My motherhood journey part 1

It all started with a chemical induction on 31 May 2012 at 7.30am in the morning.  Gosh were the contractions unbelievably unbearable, and increasingly so.  By 3pm I was begging for the epidural.  All the antenatal and natural child birth classes where they teach you to breathe your baby down flew out of the window.  It was hard to see how the breathing could have eased the two contractions per minute that were coming hard and fast.  I suspect it was due to the induction and Hector did not have enough time to turn.  At 4pm approval for epidural was granted and by 5pm I was happily sedated, but boy was the process difficult!  I would describe it as an ordeal.  While they were threading the epidural down my spine, I was enduring a contraction after another and my waters broke.  I was shivering and shuddering violently and no amount of practiced breathing helped, and I began to hyperventilate.  The anaesthetist was puzzled as to my hyperventilation.  In fact, I shivered during the whole of the cesarean operation due to the epidural drugs.  I had to have an emergency c-section because Hector wasn’t turning and his heart rate was quickly falling.  My ob said my placenta was breaking down, and by the time they pulled baby out, there was little or no amniotic fluid and he had done a poo, so they had to ventilate the meconium out of his lungs when they took him out.  He didn’t cry.  My boy didn’t cry when they pulled him out.  I was surprised and rather worried.  Kept looking over my shoulder to see if he was alright while they sewed me up.  He was already holding his head up when he came out, and looking for food 🙂  Unfortunately because it was a cesarean I couldn’t feed him until an hour later when I was wheeled into the room and he immediately latched onto my breast.  Poor chap.  Hubby said he kept wanting to eat looking for my breast all the time from when he came out.  The epidural did provide a lot of relief, but what I didn’t like about it was the helplessness I felt – the catheter for instance; when I bled the nurses had to clean up after me; and I could not feel my lower half of the body and my right upper thigh.  I suspected my baby did not have time to turn due to the fast and furious contractions.  In fact, I was dilated at 10 cm but he could not come out in spite of my efforts at pushing.  Did I imagine I would have a cesarean and it came true?  The difficulty with a cesarean (especially an emergency one) is the emotional and physical toil post operation.  I kept going over in my head whether it was because of the choices we made earlier on to hold off the inevitable induction hoping that somehow my body would birth naturally at 40 weeks and 5 days.  The physical obstacle was of course breast feeding.  My milk took a really long time to come in, and when it did, I didn’t make enough.  This became a major problem in the weeks to come when I had to confront my ability to breast feed and the confinement nanny’s snide remarks about my baby not eating enough, but this is another story for another post.  We couldn’t figure out why he was always crying at the hospital.  We had to be there for 5 days.  In the end after my parents arrived, they pointed out that it was because he was cold.  The hospital air conditioning was really cold, but I couldn’t feel it because I was heated up all the time post operation.  One of the nurses saw how hungry Hector was and suggested we supplement with a bottle of formula.  It became a nightly affair until we were told by another nurse whom I really didn’t like that we had to bring our own formula, which left me almost in tears.  It was only when I explained to her my situation (the emergency c-section and my milk supply) did she appear sympathetic and said it was alright, but the negative first encounter was already established. I would never forget this moment when we first met.  She came in and took one look at my chart and said that this was the day when most women get postpartum depression – was I alright?  If I was before, I sure wasn’t anymore.  She had a very witchy look about her with a sharp nose and fake looking teeth.  She stood really close to me when she was talking to me, which was rather unnerving.  When I was changing Hector and using a nappy rash cream, she chided me – why are you using that?  When I took so long to put on the nappy, she brushed me aside and demanded, ‘here let me do it’ she said.  When he dirtied himself, she used water to wipe his already fragile skin causing him more distress.  I was pretty unhappy and traumatised by her demeanour.  i guess the overall cesarean birth left me feeling somewhat disempowered, a feeling which was compounded and magnified by the arrival of my parents with the confinement nanny in tow.  But that’s a story for another day.

34 weeks

I’m 34 weeks and counting today… YIKES?!!  Hah hah no it’s great.  All this anticipation is killing me!  Can’t wait to stop reminding myself to:

Not to sit with my legs crossed
Sleep on my left side
Drink more orange juice (as opposed to coke)
Stay away from the occasional glass of wine
Not feel bad for missing out on social occasions
Not feel bad when my career is going to be placed on hold for the next couple of years
Not feel bad when I feel like a dumb cow

Isn’t pregnancy (or should I say, having a child) great?  ALL that self sacrifice is supposed to be worth it – so they say.  To be  honest, I’m a mixed bag of thoughts.  On the one hand, it’s the next step in life so it makes sense.  It’s going to be wonderful, some people say.  On the other hand, it’s going to be SUCH a drastic and dramatic change in lifestyle that it will take some getting used to.  Especially the things women have had to sacrifice – their careers, financial security and those sorts of selfish material things you’re used to when you’re single, they say it’s all worth every penny.  So ‘they’ tell you.  They also make you feel bad when you want to return to work or chastise yourself for deciding to have kids.  Why do it when you obviously are not prepared to make the sacrifices?  In a patriarchal world, that reasoning sort of makes sense.  But in a society when joint parenting is increasingly popular and share of sacrifices and household chores means that both parents make equal sacrifices (some more some less), and even so, it is usually almost always (sometimes) the women who end up on the back foot (compared to their male counterparts) most of the time.  Though I happily stand corrected.

How is one going to climb up the career ladder if you have to remain jobless or the better option, part time, for 2-3 years?  If you choose to climb and climb mightily as you can, then you face.. what is put forward like a threat.. the option of parenting by nanny, grandparent or child care centre.. none of which, to be honest, sound desirable.  So the answer is probably one can’t have the cake and eat it at the same time, but men can?  

Aside from my cynical doubts about parenthood, I have to say it might turn out to be the best decision ever.  My self doubt and pessimism are certainly uncalled for.  This is a time for celebration, excitement and joy… loads and loads of joy for that one single bundle of joy I’ve been carrying for the last 8 months.  Again, so they say.  I say it’s all very confusing.  To be honest, I’m not sure if I’m supposed to feel which way they tell me to.  For most part, I’m rather concerned, sometimes happy, other times suffering from pangs of guilt for leaving my writing behind and enviously watching others climb out of their postgraduate status to become lecturers while I succumb to the pressures of motherhood.  I comfort myself with my ‘planned’ imaginary projects for the future when in reality, I doubt I will ever achieve anything anymore.  The thesis will probably be my last achievement and funnily, it doesn’t even feel like I’ve done much now that the top-of-the-mountain-feeling has long dissipated.  The glittery cloud of dust that has been suspended for so long has now gathered at the bottom of my feet which I can no longer see from the vantage point of my ballooning stomach.  Though, I can feel their powdery residues that remind me once upon a time the world felt like an oyster for which anything is possible.  Now, the walls are closing in but the flowers to their credit are still blooming and you’re really not sure which is more true, or are they the same delusion of the one very imaginative dreamer.