Mum and Baby Scary Birth Complications

Sunday's birth story continued...

So last time I posted on the blog I shared the story of Sunday's birth (my second daughter). It was a long induction process, followed by a quick labor and delivery and ending with my beautiful Sunday Eva Ray being placed on my chest. As I said at the end of my last post, the moment when Sunday was placed on my chest was magical. Not only did I experience that massive relief when the pain stops and you are at peace with your baby on your chest but I was filled with immense pride that I managed my VBAC. For my entire pregnancy I was hoping for a VBAC but deep down I thought I was going to end up with another c-section (which I have nothing against I just personally wanted to experience a vaginal birth at least once in my life) so when I actually managed to have a VBAC I was in shock and so proud. If the birth had ended here and I was then wheeled to recovery then this would of been a perfect birth for me.... unfortunately this was far from the end of the birth story and the recovery ward was not my next destination.

*Trigger warning: traumatic birth complications, tear, surgery, infection.* 

Realising the complications...

As Reece and I gushed over our baby Sunday and took photos to remember this very special moment, I was told that now the placenta had been delivered they were going to assess whether or not I needed stitches. As they rolled over a large light I was not worried as I knew there was a chance of a tear and that they would be able to numb the area and stitch me up. The area was numbed but as the midwife examined me she realised the extent of the damage and begun to be concerned of my blood loss. Disrupting the special moment a slightly worried midwife explained to me that I had lost 500ml of blood and was still bleeding, on top of this I had what they suspected to be a lower level 3rd degree tear. According to NHS, a 3rd and 4th degree tear is described as- 

"3rd degree tear – Extending downwards from the vagina through the perineum to the anal sphincter (muscle around your back passage). 4th degree tear – Extending to the anal canal (into your back passage)". 

She explained that if what they suspected was right and the bleeding did not stop that I would have to go to theatre, a doctor came in and confirmed that surgery was needed. I was heartbroken but in too much shock to cry. Clutching Sunday to my chest (at this point we had skin to skin and she had latched on so I really did not want to break this) I asked if I could bring her with me to my relief they said yes but unfortunately that meant Reece was to wait in the waiting room. As much as I desperately wanted Reece with me I wanted my baby girl with me more to continue bonding and hopefully get a head start in breastfeeding. 

I had a few more moments with Sunday and Reece, snapped a few more photos, phoned my Mum and listened to doctors explain what was about to happen. This much reminded me of my c-section as I had to sign the same forms due to once again requiring a spinal block. This is when I got a bit nervous, emotional and (dare I say it) disappointed. I had just gone through induction and birth with no pain relief, put my body through so much to get my VBAC and AVOID a c-section and I was away to surgery anyway, getting the dreaded spinal block again, being separated from my husband and unable to relax and recover as once again I was in an emergency situation. It was disappointing and did take away from that special moment a bit and you could tell that although everyone was calm in the room, the midwives were concerned and wanted me to go to surgery as quickly as possible. So I kissed Reece goodbye and we decided not to contact anyone about the baby (apart from to say a baby was born but no details such as name or sex) until I was safely out of surgery. Still bleeding I left a worried Reece once again going to theatre except this time the baby was out of my body and it was myself who was in danger. 

Scary surgery...

Now this is when everything gets quite intense and apologies in advance if I do not use the right medical terms I am not a doctor nor claim to be a medical professional this is just me talking about my experience. So lets start. 

Sunday now in a bed getting wheeled to the theatre with me (the doctor didn't feel confident moving me to theatre while I was holding her so she got moved to her bed, accompanying me into surgery). Once we were there I agreed while they prepped my I was happy for Sunday to be weighed, measured etc and then she was to be placed back onto my chest when surgery began. That was the plan. 

Starting to be prepped now, first off the anaesthesiologist needed to connect me to another IV. Trying to do this he realised my hand where I had my cannula inserted was swollen, very swollen like a balloon. I tried to grin and bear it acting like that was not sore as I did not want to get it replaced but it was too painful and so it did have to be replaced. This is when I started to cry. Not only was surgery my worst nightmare  but getting another cannula was horrific to me. I had already experienced a midwife tripping over my IV (which is why I think my hand went swollen) and now getting that removed which was already painful and getting another cannula inserted before the spinal or surgery even started just overwhelmed me. It might make no sense to others but I just felt very stressed, no husband for support and no baby to hold. Scared and alone even with the staff supporting me as best they could. 

Now replacing my cannula they put one in my opposite hand. 

