Poorly Pet

Graeme took Max to the vets on Wednesday because the poor thing has been peeing blood for a couple of days. He started having trouble going to the loo a couple of weeks ago, but it seemed to clear up last week. At the weekend though, his trouble came back with a vengeance and with the addition of blood in his wee. This isn't the first time Max has had this problem. Last time the vet said it was caused by the stress of a scary cat coming into our yard, but it cleared up with a course of tablets. There is no denying that Max is stressed out at the moment; the slightest thing is making him jump and he seems to be permanently on high alert. We have had some cats coming into our yard again, which made Max really unsettled and the arrival of Francis has certainly had an effect on him.

The Vet said that stress may have been the trigger, but there could be any number of underlying causes. Worryingly, as there is blood in the wee and as Max is constatly trying to empty his bladder, this could be the sign of something more serious than a spot of cystitis. This time, a more intensive course of treatment is needed. Max has had an antibiotic injection and today started a course of antibiotic tablets. Once the tablets are finished we have to get a wee sample from him (HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! Clearly this vet has never owned a cat...) and if tests show that it contains crystals he'll need another course of tablets and possibly a special diet! Hopefully it won't come to that and the current tablets will sort him out. Though, after the performance I had trying to get one down him this morning I suspect he may need further treatment.

Lisa xxx

Mole Malady

Today I went to the doctor to have a couple of moles on my back looked at. A few weeks ago Graeme told me he thought they looked different and, as I've watched a few medical programmes recently about the dangers of dodgy moles, I booked an appointment with my GP.

Thankfully, after taking a closer look at the moles in question, the doctor didn't feel that they were anything to worry about. However, I've been referred to Broadgreen Hospital where the doctor says, as a precaution, they will probably want to remove the moles. Something to look forward to then. I've had moles removed before and it wasn't pleasant (it involved a great deal of local anasthetic and the smell of burning flesh), but I'm more than happy to endure a bit of discomfort to remove something that has the potential to turn cancerous in the future. I'd love them to remove all of my moles, but I don't think there'd be much of me left afterwards!

Lisa xxx

Tooth Number Two!

Francis has cut his second tooth already! I wasn't expecting it so soon after cutting his first one. He's not bothered by them at all - no more tears than usual and still sleeping through the night. I hope he's like this when the the rest of his teeth make their appearance!

Lisa xxx

Francis Takes a Seat

Yesterday Francis sat unsupported for the first time! He can stay sitting for ages too which really surprised me, considering he's never sat on his own before.

Here is the evidence!

Lisa xxx

Tickled Pink

I suppose it had to happen sooner or later. For the first time ever I've accidentally dyed a load of washing. Unfortunately, it was Francis's things. Even more unfortunately, I dyed everything pink. The culprit was a beach towel we've had for years which I'd assumed wouldn't run. It's a shame the towel wasn't blue because this wouldn't have resulted in unwearable clothes!

I'm now desperately hoping the colour run remover does the trick, but the clothes still looked extremely pink when I last checked...

Lisa xxx

Things That Go Waaaaaaahhhh in the Night

Francis has really got the hang of rolling and can now circumnavigate the living room with surprising speed. I can't take my eyes off him for a second or he'll be chewing on my slippers or rolling dangerously close to the fireplace. Although this keeps me on my toes, it isn't really a problem. However, on Friday night we had our first bad night in months and it was all down to Francis's new skill.

Before I went to bed I popped in his room to check on him as the previous two mornings we'd found him lying in his front. As expected, he was lying on his front, but he was squashed up against the bars of the cot with his face pressed into the mattress. How he was managing to breathe I have no idea. I wasn't happy leaving him like this so I rolled him onto his back, but he was having none of it and rolled straight back again. Sensing I was fighting a losing battle, I left him on his front, but moved him to the middle of the cot and made sure his head was turned to the side.

