If you haven't heard about the refugee crisis going on recently, I can only assume you live in a cave. Thousands of people are trying to escape from hideous situations in Africa by coming across the Mediterranean. They're not coming over on nice Sealink ferries either, but on overcrowded tiny boats and dinghies. And they are dying in droves. They are drowning. They are hiding out in lorries, suffocating, and then being abandoned. Some of them have survived long enough to get to Calais, where they are trying to get here (some by running through the Channel Tunnel...which...bravo, sirs), and England takes umbrage because their holidays are being slightly cocked up by it. NOTHING GETS IN THE WAY OF AN ENGLISHMAN'S BOOZE CRUISE! NOTHING!
Now, being a fairly insular, bigoted, if not downright racist island, there is a lot of anger at these refugees. Fucking up the borders, causing queues (QUEUES! QUELLE HORREUR!), stopping Only The Young's first single being released on time. Trying to get in here and steal our jobs AND benefits, or whatever we think people come here for. The media and government are doing their best to inflame the situation by describing people as 'swarms', dehumanising the reality of thousands dying in desperation, and thus making it easier to overlook it.
So, this po-faced grumpiness on the right is then tempered by increasingly flailing arguments on the left. It's a humanitarian nightmare, and needs resolving, but it won't be resolved on Twitter or Facebook. Twitter and Facebook however didn't get that memo, and an image of a drowned toddler is now circulating to convince the right of the error of their thinking. "LOOK!" they scream "CHILDREN ARE DYYYINNNG".
Now, this is awful. It's awful on several levels. Since this is the internet, have it in bitesize chunks:
1. The death of any child is awful. The death of a child uprooted from their home to travel across the sea in the night, in circumstances adults describe as terrifying, is unimaginably awful. That's the problem with the entire refugee situation - it is unimaginable to the majority of even the poorest British folk. Showing a dead baby isn't going to suddenly make a lightbulb click on in their heads. Stories from the refugees themselves MIGHT, but it is generally beyond our national ken.
2. The bulk of the "SHOOT THE FUCKERS" brigade are a bit thick, let's be honest. Shooting unarmed people solely for wanting to come into your country is what they might do to you in North Korea, and is not in any way a logical solution. The people voicing this sort of argument are the sort of simplistic idiot you really are not going to convince with a thousand dead child pictures. They don't want a debate, they just want it to go away so they go back on their booze cruises, and refill the papers with nice titty pictures of some bird from Big Brother instead of all this suffering and horribleness.
3. If the only way you can win an argument about a horrendous situation, that really doesn't need any embellishment, is by showing dead baby pictures, then you need to RETHINK YOUR DEBATING STRATEGY. The problem is not necessarily the person you're debating with, but your own tactics. Or they are a slightly better educated version of number 2, in which case, cut your losses.
4. Now this picture is in the social network domain, you can guarantee that in a year or two it will be recycled as some god-awful clickbait meme. "THIS CHILD DROWNED BECAUSE THEY DIDN'T PRAY TO JESUS AND WEAR SUNSCREEN, LIKE AND SHARE FOR A PRAYER". You know the sort of fuck awful bollocks that's endemic on Facebook. The identity of the child is currently unknown, but surely deserves a better memorial than that. Which brings me to the most important point...
5. That's someone's child. A family is bereft right now; on top of everything else, their baby didn't make it. It's likely the parents didn't either, but we don't know for certain. Nonetheless, if your child had just died, in any circumstance, would you want their photo shared around social media, without your knowledge or permission, solely to make a gloating, political point?
During the Vietnam war, a photo was taken of a napalmed child and became emblematic of the futility of the struggle. Sometimes a photo can speak louder than a million pointless arguments. But that was in the time before the ubiquity of media.Anyone who really cares about the refugee situation - with a positive or negative bias - has thousands of sources at their fingertips, video footage, political commentary, individual stories, photos.
It is not your job to educate through sensationalism.Leave that to the tabloids.
UPDATE: The tabloids seized upon that photo with glee the very next day, and behold, David Cameron changed his policy on immigrants. It's a strange state of affairs when our government can only do the right thing when The Sun and Daily Mail tells them to.
2 Sept 2015
26 Aug 2015
#NotAllMen
The majority of media is very against Jeremy Corbyn at the moment. I'm not sure why - if he becomes Labour leader, they will be able to stir the right wing readership into apoplexy on a weekly basis, generating ample clickbait. Corbyn said, when discussing policies, that he was interested in reducing public sexual harassment experienced by women and it had been suggested to him that introducing women-only carriages on train might help.
WELP. UPROAR.
It's being claimed he's trying to depersonalise women, that it's inherently misogynist, that segregation is evil, and most importantly to the (white)(male)(affluent) journalists, NOT ALL MEN ARE SEXUAL PREDATORS.
Waaah, they cry. Why do women hate us? Why do sites like EverydaySexism exist? NOT ALL MEN rape. NOT ALL MEN sexually harass women. NOT ALL MEN are evil.
To which a swathe of women roll their eyes, because once again, men are making it all about them.
Guess what? Over a thousand women reported sexual assault on public transport to the BTP last year. The number of individuals assaulted is probably far higher, since women tend to be reluctant to report sex crimes. It's not unique to Britain - in fact, Japan have implemented women-only carriages to prevent groping on trains. Trains and stations are really good hunting grounds for sexual predators. Smaller stations tend to have very few, if any, staff milling around. Trains can be enormous, with only one or two staff circulating. Nobody wants to make a fuss on the train, because stopping it causes major delays and inconvenience, not to mention embarrassment. If you travel on the train reasonably frequently, it's likely you've been stuck in a carriage with someone you really don't want to be, whether through their aggressive manner, their overbearing demeanour, or just sitting far too close to you. And what you do is focus really hard on your phone or ipod or whatever, and hope they go away.
I was alone on the train to London a while ago, at 9:30am on a Saturday. Sat behind me were six pissed young men, who had reservation for a four seater table and the seat next to me and in front of me, but preferred to all lurch around the gangway around the table. They weren't being aggressive, just high spirited, but they were harassing any staff who needed to make their way past and anyone sitting by themselves. As I was sitting next to one of 'their' seats, they kept sitting down and trying to talk to me. Then one of them gave me a big, unsolicited cuddle. Yay me.
Now that's not a sexual assault. Annoying, embarrassing, inappropriate but not criminal. But it still scared me. I've been sexually assaulted a few times to varying degrees of awful, and it never ceases to amaze me how many men think that just being a woman by yourself means you DEFINITELY want their attention. Perhaps it is from some misplaced sense of chivalrous protection. I once had some men on a bin lorry leap off and 'cuddle' men in the middle of the street. I was 14 and in school uniform, I'm not sure what part of that they read as sexual availability, but there we go. I'm not sure why some men think cuddling women they don't know is acceptable behaviour. But they do.
And that's the real problem. It's not women whining and moaning and claiming all men are rapists. It's men thinking their attention, however benign, is a gift to women in their vicinity, combined with women being taught (mainly by the media) that all men are just waiting to drag them away and rape them. It's a culture where women who are raped or assaulted by strangers are then asked WHY they talked to this strange man in the first place. Women are expected to prevent themselves being raped or assaulted by PSYCHIC MEANS. The only sensible way for women to do this is to not talk to strangers.
It is time we flipped the narrative. A lot of men complain that feminism is unnecessary in the modern age, that men and women ARE equal, and the gynocracy is emasculating them. They want to be allowed to open doors for women, and carry their bags and not be called a rapist. They want to be viewed as chivalrous, not predatory.
So how about we start teaching men how to recognise and react to social cues? That when a woman is studiously staring at her phone or has earphones in, she doesn't want to talk? You certainly don't get to pull her earphones out unless the place is literally on fire.
That a woman has the right to not talk to you, if she doesn't want to, and that doesn't make her a stuck up bitch? She doesn't even have to give you a reason.
That feeling awkward and rejected doesn't give you the right to shout or hurt or do anything other than feel awkward and rejected?
That there is literally no silent social contract which makes unsolicited sexual contact OK?
Because it's not all men. It really isn't, and women know that. But it's enough men to have no idea who is safe and who isn't. It's enough men that in any given ten women, two will have experienced a sexual assault.
The women suggesting segregated carriages aren't generally man-hating lunatics: they are simply trying to find a way to protect themselves while our culture continues to do very little to stop men harassing women.
WELP. UPROAR.
