"You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” A.A Milne, and Pooh no less. Words I heard paraphrased on a TV Program I watched this evening baring the delightfully simple title, "Midwives." A program detailing the journey of 6 midwives who's work sees them trace a path through Manchester City, both in a pre and post natal capacity.
I have cried my tiny little eyes out every single episode so far. And not just at the sentiments of new arrivals into this world, but more at seeing a portrayal of the emotional path I myself went through. The shock, the terror, the elation. One particular dad, who had seemingly abandoned the mother-to-be, wore the same 'my-life-just-changed-for-good' expression as I did, over two years ago when Olivia was born.
But I digress. This post is not about me, my experiences, or my girlie tears. I'd like to talk about some true heroes of this world; midwives.
You hear talk of help for heroes, honouring heroes, respect for heroes, but this attention is aimed at those who, to all intents and purposes, end lives. The heroes we don't hear much about are the ones who bring us into this world.
When you become expectant mum and dads, your midwife becomes the most important person in the world to you. She's there to calm the freak-outs, to give answers to the neurotic questions you have, and most importantly to actually get your baby out. She makes you feel like you're the only people having a baby in the 9 months that you patiently wait for yours, when in reality, you're just a number in a hat that's picked out. And what a huge hat that is! I'm led to believe midwives can see 20-30 expecting mums every single day. That's 30 people to advise, 30 people to counsel, 30 people to correct in some way (your mums advice is usually to be ignored!)
These woman deal with not only the emotional roller coaster of child birth, which is enough in itself, but they also bare the brunt of people's anger, abuse, selfishness, ignorance and stupidity. Of course not everyone hurls this their way at once, but to be subjected to any of this at all is not, I'm sure, what they signed up for.
So here's a nod, if you will, to some true heroes of this world. The ones that probably made it possible for you to be reading this.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Thursday, 6 September 2012
Sunday, 8 April 2012
The French say, accouchement
I must start this blog with a disclaimer that some of you may find portions of this blog entry a little upsetting. I can assure you that the outcome is a positive one though, so if you don't know me and are reading this, fear not too much.
I suppose a felicitous way to begin this would be at the beginning, a mere 60 hours ago. To set the scene, Suzanne was 3 days overdue and was booked in that day to have a sweep. If you don't what a sweep is, dare I suggest don't attempt to find out. I truly wish I hadn't been so curious as to find out the brass tacks so to speak. Needless to say, this sweep induced labor within 4 hours. Labor, if you've never experienced it, is a very long drawn-out experience, far removed from the depiction on your TV screens. There is usually no immediate panic, no rushing to hospital, rather the process tends to begin some 12 or more hours before the actual delivery. Armed with this knowledge, Suzanne retired to bed that night with a knowledge that our daughter was imminent but not feeling a sense of instancy.
A mere 10 hours later, the mood could not possibly have been any more diametrically opposed.
Suz awoke with contractions that were a mere 15 minutes apart. We corralled the kids into the car and headed to her parents house. Within a matter of minutes the contraction pain began to intensify to agonising. I knew the display of this level of pain well. It was present when we had Olivia and if my memory served me was there at what marked the final stages. By this point last time round Suz was in hospital, undressed, and ready to give birth. This time she was at her mums house, fully clothed, and some 35 minutes away from hospital. It wasn't a difficult decision to make to leave there and then.
About ten minutes into the journey the sense of urgency rapidly increased. Suzanne was beginning to writhe around in pain. I constantly checked the clock on my dashboard and could see the contractions getting closer and closer. I stopped looking when this hit two minutes because I was aware this was the delivery stage of labor and she needed to get to hospital fast! I began at this point to drive faster than I have ever driven in my life. I tried my best to maintain composure and appear calm for the sake of Suzanne. In some ways I thought in my mind I could somehow disguise the fact I was driving so fast. This proved somewhat difficult when my car chimed every time we hit a certain speed, a chime that I've never heard before. I shan't say what that speed was, but sufficient to say it got us there in time. Just.