I wasn't happy leaving him on his front and it took me ages to fall asleep as I lay in bed listening to his breathing over the monitor. The next thing I knew I was woken by Francis sounding a bit upset. I checked the clock - it was 3:45am. I knew Francis wouldn't be hungry and from the sound he was making I gathered he had probably rolled again and was uncomfortable.

I went into his room and as I'd suspected he was squashed up against the side of the cot again. I popped him back in the middle and thus began a 1 1/2 hour battle to get him back to sleep. He started crying so I gave him his dummy. He didn't want it and cried even more. So I picked him up which did calm him down, but he just screamed again whenever I put him down. So I started pacing the room with him and managed to get him off to sleep a couple of times, but for some reason he wouldn't stay settled. As I knew he was definitely teething I tried some teething gel, which stopped him crying for all of five minutes before he was off again. This time, even picking him up didn't work and I had no idea how to calm him down as he was screaming and flailing about in my arms.

I was at a complete loss and starting to feel quite upset myself - I'd been with Francis for about an hour. Luckily Graeme appeared at this point and took over. We decided to try Francis with some paracetamol just in case he was having some teething pain - it would be so much easier if Francis could just tell us what was wrong! By now I was shattered so, after I'd given Francis his paracetamol, I went to bed and left Graeme to try to settle him. Much to my relief (and annoyance) Graeme was able to get Francis off to sleep within 10 minutes or so; it was now about 5:30am. Thankfully, Francis stayed asleep. Well, until his 7am feed anyway.

The following day I felt the effects of my disturbed night. I was shattered and by early evening was struggling so had a nap. Francis also seemed a bit worse for wear. We went Christmas shopping and Francis slept the whole time we were out, which he has never done before. I really hope his unsettled night was a one-off and that I'm not in for a long stretch of sleep deprivation - I barely managed to get though the last one with my sanity intact!

Lisa xxx

Teeth!

On Thursday at Stay & Play there was a lady there to give a chat about dental health. In all honesty, most of what she had to say was just common sense, but she claimed that a lot of mums don't have the sense not to give their babies sugary drinks in their bottles. I got the feeling she was dying to tell me that something I was doing wasn't good for Francis's teeth, but I only brought her disappointment because it seems I'm already doing all the right things. At least I've got the hang of one part of motherhood...

The best part of the chat was the freebies! Francis got a free toothbrush and toothpaste and, as Francis didn't have any teeth, I was advised to let him play with the toothbrush to get him used to it. So, when we got home I sat Francis in his Bumbo and let him have a good chew on the toothbrush which then got thrown on the floor numerous times and generally dribbled on and abused.

The next day I did my usual check of Francis's gums. He's been showing signs of teething for months now so I like to check regularly to see if anything has emerged. Much to my surprise I could feel something sharp poking through his bottom gum! To be sure I wasn't imagining it, I tapped his gums with a teaspoon and, sure enough, there was the "chink chink" of a little tootipeg! Trust Francis to cut his first tooth the day after he renders a free toothbrush unusable.

Today while out shopping we picked him up a new, not free toothbrush and before his bath I brushed his teeth for the first time. He was as good as gold and actually seemed to really enjoy the new experience. Hopefully the novelty won't wear off for him and bath times will continue to be a fun time for both of us.

Lisa xxx

The Arrival of Francis James - Part 3 - Emotional Early Days

The story concludes...

Wednesday 7th March 2007

It was from Wednesday onwards that things became really hard for me. I didn't feel at all like I'd had a baby. It all felt very unreal to me. I don't know when I first cried, but once the tears came, it was difficult to stop. I felt like I'd had my pregnancy stolen from me. Reaching down and touching my soft belly where my lovely bump had been less than a day before was devastating. I loved being pregnant and suddenly I wasn't, yet I hadn't been through labour; my head couldn't get round that. I was also in a lot of pain from the surgery and the catheter and wound drain weren't doing much for my comfort or self esteem.