It's being claimed he's trying to depersonalise women, that it's inherently misogynist, that segregation is evil, and most importantly to the (white)(male)(affluent) journalists, NOT ALL MEN ARE SEXUAL PREDATORS.
Waaah, they cry. Why do women hate us? Why do sites like EverydaySexism exist? NOT ALL MEN rape. NOT ALL MEN sexually harass women. NOT ALL MEN are evil.
To which a swathe of women roll their eyes, because once again, men are making it all about them.
Guess what? Over a thousand women reported sexual assault on public transport to the BTP last year. The number of individuals assaulted is probably far higher, since women tend to be reluctant to report sex crimes. It's not unique to Britain - in fact, Japan have implemented women-only carriages to prevent groping on trains. Trains and stations are really good hunting grounds for sexual predators. Smaller stations tend to have very few, if any, staff milling around. Trains can be enormous, with only one or two staff circulating. Nobody wants to make a fuss on the train, because stopping it causes major delays and inconvenience, not to mention embarrassment. If you travel on the train reasonably frequently, it's likely you've been stuck in a carriage with someone you really don't want to be, whether through their aggressive manner, their overbearing demeanour, or just sitting far too close to you. And what you do is focus really hard on your phone or ipod or whatever, and hope they go away.
I was alone on the train to London a while ago, at 9:30am on a Saturday. Sat behind me were six pissed young men, who had reservation for a four seater table and the seat next to me and in front of me, but preferred to all lurch around the gangway around the table. They weren't being aggressive, just high spirited, but they were harassing any staff who needed to make their way past and anyone sitting by themselves. As I was sitting next to one of 'their' seats, they kept sitting down and trying to talk to me. Then one of them gave me a big, unsolicited cuddle. Yay me.
Now that's not a sexual assault. Annoying, embarrassing, inappropriate but not criminal. But it still scared me. I've been sexually assaulted a few times to varying degrees of awful, and it never ceases to amaze me how many men think that just being a woman by yourself means you DEFINITELY want their attention. Perhaps it is from some misplaced sense of chivalrous protection. I once had some men on a bin lorry leap off and 'cuddle' men in the middle of the street. I was 14 and in school uniform, I'm not sure what part of that they read as sexual availability, but there we go. I'm not sure why some men think cuddling women they don't know is acceptable behaviour. But they do.
And that's the real problem. It's not women whining and moaning and claiming all men are rapists. It's men thinking their attention, however benign, is a gift to women in their vicinity, combined with women being taught (mainly by the media) that all men are just waiting to drag them away and rape them. It's a culture where women who are raped or assaulted by strangers are then asked WHY they talked to this strange man in the first place. Women are expected to prevent themselves being raped or assaulted by PSYCHIC MEANS. The only sensible way for women to do this is to not talk to strangers.
It is time we flipped the narrative. A lot of men complain that feminism is unnecessary in the modern age, that men and women ARE equal, and the gynocracy is emasculating them. They want to be allowed to open doors for women, and carry their bags and not be called a rapist. They want to be viewed as chivalrous, not predatory.
So how about we start teaching men how to recognise and react to social cues? That when a woman is studiously staring at her phone or has earphones in, she doesn't want to talk? You certainly don't get to pull her earphones out unless the place is literally on fire.
That a woman has the right to not talk to you, if she doesn't want to, and that doesn't make her a stuck up bitch? She doesn't even have to give you a reason.
That feeling awkward and rejected doesn't give you the right to shout or hurt or do anything other than feel awkward and rejected?
That there is literally no silent social contract which makes unsolicited sexual contact OK?
Because it's not all men. It really isn't, and women know that. But it's enough men to have no idea who is safe and who isn't. It's enough men that in any given ten women, two will have experienced a sexual assault.
The women suggesting segregated carriages aren't generally man-hating lunatics: they are simply trying to find a way to protect themselves while our culture continues to do very little to stop men harassing women.
5 Aug 2015
Breastfeeding Tips
So, since my Alex was born last month, I've restarted breastfeeding. It's only been a year gap since I weaned my middle boy (aged 3, where's my fucking medal?) so I wasn't expecting it to be too big a deal. Indeed, the hospital were so taken aback by my willingness to feed and reluctance to be 'shown how' that they wrote "declined support" in the breastfeeding part of my notes.
But it's actually been harder than I expected. Not because of Alex: he's a good feeder and ACTUALLY SLEEPS PRAISE GOD. But because I forgot about feeding newborns and how exhaustingly full on it can feel. So, here's some top tips on establishing breastfeeding that you didn't ask for.
1: Get comfy
It is a lot easier to relax and feed your kid if you're comfortable. First, grab a drink, and your phone. Go to the toilet if you need to: baby won't actually scream himself to death in 60 seconds. If you're not comfortable feeding in front of people, go find a more private space. If you're leaning up in bed, support yourself with pillows. If you're in a chair, sit back and put the telly on. Bring the baby to your boob, rather than your boob to the baby because that way lies stiffness and aching which might just be too much in the postnatal awful. Some babies take 20 minutes to feed, some take 5, some take bloody hours. You don't know how long you're going to be in that position, so start right.
2: Lanolin cream is your new God
Your nipples are not used to being sucked in the vice like grip of a baby's maw, and can get quite sore even from one bad latch. Lanolin cream is safe for the baby to suck, so you don't have to worry about it poisoning him, and it turns nipples bulletproof in days.
3: You don't have to put up with a bad latch
Babies, in their desperate haste to eat yet more milk, will occasionally snap onto your boob wrong. You know it's wrong because you shriek, and then sometimes, you bleed. If you do bleed, by the way, it won't hurt the baby but if the blood is coming from inside your nipple, tell your midwife or HV.
Should the baby latch go awry, pop a finger between baby's mouth and your nipple, and try again. Do not leave the baby latched wrong, however much he squeals in indignation that you've stolen his food. Aim your nipple at the back of his throat, wait for him to tip his head back with his mouth like a baby bird, and shove it in. You won't hurt him. Even at a month old, Alex still needs a bit of a prod to stop him sucking his fist or arm instead of the perfectly good boob millimetres from him.
A good latch might feel a bit uncomfortable and strong, but it shouldn't make you scream. Ask for help if you cant seem to get the hang of it.
4: Engorgement feels like hell, but it is normal.
When your milk comes in, fuck a duck it hurts. It is often accompanied by the three day blues, which make you hate the world and weep over nothing. Giant, rock solid boobs, with fluey symptoms and uselessly unsupportive nursing bras make everything worse. But guess what? It lasts about 24 hours and then it's done. Cold cabbage leaves really do work and so does a warm shower.
You GAVE BIRTH: you can do this.
5: Cluster feeding is also normal
Cluster feeding is how babies tell boobs to make more milk, usually in response to growth spurts. But I have never seen it mentioned in breastfeeding help from official sources, and it nearly drove me to despair with my eldest. Basically, your baby will feed pretty much non-stop for four to six hours, commonly in the evening when you are tired and wanting the baby to get off and let you sleep. It can, however, prompt relatives to ask if you're SURE the baby's getting enough, and suggest that maybe you should stop feeding (see 9 for more on this). It is a recipe for crisis if you're not sure of yourself. But know this my friend, it is normal. Your boobs are amazing at responding to the baby's needs and it only lasts a day or so at a time.
6: Breastfed babies get wind
Some people think they don't. Trust me, they do. You can feel it in their solid little bellies after a feed (normally, there is squidge). Sit them up, let them sick it up a bit and then offer some more if they're still rooting.
7: Don't be afraid to ask for help
Birth can make women feel incredibly insecure and stupid. Midwives can (if you're unlucky) exacerbate this by making it look SOO EASY to feed babies. They come along and force the baby's head on your boob as if by bloody magic, leaving you none the wiser as to how to do it. Then they want to observe you feeding, which is hardly confidence inspiring. Then they give you conflicting advice. So, assert yourself a little. Ask them to slow down and show you properly. Personally, I found the pictorial guide in the NCT booklets better than anything anyone could tell me. If you're worried about anything - bleeding nipples, sicky baby, baby who won't stop crying, baby isn't interested in feeding, baby who never stops feeding, the way you feel - talk to your midwife or health visitor. Remember, they want you to breastfeed too. You're not on your own in this.
8: Eat. Bloody eat! And drink!
You are a milk factory. You cannot make it out of thin air. Eat! Drink!
