730 the next day, and that as my waters had broken they wanted me to go in to get checked over, so we headed down.

It's a 30 minute trip to QEII from our house (the new one, the Lister in Stevenage, is actually closer) so it was just gone 7pm when we got there. I got checked over and whilst it was my confirmed that it was my waters that had broken (I brought a pad in and they did the good old sniff test!) my cervix was still less than 1 cm dilated and fairly high still, though it was 'soft and stretchy'.

We headed home again. We were told to come back to QE2 if we needed to until 0730 the next morning, and after that to go to the new hospital. If nothing more had happened by 4pm the next day we were advised to present ourselves at the Lister to be induced given it would be coming up on 24hrs since my waters went. Once we were home contractions were getting more frequent and stronger, and I was determined to bounce up and down on my birthing ball till I got her out! My mum came over about 2200 and we spent the evening chattering as the contractions got stronger and a lot more painful. By 0200 I decided I needed more pain relief than the two co codomol I'd taken at 2200, and we phoned the delivery ward again. They obviously thought I sounded like I was in pain as they told us to come straight in.

Again, another 30 minute journey back to the hospital, this time with my mum as well as she was my second birthing partner - both my mum and my husband had their own hospital bags with them. Daddy and Nanny bags respectively!

I walked up to the delivery ward (fairly slowly, and stopping when I had contractions) with my mum whilst Paul parked the car, and just as we walked into the delivery room I felt another massive gush of fluid. I went to the loo to clean up as my trousers were soaked, and realised this time my waters were full of meconium - they were green with streaks of brown mucus/poo. My mum fetched the midwife back and they put me straight on the CTG machine. Baby was ok at this point but my BP and pulse were all over the place because I was so frightened and in a lot of pain.

Unfortunately it was rather down hill from here really. My contractions started coming very fast and very painfully. I breathed through them for a few hours as I was coping and didn't want to 'waste' the pain relief. Then by about 4am I wanted something to help so tried the gas and air. Well, bad reaction is an understatement. I was ok for the first half hour or so, then I started getting very dizzy and nauseous (and I'd used the gas and air sparingly). Then I started throwing up. Anyone who read my posts about hyperemesis will know I am terrified of being sick, and am like something out of the exorcist when I do it... I threw up with every contraction (obviously I stopped the gas and air straight away) for the next few hours.

By 6am, I knew there was something wrong, the contractions were merging into one another. I had started getting diarrhea as well as vomiting with every contraction. I was getting more and more upset and tired. At one point I was on the toilet for 15 mins with one continuous contraction, constant diarrhea and used about 6 vomit bowls (at this point it was luminous yellow bile) and I started having a panic attack as well. I will forever be grateful to the midwife who cuddled me whilst all this was going on - at this point I was too embarrassed to have my Mum or my Hubbie near me. Somehow a stranger was easier to deal with.

By this time I was so scared of the pain and the being sick (I started choking every time I was), and I felt something was going terribly wrong. They couldn't get me on the CTG because every time I put my head back I threw up again, it was just awful. I had three different anti-emetics, including one very strong one that is apparently given to cancer patients (this one worked), which my husband (who's a paramedic) actually asked for - I'm so lucky he knows these things!

I also had some pethedine and with the combination of that, the anti-emetic and the adrenalin from the panic attack, it was like my body went 'enough' and my contractions slowed down to the point of stopping by 8am on the Tuesday morning. I was still only 2cms dilated.

At this point the staff made the decision to transfer me to the Lister hospital in Stevenage (which was our back up hospital) by ambulance. Because they were closing the maternity ward at the QEII most of the staff and equipment would already be at the Lister that morning. My mum and the midwife came with me, and Paul drove the car up. The crew were friends of my husband and were amazing. I usually get sick in ambulances but they drove so well the midwife was more car sick than me despite us going on blue lights most of the way! My sister (who's also a paramedic) also managed to put her head in as we left and it was lovely and rather cheering to see her.

The worst bit about the trip was that the ambulance overtook a funeral cortege on the wrong side of the road, with blue lights and sirens, and it was a horse drawn carriage! I was so embarrassed as I worried what the poor family must have thought. Thankfully the horses didn't seem too worried.

And so with some disappointment that my daughter would not be born at the QEII, we headed north to the Lister hospital, and the next part of my Birth Story.

To be continued ...