In the morning a doctor came to see me to debrief me on what had happened the previous day. I was told I had HELLP Syndrome, which I could vaguely remember reading about in one of my pregnancy books, but couldn't remember what it was. The only cure for HELLP is delivery of the baby which is why they had to act so quickly. Graeme researched HELLP when he got home that night and was horrified by what he read - my liver could have ruptured or I could have had a fit and gone into a coma. We had the shocking realisation that I could have died had it not been caught in time. I was left feeling eternally grateful to Fran whose intuition at my check-up had probably saved my life.

I first went to see Francis on Wednesday afternoon and had to be pushed there in a wheelchair. Seeing him in his incubator covered in tubes I was shocked at how tiny and fragile he looked. I waited for that rush of motherly love to come. It didn't. I felt nothing at all. I couldn't accept that he was my baby. I cried my eyes out I felt so bad. I couldn't even bring myself to say his name. For days I referred to him as "the baby" and felt very uncomfortable when Graeme called him Francis. He just didn't feel like mine at all. I didn't even want to hold him and it took some very patient persuading from Graeme before I could bring myself to do so.

On Wednesday night, either through coming off the morphine or through lack of sleep, I was hallucinating badly to the point where I couldn't distinguish between fantasy and reality. I was 100% convinced I'd not had a baby and that I was dreaming. I had the most horrendous panic attack and even once I'd calmed down I was still certain that it was all a dream and that I'd not really had a baby. I honestly thought I'd lost the plot and became increasingly frightened. I didn't dare tell the midwife how I was feeling - I was terrified she'd get a psychiatrist to come and see me. I didn't sleep a wink that night.

Thursday 8th March 2007

In the small hours of Thursday morning I was offered the chance of a shower. My shower was only marginally more dignified than my surgery. The only way I could shower with ease was to sling my catheter bag and drain over my shoulder. I was also in too much pain to dry and dress myself properly so a Healthcare Assistant had to help me. I wanted to go to the SCBU to see Francis again so that I could prove to myself that he was real and that I wasn't just having a horrendous nightmare. Shortly before I went there, a nurse came to my room and told me they'd put Francis on a ventilator. I barely reacted and told them not to ring Graeme, which is not characteristic of me at all. When I went through to see Francis he looked so poorly I burst into tears and the nurse persuaded me to let her ring Graeme - he was there within 20 minutes. I was so relieved to see him, as he was the only thing I was certain was real.

Later that day I was given the all clear to go back to the ward. I had my catheter and drain removed (which hurt quite a bit) and felt a bit more comfortable and human. To my horror, I was put on the postnantal ward with all the mums and babies. As much as I tried to make the best of it, I just couldn't, though I did manage to put on a brave face for my visitors. I was also upset to learn that I'd been put on Amlodipine, a BP medication which was incompatible with breastfeeding. I just couldn't understand this lunacy, as I'd told everybody of my intention to breastfeed, but I didn't have the energy to argue.

I had arranged to meet Graeme in the SCBU that night and by the time I got there I'd broken down and was screaming that I couldn't go back to the ward. I was so hysterical Graeme had to get a midwife to help calm me down. During our visit to Francis a nurse showed me how to hand-express milk and where to store it. I told her what the midwife had said about my medication and the nurse promised she would look into it for me. Afterwards I went back to the ward and tried again to cope being surrounded by babies. It was unbearable. I felt like I was being tortured every time one of the babies cried. I was constantly in tears and on the verge of panic. I was particularly upset by one mum who kept telling her one-day-old to shut up and calling her a divvy - it broke my heart. Why did this cretin, who probably shouldn't have been allowed to breed, be with her child while my baby was in intensive care?

At 1am I left the ward and went to the SCBU and told the nurse that I'd stay there all night if I had to, but I was not going back to the ward. I even threatened to discharge myself. The nurse snuck off at this point and rang my ward who arranged for me to be moved. When I was told, I broke down again, but this time with relief.

Friday 9th March 2007

I spent much of Friday on the ward hidden behind the curtains crying my eyes out. A lot of the time I wasn't even sure why I was crying. Other times I was crying for my lost pregnancy, not being able to go through labour, but most of all my lack of bond with the baby. This is probably the lowest I have ever felt.