9: You are allowed to tell people to piss off if they're being shit
If your baby latches, wees and poos and seems happy, then you're doing great. Family, particularly when they haven't breastfed themselves or if it's been ages, can be surprisingly pissy about the choice to breastfeed. THEY WANT TO FEED THE BABY DAMMIT. Well, they can't, and if they could it's not like they're going to come round and do bottles at 2am for you, is it?
If they're really getting you down, suggest they:
- Sit under the baby for two hours while you have a nap/a bath/a leap around the garden because your arms are finally free
- Bath the baby
- Cook you some food and stop being so fucking negative
This also applies any time people decide you are Doing Parenting Wrong because you're doing something they didn't.
But it's actually been harder than I expected. Not because of Alex: he's a good feeder and ACTUALLY SLEEPS PRAISE GOD. But because I forgot about feeding newborns and how exhaustingly full on it can feel. So, here's some top tips on establishing breastfeeding that you didn't ask for.
1: Get comfy
It is a lot easier to relax and feed your kid if you're comfortable. First, grab a drink, and your phone. Go to the toilet if you need to: baby won't actually scream himself to death in 60 seconds. If you're not comfortable feeding in front of people, go find a more private space. If you're leaning up in bed, support yourself with pillows. If you're in a chair, sit back and put the telly on. Bring the baby to your boob, rather than your boob to the baby because that way lies stiffness and aching which might just be too much in the postnatal awful. Some babies take 20 minutes to feed, some take 5, some take bloody hours. You don't know how long you're going to be in that position, so start right.
2: Lanolin cream is your new God
Your nipples are not used to being sucked in the vice like grip of a baby's maw, and can get quite sore even from one bad latch. Lanolin cream is safe for the baby to suck, so you don't have to worry about it poisoning him, and it turns nipples bulletproof in days.
3: You don't have to put up with a bad latch
Babies, in their desperate haste to eat yet more milk, will occasionally snap onto your boob wrong. You know it's wrong because you shriek, and then sometimes, you bleed. If you do bleed, by the way, it won't hurt the baby but if the blood is coming from inside your nipple, tell your midwife or HV.
Should the baby latch go awry, pop a finger between baby's mouth and your nipple, and try again. Do not leave the baby latched wrong, however much he squeals in indignation that you've stolen his food. Aim your nipple at the back of his throat, wait for him to tip his head back with his mouth like a baby bird, and shove it in. You won't hurt him. Even at a month old, Alex still needs a bit of a prod to stop him sucking his fist or arm instead of the perfectly good boob millimetres from him.
A good latch might feel a bit uncomfortable and strong, but it shouldn't make you scream. Ask for help if you cant seem to get the hang of it.
4: Engorgement feels like hell, but it is normal.
When your milk comes in, fuck a duck it hurts. It is often accompanied by the three day blues, which make you hate the world and weep over nothing. Giant, rock solid boobs, with fluey symptoms and uselessly unsupportive nursing bras make everything worse. But guess what? It lasts about 24 hours and then it's done. Cold cabbage leaves really do work and so does a warm shower.
You GAVE BIRTH: you can do this.
5: Cluster feeding is also normal
Cluster feeding is how babies tell boobs to make more milk, usually in response to growth spurts. But I have never seen it mentioned in breastfeeding help from official sources, and it nearly drove me to despair with my eldest. Basically, your baby will feed pretty much non-stop for four to six hours, commonly in the evening when you are tired and wanting the baby to get off and let you sleep. It can, however, prompt relatives to ask if you're SURE the baby's getting enough, and suggest that maybe you should stop feeding (see 9 for more on this). It is a recipe for crisis if you're not sure of yourself. But know this my friend, it is normal. Your boobs are amazing at responding to the baby's needs and it only lasts a day or so at a time.
6: Breastfed babies get wind
Some people think they don't. Trust me, they do. You can feel it in their solid little bellies after a feed (normally, there is squidge). Sit them up, let them sick it up a bit and then offer some more if they're still rooting.
7: Don't be afraid to ask for help
Birth can make women feel incredibly insecure and stupid. Midwives can (if you're unlucky) exacerbate this by making it look SOO EASY to feed babies. They come along and force the baby's head on your boob as if by bloody magic, leaving you none the wiser as to how to do it. Then they want to observe you feeding, which is hardly confidence inspiring. Then they give you conflicting advice. So, assert yourself a little. Ask them to slow down and show you properly. Personally, I found the pictorial guide in the NCT booklets better than anything anyone could tell me. If you're worried about anything - bleeding nipples, sicky baby, baby who won't stop crying, baby isn't interested in feeding, baby who never stops feeding, the way you feel - talk to your midwife or health visitor. Remember, they want you to breastfeed too. You're not on your own in this.
8: Eat. Bloody eat! And drink!
You are a milk factory. You cannot make it out of thin air. Eat! Drink!
9: You are allowed to tell people to piss off if they're being shit
If your baby latches, wees and poos and seems happy, then you're doing great. Family, particularly when they haven't breastfed themselves or if it's been ages, can be surprisingly pissy about the choice to breastfeed. THEY WANT TO FEED THE BABY DAMMIT. Well, they can't, and if they could it's not like they're going to come round and do bottles at 2am for you, is it?
If they're really getting you down, suggest they:
- Sit under the baby for two hours while you have a nap/a bath/a leap around the garden because your arms are finally free
- Bath the baby
- Cook you some food and stop being so fucking negative
This also applies any time people decide you are Doing Parenting Wrong because you're doing something they didn't.
10: It's OK not to breastfeed
Fuck knows it doesn't feel like it, but sometimes it just doesn't work, or isn't compatible with the way your life is. And that's OK. The baby needs feeding, you need your sanity, and these are both more important than the method. I was formula fed myself, so I can vouch for its life giving properties, and nearly starved to death first*, so I can also vouch for breastfeeding going wrong having severe consequences. Do what is right for your family.
Here, have some handy links:
* This was due to supply failure. This is a very unusual breastfeeding problem, that your HVs or midwives will pick up on through failure to thrive rather than just thinking the baby's not feeding enough. Don't mistake cluster feeding for not producing enough milk, but do get your baby weighed if you're concerned they're losing weight.
29 Jul 2015
Results 2015
I genuinely didn't think I would care about my results. I thought I'd either have just given birth or be extraordinarily pregnant, and Thu beyond such minor concerns.
I was wrong. Our gorgeous boy was born at the beginning of July, and results were released a week later. I got to the point of obsessively checking for them within a few days of release. It suddenly felt important to have succeeded after successfully delivering my baby.
And I did.
In biology (SDK125), I gained a pass 2. Considering I was immensely pregnant when I took the exam, I am really proud of this. But, ultimately, I only needed a pass, as it doesn't contribute to my final classification.
So, I was absolutely fucking ecstatic to gain a DISTINCTION in public health (K311).
I have one module left, and start K319 (Adulthood, Ageing and the Lifecourse) in October. It will be the first time I've just done one module in several years. I figure that's the way to compensate for a tiny, breastfeeding baby and his two brothers stealing all my time.
It feels strange to be coming to the end. But I already madly miss studying, so bring it on.
I was wrong. Our gorgeous boy was born at the beginning of July, and results were released a week later. I got to the point of obsessively checking for them within a few days of release. It suddenly felt important to have succeeded after successfully delivering my baby.
And I did.
In biology (SDK125), I gained a pass 2. Considering I was immensely pregnant when I took the exam, I am really proud of this. But, ultimately, I only needed a pass, as it doesn't contribute to my final classification.
So, I was absolutely fucking ecstatic to gain a DISTINCTION in public health (K311).
I have one module left, and start K319 (Adulthood, Ageing and the Lifecourse) in October. It will be the first time I've just done one module in several years. I figure that's the way to compensate for a tiny, breastfeeding baby and his two brothers stealing all my time.
It feels strange to be coming to the end. But I already madly miss studying, so bring it on.
6 Jul 2015
Birth Story - Alex, 2015
IN BRIEF:
Gestation:39w 5d
Site: Hospital
First Stage: 1hr 35min active labour
Transition: One contraction's worth
Second Stage: 10 minutes
Third Stage: 20 minutes
Tearing: Mainly external second degree tear
Weight: 8lb 10oz
Details:
As some of you know, I had been quite terrified of going into labour with this baby. My history of short labours and PPH (post-partum haemorrhage) plus generalised anxiety genuinely made me fear we would both die if I went into labour with nobody around to help. I think my body knew that, because despite two weeks of prelabour, nothing kicked off properly until the older boys had gone to their dad's and Tom was home from work.
