A rollercoaster of emotions 

A rollercoaster of emotions 
He didn’t want to and I certainly didn’t want him to, but Day returned home that night. As much as I needed him, so did Alfie and he had to go to work. It broke my heart once again, but I was too tired to dwell on anything! I needed to recharge.
The next day I was sent for a scan at the foetal medicine unit. I’d love to say I was feeling happier and more positive, but that would be untrue. I was a complete mess. The past few days had physically and emotionally drained me. While waiting in the waiting room I couldn’t stop crying! The tears constantly welled in my eyes and overflowed down my cheeks. Sometimes you are able to hide your tears away, disguise them, plaster on that fake smile. This time there was no hiding my tears. I was broken. All I wanted to be was at home. Home with Day, on the sofa watching a series on tele; home with Alfie reading him a bedtime story; home with sam the dog with his reassuring cuddles- I even missed the cat who hates my guts. 
Day understood how homesick I was, but knew the best care for baby and I was in Liverpool, where all the specialists were.

I was crying so much I actually struggled to see where I was going on the way to the scanning room. The nurse who had comforted me in the waiting room came with me for my scan. When you had a normal scan and you have your waters you are able to see your baby on the screen. Even if the doctor has to tell you, ‘oh, there’s baby’s arm, and there’s baby’s toes,’ you can squint your eyes and see. A scan with no waters isn’t like that. You cannot see what is what or at the least it’s very difficult. You cannot see baby waving and looking at the screen. I found them quite harrowing to be honest. I didn’t feel I could connect with baby through the screen as I had with Alfie. I know other women who have experienced pprom managed to stay so upbeat throughout their scans, but I didn’t. I really struggled with them. It’s a horrible feeling to feel so disconnected, but I did! And because of that the tears welled up in my eyes and overflowed to a dangerous level once again. At least I was in hospital should I need to be on a drip for dehydration!! 
Eventually, I did manage to calm myself down, reasoning with myself that this was best for all of us as a family. Another early night did me the world of good. I was back and ready for battle, although, I lived on my nerves for the next week. Closing my eyes and praying as hard as I could, which is not something I’ve ever done but it’s worth a shot. I didn’t fancy a stay in labour and deliver anytime soon as I was sure our luck was running out! 
As it will become clear along arlos blog journey, when you’re in situations like this, you meet many other people in situations like yours, but no two stories are the same.
I met a lady on the ward, we had passed each other and smiled a few times before we spoke. She was pregnant with twins. The twins had twin to twin transfusion syndrome. She had been to London and had laser treatment which had worked. But her labour had started, she was admitted and they had managed to stop it, but were keeping her in for a few days for observation. Just having someone to talk to was fantastic. A face to face conversation with another actual person! Don’t get me wrong, the midwives were pleasant, but didn’t have the time to chat. We must have stood in the corridor for over an hour. It was so refreshing! Don’t ask me her name. I don’t know it. I don’t think I needed to know her name, nor did she need to know mine. We were there for each other in the moment when we both had our struggles and were both alone. I never saw her on the labour ward again, we never crossed paths in the neonatal unit, we did meet one more time… but that’s for a later blog. I wonder about things like this, chance encounters. They’re strange, they really are. 
My mum and dad came to visit on the Monday and I was due for another scan. As you know I was terrified of scans. I was constantly waiting to be told the next thing that had gone wrong. Even though our baby didn’t look like they should in the scans, squashed and unable to make out any features, it was our baby and as difficult as I found them, it was a chance for them to show us they were still going strong. 
I left my mum and dad in the waiting room and went in and lay on the table. I so badly wanted my mum and dad in with me, but I wanted to protect them from what was being said. Stupid I know, but when you’ve jumped one lot of bad news to the next you almost become able to filter it. Our baby was alive and kicking on the screen and that was what we held on to. The foetal medicine specialist checked the baby over and was happy with their progress. She also gave a definitive baseline for delivery based on baby now. 
I asked her to bring my mum and dad in. The reason I did this is because I wanted to share their grandchild with them. With loving so far away and with the scare we had the previous week, I wanted them to see him and meet him. It was through a screen, but it was an introduction. I then asked the question we had been wanting to know for the past 6 weeks. Pink or blue? 
Pink or blue!! Remembering when that was the most important question we had to ask stung with venom. 
Pink or blue? 
It was blue! Another boy! Alfie would be happy! He didn’t want a girl. But he wouldn’t be sharing his toys and his little brother wasn’t allowed in his room! 
 After meeting the grandparents, baby’s heart tracings were great! They had picked up from last week and on Tuesday were the best they had been. I felt so hopeful that we could push on as far into the pregnancy as possible. 
But if we’ve learned anything about our baby so far, it’s that he certainly likes to prove people wrong. 
Waking up after a good nights sleep I was greeted with my cup of tea and the CTG monitor. Some midwives were on the ball and liked to get the monitoring done before the doctor’s rounds. 


After my breakfast I lay there on the monitor and spoke to Alfie and Day on FaceTime. 

Cautiously, this time however I had one eye on them and one one the monitor. I knew by now how to read these things. I knew what they were looking for. I knew the baseline that was acceptable. This was not. Usually left in a room (after being checked on once) to ring the bell when the monitoring was finished, this time was different. My bedside was a hive of activity. I said to Day on FaceTime, “I think he’s going to be delivered today. He is not happy and neither are the doctors.” 



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s