I was also seen by a member of the Infant Feeding Team. I was not the only new mum who had been prescribed Amlodipine despite wanting to breastfeed. I was told that I would be switched to Nifedipine, but as the Amlodipine takes 48 hours to leave the system, I would have to discard my milk until then. I cannot begin to describe how heartbreaking it is going through the effort of hand-expressing milk for your premature baby, only to have to throw it down the sink. I still get angry about this now.

Saturday 10th March 2007

Saturday came and Paul and Becky visited in the evening. I was in the nursery with Francis waiting for Graeme to show them in. I was staring at this baby who I knew was mine, but he didn't feel like mine. I was feeling very low and started crying again. I asked Graeme to get me out of there (I was still using a wheelchair), by which point I was sobbing so uncontrollably I could barely speak. I remember crying out between sobs "He doesn't feel like mine!" and glancing up seeing the puzzled and concerned faces of Paul and Becky further along the corridor. I was taken somewhere quiet for a chat with a nurse and told her exactly how I felt about my stolen pregnancy, the "procedure" I had instead of a birth, my lack of bond, this not being the start I wanted for my new family... It felt good to get it all out and from this point on things did start to get a bit better for me.

Sunday 11th March

My blood results came back showing that my platelet count was back in the normal range. At last I was on the mend and would be discharged the following day. Although happy at the thought of sleeping in my own bed, my happiness was tinged with sadness at having to leave Francis behind. This was clearly going to be the start of a very difficult and heartbreaking few weeks; nobody should have to go home without their baby and I certainly hope I never have to do anything like that ever again.

Epilogue

I shall leave it there, as the rest of the saga has already been documented on the website in previous posts. However, things were far more difficult for me than I let on. The expressing milk 6 times a day was exhausting and if it wasn't for Graeme I may well have given up and resorted to formula. It was Graeme who dragged me out of bed those first few nights making sure that I used the pump; I am so grateful to him for pushing me as, 8 months on, I am still breastfeeding Francis and loving every second of it. Graeme went back to work the week after I was discharged so I had to make my own way to the hospital by public transport, which is hard work when you're recovering from major abdominal surgery. Even once Francis was home I still struggled emotionally. I found bonding with him incredibly difficult and I am certain this is down to the way he arrived.

As for having more children, I am really not sure what the future holds. Before Francis was born I wanted a large family, but since learning that I am at increased risk of developing HELLP Syndrome in future pregnancies I am very apprehensive about having another child. Thanks to the internet, I have spoken to other victims of HELLP and was delighted to discover that many of them go on to have healthy pregnancies and normal births the second time round. I would love my next pregnancy to go without a hitch and have a normal birth, but if I get HELLP again, that will be it - no more babies for me. I couldn't face going through that a third time. I can barely face the thought that it might happen next time, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For the moment, I'm just going to enjoy my little boy and try, once and for all, to put my experience of HELLP behind me and move on.

Lisa xxx

The Arrival of Francis James - Part Two - Francis Makes An Early Appearance

The story continues...

Monday 5th March 2007

Mr Williams came to see me quite early in the day with an entourage of other doctors and students. He did another ultrasound taking some detailed measurements of the baby. This took quite a while and when he'd finished he happily declared that the baby was not small after all and Graeme and I both breathed a sigh of relief. We were told that, because of the change in my condition, there was no way that I'd make it to 34 weeks but they would keep me on the medication and try to get an extra week out of the pregnancy. The emphasis was on the word "try" - there was every possiblilty that things could change and the baby would arrive even sooner.

In preparation for us having a premature baby, Graeme and I were given a tour of the Special Care Baby Unit. It was very surreal knowing that our baby would soon be a patient there and I was heartbroken that I wouldn't be able to bring him home. However, it did help seeing that the baby would get fantastic care and I got a great deal of comfort seeing extremely prem babies, some born as early as 24 weeks gestation, absolutely thriving.