Early on Friday evening, I started to get a burning cervical pain. I'd been getting a lot of pressure for a few days, but this was really uncomfortable and specific, so I could barely sit. I rang the hospital and they said it was more likely to be thrush or a UTI than imminent or silent labour, but considering my history, to come in to be checked. I didn't really think it could be labour because he wasn't due til the 6th, and other people have their babies early, not me!
Off we went, and had to wait for HOURS to be seen because they had several emergencies - Friday night is party night in delivery. I had a normal CTG. The obstetrician thought it was probably a UTI as I had a lot of leuks and protein in my wee, but my cervix was still thick, and 2-3cm dilated, as it had been for the previous two weeks. I got some antibiotics and left, starving and tired at 11pm. When we left, I didn't want to get out of the car. I had a strong urge to be safe at home, so Tom took me back and went into town to try and find some food. When he rang to tell me he couldn't get anything, I started to cry, which is rather unlike me. He went to McDs and then came home, knocked on the door for me to let him in and as I stood, my waters went CATASTROPHICALLY. It was a veritable DELUGE. I must have lost two pints in the first gush. I managed to get the door open, and then started giggling for joy. I rang the hospital who were sceptical about my need to be admitted immediately until I told them that my consultant had told me to insist on it. I couldn't eat because I knew I was likely to be sick in labour, and leaked about the house while Tom ate his burger.
My waters broke (the first time) at 12:10am.We got to hospital around 1, were seen around 1:30am in triage. I had some fierce backache, but no real contractions. I'd wodged a huge towel between my legs to try and catch the river, and the midwife asked if I hadn't got any pads. My waters had already soaked through two pairs of trousers and pads, I thought a towel might be more dignified...
I went on the monitor, and had a couple of painful contractions. On VE, I was 2cm stretching to 5, and admitted on the basis of previous precipitate labours. I wasn't in much pain, and was still quite joyful at the prospect of incoming child.
I was moved into a delivery suite around 2am, and nothing much was happening aside from the BIBLICAL STORM outside. If you missed it, shame on you - chain lightning, forked lightning, drunks outside A+E stumbling around in the rain. Gorgeous. Ahem. I was cannulated in case of PPH, and had some bloods done. I was then monitored for bloody ages. Alex's heart rate was ALL OVER the place. He was decelerating and accelerating and generally being very worrying, but because I wasn't technically in established labour, they were happy to wait and see if he settled down when labour settled in. I spent most of the next three hours alternating between being monitored and jigging about the room in soggy trousers, trying to get labour going. My waters didn't stop breaking until around 6am, and there were pints and pints of it. I can't believe how much there was. Me and Tom both kept nodding off, although I was getting one contraction every 15 minutes. They prepped my syntocin drip ready for afterwards. I explained that my cervix did not dilate as they're supposed to, but I only actually had two VEs from when my waters broke, which was great.
At 5:15am, I had another VE which was 4cm, stretching to 7 or 8cm, but this still didn't put me in officially established territory. Nonetheless, the VE got me going, to about one every four minutes. Annoyingly, I had to stay on the CTG throughout because he was still decelerating. I had the same midwife with me (Nina) throughout, and she only left for breaks (in which case someone else came in) or to get someone else to check his trace. This surprised me - I thought I'd be left to get on with it, and I did find it a bit inhibiting to begin with. Once I got going, there could have been a circus in there and I wouldn't have noticed.
The contractions lengthened and got a lot more painful. I was starting to get quite vocal during them, and hallucinating between them as I did in strong labour before, and my official labour start time was 5:55am. However, Nina kept telling other midwives I wasn't established, presumably so they didn't panic about the CTG. It didn't feel like my other labours because I had to be lying down - it made me feel rather detached, and although they were more widely spaced than if I'd been mobile, they were also more difficult to cope with because I couldn't use my body position to cope. Also, the CTG was registering my thunderously vicious contractions as 30-40, instead of 100, which made me wonder if I was actually progressing at all.
The next hour or so is a total blur. I had to stay on the bed. Tom was there the whole time, but I had my eyes shut through most of it. I got onto all fours, so I could let gravity do its thing, while staying on the CTG. Then I asked to go to the toilet, for a wee, because I was feeling pushy and I badly wanted to stand up for a minute. Going for a wee was an agony of blood and pain. Nina gave me some dextrose tablets (I hadn't eaten since Friday lunch) and I got back onto all fours, leaning into the back of the bed. She rubbed my back, while Tom held my hands. I remember telling Tom it was nearly time. A midwife came in to review the trace and organise shift handover, and said I was going to be referred to the coordinator for a caesarean, because of his heartrate (this wasn't actually discussed with me or stated explicitly, but I know the drill). I hit transition around then, and my legs started shaking uncontrollably, I felt sick and I told Tom he wasn't allowed to go and I wanted to go home and I couldn't do it anymore.
Then I began to push, so Nina got between my legs to monitor him, and just let me get on with it. I tell you now, giving birth without people telling you if you're allowed, or what to do is the best bloody way! Two other midwives came in then to take over the shift from Nina (who had already told me she wanted to stay until he was born) and were quite surprised to find me pushing since they'd been told I was 4cm and not established. I felt like it was very much my party - nobody told me what to do. It didn't take long at all, only ten minutes. I started screaming that it burned when he crowned, but otherwise I tried to be quiet and just pushed. I managed to mostly pant his head out and his shoulders took a bit longer to be born than I was expecting, but then out he came! He was a bit wrapped in cord, but I had my back to them so I'm not sure how bad it was.
I had him at 7:41am, four minutes before Nina's shift finished! I went a bit "Oooh, I had a baby", because it didn't really feel real. They helped me get onto my back and I started to haemorrhage immediately. They gave him to me and I haemorrhaged some more, so they plugged my syntocin in quickly. I lost about 500ml, so not as bad as last time. Alex was quite bluey purple and still properly covered in vernix. He took a while to go pink, but his Apgars were fine.
Then came the placenta. Even with the syntocin and syntometrine injection, it took a while. It was a bit tangled up in membranes and my body did not want to push it out. They got it out in one piece after about twenty minutes, while I was feeding the baby.
Then, bloody horrible stitching. I didn't tear too badly this time (2nd degree, mostly exterior) but being examined by a student with shaky hands was deeply unpleasant. However, when they'd finished and gave me the best tea and toast in the world, I was much improved.
They weighed and checked Alex. He is 8lb 10oz, so a little smaller than we expected but not much. His head circ is only 36cm, which is MUCH smaller than I expected, and quite a relief.
We sat around waiting to go. My drip took 3.5 hours to get through and they wouldn't uncannulate me until it was time to go in case I suddenly had a haemorrhage again. He passed his hearing test first time, which surprised me because he had such a soggy labour. The paediatrician (who I'm sure I went to school with) didn't come round til gone 2pm. Alex is all normal. Then my midwives started to discharge me, got halfway through and called to an emergency, and then we sat for an hour waiting for someone to finish it off. He pooed all over the discharging midwife. We finally left around 5pm, by which time I was heartily sick of hospital having been there (with a break) for almost 24hrs.
I think this was probably my easiest birth. It was frustrating being hooked up and immobile for hours, particularly as I'm sure he would have been born sooner if I'd been allowed up and I couldn't really tell how I was progressing because it feels so different from being active in labour. BUT his actual delivery was really good and felt much more natural and easy than the other two and I didn't have quite as bad atony in the third stage as before. I didn't want or need any painkillers, which totally shocked all the midwives, but what's the point for two unbearably hard contractions? That's all it was as well - and they didn't seem to get to the point where they rolled into each other, so I was still getting breaks right up to transition. I was worried before that having him on the consultant led unit would mean a lot of intervention and trying to make my body go by the book, but despite being monitored, the midwife was quite happy for me to get on with it on my own terms.
Alex is beautiful and looks just like his brothers.
I never want to do it again, but I'm so glad it went well.
Gestation:39w 5d
Site: Hospital
First Stage: 1hr 35min active labour
Transition: One contraction's worth
Second Stage: 10 minutes
Third Stage: 20 minutes
Tearing: Mainly external second degree tear
Weight: 8lb 10oz
Details:
As some of you know, I had been quite terrified of going into labour with this baby. My history of short labours and PPH (post-partum haemorrhage) plus generalised anxiety genuinely made me fear we would both die if I went into labour with nobody around to help. I think my body knew that, because despite two weeks of prelabour, nothing kicked off properly until the older boys had gone to their dad's and Tom was home from work.