Next was the spinal and although I was of course no longer having contractions I asked to have gas and air. As I said I do not do well with needles and although this was now my second spinal block in my life it was not any more pleasant and I was just as scared so yes gas and air as a distraction was much needed. In position now, breathing my gas and air in and out, I kept telling myself I would be numb soon. But unfortunately this was another procedure that did not go smoothly. Breathing in my gas and air (truthfully a lot more than I probably should have, I was desperate to distract myself from the whole situation) the anaesthesiologist struggled to administer the anesthetic/spinal block. It is a bit of a blur because, as I said, I was really trying to zone out with the gas and air at this point (Sunday in the safe hands of the midwife as for obvious reasons I could not yet hold her) but I do remember him saying I was too tense to administer it then I was too relaxed, all in all too focused on the gas and air apparently but I could not focus on anything else or I knew I would freak out I just needed this part to be done. After lots of poking and prodding, the anaesthesiologist finally managed to administer the spinal block and I found myself going numb now lying on the surgery table. Sunday was now being placed on my chest and once again she latched on. A midwife next to me to support me I could now relax right? Oh how wrong I was. THIS is one of the most traumatic things I have ever been through and still to this day the thought of it makes me on edge. 
So, I guess I should set the scene for all of you as it will be a hard situation to understand with so much going on if I do not set the scene. 
At this point I was numb (sort of- I will get to that in a minute) from the waist down, the failed cannula was still painfully in my left hand, a midwife was getting ready to pass my Sunday, another midwife was next to my head, the anaesthesiologist's were getting ready to swap shifts and the surgeons were (I am assuming) prepping me/starting to stitch me up. 
As the midwives were preparing to pass me Sunday I asked a nurse if I could have the failed cannula removed from my hand as it was painful, she said yes and took it out. She held tissue on it for a second as I was passed Sunday (she latched on perfectly again and this is pretty much how she was the entire surgery). Trying to relax but I noticed my hand was suddenly covered in blood due to the failed cannula, I mentioned it to the nurse who rushed over to stop the bleeding stating to another nurse "we need to stop this bleeding she has already lost a lot of blood"... scary moment number 1. While my hand was getting bandaged up, the surgeons positioned my legs up on stirrups and OMG.. seeing your legs move but YOU ARE NOT MOVING THEM! Unbelievably unsettling but despite the blood covered hand and traumatic numb motion of my legs I was still trying to just chat to the midwife next to me and cuddle my new baby as I knew this was crucial bonding and breastfeeding time. As much as I was enjoying having my new baby on me though something really distracted from this and that was the spinal block. As I mentioned I was "numb" and the reason I put it like that is because really I wasn't.. not properly at least. Having had a spinal block before I knew I was meant to be completely numb from the waist down or at least this was my previous experience. Ella-Grace was born by c-section and remember feeling nothing once the spinal block was administered apart from a little pressure. No pain, no tingling, nothing and I could relax with Reece and new born Ella-Grace. This time was different and despite all my best efforts to relax I could not because of this strong tingling, aching feeling up and down my legs and ESPECIALLY in my lower back. Excruciating in my lower back!! The best way I can describe it is like having a severe case of pins and needles. I was so uncomfortable and I felt like I had to sit up or move my legs and I had to do it right then! I mentioned it to the anaesthesiologist that I felt this way (slight panic in my voice) and he asked if I was feeling pain. I told him no and he seemed to be confused. I told the midwife and the nurse that I felt this way and again they looked confused. Repeatedly I was told to relax and was asked "are you feeling pain". I kept answering no and tried so hard to explain this horrible tingling feeling and the need to move but my words fell on deaf ears (I mean this in the nicest way I assume that they just did not know what to do or say to me because of course I could not move). After an hour of non-stop moaning and asking "how long left", I was told that the surgeons were 'packing me up' and the anaesthesiologist told me he administered something to help me relax for the last 10 or so minutes- clearly seeing I was distressed. I held in tears and tried to power through these last few minutes by looking at baby Sunday and talking to the midwife but the need to move and horrible pins and needles feeling did not subside.  Even worse, the surgeons realised there was a serious problem.. I was STILL bleeding. I had lost over a litre of blood at this point and so it was becoming very serious that I was still heavily bleeding. To try and stop the bleeding before it got to a VERY dangerous situation they would have to unpack me and find the source of the bleeding meaning another HOUR AND A HALF in surgery. I broke down. Being told I still could not go to recovery, I had to endure more of this out of control tingling feeling and I was bleeding more which I could tell by the seriousness of the surgeons was getting to a dangerous point, it was overwhelming. Even more so because no one understood what I meant by this tingling feeling. I still don't know what it was although friends, family, midwives and doctors have since thrown many potential causes at me. It sounds like nothing I know. You are all reading this probably thinking 'what a drama queen' but OMG until you are in the situation with this feeling and feeling so out of control, unable to move and so scared, you will never know what I went through. No length of blog post could explain how I felt but let me tell you, I still have nightmares. Because of the continuing bleeding and myself becoming more and more anxious, Sunday was passed to the midwife. Luckily it was moments after this they managed to pack me again and THANK GOODNESS I was moved onto a bed with Sunday back in my arms and being wheeled to recovery. I wish the story ended here, happily in recovery but unfortunately recovery ain't always pretty.  

Finally taken to recovery...

2 1/2- 3 hours later (a lot longer than the 1 hour I was told it would take) I was finally being wheeled into recovery where an anxious Reece was waiting for me. Oh how I wished he had been in the surgery with me, I feel like that would of made the world of difference but oh well I cannot change that now. 
Reece looked so relieved to see me and Sunday safe and sound but he could also see I was very uncomfortable. Bless him, he tried everything to make me more comfortable- even moving my legs for me as I was still numb and unable to move them myself. Unfortunately the tingling and pins and needles was still very much there and very intense. I was shattered, uncomfortable and by now the adrenaline from birth was wearing off, although besotted with our second daughter I couldn't help but feel a bit fed up after the fiasco of complications and now being told my blood loss was upwards of a litre and a half. 
A chat with Reece and the medical staff, a cup of tea and slice of toast later however feeling started to come back in my legs and I was able to move into a slightly more comfortable position-now time to phone and message family and friends. 
Communicating our joyous news with family and friends (who for the most part were very understanding of the delay in contacting them and wished me well/applauded me for everything I had been through) was so amazing, we were still in that surreal phase and I could not believe I had my second little girl in my arms. 
After some special moments just the three of us, we attempted to get some sleep. I say attempted as Reece barely slept as he was on an uncomfortable chair and Sunday was clusterfeeding so sleep was not really our friend that night but that was to be expected and I was more than happy to have Sunday in my arms, latched on my breast. Despite all the complications and surgery, breastfeeding was off to a great start and that was amazing! Locking our bond instantaneously. My little Sunday girl. 
In between breastfeeds Reece or a nurse would change Sunday for me, Reece would occasionally hold her when she was settled- giving them bonding time and myself time to try and shut my eyes- and a nurse put her first outfit on. I mentioned these things because although elated and SO proud of myself for achieving my VBAC with no pain relief, it was a bit upsetting that once again I missed out on these firsts. Changing the first nappy, putting on her first outfit etc. This of course was because of once again needing a spinal block so barely being able to move (with my first birth I had a c-section). Of course this was not at the fore front of my mind but it was something that I felt and I want to be honest about everything. 
Now early hours of the morning, two nurses came in and cleaned me up (which to some people sounds awkward but considering I had experienced this before after Ella-Grace's birth and was at this point covered in blood- even on my hand/arm because of the bust cannula, I welcomed it and felt so much better after). We then got moved from the recovery ward to another ward. 