Later that day I had some stomach pains, but nothing like I'd experienced on the Saturday. I paced the room trying to ease the pain, but nothing worked. I was given some Lactulose as the midwife suspected it may be wind, but the lactulose just gave me abdominal pains and I ended up having painkillers!

Tuesday 6th March 2007

On Tuesday morning the anaesthetist came to see me. My blood results had come back showing that my platelet count had dropped to dangerous levels overnight (I later read in my notes that my platelets had dropped to 65 when they should have been at least 480). I had repeat bloods done to check that this wasn't a mistake and if the results came back again showing a low count, I would be rushed to theatre for an emergency c-section. The anaesthetist went through all of my options with me just in case delivery was needed. I was very calm at this point and decided I'd like a spinal anasthetic so I'd be awake when the baby came. I really didn't believe that they'd need to deliver the baby so soon.

At around 11:30am my room was suddenly awash with medical staff - doctors, midwives, a consultant, students... you name it, they were there! It was bad news - my count had dropped yet again and I was told in no uncertain terms that the baby had to be delivered immediately. I felt a strange mixture of fear about what was going to happen and excitement at the thought of meeting my little boy. Over the next 20 minutes I was consented, had cannulas inserted and was given a quick whizz through what the proceedure involved. I signed the consent form in a bit of a haze. I didn't even bother reading it - it's not like I had any choice.

I was then whisked away to the theatre, Graeme following anxiously behind me. Graeme doesn't get stressed out about things that often, but I could see the strain showing in his face even though he was trying his best to be strong for me. Graeme wasn't allowed in to the theatre while I was being prepped and had to wait in a room at the other end of the corridor, so I was wheeled into theatre alone. I was terrified.

I was surprised how bright the theatre was - not at all what I'd been expecting, but then maybe I just watch too many hospital dramas. I was transferred onto the operating table and a Theatre Assistant called James introduced himself. I immediately felt a bit more relaxed as James told me that it was his job explain everything that was happening to me. And true to his word he did exactly that. He talked me through every step of the process. I was sat up on the table while the anaesthetist prodded around my back looking for a good place for the spinal. I didn't even feel it go in. I was then laid down and my legs started to go warm until eventually I couldn't feel or move them at all; I actually found this quite funny at the time. I was hooked up to a couple of drips and catheterised, which, it must be said, was possibly the least dignifying experience I've ever had. The lower half of my body was then shielded from view and the surgeons moved in. All the while, James was explaining every step to me, which I found extremely reassuring.

Then Graeme appeared, looking rather pale and anxious, dressed head-to-toe in theatre garb. He sat to my right and held my hand tightly throughout the whole proceedure. I could feel the surgeons doing their stuff, but it didn't hurt; it just felt like they were rummaging about in my insides, which to be fair is exactly what they were doing. I was then told that they were going to press on my tummy to simulate contractions to get the baby out. This was very uncomfortable - I felt like a tube of toothpaste being squeezed down the middle, but with a pneumatic drill. Then at 12:18pm, weighing only 3lb 3oz, our little boy made his early entrance into the world.

I'd prepared myself for the baby to need resuscitation so was shocked when I heard very loud and very strong crying. It was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard and I burst into tears; so did Graeme. The baby was checked over (I later found out both his Apgar scores were 9) and wrapped up in blankets. The nurse brought him over for a quick kiss before he was rushed off to the SCBU; I didn't see him again until the following afternoon.

At this point I start to feel very lightheaded and felt like I would pass out. I was quite frightened, but James explained that this was normal and due to a drop in BP. This carried on for some time and I was really struggling to stay awake so was put on 100% oxygen. I then started to feel very sick, which was terrifying considering I was lying on my back and couldn't move. They put a bowl next to my head and sure enough I vomited my guts up several times, managing to get it in my hair. Vomiting over, I started to feel cold and began shaking uncontrollably, which progressed into small convulsions. Graeme was convinced I was having a fit, but the anaesthetist assured Graeme that this was a normal reaction to the anasthetic. I felt bloody awful and the lack of control over my body was quite frightening. I can remember feeling terrified that I would lose consciousness and never wake up again. This was not what I had in mind for my first experience of giving birth.

