Almost as soon as I came around from the section properly, I said I wanted to come home. We ended up in hospital for a further four days because I had to have a blood transfusion after losing almost two litres in surgery, and they wouldn't let me go until all test results were back and clear.
We stayed in labour recovery all day Monday and until Tuesday afternoon. Phill slept on the chairs, but at least he got cups of tea and was fed when we were up there. On Monday, Enfys had been absolutely wonderful throughout the day and was so supportive in starting our breastfeeding journey off so well.
Tuesday morning came, and we had a different midwife. She was lovely, but by this stage I just wanted some privacy with my husband and my baby and she was very, very caring to the point that she wouldn't leave us alone.
She helped out of bed....I was like Bambi! Then she helped me to the shower for a wash. I still had canulas everywhere (I had about 3 on one hand), so she helped me to stand and to get things out of my washbag and so on.
When we got back my lunch (salad) was waiting for me, so I ate that but was quite emotional by this point because I JUST WANTED TO GO HOME.
Cwtches with his boy. On his 'bed' 🤣
Still, at this point I was fairly happy, as Alex appeared to be feeding well (and my milk was DEFINITELY coming in....I had two melons in place of where my boobs once were 🤣) and I was feeling stronger as the days were going by. But still I was desperate to see my own bed (those hospital mattresses are a bitch to get up from if you've had a section) and for our son to see his home. As suspected, I was extremely emotional throughout those days, but I thought I was just going through the normal motions of 'post baby blues', tiredness and the drugs wearing off. I just wanted to go home.
On Wednesday, I told Phill to go and spend the night at home so he could get a proper sleep. It was weird seeing him go, but I just wanted him to be fit and healthy for us coming home.
Thursday, July 4, I finally got the go ahead. Ironic that it was Independence Day right? Phill picked us up at 2pm, I was given my bag of drugs to go home with - including injections to do for the following 6 weeks - Alex was tucked up in his car seat and off we went.
The look on his face at the unfamiliar (or maybe familiar - I drove a lot during my pregnancy) motion of the car broke my heart. Here was this little tiny human being (not so tiny - he didn't lose much of his birth weight) who I now had responsibility for raising, and he had absolutely no idea. But he definitely knew I was mam.
He doesn't look like himself here. Trip home in the car.
When we got home, I insisted the TV was put on immediately, so that he would be used to sleeping in noise. Haha.
The next few hours would lead to even more trauma, which probably still affects me now too.
I had told my mam a couple of days before when I'd seen her at the hospital not to come straight over to ours when we got home, to allow us time to settle.
I slept for about an hour when we got home, but suddenly I could hear Alex crying and as I went to open my eyes, could see my mother opposite me and my sister and youngest niece at the end of my sofa. I started to cry. I was angry that they were there - but little did I realise why at that point. So I woke and pretended I was crying because I was so tired.
They'd been there for about half an hour I think - it may have been less time, it may have been longer, concept of time in those days is difficult - when my mother came and sat on the edge of my coffee table (I was on the sofa) and held my hand. When she spoke I couldn't fathom what she was saying. My dad was in hospital after having a heart attack. He hadn't even held his grandson yet. I squealed out "he's been waiting for this for so long" - to the confusion of mam and Sez (my sister) - and just cried and cried and cried.
My mam and sister were both very reassuring. "He's sitting in a chair in his trousers and a shirt while everyone is in pyjamas," was how my sister put it. "He's fine." He was due to have stents fitted the following week and would then be coming home. As luck had it, he was fitted in on the Friday and came home Saturday - of course coming to see his shiny new grandson before going back to his house. I think this second piece of traumatic news didn't help my mental health in the coming weeks and months.
Alex and Grumpy's first cuddles 💕
On the Friday morning, my community midwife Amanda came. She arrived quite early, so Phill went down to let her in while I got dressed and brought Alex down. As soon as I saw her I burst out crying. Still, at this stage I wasn't worried. I'd been through A LOT and was still tired and settling in at home.