Visitors and going home...

New ward but still early hours of the morning so the attempt to get some sleep continues.. continues to go terribly but that is to be expected of course. Sunday was cluster-feeding (which is great) and Reece tried to get comfy on yet another very uncomfortable chair. 6am finally rolled around and after some breakfast for Reece and I, feeding Sunday and getting her nappy changed/her in her first "outfit" (it was just a little baby gown, very cute). We took a picture I had been longing to take for weeks- her announcement picture. I had even ordered a little sticker that said "My Name Is..." and had a blank space to write her name. This is how the photo turned out... 

After a few snaps of our precious second daughter we decided on which photo to post and like true social media experts (just kidding we are far from it) we planned to post at the same time. You may wonder why I remember this so vividly but let me explain. It was at this moment I realised how out of it and exhausted I was. Still hooked up to drips of who knows what (I think it was fluids and maybe some pain relief) I tried to write the perfect caption to announce the birth of our second child to the world wide web but I could not do it. I remember looking over to Reece typing away and waiting for me to finish writing mine so we could post the photos and I just could not keep my eyes open and kept zoning out. I remember thinking I wasn't this tired last time? But now I obviously have wrapped my head around the whole experience I realise it was because of the blood loss. I was severely anemic at this point and although yes I was tired because I had had a baby less than 24 hours prior to this I was really struggling with severe blood loss... something that would only get more worrying as the days went on. 

The day continued and soon enough my parents had arrived with Ella-Grace to meet baby Sunday. A moment I had dreamt of for months and it was finally happening. I didn't quite imagine it with me in a wheelchair and hooked up to a drip but as everyone knows, birth almost never goes to plan and you have to take things as they come. Nevertheless I was so excited to see Ella-Grace I missed her so much!! 

Reece wheeled myself and Sunday to the family room and we awaited the arrival of my parents and Ella-Grace. I will never forget the pure joy and rush of emotion I felt when Ella-Grace walked in. We had a nice hour or so introducing Ella-Grace to her sister (she was happy to say hi to the baby but was way more interested in seeing her Mummy- we enjoyed a cuddle just the two of us), giving Ella-Grace her big sister gift and chatting to my happy parents (happy but also clearly worried for me after what I had been through). My dad snapped photos the whole time and caught this very special moment...

Advice for anyone having their second child; hold your first born and let someone else show the baby to them or have the baby in the bed beside you. I found it made Ella-Grace feel the centre of attention and after days apart gave us some nice time to cuddle. It was a good atmosphere to introduce her to her sister. Might not work for every child but for Ella-Grace it was perfect. 

Soon this visit turned to bitter-sweet however as I had to say goodbye to my parents, Ella-Grace and now Reece as he was going home with Ela-Grace;  my parents had done their fair share of babysitting and I think Ella-Grace needed her Daddy back. They accompanied me back to the ward to make sure I was settled and then they all went home. 2 years of Ella-Grace's life and I have barely left her, this was heart wrenching especially accompanied with all the post birth hormones rushing around my body and the lack of sleep. I held in the tears until they were out of sight. I wanted to be home with my little family so bad but I kept thinking "Just one more night and then I will be home" that helped me keep it together. I also started to stress that I didn't know how to look after a new born anymore and last time with Ella-Grace, the second night was very hard and breastfeeding was stressful, I longed to have a more successful experience this time. Telling myself to trust my body, that everything would be okay and that this was my second baby, I could do this, kept my head high. 

The rest of the day consisted of medication and doctors. It was strange having so many doctors check on me as I did not have this with Ella-Grace but as I was beginning to realise the recovery this time was far more intense and my body had been through a lot. Sunday passed all her tests so as far as we knew she was perfectly healthy (we soon found out that wasn't the case however) but I on the other hand was not okay. The midwives were concerned about the volume of blood I lost and kept a constant eye on me in fear I would become lethargic and unable to look after my baby, doctors did constant checks on my heart as my pulse rate was through the roof and the anaesthesiologist who administered the spinal block was worried about the tingling I had been experiencing so came back several times to ask about my symptoms now the spinal had wore off. It was a lot but I tried to stay focus on my little Sunday girl and how blessed I was to now have a second daughter- easier said than done however because although you are elated after birth.. damn recovery is hard and (I cannot stress this enough) IT IS OKAY TO FEEL SAD, STRESSED OR FED UP after you give birth, especially if you have experienced complications. It is a lot to deal with and feeling that way does not mean you love your new baby any less. 