Ordeal over, I was moved to recovery while Graeme went back to my room to wait for me. In recovery I was surprised to see Jane in the next bay - I very nearly had stolen her theatre slot! My convulsing continued for quite a while and I was kept on oxygen while I struggled to stay awake. It was a very unnerving experience having to make so much effort to speak or even lift my hand. A nurse brought me a couple of photos of Francis and I just lay there staring at them trying to process what had just happened. Was that REALLY my baby?

I was in recovery for an hour (so I'm told - things get very hazy after this) and can remember being wheeled back to my room. I was quite lucid to start with so Graeme and I were able to choose a name for our new arrival. We decided on Francis, after Fran, my midwife and James, after my Great-Grandad. I was hooked up to a morphine PCA (Patient Controlled Analgaesia), IV fluids and IV BP medication. I was also shocked to discover that I had a drain in my wound. The BP meds meant that I was virtually nil by mouth - I could only have 40ml of water to sip every hour. I eventually learned to make 40ml last quite a while! When the midwife stopped my drip for an hour so I could have tea and toast, I felt like I was having the most wonderful meal I'd ever had. Although the morphine was fantastic pain relief it did make me hallucinate. I had visits from the doctor and conversations with Graeme that never actually happened. Every time I closed my eyes I could hear whispering in my ears and had the sensation of people touching my legs, so I was very reluctant to go to sleep. A couple of days later I read through my notes and was shocked that I had no memory of some of the things written in it. This was not how I'd imagined I'd be spending the first day of my baby's life.

Third and final part coming soon...

The Arrival of Francis James - Part One - The Problems Start

As promised, here is the first installment of Francis's birth story. In the interest of confidentiality, with the exception of Fran, my midwife, and James, the theatre assistant, the names of all health professionals and fellow patients have been changed. I wouldn't want to see myself being accused of bringing nursing into disrepute!

Thursday 1st March 2007

At 30+4 weeks pregnant I went to see my Midwife, Fran, for my routine 30-week check-up. I was feeling well, apart from being signed off sick with exhaustion, and was looking forward to hearing the baby's heartbeat again. As usual, Fran took my blood pressure and tested my urine for protein. Worryingly, my BP was slightly raised and I had +1 of protein in my urine. As Fran toyed with the idea of sending me to hospital, I made the decision for her after telling her about my swollen ankles and flashing spots in front of my eyes, all signs of pre-eclampsia. While Fran said it was highly unlikely that there was anything wrong, she felt it best that I be checked out at the hospital just in case and rang the assessment unit to let them know I was on my way.

I trundled off to the bus stop feeling a little perplexed and slightly concerned. I made a quick call to Graeme to tell him what had happened and he agreed to meet me at the hospital. Once there we made our way to the Day Assessment Unit where I was strapped to a BP monitor for an hour (an experience I would later become accustomed to) and had to provide another urine sample for a more in-depth analysis. I also had to give what was to become the first of many many blood samples. Before getting the test results I was seen by a specialist midwife who performed another scan of the baby to check that all was well; unfortunately, according to her at least, all was not well. She informed us that the baby was small for my dates and I had very little amniotic fluid. Naturally this sent my mind into overdrive and did nothing for my nerves.

Eventually we got the news we did not want to hear - I was to be admitted for further tests and observation. At about 5pm we were led up to the antenatal ward where I sat on the bed feeling thoroughly fed up and more than a little frightened at the prospect of being on my own. I was well and truly out of my comfort zone. I was told I'd have to do a 24-hour urine collection and my blood pressure was to be very closely observed, as was the baby. So I was given a jug to pee in and a container in which to store it and was left to wonder what the hell had happened. Why is nothing ever straightforward for me?