As we entered the hospital Suzanne bent over double with the pain. I kept asking her if she wanted me to get a wheelchair. She didn't respond. There was a sense of relief we had made made it to hospital, immediately replaced with a realisation this this baby was well on the way and we still weren't in a delivery suite. We made it upstairs. Suzanne was 8cm dilated.
We had booked a birthing pool as research had shown water births to be an effective natural pain killer. Our suite was a large room with a bed at one side and what can only be described as a hot tub without bubbles in the corner. The midwife began running the pool. Within 5 minutes she turned off the taps. "This baby is coming whether we like it or not." We were at the point now where any kind of pain relief would be fruitless. This was to be a natural birth whether we wanted it to be or not.
I can't recall if I discussed this in detail on here when we had Olivia, but her delivery was a very drawn out process. I spent hours at the head of Suzanne's bed, rubbing her back, stroking her hair. The wait seemed never-ending and Suzanne was so fed up by the time Olivia did head out that she practically gave up mid way through (when the head was out, as I recall, which we look back at and laugh about.)
Suzanne felt the need to push. I was asked to press the call button and about a minute later the second midwife appeared. The all too familiar sterile packs were set out and delivery began.
In Sports Psychology there's a technique called imaging. Ever seen Formula 1 drivers or down hill skiers with their eyes closed before an event? They are planning the entire race/course in their mind and how they will react to every possible outcome. Doing this ensures they are fully prepared for what is about to happen. I wanted to key into this method a little in order to help Suzanne with the delivery. I kept reassuring her that there were only a few contractions left and the baby's head would appear. I knew that importance of appearing calm but deep down my heart was racing and I was nothing short of petrified. Then something happened that brought to the fore all the fears I'd reminded myself were foolish to possess. As the baby's head came out I could see her skin going purple. A sign that oxygen isn't flowing properly. I looked at the midwives and I saw them glance at each other with a pressing sense of urgency look. The baby was stuck and she was in serious danger. Whilst one midwife pushed down on her head, the other put her entire weight down on Suzanne's leg in order to create more space for the baby. I kept reassuring Suzanne she was doing well but at this point it was obvious she had realised the gravitas of the situation. She summoned up more strength than I suspect she has ever needed in her whole life and she pushed. The baby was quite literally yanked from inside her and put up onto her stomach. She was dark purple at this point and still hadn't drawn a breath. My heart began to race. I could feel Suzanne's hand clutching mine harden than it had when she was in pain. Then after some massaging she took in a lungful of air and let out a scream. A baby's scream I've never, ever, been so happy to hear. I leant forward and carefully cut the umbilical cord. And there she was, lay before us, Daisy Errington Reed. A truly beautiful gift and I feel the most blessed person in the world right now.
The below picture was taken right after I cut the cord.
P xx
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
I suppose a felicitous way to begin this would be at the beginning, a mere 60 hours ago. To set the scene, Suzanne was 3 days overdue and was booked in that day to have a sweep. If you don't what a sweep is, dare I suggest don't attempt to find out. I truly wish I hadn't been so curious as to find out the brass tacks so to speak. Needless to say, this sweep induced labor within 4 hours. Labor, if you've never experienced it, is a very long drawn-out experience, far removed from the depiction on your TV screens. There is usually no immediate panic, no rushing to hospital, rather the process tends to begin some 12 or more hours before the actual delivery. Armed with this knowledge, Suzanne retired to bed that night with a knowledge that our daughter was imminent but not feeling a sense of instancy.
A mere 10 hours later, the mood could not possibly have been any more diametrically opposed.
Suz awoke with contractions that were a mere 15 minutes apart. We corralled the kids into the car and headed to her parents house. Within a matter of minutes the contraction pain began to intensify to agonising. I knew the display of this level of pain well. It was present when we had Olivia and if my memory served me was there at what marked the final stages. By this point last time round Suz was in hospital, undressed, and ready to give birth. This time she was at her mums house, fully clothed, and some 35 minutes away from hospital. It wasn't a difficult decision to make to leave there and then.