Early on Friday evening, I started to get a burning cervical pain. I'd been getting a lot of pressure for a few days, but this was really uncomfortable and specific, so I could barely sit. I rang the hospital and they said it was more likely to be thrush or a UTI than imminent or silent labour, but considering my history, to come in to be checked. I didn't really think it could be labour because he wasn't due til the 6th, and other people have their babies early, not me!
Off we went, and had to wait for HOURS to be seen because they had several emergencies - Friday night is party night in delivery. I had a normal CTG. The obstetrician thought it was probably a UTI as I had a lot of leuks and protein in my wee, but my cervix was still thick, and 2-3cm dilated, as it had been for the previous two weeks. I got some antibiotics and left, starving and tired at 11pm. When we left, I didn't want to get out of the car. I had a strong urge to be safe at home, so Tom took me back and went into town to try and find some food. When he rang to tell me he couldn't get anything, I started to cry, which is rather unlike me. He went to McDs and then came home, knocked on the door for me to let him in and as I stood, my waters went CATASTROPHICALLY. It was a veritable DELUGE. I must have lost two pints in the first gush. I managed to get the door open, and then started giggling for joy. I rang the hospital who were sceptical about my need to be admitted immediately until I told them that my consultant had told me to insist on it. I couldn't eat because I knew I was likely to be sick in labour, and leaked about the house while Tom ate his burger.
My waters broke (the first time) at 12:10am.We got to hospital around 1, were seen around 1:30am in triage. I had some fierce backache, but no real contractions. I'd wodged a huge towel between my legs to try and catch the river, and the midwife asked if I hadn't got any pads. My waters had already soaked through two pairs of trousers and pads, I thought a towel might be more dignified...
I went on the monitor, and had a couple of painful contractions. On VE, I was 2cm stretching to 5, and admitted on the basis of previous precipitate labours. I wasn't in much pain, and was still quite joyful at the prospect of incoming child.
I was moved into a delivery suite around 2am, and nothing much was happening aside from the BIBLICAL STORM outside. If you missed it, shame on you - chain lightning, forked lightning, drunks outside A+E stumbling around in the rain. Gorgeous. Ahem. I was cannulated in case of PPH, and had some bloods done. I was then monitored for bloody ages. Alex's heart rate was ALL OVER the place. He was decelerating and accelerating and generally being very worrying, but because I wasn't technically in established labour, they were happy to wait and see if he settled down when labour settled in. I spent most of the next three hours alternating between being monitored and jigging about the room in soggy trousers, trying to get labour going. My waters didn't stop breaking until around 6am, and there were pints and pints of it. I can't believe how much there was. Me and Tom both kept nodding off, although I was getting one contraction every 15 minutes. They prepped my syntocin drip ready for afterwards. I explained that my cervix did not dilate as they're supposed to, but I only actually had two VEs from when my waters broke, which was great.
At 5:15am, I had another VE which was 4cm, stretching to 7 or 8cm, but this still didn't put me in officially established territory. Nonetheless, the VE got me going, to about one every four minutes. Annoyingly, I had to stay on the CTG throughout because he was still decelerating. I had the same midwife with me (Nina) throughout, and she only left for breaks (in which case someone else came in) or to get someone else to check his trace. This surprised me - I thought I'd be left to get on with it, and I did find it a bit inhibiting to begin with. Once I got going, there could have been a circus in there and I wouldn't have noticed.
The contractions lengthened and got a lot more painful. I was starting to get quite vocal during them, and hallucinating between them as I did in strong labour before, and my official labour start time was 5:55am. However, Nina kept telling other midwives I wasn't established, presumably so they didn't panic about the CTG. It didn't feel like my other labours because I had to be lying down - it made me feel rather detached, and although they were more widely spaced than if I'd been mobile, they were also more difficult to cope with because I couldn't use my body position to cope. Also, the CTG was registering my thunderously vicious contractions as 30-40, instead of 100, which made me wonder if I was actually progressing at all.
The next hour or so is a total blur. I had to stay on the bed. Tom was there the whole time, but I had my eyes shut through most of it. I got onto all fours, so I could let gravity do its thing, while staying on the CTG. Then I asked to go to the toilet, for a wee, because I was feeling pushy and I badly wanted to stand up for a minute. Going for a wee was an agony of blood and pain. Nina gave me some dextrose tablets (I hadn't eaten since Friday lunch) and I got back onto all fours, leaning into the back of the bed. She rubbed my back, while Tom held my hands. I remember telling Tom it was nearly time. A midwife came in to review the trace and organise shift handover, and said I was going to be referred to the coordinator for a caesarean, because of his heartrate (this wasn't actually discussed with me or stated explicitly, but I know the drill). I hit transition around then, and my legs started shaking uncontrollably, I felt sick and I told Tom he wasn't allowed to go and I wanted to go home and I couldn't do it anymore.
Then I began to push, so Nina got between my legs to monitor him, and just let me get on with it. I tell you now, giving birth without people telling you if you're allowed, or what to do is the best bloody way! Two other midwives came in then to take over the shift from Nina (who had already told me she wanted to stay until he was born) and were quite surprised to find me pushing since they'd been told I was 4cm and not established. I felt like it was very much my party - nobody told me what to do. It didn't take long at all, only ten minutes. I started screaming that it burned when he crowned, but otherwise I tried to be quiet and just pushed. I managed to mostly pant his head out and his shoulders took a bit longer to be born than I was expecting, but then out he came! He was a bit wrapped in cord, but I had my back to them so I'm not sure how bad it was.
I had him at 7:41am, four minutes before Nina's shift finished! I went a bit "Oooh, I had a baby", because it didn't really feel real. They helped me get onto my back and I started to haemorrhage immediately. They gave him to me and I haemorrhaged some more, so they plugged my syntocin in quickly. I lost about 500ml, so not as bad as last time. Alex was quite bluey purple and still properly covered in vernix. He took a while to go pink, but his Apgars were fine.
Then came the placenta. Even with the syntocin and syntometrine injection, it took a while. It was a bit tangled up in membranes and my body did not want to push it out. They got it out in one piece after about twenty minutes, while I was feeding the baby.
Then, bloody horrible stitching. I didn't tear too badly this time (2nd degree, mostly exterior) but being examined by a student with shaky hands was deeply unpleasant. However, when they'd finished and gave me the best tea and toast in the world, I was much improved.
They weighed and checked Alex. He is 8lb 10oz, so a little smaller than we expected but not much. His head circ is only 36cm, which is MUCH smaller than I expected, and quite a relief.
We sat around waiting to go. My drip took 3.5 hours to get through and they wouldn't uncannulate me until it was time to go in case I suddenly had a haemorrhage again. He passed his hearing test first time, which surprised me because he had such a soggy labour. The paediatrician (who I'm sure I went to school with) didn't come round til gone 2pm. Alex is all normal. Then my midwives started to discharge me, got halfway through and called to an emergency, and then we sat for an hour waiting for someone to finish it off. He pooed all over the discharging midwife. We finally left around 5pm, by which time I was heartily sick of hospital having been there (with a break) for almost 24hrs.
I think this was probably my easiest birth. It was frustrating being hooked up and immobile for hours, particularly as I'm sure he would have been born sooner if I'd been allowed up and I couldn't really tell how I was progressing because it feels so different from being active in labour. BUT his actual delivery was really good and felt much more natural and easy than the other two and I didn't have quite as bad atony in the third stage as before. I didn't want or need any painkillers, which totally shocked all the midwives, but what's the point for two unbearably hard contractions? That's all it was as well - and they didn't seem to get to the point where they rolled into each other, so I was still getting breaks right up to transition. I was worried before that having him on the consultant led unit would mean a lot of intervention and trying to make my body go by the book, but despite being monitored, the midwife was quite happy for me to get on with it on my own terms.
Alex is beautiful and looks just like his brothers.
I never want to do it again, but I'm so glad it went well.
3 Jul 2015
Prescriptions
So, Jeremy Hunt, who will best be remembered as the man who attempted to demolish the NHS (and will probably succeed) has a new idea. He has decreed that the wholesale cost of drugs costing more than £20 should be printed on the prescription label, to tell the person taking those drugs that they are funded by taxpayers.