I was due another visit the following Monday, but not from Amanda as she was on leave, but she was going to put it in the diary so that someone was aware I may need some postnatal support after everything. So another midwife was supposed to come to see me. But after we'd waited in for most of the day (the weather was glorious and we'd wanted to pop out for a - very slow - walk), and I called to find out what was happening, I was sent all around the houses. Eventually someone called back and I was told "well we can come if you want", to which I said no it's ok - even though I was starting to feel that I wasn't.
My first health visitor visit wasn't until the Thursday of that week. I'm relying on my red book notes for this, because I can't remember if the maternity notes are taken back - I think they were. I believe that between that Monday and Lori's visit on the Thursday, I did see Christine the breastfeeding midwife, so that was a relief at least. It might have been after Lori's visit, but I'm pretty sure it was before, because I explained to her what had happened too with the call and also explained it to Lori.
Anyway. I've never been one to hide my feelings, I pretty much wear my heart on my sleeve whatever. It can make my job difficult sometimes. So when Lori came, I was honest with her immediately about how I'd been feeling. I knew about post baby blues, but I just wasn't feeling right. I kept thinking "what have I done" during those lonely long nights. God I loved him with all of my heart, but I just couldn't stop those words popping in my head.
My baby boy. Probably wondering why mamma wouldn't stop crying. When finding out that Phill had been left alone after being told that they 'couldn't stop the bleeding', I kept worrying about how that had affected him, even though he was telling me he was fine. There was one evening when I sat in the garden on my own while Phill looked after Alex, and when I came back in, said to him through multiple tears again "I could have died". And I knew I hadn't, and I should have been grateful for that and for Alex, but I just couldn't shift the feeling of sadness and gloom, amidst the happiness that we were both here safely.
Both Lori and Amanda were amazing in making sure I got support from the PRAMS (Perinatal Response and Management Service) team in the now Swansea Bay University Health Board. Amanda kept me on her books for a full month following birth, and when my letter for my first appointment at PRAMS came through for (I think) the middle of August, she wasn't happy and wanted me to have an appointment earlier. It didn't happen, but that passionate support to get me some help - for whatever was happening and keeping me so unhappy during what should have been a happy time - was incredible, and I'll always be so, so grateful to them for that.
I'll talk more about my appointments with PRAMS during another post, but for now I just want to say that 10 months on, though I still get my moments, having that support there so quickly and so willingly was vital to me. I'm not sure what I would have done had I not had anyone to turn to. The fact that I'd developed such a great relationship with Amanda throughout my pregnancy enough to trust her to be vulnerable with her, and that Lori was so warm, kind and compassionate when I first met her that I knew I could share without being judged, tells you a lot about the kind of people we have working within our NHS.
During non COVID-19 times, there is so much NHS bashing, but, it seems less talk about the absolutely INCREDIBLE organisation it is that we are SO SO lucky to have. I could be dead without the NHS. My son could not have had the chance to live and grow without it. I know that's a very dramatic way to look at it, but I have to be blunt in how I feel.
The teams all through my pregnancy, birth and postnatal care have been wonderful, compassionate and so, so caring. I know it's their job to be, but the genuine and authentic nature of that care has been so good to see. People doing this in their roles as nurses is something I see every day in work (albeit at the other end of life), and makes me once again consider why I never thought of nursing as a career choice myself. I honestly don't think I'd be able to handle it with my emotional state, but I always wonder whether it is something I would have done in a parallel universe or a past life.
As I've said above, I'll talk about the support I had from PRAMS, and also from the Birth Trauma Clinic at Swansea University in a future post, but I couldn't let Mental Health Week go by without talking a little about how I felt in those first weeks of being a new mother, and to share with people that it is completely normal to have the baby blues, or even something bigger. Please don't be afraid to speak out about how you're feeling. You'll get the help and support you need to make it through those tough days, and be a stronger person for yourself and your baby.
Thank you to the NHS and our mental health services, we really couldn't do this without you.
#mentalhealthweek #birthtrauma #ptsd #swanseabayUHB #postnatal #postnatalmentalhealth #postpartum #postpartummentalhealth #itsoktofeelblue #itsoknottobeok #nhs