About ten minutes into the journey the sense of urgency rapidly increased. Suzanne was beginning to writhe around in pain. I constantly checked the clock on my dashboard and could see the contractions getting closer and closer. I stopped looking when this hit two minutes because I was aware this was the delivery stage of labor and she needed to get to hospital fast! I began at this point to drive faster than I have ever driven in my life. I tried my best to maintain composure and appear calm for the sake of Suzanne. In some ways I thought in my mind I could somehow disguise the fact I was driving so fast. This proved somewhat difficult when my car chimed every time we hit a certain speed, a chime that I've never heard before. I shan't say what that speed was, but sufficient to say it got us there in time. Just.
As we entered the hospital Suzanne bent over double with the pain. I kept asking her if she wanted me to get a wheelchair. She didn't respond. There was a sense of relief we had made made it to hospital, immediately replaced with a realisation this this baby was well on the way and we still weren't in a delivery suite. We made it upstairs. Suzanne was 8cm dilated.
We had booked a birthing pool as research had shown water births to be an effective natural pain killer. Our suite was a large room with a bed at one side and what can only be described as a hot tub without bubbles in the corner. The midwife began running the pool. Within 5 minutes she turned off the taps. "This baby is coming whether we like it or not." We were at the point now where any kind of pain relief would be fruitless. This was to be a natural birth whether we wanted it to be or not.
I can't recall if I discussed this in detail on here when we had Olivia, but her delivery was a very drawn out process. I spent hours at the head of Suzanne's bed, rubbing her back, stroking her hair. The wait seemed never-ending and Suzanne was so fed up by the time Olivia did head out that she practically gave up mid way through (when the head was out, as I recall, which we look back at and laugh about.)
Suzanne felt the need to push. I was asked to press the call button and about a minute later the second midwife appeared. The all too familiar sterile packs were set out and delivery began.
In Sports Psychology there's a technique called imaging. Ever seen Formula 1 drivers or down hill skiers with their eyes closed before an event? They are planning the entire race/course in their mind and how they will react to every possible outcome. Doing this ensures they are fully prepared for what is about to happen. I wanted to key into this method a little in order to help Suzanne with the delivery. I kept reassuring her that there were only a few contractions left and the baby's head would appear. I knew that importance of appearing calm but deep down my heart was racing and I was nothing short of petrified. Then something happened that brought to the fore all the fears I'd reminded myself were foolish to possess. As the baby's head came out I could see her skin going purple. A sign that oxygen isn't flowing properly. I looked at the midwives and I saw them glance at each other with a pressing sense of urgency look. The baby was stuck and she was in serious danger. Whilst one midwife pushed down on her head, the other put her entire weight down on Suzanne's leg in order to create more space for the baby. I kept reassuring Suzanne she was doing well but at this point it was obvious she had realised the gravitas of the situation. She summoned up more strength than I suspect she has ever needed in her whole life and she pushed. The baby was quite literally yanked from inside her and put up onto her stomach. She was dark purple at this point and still hadn't drawn a breath. My heart began to race. I could feel Suzanne's hand clutching mine harden than it had when she was in pain. Then after some massaging she took in a lungful of air and let out a scream. A baby's scream I've never, ever, been so happy to hear. I leant forward and carefully cut the umbilical cord. And there she was, lay before us, Daisy Errington Reed. A truly beautiful gift and I feel the most blessed person in the world right now.
The below picture was taken right after I cut the cord.
P xx
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Monday, 26 March 2012
A road to parenthood repeated
I am stunned to see the last time I blogged was an entire year ago!
I have news, which if you are reading this is probably not new, that my road to parenthood is about to begin all over again. We are due a new baby in just over two weeks.
Sadly my praxis of blogging is somewhat patchy and for the paucity of entertained readers I have, I can only apologise for such procrastinating and sheer laziness on my part.
This, second round, is to be our swan song, spelling out the final chapter of pregnancy, child birth, breast feeding and everything that ensues. After a transitory thought process we decided this is to be our last baby, although I do appreciate these can be famous last words and somehow, and I'm still to this day unsure how, more children can come along 'quite by accident.' I always felt that stating a child was an accident is akin to saying one accidentally got ones car wet whilst washing it. I jest, of course. I know there can be preventative measure failures. I just hope such doesn't happen to me, because frankly, I really don't want to buy a Vauxhall Zafira.