I used to work in a rural dispensing practice. I absolutely loathed working in the dispensary, and only did during very busy periods, but sometimes I helped unpack the drug order upon which the wholesale cost of drugs is printed. This is the cost your CCG actually pay for the drugs, which you then pay £8.20 per item for, if you pay at all.
Now, in some cases, the price of the drug is less than the prescription cost, so you can bet Jeremy Hunt isn't going to put THAT on your drug box. It would not do for people to know they are paying £8.20 for a drug which has cost less than a quid. They might lose their faith in the prescription charge altogether, and then there would be issues.
However, many drugs cost an absolute fucking fortune. I used to use an asthma drug called Seretide, through an accuhaler (which is a type of inhaler where you don't have to co-ordinate breathing and squeezing). They cost £75 each, wholesale. I often used two a month when my asthma was severe, because I was on double dose. I paid standard prescription cost for it (£6-something back then). My GP recently changed it to the much cheaper Qvar, which is nowhere near as effective, but considering I'm "poorly compliant", it's cheaper for them.
One of my least-favourite jobs when working for the NHS was changing people's drugs, in batches, to something cheaper (usually statins and contraceptives) because the CCG had decided X drug was exactly the same and 5p cheaper, so upsetting hundreds of people's medication routines was worth it. And I could see their point, because that 5p multiplied by a few thousand people per month was a large saving. I hated the impersonality of it.
Now, Jeremy Hunt claims that this new measure will reduce drug wastage. Drug wastage is a HUGE problem for the NHS. If you take your drugs out of the chemist, change your mind and pop back in, those drugs have to be thrown away. They cannot be recycled. They cannot be put back on the shelf. Once they've been signed over to you, they're gone whether you take them or not. Sometimes, an elderly patient would die and their relatives would bring in binbags full of unused medication, hoping we could recycle it. Medication collected month on month, for which they'd paid nothing, never used because they hadn't told the GP they'd stopped taking X four years ago, or they didn't trust the new packaging and weren't sure it was the same drug, or they didn't NEED a fresh bottle of psoriasis shampoo every month, or they weren't sure if they were supposed to take the red tablets with the little white ones. Regular medication reviews may be a pain in the arse if you're on repeat prescriptions, but they're designed to stop this sort of thing happening. I daresay it still does, particularly with older people who live alone and struggle with transport.
But I doubt Jeremy Hunt's measure will make any difference. In fact, if I know elderly, often anxious patients on numerous medications, it's more likely to make them scared to get their medication at all. They don't want to make a fuss. They don't want to cost anyone £80 a month. They don't want any trouble. They'll just leave it. If they only take the pills every other day, that'll help save the NHS money. And that calcium tablet, they only take that once a week anyway, so maybe they don't need it at all?
And you can imagine the damage.
Well, if you can't, increased falls, increased stroke, increased heart attacks, increased extremely expensive operations and intensive care therapies, increased inpatients, increased A+E attendance, increased premature death. None of which will particularly save the NHS money. Except the deaths, I suppose.
There is another issue here. If there is one thing I could not loathe more about this toxic fucking government, it's the buzzwords of taxpayer and hardworking families. As a former taxpayer, married to a current taxpayer, in a hardworking family (I assume we're hardworking, I haven't ACTUALLY sent the kids to work down the mine yet, but it's only a matter of time) with fuck all money, I can honestly say that if I get ill, paying for a prescription vs waiting to see if I get better is often a genuine ethical conundrum. I frequently don't bother ordering asthma medication because it costs me almost £17 a month in prescription fees that I don't feel able to justify. It's not a problem at the moment because I have a maternity exemption certificate, but in another year, that'll be gone and I'll be back to poorly managed asthma and recurrent chest infections. Woop. If I was on multiple therapies, the problem would be multiplied. SOME people with life-threatening conditions get their medication free, but not all. And most people who have to pay for their prescriptions ARE taxpayers. This is the sheer bloody idiocy of it.
Taxpayers aren't IMMUNE from illness. Indeed, in the current economic climate, taxpayers are more likely to need antidepressants, anxiolytics and painkillers than usual. Wealth directly correlates to good health, less disability affected years, and longer life expectancy. The poorer you are, the sicker and more disabled you are likely to be (see The Black Report, The Marmot Review for more info) regardless of whether you work enough to pay tax or not.
Not to mention that the elderly, who probably cost the NHS the most in free prescription charges, have been taxpayers. Just as the government like to put pensions in the 'benefits' bracket of government spending, they also put them in the 'workshy' bracket of usefulness. Bloody old people, living too long and costing us money. Let's have a cull.
The money raised by prescription charges helps pay for everyone's medication cost. You might pay £8.20 for your one pound pack of painkillers, but the old lady behind you in the queue has paid nothing for her monthly bag worth £80 or so. And there is a massive deficit, because people live longer thanks to a regime of drugs aimed to hold chronic illness at bay. One day, you will probably need one of those chronic disease drugs, be it aspirin, insulin, a statin, a betablocker, or inhaled steroids. Maybe you're already on them, but begrudge having to pay for it because you'll die without it. Or you begrudge having to pay when you already pay your tax. But National Insurance doesn't just cover medication.
As a five year old, I cut my arm in half, lengthways. The NHS sent an ambulance, X-rayed my arm, cleaned all the glass out, fetched a plastic surgeon in on call to repair tendons and stitch a ligament back together, sewed it back up, gave me two days of inpatient care and then sent me home to recover, with painkillers. The staff, equipment, anaesthetic drugs, bedspace and care were not cheap. Without it, I was unlikely to have died from my injury, (unless it got infected) but I would have lost the use of my right hand, effectively disabling me for life. The NHS has emergencies like that every single SECOND across the country.
Chronic disease causes heart attacks (for which you need intensive care, heart surgery, specialist care, rehabilitation and sometimes intensive care transport), strokes (see previous, but with brain surgery instead of heart), progressive lung disease (home oxygen therapy, home care), and of course, death. The medications used to tackle chronic disease attempts to reduce the need for these expensive interventions. They are ultimately cheaper than inpatient care.Which is also funded by the taxpayer. Perhaps if this measure is a success, we will have balloons at the end of each inpatient bed telling us how much our stay has cost the taxpayer. I mean, I'm due to have a baby any day now, and that'll cost the NHS between £800 and £1000. Perhaps I should go and thank my husband for his taxpaying contributions that will allow a (hopefully) safe birth.
Personally, I think the prescription charge should be reduced, and means tested. If more people paid it, it would be both more profitable even if it were cheaper for individuals. I don't think it's fair that (lifelong taxpayers or not) some very rich people get their medication for free while people scraping the barrel have to choose between food or drugs.
But I don't actually think Jeremy Hunt's new scheme is anything to do with reducing wastage, and the cost of medication to the NHS. If he was that bothered, he'd aim his ire at pharmaceutical companies, who never shy from making money out of the sick. I think this is an early attempt to frighten us into accepting the eventual demise of the NHS, and the use of health insurance.
I used to work in a rural dispensing practice. I absolutely loathed working in the dispensary, and only did during very busy periods, but sometimes I helped unpack the drug order upon which the wholesale cost of drugs is printed. This is the cost your CCG actually pay for the drugs, which you then pay £8.20 per item for, if you pay at all.
Now, in some cases, the price of the drug is less than the prescription cost, so you can bet Jeremy Hunt isn't going to put THAT on your drug box. It would not do for people to know they are paying £8.20 for a drug which has cost less than a quid. They might lose their faith in the prescription charge altogether, and then there would be issues.
However, many drugs cost an absolute fucking fortune. I used to use an asthma drug called Seretide, through an accuhaler (which is a type of inhaler where you don't have to co-ordinate breathing and squeezing). They cost £75 each, wholesale. I often used two a month when my asthma was severe, because I was on double dose. I paid standard prescription cost for it (£6-something back then). My GP recently changed it to the much cheaper Qvar, which is nowhere near as effective, but considering I'm "poorly compliant", it's cheaper for them.
One of my least-favourite jobs when working for the NHS was changing people's drugs, in batches, to something cheaper (usually statins and contraceptives) because the CCG had decided X drug was exactly the same and 5p cheaper, so upsetting hundreds of people's medication routines was worth it. And I could see their point, because that 5p multiplied by a few thousand people per month was a large saving. I hated the impersonality of it.
