The Rest of The Story

In those first minutes after Charlie arrived we debated about whether or not to keep driving to our chosen hospital, or to wait for the ambulance. It was at that point that I did start thinking about what could have gone wrong - did Charlie swallow meconium? Was he breathing ok? Could I keep him warm enough? Was I bleeding? What if, what if, what if...? We both seemed fine, all fingers and toes accounted for, but not being experts we decided to wait and make sure. We knew the ambulance would take us to the nearest public hospital but we thought it would be a matter of getting us both checked out and then being transferred to the private hospital soon after. In hindsight we should have kept driving...

The ambulance arrived and the paramedics wrapped us up, clamped the cord and loaded us into the truck. Charlie and I were still attached by the cord and there wasn't a lot that the paramedics could do for us. They sat there beside me, grinning madly, impressed that I had not only managed to deliver a baby in a car, but that he was also a boy, and my second at that, how very clever of me. D drove behind the ambulance and when Charlie and I arrived at the Princess Margaret Hospital, we were whisked off to a trauma room at the A and E department. The room was full of nurses and noise, with everyone moving very quickly and chatting away in Cantonese. They cut the cord and took Charlie from me. I let them because I assumed they were going to make sure he was ok and then give him back to me. Not a single person introduced themselves or explained to me what they were doing and I had to ask several times if my baby was ok before anyone acknowledged me. One of the nurses quietly congratulated me but the rest of the time I was ignored. Another nurse came at me with a syringe and told me to roll over. When I asked what she was giving me, she said it was pitocin to help deliver the placenta. I refused it and she threw her hands in the air, shaking her head and muttering away in Cantonese. It was the first of many such outbursts we would cause that day.

I could see they had put Charlie in an incubator and, despite not knowing why, I trusted that it was necessary, and still imagined that he would be given back to me momentarily. I was then the focus of their attention as yet another nurse took to my nether regions with cold water and antiseptic. She scolded me for leaving home so late, "you made such a mess!" she exclaimed. I should point out that from the moment I realised I was in labour to the moment Charlie arrived, no more than 3 hours had passed. I was told I would be taken to the labour ward to wait for the placenta to be expelled, and Charlie would be going to the NICU. I was assured that my husband was in the waiting room and would go with Charlie wherever he went. I was wheeled downstairs, and banged into a few doors along the way. I was in quite a bit of pain as I was still having contractions but no one offered me any pain relief, and the rough ride on the stretcher did nothing to help the situation. Again I was fussed over by a different group of nurses and was asked all sorts of personal questions, as they attempted to take my medical and personal history (all while trying to deliver my placenta...).  From the date of my first ever period to my husband's ID card number, I was grilled on just about everything there is to know about us. I started to get impatient, more concerned with where my baby and husband were than whether or not the paperwork was complete. When I asked a nurse if Charlie was ok she said she didn't know, he was in a different department and I had to push them to let me use the phone so I could speak to my husband and hopefully get an update from him. The phone they gave me didn't work and it was another 2 hours before D and I got a chance to speak to each other. I was left on my own for quite a while, and was told I would have to wait for the doctor, although no one could tell me how long she would be - "she will come when she comes."

Beside the bed there was a poster advertising the hospital's "Breast is Best" policy and when I tried to speed things up by mentioning that I would like to feed my baby, it was clear that the posters were just for show. The nurses were checking my blood pressure fairly regularly and I was warned that it was gradually rising. I calmly informed them that it would rapidly return to normal as soon as I could see my son. To which I was told, I wouldn't be going anywhere while it was that high. It was infuriating beyond belief. After what seemed like an eternity I finally got in touch with D and he was allowed in to see me. He hadn't been allowed in to see Charlie, as it wasn't "visiting hours" and had created quite a stir himself trying to reunite the 3 of us. I was heartbroken at the thought that my little man had been alone all that time, and so angry that there was nothing we could do about it.  The doctor finally arrived and D was asked to leave, as if to respect my privacy. Ironic given that he had just delivered our baby... I needed stitches and more dousing in cold antiseptic apparently, and the whole time she was working the doctor was chatting and giggling with the nurse. She gave me a local anaesthetic but didn't allow it time to work so I felt every stitch and when I cried out in pain there was more chattering and the nurse handed me the gas. I sucked on that thing like my life depended on it, hoping to wipe out all the horrible things I was feeling at that moment, and with any luck also lower my blood pressure.