This time round has been an altogether different experience. It has brought a clarity of understanding to me with regards to people with 4 or more children and how they seem to almost forget they are there. It seems true that as the number of children increases, the sense of urgency and in some ways the whimsical nostalgia fades a little. At this stage in Olivia's term, we were frantically creating nursery lists, planning rooms, cars, and making sure our entire household was correctly geared. This time round I can safely say we've done nothing. Perhaps this is aplomb derived from the knowledge that raising children isn't actually that hard. Gasp, I hear you, but bare with me. The fundamentals of child rearing are feed it, change it, wind it, put it to sleep. Animals do it (save for the changing) and they have but a paucity of brain cells in comparison to us. But you see it's only hindsight that imparts you with this realisation. If you go back to the beginning of my blog you'll see my tales of anxiety and a general sense of being in trepidation. Non of these feelings are present as I type this. Well, maybe a little.
Being spared of most of the disquietude has in some ways taken the excitement out of having a baby. No rushing around buying things, no militaristic planning, in fact it almost feels like we're planning to pick something up from the hospital. Although I'm sure, faced with the newborn, it will all coming flooding back. Oh, and I'm sure Suzanne will have differing opinions on the matter, but this is my blog, so ner.
I promise to blog when the baby arrives. Might need a bit of reminding.
Paulie x
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
I have news, which if you are reading this is probably not new, that my road to parenthood is about to begin all over again. We are due a new baby in just over two weeks.
Sadly my praxis of blogging is somewhat patchy and for the paucity of entertained readers I have, I can only apologise for such procrastinating and sheer laziness on my part.
This, second round, is to be our swan song, spelling out the final chapter of pregnancy, child birth, breast feeding and everything that ensues. After a transitory thought process we decided this is to be our last baby, although I do appreciate these can be famous last words and somehow, and I'm still to this day unsure how, more children can come along 'quite by accident.' I always felt that stating a child was an accident is akin to saying one accidentally got ones car wet whilst washing it. I jest, of course. I know there can be preventative measure failures. I just hope such doesn't happen to me, because frankly, I really don't want to buy a Vauxhall Zafira.
This time round has been an altogether different experience. It has brought a clarity of understanding to me with regards to people with 4 or more children and how they seem to almost forget they are there. It seems true that as the number of children increases, the sense of urgency and in some ways the whimsical nostalgia fades a little. At this stage in Olivia's term, we were frantically creating nursery lists, planning rooms, cars, and making sure our entire household was correctly geared. This time round I can safely say we've done nothing. Perhaps this is aplomb derived from the knowledge that raising children isn't actually that hard. Gasp, I hear you, but bare with me. The fundamentals of child rearing are feed it, change it, wind it, put it to sleep. Animals do it (save for the changing) and they have but a paucity of brain cells in comparison to us. But you see it's only hindsight that imparts you with this realisation. If you go back to the beginning of my blog you'll see my tales of anxiety and a general sense of being in trepidation. Non of these feelings are present as I type this. Well, maybe a little.
Being spared of most of the disquietude has in some ways taken the excitement out of having a baby. No rushing around buying things, no militaristic planning, in fact it almost feels like we're planning to pick something up from the hospital. Although I'm sure, faced with the newborn, it will all coming flooding back. Oh, and I'm sure Suzanne will have differing opinions on the matter, but this is my blog, so ner.
I promise to blog when the baby arrives. Might need a bit of reminding.
Paulie x
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Sunday, 13 February 2011
Do we all live in glass houses?
I find myself arriving at this page every so often, be it via my iPhone or the rare chance I get to spend some time in the office in front of the computer, when the mood takes me to write. Sometimes I feel compelled to convey emotions, opinions or present a tale of general malaise. A vast proportion of these visits result in the inevitable retraction of thoughts, deeming them too personal or confessional than is good for me. However, I hold close to the adage that a problem shared is a problem halved. By the very nature of that aphorism, the said problem should be granulated to such a degree it becomes non existent if shared enough times. What better way to do it than a blog. I'm unsure as I write this if the publish button will be clicked, if the thoughts will be shared, but I gain solace in the fact that perhaps by just writing them I will have halved the problem.
