Having had a nightmare pregnancy it only seemed fair that the birth should go well but that was alas not the case. Of course you want the nitty-gritty so allow me.
The contractions started on the evening of the 15th and I had a sleepless night of shifting and rolling, while Chook filled up empty plastic bottles with hot water for literal if not authentic hot water bottles. The previous few days I had tottered around, climbing stairs and doing the sales but it seems I have a punctual baby and around half past six on the 16th we called my dear friend Jaj who had offered to drive us to the maternity.
Once there, about 7AM, I saw a midwife who was just nearing the end of her shift and who hesitated about sending me home. I didn't want to, so suggested they plunge me into a hot bath instead which they did. Lovely and I dozed a bit. in my labour room I sat on the big bouncy ball a bit, walked around, even went for hot chocolate in the cafetria,crippled by contractions every few minutes.
At 12, having casually shrugged it off earlier, I started yelling for epidural, which I got with many subsequent top-ups; very nice and I actually snoozed stonedily most of the afternoon.All this time my contractions were regular (though no longer painful thanks to the wonders of medecine) and strong, and all my and the baby's vitals were bleeping away merrily. But the baby wasn't coming down and I wasn't dilating.
This situation didn't change so by late afternoon, my lovely midwife Nina who had been following me for about ten hours at this point, decided to pierce the water pouch (my waters hadn't broken, a consequence of the baby not pushing down). That happened well out of sight and as much as possible out of imagination, and... nothing. Nina mentioned that at this rate I might have to start thinking about a caesarian. It was about half past six when I told Chook to go and get some newspapers; it looked like a long night.
Hardly five minutes after he had left, about half a dozen people came into the room. All the machines were bleeping crossly this time- the baby was in cardiac arrest and it was caesarian. NOW. It's a bit of a blur from then. I remember people asking me for Chook's phone number. Bloody hell i can barely remember it when I'm sober and calm. Luckily, he came back very quickly. I started to shake uncontrollably, which didn't stop for hours and was rushed to the operation room. I remember very little except for Chook being a star and taking my mind off things by asking me practical questions such as who to send texts to. A few minutes later (I think), they dumped a red squirming squid on my neck and I having said hello, I told them to take it the hell away. I vomited and passed out. Voilà, I was a mother.
I spent five days at the maternity and remember them as five days of warm and cosy paradise as outside it snowed horribly as Paris experienced its most horrible winter for years. I learnt to hold and wash and feed Eleanor, had a procession of family (my parents and mother-in-law, specially over from Thailand) and friends come through, spent cosy time with baby & Chook whio was sleeping on a chair and hardly left our sides. A wonderful team of midwives at the Maternité des Bluets took care of me and the other mothers.
Eleanor was born on the Wednesday and we left on Monday, with difficulty as no friends or ambulances wanted to risk the icy roads home. In the end we took a taxi and, without a car seat, it was the most nerve-wracking ride of my life as I clutched my tiny baby to me without a seatbelt.
We got home and in the blink of an eye, five months have passed. From
to
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