Eventually I was allowed off the maternity ward and sent to the post-natal ward, where I was told I could finally see Charlie. At that stage we hadn't spent enough time with him to have agreed that he was, in fact, going to be coined Charlie, but in my heart he always was. As I arrived on the ward I was asked if I was breast or bottle feeding, and they took me past a room full of about 20 women to the breast-feeding ward where I was one of only three new mothers. Apparently feeding time was at 1pm and that's when visiting hours ended but there was no way I was letting my husband out of my sight when we were all finally about to be reunited. Being told when I could feed my son and when I could see my husband, and neither or those things being allowed to happen at the same time was the final straw (yes, I understand many women sharing a ward might be uncomfortable with a man in the room), and it was about that point that I declared to the staff we were leaving. We never had any intention of staying but we had decided to wait until Charlie was with us before we mentioned that to anyone, in case they wouldn't let him go. We set the wheels in motion when we knew he was on his way but then a funny thing happened. I heard Charlie crying as they wheeled him into the room but as soon as he was handed to me he stopped. And as I held him and fed him for the first time, it didn't matter where I was or what had gone down at that horrible place, I felt invincible and completely wrapped up in the tiny little creature in my arms. I still didn't want to stay, mind you.

As it was against hospital policy to discharge us so soon, we had to sign a waiver saying we were leaving against medical advice - paperwork I was more than happy to comply with. We got back in the car (which had been cleaned, but was a little worse for wear) and fled, feeling a little like criminals, to the Matilda Hospital, where we had planned to be all along.

I know I haven't painted a very rosy picture of the public hospital system here and for that I apologise. My experience was unique, and I know a lot of women who have had their babies in the public hospitals and they have been fine. The health care provided here is world class but it's the lack of bedside manner, and patient care that most expats find difficult to take. For me, having a baby is an amazing, but emotionally overwhelming experience and I felt like it was turned into a clinical procedure, one that I had apparently interfered with in having my baby on my own. It was a time when I had no patience for the cultural differences and language barriers that come with living here, and I wanted out. If you go in knowing what to expect, and being prepared to either fight for what you want, or step back and accept what happens to you then the system will work for you. But it did not work for me. I have tried not to dwell on those painful hours after Charlie's birth. I feel like I was robbed of a really precious time, and I'm mad at myself for letting it happen, even though I didn't really have a choice.

At the end of the day, my little boy and I have not been adversely affected by anything that occurred that day, and we had 48 hours together at the Matilda to bond and get to know each other. He is still soothed by the sound of my voice, and is instantly comforted when I pick him up and hold him on my chest. I feel an overwhelming sense of relief every time that happens and I'm amazed by that connection we have. We may have spent too much time apart on his birthday, but we shared something pretty incredible that day, and that's what I will chose to remember.

On the Day You Were Born

To my darling Charlie,

Firstly my love, welcome to the world. We are so thrilled to finally meet you and to have you at home. Your birth certificate states that you were born at the A & E department at Princess Margaret hospital, which is a shame because the real story is far more exciting. You were actually born in the back of the car at the entrance to the Nam Wan tunnel, on the Tsing Sha highway, delivered by your amazing daddy. When news of your somewhat unconventional arrival got out, there were some who thought we were joking, and it certainly created a stir. As one friend put it - "she had the baby in the car" news travels faster than plain old "she had the baby." So today, I'm going to tell the story, for you, and for the record, of the day you were born.