Friday 2nd March 2007

At this point I really didn't believe that anything would go horribly wrong. I was certain that I'd be going home in a couple of days despite being monitored closely and clung to the hope that I could still have the water birth I so desperately wanted. A visit from the Consultant, Mr Williams, shattered my hopes. As Sod's Law would have it, he arrived just after Graeme had popped out for some lunch. Mr Williams explained that I did indeed have pre-eclampsia. I'd read enough about PE to know that it could turn very nasty and for the first time since my admission I was glad I was in hospital.

However, I was totally unprepared for what Mr Williams said next. I was told that my pregnancy would not go to term and that, because of the PE, the baby would be delivered at some point in the next few weeks by caesarean section and would then have to spend a couple of weeks in the Special Care Baby Unit. I was crushed and in complete shock. My dream of a water birth and bringing the baby home the same day lay in tatters. The only positive news Mr Williams had for me was that I'd be able to go home on Saturday provided my urine had less than 0.5g of protein in it, otherwise I'd be staying in hospital until they felt the time was right to deliver the baby. Mr Williams was hopeful that I would get to 34 weeks provided my condition remained stable, but told me I should prepare myself for the possibility of an even earlier arrival. Needless to say, Graeme was not very pleased to hear all of this when he got back from lunch.

Saturday 3rd March 2007

My urine test results came back and it was not good news. There was 0.55g of protein in my urine meaning that I was unable to go home. I was pretty annoyed, but did take some solace from the fact that I was in the best possible place.

That evening I got some horrendous pains just below my ribcage. I'd never known pain like it and was struggling to cope. Debbie, the less-than-sympathetic midwife, took little notice of me, even when Graeme asked her for help, and the next thing I knew I was in the grip of a panic attack. Debbie's solution to this was to open a window and tell me that if I didn't calm down I'd distress the baby. Very helpful. She also ordered Graeme off the ward because visiting was over! I was distraught and Graeme was clearly horrified at having to leave me. Fortunately the attack passed, as did the pain, and I was able to call Graeme on the sly to let him know that all was well. I have since learned that the pain could have been a sign of problems with my liver, so Debbie really should have shown a bit more concern.

Sunday 4th March

Today was the day things started to go downhill. As usual I'd been feeling well. In the early evening, just after tea, I was sat in the chair with my feet up, half-reading a magazine and chatting to Jane, the lady in the next bed. Jane was in for an elective c-section as her baby was transverse and we were joking that maybe I'd nick her theatre slot. Graeme had gone home for his tea. A student came along to do my latest BP check. I was well used to this by now and carried on chatting to Jane. I stopped chatting when the obs machine started beeping quite angrily so I glanced up at it and saw that my BP was 195/100! I was shocked and knew instantly that things were taking a turn for the worse. The poor student obviously thought she'd done something wrong so re-did my BP using my other arm, with pretty much the same result. She went for help as I sat there in shock, but putting on a brave face. A midwife came and checked my BP manually and then went to find a doctor.

A registrar turned up and told me that they were very worried about my BP (no shit!) and as a result were moving me to the delivery suite! They wasted no time either - I was instantly whisked away on my bed to a High Dependency room on the delivery suite. I knew Graeme was due to come back to the hospital soon and didn't want him arriving at the ward only to be told I'd been taken to delivery! A student went to phone him while I was told that, because of my escalating blood pressure, they were going to have to deliver the baby!

Graeme arrived and was as white as a sheet. The midwife started preparing to catheterise me for theatre when a doctor came into the room and told her to stop! Mr Williams had been consulted and he felt that the best course of action was to put me on some antihypertensives to manage my BP and review my situation the following day. Talk about feeling relieved! So I was started on a course of Nifedipine, which gave me horrendous headaches, and attached to an obs machine, which went off every 20 minutes thus ensuring I would get little or no sleep for the remainder of my pregnancy.

Part 2 coming soon...