Those who know me well, and perhaps those that don't, will probably be aware of the fact I very much wear my heart on my sleeve. But the truth is, I don't. I developed from a very young age the ability to create a sort of pseudo candor, a trick to make it appear I was bearing all when in fact, I was doing nothing of the sort. I grew up in an environment where strength was a necessity, a requirement to support those around me. The notion of showing weakness, sadness, an inability to cope, was simply not in the option list. However, beneath this affectation I suffered in a world of deep depression. Where there appeared strength, there was weakness. As my life progressed I settled into this semblance, allowing how I wanted people to see me to take over how I was actually feeling. In truth, I maintain this dissimilation to this day, and still suffer depression to a great degree. It writhes me with guilt to feel the way I do because I have so much good in my life; so many aspects of positivity. But that's where rational thought prevails, and anyone that has suffered with depression knows that rational thought may as well be pieces of string for all good it does. It's painstakingly difficult to remove ones self from the irate, irrational, borderline paranoid thought process. I live a life of almost incessant worrying that I have upset someone, or done something to incite disapproval from them. I end most days wishing I hadn't said half of the things I said and often feel that as a result of my daily words or actions, the people close to me will want nothing more to do with me. Self-loathing is very symptomatic of depression and it's something I pursue a daily battle with. And the problem with self-loathing is that it becomes an endless spiral of feeling bad about how you are as a person, act, look, and how people perceive you and then feeling bad for feeling bad, and so forth.
This year has seen nothing but positivity in terms of my surroundings and I am working hard on a clarity of focus on these things, and I have set myself as many attainable goals as I can think of. I just hope I can reach them...
Those who know me well, and perhaps those that don't, will probably be aware of the fact I very much wear my heart on my sleeve. But the truth is, I don't. I developed from a very young age the ability to create a sort of pseudo candor, a trick to make it appear I was bearing all when in fact, I was doing nothing of the sort. I grew up in an environment where strength was a necessity, a requirement to support those around me. The notion of showing weakness, sadness, an inability to cope, was simply not in the option list. However, beneath this affectation I suffered in a world of deep depression. Where there appeared strength, there was weakness. As my life progressed I settled into this semblance, allowing how I wanted people to see me to take over how I was actually feeling. In truth, I maintain this dissimilation to this day, and still suffer depression to a great degree. It writhes me with guilt to feel the way I do because I have so much good in my life; so many aspects of positivity. But that's where rational thought prevails, and anyone that has suffered with depression knows that rational thought may as well be pieces of string for all good it does. It's painstakingly difficult to remove ones self from the irate, irrational, borderline paranoid thought process. I live a life of almost incessant worrying that I have upset someone, or done something to incite disapproval from them. I end most days wishing I hadn't said half of the things I said and often feel that as a result of my daily words or actions, the people close to me will want nothing more to do with me. Self-loathing is very symptomatic of depression and it's something I pursue a daily battle with. And the problem with self-loathing is that it becomes an endless spiral of feeling bad about how you are as a person, act, look, and how people perceive you and then feeling bad for feeling bad, and so forth.
This year has seen nothing but positivity in terms of my surroundings and I am working hard on a clarity of focus on these things, and I have set myself as many attainable goals as I can think of. I just hope I can reach them...
La vita nova
It was once said that life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away. Tonight was one of those life changing moments that took my breath away to as prodigious a degree as the announcement that I was to be a father. Two of my dearest friends sat before Suzanne and I and confessed something they had been hiding for a number of weeks; that they were to bring a newborn into this world in little over 6 months. The news was completely, totally and utterly unexpected. Hearing this news took me back to the elation I experienced some 15 months ago. I felt a warmness in my heart and a realisation that this news was to spell out, I hope, a future carved out in a stone shared by all of us for many years to come.
To Si and Jo - congratulations to you both. I can't wait to meet Baby Tate.
To Si and Jo - congratulations to you both. I can't wait to meet Baby Tate.