Now, Jeremy Hunt claims that this new measure will reduce drug wastage. Drug wastage is a HUGE problem for the NHS. If you take your drugs out of the chemist, change your mind and pop back in, those drugs have to be thrown away. They cannot be recycled. They cannot be put back on the shelf. Once they've been signed over to you, they're gone whether you take them or not. Sometimes, an elderly patient would die and their relatives would bring in binbags full of unused medication, hoping we could recycle it. Medication collected month on month, for which they'd paid nothing, never used because they hadn't told the GP they'd stopped taking X four years ago, or they didn't trust the new packaging and weren't sure it was the same drug, or they didn't NEED a fresh bottle of psoriasis shampoo every month, or they weren't sure if they were supposed to take the red tablets with the little white ones. Regular medication reviews may be a pain in the arse if you're on repeat prescriptions, but they're designed to stop this sort of thing happening. I daresay it still does, particularly with older people who live alone and struggle with transport.
But I doubt Jeremy Hunt's measure will make any difference. In fact, if I know elderly, often anxious patients on numerous medications, it's more likely to make them scared to get their medication at all. They don't want to make a fuss. They don't want to cost anyone £80 a month. They don't want any trouble. They'll just leave it. If they only take the pills every other day, that'll help save the NHS money. And that calcium tablet, they only take that once a week anyway, so maybe they don't need it at all?
And you can imagine the damage.
Well, if you can't, increased falls, increased stroke, increased heart attacks, increased extremely expensive operations and intensive care therapies, increased inpatients, increased A+E attendance, increased premature death. None of which will particularly save the NHS money. Except the deaths, I suppose.
There is another issue here. If there is one thing I could not loathe more about this toxic fucking government, it's the buzzwords of taxpayer and hardworking families. As a former taxpayer, married to a current taxpayer, in a hardworking family (I assume we're hardworking, I haven't ACTUALLY sent the kids to work down the mine yet, but it's only a matter of time) with fuck all money, I can honestly say that if I get ill, paying for a prescription vs waiting to see if I get better is often a genuine ethical conundrum. I frequently don't bother ordering asthma medication because it costs me almost £17 a month in prescription fees that I don't feel able to justify. It's not a problem at the moment because I have a maternity exemption certificate, but in another year, that'll be gone and I'll be back to poorly managed asthma and recurrent chest infections. Woop. If I was on multiple therapies, the problem would be multiplied. SOME people with life-threatening conditions get their medication free, but not all. And most people who have to pay for their prescriptions ARE taxpayers. This is the sheer bloody idiocy of it.
Taxpayers aren't IMMUNE from illness. Indeed, in the current economic climate, taxpayers are more likely to need antidepressants, anxiolytics and painkillers than usual. Wealth directly correlates to good health, less disability affected years, and longer life expectancy. The poorer you are, the sicker and more disabled you are likely to be (see The Black Report, The Marmot Review for more info) regardless of whether you work enough to pay tax or not.
Not to mention that the elderly, who probably cost the NHS the most in free prescription charges, have been taxpayers. Just as the government like to put pensions in the 'benefits' bracket of government spending, they also put them in the 'workshy' bracket of usefulness. Bloody old people, living too long and costing us money. Let's have a cull.
The money raised by prescription charges helps pay for everyone's medication cost. You might pay £8.20 for your one pound pack of painkillers, but the old lady behind you in the queue has paid nothing for her monthly bag worth £80 or so. And there is a massive deficit, because people live longer thanks to a regime of drugs aimed to hold chronic illness at bay. One day, you will probably need one of those chronic disease drugs, be it aspirin, insulin, a statin, a betablocker, or inhaled steroids. Maybe you're already on them, but begrudge having to pay for it because you'll die without it. Or you begrudge having to pay when you already pay your tax. But National Insurance doesn't just cover medication.
As a five year old, I cut my arm in half, lengthways. The NHS sent an ambulance, X-rayed my arm, cleaned all the glass out, fetched a plastic surgeon in on call to repair tendons and stitch a ligament back together, sewed it back up, gave me two days of inpatient care and then sent me home to recover, with painkillers. The staff, equipment, anaesthetic drugs, bedspace and care were not cheap. Without it, I was unlikely to have died from my injury, (unless it got infected) but I would have lost the use of my right hand, effectively disabling me for life. The NHS has emergencies like that every single SECOND across the country.
Chronic disease causes heart attacks (for which you need intensive care, heart surgery, specialist care, rehabilitation and sometimes intensive care transport), strokes (see previous, but with brain surgery instead of heart), progressive lung disease (home oxygen therapy, home care), and of course, death. The medications used to tackle chronic disease attempts to reduce the need for these expensive interventions. They are ultimately cheaper than inpatient care.Which is also funded by the taxpayer. Perhaps if this measure is a success, we will have balloons at the end of each inpatient bed telling us how much our stay has cost the taxpayer. I mean, I'm due to have a baby any day now, and that'll cost the NHS between £800 and £1000. Perhaps I should go and thank my husband for his taxpaying contributions that will allow a (hopefully) safe birth.
Personally, I think the prescription charge should be reduced, and means tested. If more people paid it, it would be both more profitable even if it were cheaper for individuals. I don't think it's fair that (lifelong taxpayers or not) some very rich people get their medication for free while people scraping the barrel have to choose between food or drugs.
But I don't actually think Jeremy Hunt's new scheme is anything to do with reducing wastage, and the cost of medication to the NHS. If he was that bothered, he'd aim his ire at pharmaceutical companies, who never shy from making money out of the sick. I think this is an early attempt to frighten us into accepting the eventual demise of the NHS, and the use of health insurance.
17 Jun 2015
The Postnatal Survival Kit
I'm now 37 weeks pregnant, and at that point in pregnancy when people start asking if I've packed my hospital bag yet. Yes, yes I have. After seven months of refusing to buy anything for the baby (mainly out of terror), I've bought practically everything in the last 4 weeks, and shoved it in a rucksack.
But nobody ever asks if you've got everything ready for afterwards - nobody wants to remind you of the traumatic week after having a baby when everything seems to be falling out of you. Or they assume you're ready, one or the other.
Anyway, as this is my third baby, I'm READY! SO READY! And here are my postnatal essentials...
1. Painkillers.
It doesn't matter if you have a fast labour, a caesarean, or an instrumental delivery. It doesn't matter if you tear or not. Having a baby hurts like a fucker, particularly afterwards. "But oh", they tell you, "as soon as the baby's out you forget the pain!" Not if you get afterpains you don't. Birth carries a payload of hormones to carry you through the delivery and into the euphoria of YAY! BABY! Then the hormones settle down, and it's bloody sore and crampy and weep-inducing. In addition to this, it's ingrained into you from CONCEPTION that only the weakest paracetamol is safe to take, and even that's a desperate measure. Once that baby is out, embrace the painkillers. I have got DELICIOUS, FORBIDDEN ibuprofen and some co-codamol in.
2. Maternity pads. Lots of maternity pads.
Another thing often neglected to be mentioned in The Joy Of Birth is that you bleed like a stuck pig for some days afterwards. Maternity pads are advised over regular pads partly because of the chemical crap they put in normal pads (floral menses, yum!), partly because no regular pad will stem the postnatal flow. And no, you really can't use tampons. With my last baby, I used 12 pads a day to begin with, despite having had a postnatal haemorrhage. Mothercare, wondrous place, do maternity pads with wings. I cannot praise them enough.
3. Breast pads. Lots of breast pads.
It doesn't matter if you're planning to breastfeed or not, most women will still pour forth milk for some days after the birth (weeks, if you do breastfeed). And it happens at the most irritating and unexpected times, like you smell the baby and you boobs go, or you think about how small the baby's toes are and your boobs go, or you're in Tesco and you see a pregnant woman, and your boobs go. It is annoying. I'm a lucky beast who doesn't tend to pour forth milk after the first four weeks, because my letdown only works during feeding, but I still get through boxes of the things to start with.
4. Lanolin Cream
If you do breastfeed, this cream is a marvel. What nobody tells you before you have a baby, probably to try not to terrify you out of it, is that breastfeeding can give you sore, cracked nipples. It's really quite an obvious thing when you think about it. My first baby had me bleeding all over the shot to begin with, until I got some magic Lansinoh, and within days my nipples were bulletproof. I used it again with baby 2, and will use it again with this one, although I've got Medela Purelan this time because it was much cheaper. Stick it on after every feed, and you should be fine.