Into the evening now and my sisters, niece and nephew came to visit. I walked with the help of my younger sister to the family room with Sunday in the bed to see my other sister and niece and nephew. Now to give you an idea of the severity of my condition after birth, this walk was literally 1 min or less. I was just walking from one room to another (earlier that day when my parents came to visit Reece wheeled me to the room but now I was attempting to walk). I got to the room, sat down, had about 5 mins with my family when a midwife came through to do my vitals and when she saw my pulse rate she immediately said that I had to go back to the ward because my pulse rate was so high... from walking less than a minute. As I went to walk back the midwife stopped me and said she couldn't allow me to walk and got my sister to wheel me back to the ward and my other sister wheeled Sunday in her bed. The midwife told me she was once again going to get a doctor who may advise for my to have my heart monitored constantly, it was scary but as we had to wait for a doctor I was able to spend a bit more time with m family and get some cute photos. We laughed, I cried and soon enough they went home and the doctors arrived. After along conversation with the Doctors and monitoring of my heart I was told that my heart rate had once again gone down but that due to my blood loss and now anemic state that I was to be on bed rest, buzz if i needed anything and once home I was highly advised to have someone there with me for help at all times (thank goodness for Reece having extra time off!). The reason for all this being that (now I do not know the medical terms but I think this was the jist of what I was told) because I had lost so much blood my heart was working overtime and because of my anemic state that if I was too active too soon that my heart could be over worked leading me to be completely lethargic (unable to move let alone look after my children) or worse, heart failure. They of course worded it very carefully but in a nutshell that was what they meant. They advised me of symptoms I should alert them if I was feeling (shortness in breath, pain in my chest or back etc). Scared and anxious my brain jumped to the worst but I again kept telling myself everything was going to be fine and that I would be home soon. With the support of Reece, my family and friends at the other end of the phone I kept calm. My real saving grace however was the fact that my children were healthy, Sunday was passing all her tests and so although scared, fed up and in pain, as long as they were okay I could hold it together (just) and so begins the second night with my now just over 24 hour old baby girl. 

That entire night consisted of cluster-feeding, she spent the entire night latched onto my breast and without going into too much detail about breastfeeding as I am going to write a separate post about that, the colostrum had turned into full breastmilk, this made me so happy. Bonding and feeding were going great and that was the shining light through all the complications.

The night came and went, sleep deprived and weak but proud breastfeeding was going well and that I got through the second night by myself with so much confidence compared to the first time round with Ella-Grace. For a minute I thought I was going to dodge the baby blues and crippling anxiety of postpartum (I was wrong). 

Determined to get home on this day now 2 days post birth I tried to get the ball rolling immediately. In all honestly though looking back, I was so not ready to leave the hospital yet. Not because I was not ready to parent two children or because I was nervous about having a new born again but because I was SO out of it. I kept telling myself it was just the sleep deprivation but no I was nodding off into my breakfast, staring into blank space unable to listen to a conversation let alone respond. I needed the support of the hospital staff for at least a few more days but to my detriment sometimes I am stubborn and when I said I was going home that day, it meant I WAS going home that day. And so I washed my face, got dressed and put on a smile that said 'I am perfectly well' and faked my way out of that hospital. Now I am not saying I managed to make the very intelligent medical staff into thinking I was 100% better, of course not but I did put on a very brave face. It is amazing what a smile can cover up. The person I was really trying to fool was myself, telling myself I was fine and once I was home I would no longer feel like this, I was very wrong making what happened just 24 hours after this no surprise. 

The day went on, Sunday was checked over by a paediatrician and they told us she was fine to go home. Then my vitals were checked again (I was praying my pulse was under control so I could go home) and luckily I was told I could go home but under strict instruction to rest and accept help, no over doing it. I understood this advice of course but part of me felt like saying, "You do know I have two kids now right?"

Soon enough Reece and Ella-Grace arrived followed by my parents. After spending about an hour together my parents took Ella-Grace to the car as Reece, Sunday (who was ready in the car seat) waited to be discharged. As we waited I sat on my bed and I felt so out of it, I felt like I could pass out any second. I kept telling myself it was just sleep deprivation and asked Reece to keep talking to me to keep me 'with it' as I did not want the midwives to start worrying. Finally around 4pm we were discharged and free to go home. Unable to walk far Reece wheeled me (while I held Sunday's car seat) down to the entrance and my Dad snapped photos as I waddled out the hospital gripping onto Reece, with our second daughter. 

Now home, my parents had left, Reece's sister came to visit (and did a little food shop for us which was lovely) and then we were now alone; just the four of us for the first time. I was so happy to be home with Reece and especially Ella-Grace who I had missed terribly while I was in hospital but there was a dark cloud hanging over my head. As I attempted to change my clothes myself and go to the bathroom before getting in bed it dawned on me just how difficult the recovery was going to be. I couldn't stand for long without feeling faint, my back was aching as a side effect of the spinal and the pain from the tear... there are no words. I felt as if I were recovering from two different births as I had now been damaged from both the VBAC and the following surgery. It was A LOT! And as Reece came into the bedroom with my medication (including the injection he had to give me for 10 days) I just broke down. The reality of what I had been through hit me hard but unfortunately the worst was yet to come.

Happy 24 hours...

Please do not think I am being ungrateful, I know this post is probably mostly doom and gloom but that is because it was a VERY hard time. Birth is natural, wonderful, magical and more but is also painful, scary and stressful. For the unlucky few who have complications (like myself) or worse it is traumatic, terrifying, mentally scarring and sometimes even life threatening. I cannot stress enough how important it is to recognise that you can be both grateful for the child you have brought into the world but also be struggling mentally and physically following the birth. 