Thursday, 30 December 2010
Nigel Slaters Toast - but not as you know it
I'm a big fan of Nigel Slater, both his writing and also latterly his TV show. He has a propensity for food that aligns with my own and his à bas prix approach to dishes suits parenthood perfectly. Suz and I just watched Toast - a film adaptation of his autobiography bearing the same name. It is a beautiful and heart warming tale of a young boy who loses his mother and follows his life's path soaking in the torrid relationship with his step mother and his fight with her for his fathers attention. If you have the chance to see it, I implore you to do so.
Nigel Slaters raison d'être is to provide an alternative to the prolix recipes offered up by celebrity chefs that require visits to specialist shops and lengthy preparation time. His recipe's are unadorned, which is glorious when your nights sleep reduce to a paucity of hours and a simple sojourn to the shops requires a mammoth pack, check, double check and go.
It's true, your children are time thief's. I am richly blessed in that I have a part time job that pays sufficiently well to afford us the luxury of Suzy not working. I am in genuine awe of parents who balance full time work and child rearing. It's the trickiest balance both from a decision point of view (posing the question whether to be a stay at home parent or not) and also in terms of weighing your attention in the correct percentage. It's easy to say your children come first, and of course they do in your heart and mind, but in reality executing this balance of attention is extremely difficult as work, by it's very nature is a time hog. The decision for Suzy not going back to work wasn't an easy one - it has required a significant financial sacrifice, but the bond created now is precious and unrepeatable and I would happily live on a plank to have it.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Nigel Slaters raison d'être is to provide an alternative to the prolix recipes offered up by celebrity chefs that require visits to specialist shops and lengthy preparation time. His recipe's are unadorned, which is glorious when your nights sleep reduce to a paucity of hours and a simple sojourn to the shops requires a mammoth pack, check, double check and go.
It's true, your children are time thief's. I am richly blessed in that I have a part time job that pays sufficiently well to afford us the luxury of Suzy not working. I am in genuine awe of parents who balance full time work and child rearing. It's the trickiest balance both from a decision point of view (posing the question whether to be a stay at home parent or not) and also in terms of weighing your attention in the correct percentage. It's easy to say your children come first, and of course they do in your heart and mind, but in reality executing this balance of attention is extremely difficult as work, by it's very nature is a time hog. The decision for Suzy not going back to work wasn't an easy one - it has required a significant financial sacrifice, but the bond created now is precious and unrepeatable and I would happily live on a plank to have it.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Wednesday, 29 December 2010
Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body. Words uttered Elizabeth Stone, some 200 or so years ago. Words that stand true today and I'm sure for generations to come. In your youth, whilst you have the privilege of a lack of appurtenance, you have the world at your feet, and your heart perhaps as saliently is entirely your own. You may chose to share such a precious de rigueur with a loved one but it's only when you have children that you discover the requisite requirement of handing your heart over completely, totally and utterly. Over the last few months I have turned into the kind of doting parent I was once baffled by, looking on, wondering why such small, loud, worry-inducing bundles could hold on to the key to such a grandiose thing as ones heart. I spend my days wistfully longing to be home to spend time with Olivia and am positively mirthful when the clock-settable gummy smile greets me at the door.
Today spelled out a new dawn for Suzy and I as we took delivery of a new car seat, one that faces forward rather than backward; an oppose that any parents will know spells out a significant step in growth. Olivia has progressed so much in the last few weeks. We have been graced with new found giggles, gurgles, and high pitched squeals that despite causing significant damage to my hearing, has been wonderful to see.
Jules Verne said that there is one thing remarkable about the future, that being that it is never futuristic. The same obscured-in-front-of-your-eyes change can be said of childhood. She'll have her own car soon...
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Today spelled out a new dawn for Suzy and I as we took delivery of a new car seat, one that faces forward rather than backward; an oppose that any parents will know spells out a significant step in growth. Olivia has progressed so much in the last few weeks. We have been graced with new found giggles, gurgles, and high pitched squeals that despite causing significant damage to my hearing, has been wonderful to see.
Jules Verne said that there is one thing remarkable about the future, that being that it is never futuristic. The same obscured-in-front-of-your-eyes change can be said of childhood. She'll have her own car soon...
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)