After a rough night, with your big brother waking a few times, I noticed in my sleep that I was having contractions. They weren't strong enough to wake me, or lasting long enough to worry me - I'd been having them on and off all week. At 6.30 I decided to get up and time them, and they were about 10 minutes apart and lasting for 30 seconds, nothing to worry about. I told your dad I thought we might have a baby that day and he thought (hoped) I was kidding. We all got up and had breakfast together and as we did I noticed that the contractions were getting stronger, lasting longer and coming closer together. It was also getting more and more difficult to breathe through them. I still wasn't too concerned and concentrated on relaxing and spending time with J. I called the hospital just to let them know we'd probably be in later and they suggested I take some Panadol and call back in 2 hours, "you're probably in the early stages and may have a long way to go," said the midwife reassuringly. I thought we'd better get organised just in case and got in the shower. I had three contractions in the shower and the hot water helped me through them. I remember thinking that when we got to the hospital I would have to get in the shower. When I got out of the shower and timed my contractions again they were suddenly coming every 2-3 minutes. I told Daddy we had better get going and by the time we got down to the car I was feeling the urge to push. The pain was quite intense and it took all of my concentration to breathe and relax. I watched the clock, knowing that each contraction would only last a minute or so, focusing on getting through the peak and back down the other side. Daddy drove faster than he ever has, but calmly and carefully. When we got to the other side of the hill my waters broke. I still thought we might make it to the hospital and wondered if I would be able to stick to my "drug-free" birth plan. I had a moment of disappointment as I realised I had barely had time to think about all the techniques we had learned at our Calmbirth class, apart from the breathing, as things grew more and more intense and I couldn't focus on anything other than what was happening inside me.

As we crossed the Tsing Ma bridge I began to think we might not make it after all, and the only moment I truly lost control, and my temper, was when we found ourselves stuck behind an "Alphard" (a people-mover favoured by the Chinese and driven by notoriously bad drivers). Mummy said some words that I hope to never hear come out of your mouth young man, and Daddy got us out of there quick smart. Minutes later, knowing there was a tunnel and another bridge ahead, we agreed that it was probably time to pull over. Some of the best advice we had received while I was pregnant was, if we found ourselves in that exact situation, to stop the car and go with it - so we did. The men from the tunnel monitoring station came running out as soon as we pulled in and your dad shouted "my wife's having a baby!" which quickly sent them running in the opposite direction to call an ambulance. I was already in the back seat and got up on my knees while your dad pulled out J's car seat and grabbed the towels and blanket we had packed "just in case." Dad said he could see your little head crowning and with two more big contractions, and very little effort on my part, you were out. Daddy caught you, cried out "it's a boy!" cleared your nose and mouth, and you let out a tiny little cry - and that was the moment I realised that you were actually here. The relief I felt was instant and indescribable, and after Daddy placed you in my arms we looked at each other and laughed with tears in our eyes. We had just delivered our baby in the back of the car!

Just the day before we had read up on what to do if we had to deliver you ourselves, not for a minute imagining that it would actually happen, and we both had complete faith that the other one knew what they were doing. I trusted that my body knew what it was doing and in the moment, none of the things that could've gone wrong entered my mind. It sounds crazy, but it was as close to our ideal birth as it possibly could be - free from interference and away from the stark and sterile environment of a hospital. Just the 3 of us, getting on with it.

Unfortunately the rest of the day wasn't as smooth, and the most traumatic part of the whole experience began when we arrived, by ambulance, at the Princess Margaret Hospital. I will have to save that part of our story for another day little bear, as you are starting to fuss and Mummy can't type with one hand yet. I will say this though, we shared a moment in the ambulance you and I, when I was able to feed you for the first time and you reached up and grabbed onto my finger with your tiny hand. You stole my heart, utterly and completely, and have continued to do so every day since. Your birth may have been a very exciting part of the story, but it was only the beginning.

All my love,
Mummy xx

A Waiting Game

I am now 38 weeks pregnant and with any luck, we are about 2 weeks away from meeting this little person. I'm torn between being really excited, and absolutely terrified.

When close friends were expecting their second child, the husband complained that there was nowhere near the same amount of fuss made when they announced their pregnancy. He felt as if people somehow cared less. I haven't noticed that at all, and if anything I've appreciated the fact that there's been less unsolicited advice this time around. People assume, because you've done it all before, you know what you're doing and they let you get on with it. After J was born I looked at friends who were having their second or third babies with awe and admiration. The simple fact that they had been through it all and were willing to do it again seemed worthy of high praise (either that or they were completely mad - it varied depending on how much sleep I'd had). It's the thought of facing all of the feeding and crying and sleep deprivation again, and trying to manage a very loveable but headstrong toddler, that keeps me awake at night, praying that I'll get a few more days. I clench every muscle in my body and chant, "don't come out tonight, don't come out tonight," over and over. I'm physically feeling about as ready as I'll ever be, and can't imagine I could be more uncomfortable than I am right now, but despite 38 weeks of preparation, I am far from ready mentally and emotionally, and that's quite a crucial part of the process me thinks.