On a happier note however, the 24 hours Sunday and I were home for after we were discharged from the hospital were pure bliss. Although battling with intense anxiety and physical pain, I was in a happy newborn bubble. I was ecstatic to once again hold Ella-Grace in my arms and have the huge support of Reece (honestly could not have asked for a a better husband). Through my almost fainting spells, panic attacks and cries of pain (just being honest here it was not all sunshine and rainbows) there were moments of play, relaxation and pure joy. I felt like if the days continued this way I would get better as long as I rested and had support, as long as I was at home with my girls and my husband everything would be okay. As long as I am no longer in that hospital...and then we were readmitted and my world came crashing down.

Readmitted...

Looking at things now more from what happened with Sunday. Going back to when we were in the hospital. After Sunday was born a lot of the focus was on me as I was the one in a critical condition and from what everyone else knew Sunday was a healthy baby. I was in need of immediate medical attention and because of this I have felt a lot of guilt because maybe if the midwives and doctors had not spent so much time looking after me this may have been caught but then again my condition may have become more fatal so I guess you cannot dwell on the past. 

Before I properly go into Sunday's complications I would like to say that I in no way blame the NHS staff nor do I think the were negligent.  I feel very lucky to have the NHS staff and thanks to them, myself and my two beautiful daughters are here today. I am confused as to why things happened the way they happened but in no way resentful or angry. It was very unfortunate but we can't expect medical staff to be super heroes, they are people that make mistakes and things get missed. After speaking to doctors and midwives since being home I have come to the conclusion that Sunday had a birth injury on her head at birth and it was missed which led to it getting infected. So sad as it was obviously preventable and I feel guilty that because of the focus being on me that it was not caught but we can only move forward. That was not what I was originally told however that it was which will be explained. 

So like I said after Sunday was born all the attention was on me as I needed medical intervention. Sunday was healthy and so their was a hat placed on her head and she accompanied me to surgery. When out of surgery I noticed there was my blood on Sunday's head. Advised by the doctors to not bath Sunday for 24 hours and further advised that I could wait until I was home so Reece and I could bath her as baby's do not need a bath for several days. Tired and thanks to all the complications unable to move much I took this advice. Sunday was healthy, passing all her tests and like I said earlier the baby doctor gave her the all clear before we left. What I did not mention though was that he said to Reece and I 'I see she had a birth injury on her head'. Confused I said to the doctor that I was not told about a birth injury and that as far as I knew the blood on her head was mine. He looked again and agreed, cleared to her to go home. 

Now the morning after we were discharged from the hospital (Sunday now 3 days old) Reece and I decided to clean her up. Once the blood was removed however two yellow blisters were revealed on her head. I was worried but the every calm Reece said to wait to see the midwife. Unfortunately the midwife stated that she had never seen anything like it before, took a picture and said she would be in touch later that day once she had recived the advice from her colleagues. Soon enough that dreaded phone call came and I was told to go back up to the maternity hospital with Sunday to get her checked over. I was gutted but did not expect to be kept in the hospital and so did not take much. As my friend came to pick us up and take us to the hospital once more I once again said good bye to Ella-Grace and it was heart wrenching seeing her little face upset as to why Mummy was leaving again with her baby sister, she was so confused. 

After being moved around to different units and seeing several midwives and doctors, we were finally given an answer. In the neonatal unit a doctor announced quite insensitively "IV antibiotics 3 - 5 day re admit" then left the room. My worst fear had happened and as I cuddled my poorly baby I burst into tears. No comforting explanation from the midwife, phone call to Reece or my Mum could make it better. I get emotional just thinking about it, it was a very hard time. Over an hour later I was still crying being comforted by the other Mothers in the neonatal unit (who had been in much longer than me with babies who were much sicker than Sunday, these women were amazing) a doctor finally came to do Sunday's IV. He explained to me that they thought it could be impetigo (an infection caused by newborns being exposed to cold sores) and so he burst one of the blisters to swab it, took Sunday's blood and then attempted to insert the IV. Seeing my 3 day old baby having her limbs bent and being poked with a needle while screaming was so horrible. One of the worst feelings in the world having to watch your baby go through that. And I do not know whether it was the fact that this was a traumatic moment, the blood loss, the lack of food in the past few hours or all of it together but I started to faint and luckily the nurse caught me in time and sat me down with some water. I felt like a useless Mother. IV finally inserted after several attempts into Sunday's tiny wrist we were finally taken to a ward this time we had a private room. A midwife gave me some toast, my medication and some comforting words. One more phone call to Reece and I had finally calmed down enough to try and sleep. 

Sunday's infection and Mummy's blood loss...

Can I just start by saying, getting a newborn with an IV dressed? Most TERRIFYING thing ever. I am not ashamed to say I buzzed every time she needed to be dressed, I felt like I was going to hurt her or knock it out her arm. Just looking at the above picture makes me so sad. 

Something I have learned about myself, and you all will too by reading this, is that I am definitely a morning person. I don't mean that by saying I like mornings but I mean that the morning is when I feel the least anxious and full of hope, Every day in the hospital I would wake up with such positive energy only to sink into a pit of despair when the sky got dark. I do not know why this is but apparently darkness is my anxiety's best friend. The shift from day time to night time really brings out panic in my mental state; especially post partum. 

