So, four years ago this week I was lying in my hospital bed, with an expression of pure joy mixed with utter fear, all at the same time.
I had become a mummy to a beautiful baby girl.
As new parents we were overjoyed and elated, overwhelmingly proud and protective yet utterly scared and frightened as we hadn’t really a clue as to what to do next!
It was all a little daunting the first time round.
As pregnancies go, it was a happy time with lots of fun shopping in baby stores and planning of nursery colour schemes and a million discussions and ‘vito’s’ of various baby names
We chose to find out the sex at 20 weeks – don’t ask me why – we were just nosy I suppose and too keen and eager to plan ahead accordingly.
Umpteen baby books were read, re-read, bookmarked and highlighted as we prepared for the impending birth of our daughter. Almost as if we were studying for exams, revising the many subjects.
Unfortunately, things did get a little more difficult in the later months. So much so, that in the end, due to scares of pre-eclampsia, high proteinuria levels and hereditary hypertension which was ridiculously high, my fabulous consultant decided I was to be induced at exactly 40 weeks.
So in I went, my hospital bag on one side of my bed and my equally as anxious and nervous husband on the other.
The first injection didn’t work, so I was given a second.
I waited patiently in pain in my bed, as time after time I watched as other mums were wheeled through to the birthing rooms ready to have their babies. But each time I was checked, i’d hardly dilated any more and again the nurse walked away. The pain relief wasn’t working either.
Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, I desperately asked for an epidural.
They decided then, that it was time to wheel me down to my own birthing room and they gave me the epidural as i’d requested.
Then, after many more hours under the camoflaged comfort of the pain relief, I remember as the alarm sounded; as a team of staff came rushing in through the doors of my birthing room, and as one particular lady heaved me up and over onto my side in one swift manoeuvre.
It was all a little hazy.
I heard lots of voices talking to one another in quick succession and saw as they each darted around my bedside.
I was then whisked into the theatre for an emergency c-section as our baby’s heart had started to slow.
I remember crying.
I was scared.
Not for myself but for my baby, who I had been waiting for for such a long time.
Then, to be honest, it was all a bit of a blur from then until I was in the recovery room with a baby by my side. I hadn’t been under a general anaesthetic or anything, but I think the whole experience just washed me out.
We were all ok though.
Me, led in my hospital bed still woozy from the drugs and experience, Mr B sat in the chair beside me, texting relatives and friends with the happy announcement, and little Holly, led asleep, all coy and wrapped up warm, in her little crib beside my bed.
Looking back to that day, those moments, I regret that I didn’t hold her close to me when she was born. That we never experienced that ‘skin to skin’ moment as is so recommended by midwives and experts.
Though – in the whole grand scheme of things, I suppose its not made much of a difference to any of us in the long run.
We all love each other dearly and have spent very, very happy and content four years together.