As much as you prepare and plan and talk to people about it all, you can never fully grasp just how amazing, exhausting, beautifully overwhelming and utterly all-consuming having your first child can be, until they're there in your arms, taking over your home, and so completely and effortlessly stealing your heart. I'm sure we have a few shocks in store for us, as we learn how amazing, exhausting, beautifully overwhelming and utterly all-consuming having a second child can be, and I simply cannot wait to see my J as a big brother, but we know what we're getting this time around, and to me that makes it even more special. I don't mean that we know we're getting a boy or a girl, and we have no way of knowing what kind of person this little one will be, but we know what it's like to create a child and we remember the joy of that first meeting, and how precious it is to watch them grow - with every day bringing something new and different. We don't know how we managed it, but our son is an awesome human being, and every day he does or says something that blows us away. The fact that I get to go through all of that again is what excites me the most, and if anything, it makes the anticipation of BITO's arrival even greater.

At this point in my first pregnancy I had put on 20kgs, I was 4cm dilated and I had been told by my obstetrician that our baby would arrive "any day." He was still defiantly 2 weeks away but we were so desperate to meet him that we did everything we could to get him out. This time it's me, defiantly hanging in there, not yet ready to surrender to what my body will inevitably do with or without my compliance. I want to give my son more time as my one and only, and I want one more chance to have dinner alone, out somewhere with my husband, I want to keep the appointments for a massage and a haircut that I have this week, and I want to sleep for 10 hours straight as many times as I possibly can before our world is changed forever once again (I'd also like to avoid having a baby on the 29th of February if I can...). Then, I'll be ready to take on everything wonderful, and not so wonderful, that lies ahead. So, dear baby, you will be welcomed with love whenever you arrive, but Mummy would like it if you would kindly wait a few more days.

A Birth Day

I started this post a while ago for very different reasons to why I'm finally putting it out there now. I have been known to get on the natural birth bandwagon from time to time, and I get quite distressed when I encounter women who are absolutely terrified of giving birth naturally, to the point of choosing to have an elective caesarean instead. I was pretty terrified at one point (and I'm sure I will be again second time round), but if you go in with the right mindset and know everything you can know, it's really not that scary. Trust me, I had such a good experience I'm going to do it again! Before I go off on a tangent, let me explain that I'm telling you my story today because my amazing little man just turned 2. He went from being a helpless, floppy, completely dependent (but adorable) newborn, to a very independent, confident and talkative little boy in such a short time that I cannot believe two years have passed since the night we drove to the hospital in the pouring rain and came home with a baby. It was the most incredible night of my life, and I really feel blessed to have brought such a special little person into the world. I cannot wait to do it again (and maybe again after that :-) Here's how it all went down...

Three weeks before my son was born I got a fright in the middle of the night. Something shifted and I went into what they call "pre-labour." I was quietly dilating and contracting while going about my business, and was totally oblivious to the fact until my next doctor's appointment. I saw my obstetrician three times in those three weeks, and the first two times she examined me and swore that we would have a baby within the next 48 hours. My husband extended his leave to ensure he was by my side, ready to leap into action any time I so much as whimpered (crying out in pain one night from a leg cramp had him halfway to the car before I calmly informed him it was not "go time."), I packed my bag and together we anxiously awaited our fate. In the meantime we did everything the books tell you to do if you're trying to bring on labour, although not always at the same time; for the record, vindaloo is not conducive to romance. On the third and final visit Dr G threw her hands in the air and refused to make any promises, "he'll come when he's ready," she said. Now that I know my son better, I've accepted that as part of who he is, and I love him for it, but at the time I was so desperate to meet him that I grew increasingly frustrated. It wasn't until I gave up and realised he had to come out eventually, that he finally made an appearance.