So with this in mind it is no surprise that as morning comes around and I have got some what of a decent sleep I am being positive. Sunday was still sleeping the next day when I woke up so I used this time to go to the bathroom,wash my face and watch some TV as I waited for my breakfast. Breakfast in the hospital was most definitely when I was at my calmest as I felt that the day was being started well and everything would be okay. Maybe it is something to do with the routine of it coming at the same time and being the same meal? I do not know and none of you are here to delve into my psyche so moving on. Following this I fed Sunday and a midwife came to do our vitals. Sunday was very healthy according to the midwife but her infection rate was at an 8 (it needs to be below a 4 to be clear on infection apparently) which was worrying but that was what the antibiotics were for which she needed administered twice a day (2pm and 2am). Weirdly the swabs came back clear which suggested that impetigo was not the cause and the midwife said she did not think it looked like impetigo although that is what all Sunday's charts said. Nothing further to do right now for Sunday however seeing as she was still healthy other than the infection and so she checked my vitals. I was at this point now readmitted, I was there for Sunday but knowing the complications and blood loss I had been through they decided to check my vitals too and they were not good so soon enough a hospital band was back on my wrist too. Once again Sunday and I were patients. The day continued boringly until Reece and Ella-Grace arrived to visit (I made him promise to come up with her as early as he could, they arrived just before lunch time). We had a nice couple of hours together but the whole time I just kept thinking 'they will eventually have to go'. Once again I had to say good bye to Reece and Ella-Grace, I could see it confused her why she was leaving but I was staying. The Mum guilt was insane but I knew I had to be with Sunday as she needed me most right now and Ella-Grace was in the more than capable hands of her wonderful Daddy, who lets be realistic was in a much more fit state to be running around after a toddler. But still it broke me once again and now it was getting into the afternoon and I was once again alone in the hospital room with my sick baby I started to cry. Cuddling into Sunday, telling her over and over again through my tears that 'we are going to be okay'. Trying to distract myself with TV and snacks but this constant feeling of impending doom, a constant anxiety was pulling at my chest and then with one phone call I lost it. I got a call from an unknown number and it turned out to be my doctor surgery, one day prior my midwife had took my blood to check if my iron levels (or haemoglobin I am not 100% sure) were going up because if they weren't that was bad, they were phoning to let me know the results of that blood test and they were not good. My iron levels had dropped from a 80 to a 70 and what they needed to be in order for me to be well again was well over 100 (again this is all what I was told n the hospital I am no medical expert). They told me that it was advised that I return to the hospital immediately for a blood transfusion (or iron infusion as some of the staff called it) and this tipped me over the edge. I WAS ALREADY IN THE HOSPITAL,  why was I getting a phone call? Did I have to inform the midwife? My parents were going to be here any second to visit us do I tell them to leave? Do I have to leave Sunday? Am I going to be okay? I could JUST about handle looking after my sick baby knowing that I didn't have to worry about myself but now I was being told that I was getting worse Of course at this moment my parents walked in and I broke down. It was now about 3pm and it was super parents to the rescue. I love them so much and I am so grateful they walked in when they did. My Dad immediately went off to find a midwife to get more information, my Mum stayed to comfort me. Still crying my Dad came back in with the head midwife to talk to me but at the same time the baby doctor came in to take Sunday for her antibiotics. Before I knew it I was getting blood taken and Sunday was getting wheeled out the room to get her antibiotics, I asked my Mum to go with her as I could not. It was overwhelming as so much was happening at once. The midwife apologised for the phone call I received and tried to explain everything to me. My iron levels were getting lower but there was no need for an immediate blood transfusion if that was not what I wanted. As I was still bleeding obviously since I was only days post partum it was expected for the levels to drop slightly more. She explained to me that she was not concerned as I was in the hospital and so able to be monitored closely and regularly and only if I started to experience shortness of breath or chest/back pain would there be no other option than blood transfusion. For now iron tablets were still a perfectly safe option. Still confused however as shortness of breath and chest pain were things I feel often due to my anxiety and as for being overly tired, I had just had a baby? How was I meant to know if what I was feeling was anxiety or my blood  levels getting worse? I was so scared that I would miss symptoms and my condition would get worse to the point where it was potentially fatal. It might sound silly as I know so many people go through worse and are in more emergency situations but this being the first time being hospitalised due to health issues for myself and having doctors explain to me that it was serious, I really felt like I was going to die. Of course anxiety and hormones played a big part in me feeling this way too, it was horrible and I would not wish it upon my anyone. The midwife however reassured me and said what I was experiencing was anxiety and lack of sleep and that even if I wasn't sure they would be able to spot the signs of my anemia getting worse. As long as I was in the hospital there was nothing to worry about is what I was told to keep in mind; but all I could think was how much I wanted to be home, for this to be over and for life as a family of four to become normal. Sunday was now in the room with me again and administering the antibiotics had gone well, my Mum said she didn't even cry. I gave my beautiful baby girl a big cuddle and thanked everyone for making me feel somewhat better (although still VERY anxious but that was not going away any time soon). It was at this point another dr came in to tell me that Sunday's antibiotics would be finished by Thursday meaning I could look forward to going home on that day. It was now getting into the evening of Tuesday night so TWO MORE SLEEPS I was telling myself. I could do this. Two more sleeps any myself and Sunday would be home. With that date in my head and a phone call to Reece to calm me down I once again settled for the evening. I took Sunday through for her antibiotics again at 2am, that went well.

Wednesday morning now and once again the daylight brought positive energy. I ate breakfast, had a shower (informing the midwife as like I said I was being monitored closely) and got dressed. Fed Sunday, dressed her (with the help of a midwife) and we awaited the best part of these hospital days, a visit from big sister and Daddy. Anytime we were the four of us I actually managed to smile. I mean of course all this time with just myself and Sunday was amazing for bonding but it was also filled with worry, I worried for both of us convincing myself something terrible was going to happen to one or both of us. So, when Reece and Ella-Grace came to visit I felt like the family of four I had been dreaming of for months and somewhat normal. The visit went fast however and by the time they wee getting ready to leave all positive thoughts vanished and this was when my lowest point came.