5. Anusol and Lactulose or Fybogel
When you push a baby out, you can end up with piles. Piles are enough of a problem when you're pregnant, but after birth they can get really quite annoying. Anusol is your friend. Then there's constipation. I've torn badly with both previous babies and become so terrified of crapping that I've made myself ill. Even with the time honoured advice to hold yourself with a damp flannel while you go has been insufficient to get me through. So this time, I'm not risking getting ill - Lactulose from day 1, thank you.
6. Iron
If you're on prescribed iron when you get close to birth, make sure you've got enough to last a couple of weeks postnatal (yes, you do have to assume you'll go overdue). If you think you'll run out, get an extra prescription. If you're not already on iron, get either supplement tablets or Spatone/Floradix\Feroglobin liquid iron. You lose a lot of blood when you have a baby. It's blood you can afford to lose, because of the extra that's been sustaining your little one for months, but it is a sudden drop and can make you feel much more tired and crap than you necessarily need to.
7. Pajamas and Slippers
This may seem a bit of an anomaly in this litany of postnatal woe, but I always treat myself to nice, new pajamas for after I've given birth. I don't believe in getting dressed for the first week postnatal - anyone coming round is going to find me boobs akimbo, hair everywhere, stinking of lochia, covered in children and possibly weeping, so whether I'm fully dressed or not makes little difference to their perception of me. Mothercare do really lovely nursing pajamas (with button down fronts). I'm still wearing the pajamas I got from them in 2011, so well worth the investment.
8. A Nursing Pillow or Extra Pillows/Cushions
A boomerang shaped pillow is amazing when you've just had a baby, regardless of how you feed them. It gives you a way to support their useless neck without actually having to hold them up too much. Extra pillows will also do the job, but I find a boomerang useful for all sorts of things, not least propping me up to eat in bed.
9. Canned Drinks
I get bloody thirsty feeding a baby. This time, I have a husband to make me endless tea and drinks, but I assume he will also want to sleep occasionally, so canned drinks are the way forward. Unhealthy, yes, but this is about survival.
10. FOOD
You have to eat when you've had a baby, and yet it seems to be something easily forgotten among the chaos of screaming, poo and a baby who has no idea how to tell the time. Nothing will help your recovery quite like loving support, sleep and food, and if you can't get enough sleep, food will do. Fuck your postnatal diet. Fuck any pressure to fit back into pre-preg clothes. That can wait at least a month (or forever, if you're me). Eat what you fancy, when you fancy it, moreso if you're breastfeeding - you really do need a LOT of calories to get the milk factory going. If you've got other people in the house to feed, make some meals in bulk for the freezer before your due date. You can find recipes on the BBC Good Food website, including cook-from-frozen instructions. Write these instructions down on the frozen food container, so anyone can reheat them. If people are coming to see the baby and have the courtesy to ask if there's anything you need - food. I think baby cuddles for cake are a fair exchange ;-) If family offer to bring you round meals, accept gratefully. It's been months since you could eat normally, so take advantage.
For a less miserable postnatal view, you may also like my post on things to look forward to.
But nobody ever asks if you've got everything ready for afterwards - nobody wants to remind you of the traumatic week after having a baby when everything seems to be falling out of you. Or they assume you're ready, one or the other.
Anyway, as this is my third baby, I'm READY! SO READY! And here are my postnatal essentials...
1. Painkillers.
It doesn't matter if you have a fast labour, a caesarean, or an instrumental delivery. It doesn't matter if you tear or not. Having a baby hurts like a fucker, particularly afterwards. "But oh", they tell you, "as soon as the baby's out you forget the pain!" Not if you get afterpains you don't. Birth carries a payload of hormones to carry you through the delivery and into the euphoria of YAY! BABY! Then the hormones settle down, and it's bloody sore and crampy and weep-inducing. In addition to this, it's ingrained into you from CONCEPTION that only the weakest paracetamol is safe to take, and even that's a desperate measure. Once that baby is out, embrace the painkillers. I have got DELICIOUS, FORBIDDEN ibuprofen and some co-codamol in.
2. Maternity pads. Lots of maternity pads.
Another thing often neglected to be mentioned in The Joy Of Birth is that you bleed like a stuck pig for some days afterwards. Maternity pads are advised over regular pads partly because of the chemical crap they put in normal pads (floral menses, yum!), partly because no regular pad will stem the postnatal flow. And no, you really can't use tampons. With my last baby, I used 12 pads a day to begin with, despite having had a postnatal haemorrhage. Mothercare, wondrous place, do maternity pads with wings. I cannot praise them enough.
3. Breast pads. Lots of breast pads.
It doesn't matter if you're planning to breastfeed or not, most women will still pour forth milk for some days after the birth (weeks, if you do breastfeed). And it happens at the most irritating and unexpected times, like you smell the baby and you boobs go, or you think about how small the baby's toes are and your boobs go, or you're in Tesco and you see a pregnant woman, and your boobs go. It is annoying. I'm a lucky beast who doesn't tend to pour forth milk after the first four weeks, because my letdown only works during feeding, but I still get through boxes of the things to start with.
4. Lanolin Cream
If you do breastfeed, this cream is a marvel. What nobody tells you before you have a baby, probably to try not to terrify you out of it, is that breastfeeding can give you sore, cracked nipples. It's really quite an obvious thing when you think about it. My first baby had me bleeding all over the shot to begin with, until I got some magic Lansinoh, and within days my nipples were bulletproof. I used it again with baby 2, and will use it again with this one, although I've got Medela Purelan this time because it was much cheaper. Stick it on after every feed, and you should be fine.
5. Anusol and Lactulose or Fybogel
When you push a baby out, you can end up with piles. Piles are enough of a problem when you're pregnant, but after birth they can get really quite annoying. Anusol is your friend. Then there's constipation. I've torn badly with both previous babies and become so terrified of crapping that I've made myself ill. Even with the time honoured advice to hold yourself with a damp flannel while you go has been insufficient to get me through. So this time, I'm not risking getting ill - Lactulose from day 1, thank you.
6. Iron
If you're on prescribed iron when you get close to birth, make sure you've got enough to last a couple of weeks postnatal (yes, you do have to assume you'll go overdue). If you think you'll run out, get an extra prescription. If you're not already on iron, get either supplement tablets or Spatone/Floradix\Feroglobin liquid iron. You lose a lot of blood when you have a baby. It's blood you can afford to lose, because of the extra that's been sustaining your little one for months, but it is a sudden drop and can make you feel much more tired and crap than you necessarily need to.
7. Pajamas and Slippers
This may seem a bit of an anomaly in this litany of postnatal woe, but I always treat myself to nice, new pajamas for after I've given birth. I don't believe in getting dressed for the first week postnatal - anyone coming round is going to find me boobs akimbo, hair everywhere, stinking of lochia, covered in children and possibly weeping, so whether I'm fully dressed or not makes little difference to their perception of me. Mothercare do really lovely nursing pajamas (with button down fronts). I'm still wearing the pajamas I got from them in 2011, so well worth the investment.
8. A Nursing Pillow or Extra Pillows/Cushions
A boomerang shaped pillow is amazing when you've just had a baby, regardless of how you feed them. It gives you a way to support their useless neck without actually having to hold them up too much. Extra pillows will also do the job, but I find a boomerang useful for all sorts of things, not least propping me up to eat in bed.
9. Canned Drinks
I get bloody thirsty feeding a baby. This time, I have a husband to make me endless tea and drinks, but I assume he will also want to sleep occasionally, so canned drinks are the way forward. Unhealthy, yes, but this is about survival.
10. FOOD
You have to eat when you've had a baby, and yet it seems to be something easily forgotten among the chaos of screaming, poo and a baby who has no idea how to tell the time. Nothing will help your recovery quite like loving support, sleep and food, and if you can't get enough sleep, food will do. Fuck your postnatal diet. Fuck any pressure to fit back into pre-preg clothes. That can wait at least a month (or forever, if you're me). Eat what you fancy, when you fancy it, moreso if you're breastfeeding - you really do need a LOT of calories to get the milk factory going. If you've got other people in the house to feed, make some meals in bulk for the freezer before your due date. You can find recipes on the BBC Good Food website, including cook-from-frozen instructions. Write these instructions down on the frozen food container, so anyone can reheat them. If people are coming to see the baby and have the courtesy to ask if there's anything you need - food. I think baby cuddles for cake are a fair exchange ;-) If family offer to bring you round meals, accept gratefully. It's been months since you could eat normally, so take advantage.
For a less miserable postnatal view, you may also like my post on things to look forward to.
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