While we waited that week, we watched a documentary on zoo animals (during a break from eating curry, doing yoga and drinking raspberry leaf tea and pineapple juice), where we learned the interesting little fact that wild animals often go into labour at night, in bad weather, when there are fewer predators around, and we joked that maybe that was what the little guy was waiting for. And so it was, on a wet, windy and cold December night, just after getting into bed, my waters broke. Since the hospital was an hour away we had been advised to leave home when my contractions were 10 minutes apart - they started at 5 minutes apart. By the time we got to the hospital at midnight I could barely walk. I was also one of those annoying women who wanted to give birth without pain relief. Trust me when I tell you that it had nothing to do with being a martyr, I just hated the idea of someone sticking a needle in my spine. So I endured three solid hours of almost back-to-back contractions, all the while dealing with a really unhelpful midwife who kept coming in and telling me that yet another "hypnobirther" in the ward had caved in and asked for an epidural. She'd follow this with "so you want drugs yet?" I had my brilliant husband and my amazing sister-in-law in the room with me and they kept me going.

I had done a lot of research before I went into labour because I wanted to be prepared for what I could expect to happen. I also had an awful lot of time on my hands while I waited. By far the most helpful thing I read was from a book called "Birth Skills" by Juju Sundin (find more info here). She talked about fear leading to tension, and tension leading to pain, or at least increasing it. She also reminds pregnant mums that the pain of childbirth is very different to the pain caused by disease or injury: it's a positive pain caused by your muscles working to help you deliver your baby. It's also a temporary pain. It all made perfect sense to me, and armed with the faith that my body knew what it was doing, I was able to relax and just go with it. You'll be pleased to know that throughout it all I stayed very calm, and only yelled at my husband once. I wasn't a complete hero I have to admit. At around 2.30am I had had just about as much as I could take. My labour had been mercifully short (if you don't count the first three weeks!) but really intense. I was ready to take whatever they could give me to make the pain go away but when the midwife had a little look-see downstairs she was surprised to find that I was ready to push. It was too late for the drugs. I made do with gas and air (a godsend, that made me feel a million bucks) and got ready to meet my son. The doctor arrived, wearing scrubs and gumboots, which I found a little alarming. She told me I'd have a baby by 5am, which seemed like an awfully long time away to me, but I didn't have to wait that long. JWC was born at 3.14 am weighing a very robust 4kgs. The relief was instant, and apart from the overwhelming love and adoration, I also felt kind of proud. I had done it, I had survived childbirth. The pain didn't kill me, I didn't give up, and my trust in my own ability proved worthwhile. Anytime after that when I was sleep deprived and miserable, days when I felt completely helpless because I had no idea what I was doing, I thought back on that night and it gave me the motivation I needed to keep going. It was such a boost - "I gave birth to an enormous (but adorable) baby without drugs, I can do anything."

Giving birth to a baby of that size, in that space of time, isn't without its drawbacks, and I have the scars to prove what I went through. But, without sounding blase or trite, I'd do it all again now that I know what I got in the end.

Those first 24 hours, in fact the first weeks and months have all been blurred in my mind, but the memory of holding my little guy for the first time will stay vividly in my memory forever. I felt like I already knew him, we'd waited so long to meet him, and he'd been with me all that time, but I knew there was still so much we had to learn about each other. We spent the first 12 months of his life focused on the basics that would keep him (and us) alive - food and sleep. Then we relaxed a little and got to know him for the person that he is, and it's been a blast. He's so much like me at times, then so much like his dad at others. Then there are the times when he's a completely unique individual and we look at each other and wonder where he came from. He loves cars, trucks, buses, planes and Thomas the Tank Engine. He adores his daddy, but only mummy's company will do last thing at night and first thing in the morning. He dances around the living room and sings us songs in Mandarin. He loves being outdoors and has been known to wear our shoes, and often looks like a very short version of my father. He eats like a sparrow, has the energy of 10 men, and likes to pretend he is a cat. And we think he is simply awesome. It's been fascinating and fantastic and very, very funny at times, and we can't wait to see what the next 12 months have in store. Happy Birthday my little J bird x