Lowest point...

"Mummy Jacket! Mummy come home", I have tears in my eyes just at the thought of Ella-Grace saying this. She was officially done with me being away from her and practically begged me to come home. I couldn't even hold back the tears I cried as I hugged her goodbye and as she left with her Daddy clearly upset I sobbed. That was truly the most heart broken I had ever felt. Again of course I knew she was fine with her Daddy and I knew Sunday needed me, I didn't want to leave her either. I wanted us all to be together. Ella-Grace was my entire world for 2 years and now I had to prioritise another human being too. Of course you expect this to be difficult but you do not expect to be separated for that long (this had now been over a week I had been in the hospital except for the one night I was at home). It is hard to explain and it probably makes no sense but yeah, I was heartbroken. I have a lump in my throat now just talking about it. 

Like they say, bad things come in threes and so the heartbreaking goodbye to Ella-Grace was one. The second was about my condition. Still sobbing the midwife came in to tell that unfortunately my blood results came back and once again my iron levels lowered. Still happy to continue on iron tablets but if by the next day they were still low I would be admitted for longer and given a blood transfusion. Sobbing even more the wonderful midwife did her best to comfort me. She left the room and I phoned Reece stressing out and telling him 'I am going to die'. Again I know it might sound dramatic but in that moment my anxiety had taken over. Reece talked me down enough for me to take Sunday through to for her antibiotics. And here is the third bad thing, as I took Sunday through for her antibiotics everything got too much. First of all the baby doctor told me that instead of going home Thursday (which was literally the next day) the 'team' had decided it may be best for Sunday to stay in until Saturday, staying the 5 days for antibiotics instead of a 3 day course. Holding back tears I nodded my head and just wanted to get the antibiotics done so I could go back to my room with my baby but it wasn't so simple this time. As they tried to push the antibiotics into her IV Sunday squealed in pain and I mean it was horrendous. Immediately the doctor said that it shoud not be hurting her and she wanted to fit another IV. Dreading it but understanding they removed the one in her wrist and attempted to put another in the other hand.... then her foot... then her other foot. After the fourth attempt by the third doctor and the piercing squeals from Sunday I had to leave the room before I was sick. I phoned Reece in tears once more and now feeling guilty for leaving Sunday but she was surrounded by doctors there was not even space for me to be near her if I tried. Re-entering the room still crying one of the doctors had phoned the head doctor to try as it was just not happening. She also informed me that if this doctor could not fit her IV that they would try giving her it orally which confused me as surely I could do that at home. 6 attempts in total and 4 doctors they eventually got it fitted into her foot (the doctor was confident she would need it re-fitted once again when her next antibiotics were due however). I wheeled my baby girl back to our room, she was now due a feed but because of how tired she was from screaming she just fell asleep and had no energy to feed. That was the last straw. Out of all of this breastfeeding was going well and now this may be affected and would that mean her health would then deteriorate? I lost it. I was pacing my room, scream crying. I buzzed the midwife and in came a student midwife but bless her she did not know what to do so she got the head midwife to come in. This head midwife by the way was my savior, without her I dread to think what I would of done to myself I was completely distraught. One of the worst panic attacks I have ever had if not THE worst. The head midwife came in and I just ranted at her to be honest. I begged her to let me home, I told her that I thought I was goingto die, that Sunday was going to die, that Ella-Grace needed me, I told her that my anxiety was getting worse and worse and that I could not be in this hospital much longer. I asked her why I was being told she had impetigo when the swabs came back clear and everyone kept telling me it looked nothing like impetigo? I asked her why I couldn't give Sunday oral antibiotics? Why were we now not aloud to go home on Thursday? 

"I  CAN NOT COPE!" I told her. Staring at my poorly baby girl in tears almost pulling my hair out and if it was not for the actions of the midwife following this I am confident I would of slipped into PPD and possibly relapsed into (dare I say it) self harming... something that was long long in my past but everything that had happened broke me. I am so thankful for the head midwife who was on. She firstly explained to me once again that myself and Sunday were not dying and she promised me I could put that thought out of my head. She then said she was going to get all the information I had asked for and relay it back to me. Lastly she said what I needed to hear most "You need to be home". She explained to me that neither myself or Sunday were 100% but in her medical opinion we were both well enough to go home as long as Sunday had the three day antibiotics and the last two days orally. She politely said to me that she could see my mental health slipping and she was worried about PPD. After this long conversation the head midwife did as she promised and got the team of doctors together both for myself and Sunday and got my answers. I was back in control and fully informed which is so important to feel especially when it comes to me and my anxiety. I need to be in control. After explaining to me everything I needed to know the midwife asked me if I wanted her to try and organise mine and Sunday's discharge for that evening (honestly she was amazing). Now being of sound mind again however I told her I would wait until Thursday as planned so Sunday could indeed have her 3 day course of antibiotics and I could inform my parents who were taking us home. Another phone call with Reece, a visit from my sisters,  some food and Sunday and I settled for the night. I hugged her extra tight that night after the day she had been through. Also that night it'd fair to say the midwives kept an extra eye on me. Luckily the panic attacks stayed away for the evening.On a happier note however, the 24 hours Sunday and I were home for after we were discharged from the hospital were pure bliss. Although battling with intense anxiety and physical pain, I was in a happy newborn bubble. I was ecstatic to once again hold Ella-Grace in my arms and have the huge support of Reece (honestly could not have asked for a a better husband). Through my almost fainting spells, panic attacks and cries of pain (just being honest here it was not all sunshine and rainbows) there were moments of play, relaxation and pure joy. I felt like if the days continued this way I would get better as long as I rested and had support, as long as I was at home with my girls and my husband everything would be okay. As long as I am no longer in that hospital...and then we were readmitted and my world came crashing down.

Home against Dr recommendations...

Thursday morning came around and again I was feeling positive (can you see the pattern emerging here). I got Sunday dressed in a second going home outfit, myself refreshed and made sure all my stuff was together. The end of our hospital stay was in sight and I was determined to get home but first I needed to know my baby girl was okay. 

Once again the head midwife (the one who had been so helpful the day before) came to see me and FINALLY had some good news. My most recent blood results came back and my iron levels had gone up (I was still very anemic but all they wanted to see was improvement) and Sundays infection level had gone from an 8 to a 3 (anything below a 4 meant she was in the clear). I was so happy to finally hear something good. 

Discharging us from the hospital took almost all day as there were certain things that needed to be put in place. I needed new medication (pain relief, iron tablets, injections to prevent blood clots), I needed one last check over by the doctor and they informed me that I would need to go to my doctor surgery within the next week to make sure my iron levels were still improving. As for Sunday she was checked over and the baby doctor said she seemed like a perfectly healthy baby but the scary part was she still had the blisters on her head. But because her infection was gone and she was about to finish a 3 day course of antibiotics they were happy for her to go home and informed me that the midwife would be out to check her the next day and few days following. My parents arrived and we were getting everything ready all that was left was for Sunday to get her last dose of antibiotics via her IV. Before this however a different doctor came in and wanted to talk to me about Sunday. I was told that despite what I had been told earlier that day, it was recommended by the head doctor that Sunday stay in the hospital and receive 5 days antibiotics instead of 3 days. This was thought to be best and to make sure the infection was gone. I was told that I could take her home and Reece and I could give her the last two doses of antibiotics orally but because of a baby's immature stomach it may not absorb and we could potentially end up back in the hospital. It was my call to make and it was difficult. After further sobbing and weighing up the pros and cons with the midwife I decided to go home, technically against dr recommendations. My decision was based on several things, 1. I could not cope with the hospital anymore, if I didn't go home I my mental health would of been dangerously bad 2. Sunday was a healthy baby and her tests shown no infection nor did the swabs come back with anything and 3. According to the doctors because the IV kept failing they may have to administer antibiotics orally anyway, and so although it was risky I chose to go home for my mental health and for what I hoped would be the well being of Sunday too. 

And so for what I hoped would be the last time I wheeled Sunday through for her antibiotics, they struggled to administer it through the IV (which did make me feel like I was making the right decision) but after flushing it a few times they did manage. They removed the IV (it was inserted in the top of her foot and once they took it out you could see how bent the needle was and even the head doctor said that it was not inserted well and would of probably needed to be changed due to it causing Sunday discomfort. Then lastly they looked at the blisters on top of her head, one of which was burst when they took the swabs when we weref first readmitted and because that one was the one that had reduced in size they decided to also burst the second blister in the hopes that this would help it go away. I asked every question in the book as to how to keep her head clean and how to keep the infection from coming back and then finally myself and Sunday were on our way home with the help of my parents. Home time again and oh how I prayed this would be it for good. Reece later came back to pick up Sunday's prescription but apart from that I really hoped that was us away from the Maternity hospital for good. 

My anxiety was high and I had this cloud hanging over my head telling me things were going to go wrong but at least now I was in the comfort of my home with both my girls and wonderful husband. A long recovery ahead of us indeed but that is for another blog post. 

VBAC vs C-section...

Before I end this post I would like to address the question I have received most since I had Sunday; Was a VBAC worth it? And the answer is yes. For me having a vaginal birth was something I had always dreamt to experience and although Ella-Grace's birth was still beautiful and like I have explained before, the c-section saved her life, Sunday's birth (before all the complications) was everything I could of wanted. I did it with no pain relief (like I wanted) and moved around the room into different positions (like I wanted). That moment when she was placed on my chest after my body had pushed her out... I was so proud and so elated, there is nothing like that feeling. 

As for the recovery (I am not going to go into too much detail now) my VBAC recovery has 100% been harder but only because of the complications I had and those complications were not due to the VBAC. I could of had the same complications from a c-section, natural birth etc these things just happen. It is a personal choice and depends what you are looking for from your birth experience. I am definitely partial to a vaginal birth as I love that my body knows how to do this amazing thing and it is just the best experience but being a Mama to two beautiful daughters born two very different ways (emergency c-section and vaginal birth after c-section) you can trust me when I say ALL births are beautiful. 

Thank you for reading...

So glad I have finally wrote this out. I shed many tears writing this and had to stop several times to compose myself but it has helped me to write it all out and I hope it has helped someone else out there who may be struggling from birth trauma. You are not alone and please do not feel like a bad Mother because you are having a tough time post birth. You still love your baby and you are still a great Mother, birth is hard and no one talks about that part (even though we should). Thank you everyone for not only reading this but for being there for me through it all. While I was in the hospital I received so many loving messages and they really helped me. I hope to post again soon, posts on recovery, baby names, Sunday's updates and more yet to come. Follow my social medias to keep up to date (Instagram @laurajanelifex and Facebook LauraJaneLife ) Sending all my love and remember....

Stay Happy Everyone