Magna Carta

Today marks 800 years since the signing of the first iteration of Magna Carta. This event is being celebrated by the Queen and the government David Cameron has promised that our British Bill of Rights (proposed to replace the European Convention on Human Rights, for some insane reason) will safeguard the legacy of Magna Carta. Let us hope he means it will safeguard the legacy of statute law and human rights, rather than Magna Carta, because a very brief overview of the MC's content shows that it's hardly the sterling and quintessentially English work of freedom we are being led to believe.

So, 1215, Bad King John has pissed off his barons. Bad King John was always pissing off someone, but the barons had come to expect certain privilege and honour over the last century or so of Norman rule. So, the barons insisted on having a charter to maintain their baronly rights. King John, needing the support of his barons to properly run the country, gave them their historic charter at Runnymede.
It lasted literally two months.
We are celebrating a charter that meant so much to the people that made it that they all ignored their side of the bargain, and went to war two months later. We may as well celebrate the 2011 riots in several hundred years time, for all the difference it made to anything. Only King John's death, from dysentry caught in King's Lynn, just over a year later put an end to this vicious civil war.
Magna Carta was reissued in 1216, and again in revised form in 1217. In 1225, it was issued as a propaganda exercise by Henry II to get some taxation approved, and finally in 1297, it became part of statute law. We are a bit premature with the celebrations, to be honest.

Now, society in 13th century England was not exactly hot on fairness or equality. Individuals were either owned in a type of indentured slavery called serfdom, or beholden to their immediate superiors for food, land and work. At the top of the hierarchy was the king, and just underneath him were the barons. The barons held an enormous amount of power. And Magna Carta was all about THEIR rights. If David Cameron's Bill of British Rights only gives rights to those sitting in the Houses of Parliament, then it will be very similar to the original Magna Carta.

As it is, three clauses of Magna Carta remain in statute law. One of them is the freedom of the English church. Another is the freedom of London. Then there is the law of due process and forbidding the sale, delay or denial of justice. I would argue the erosion of legal aid under the last government has pretty much broken that particular statute, but I'm no lawyer.
Some of the clauses of Magna Carta simply make no sense in the modern world. I don't think any knights need a knight's fief in this day and age, or that Jewish moneylenders need to be regulated more than other moneylenders. I don't think it would be fair for barons to set the level of fine placed on another baron for law breaking, and I'm fairly sure castle guards are now employed through the army rather than from a pool of knights. We don't generally have horses and carts to relinquish to royal officials when demanded, or timber.
Some clauses were repealed bizarrely recently, like the clause forbidding fish weirs, repealed in 1969. Barons were permitted to take responsibility for monastries in the absence of an abbot until 1847. Men could not be arrested or tried on the testimony of a woman until 1863 (unless her husband had been murdered).

In short, Magna Carta is no template for fair society or law, unless you're a 13th century baron. Compare it to the tenets of the European Convention on Human Rights, which protects the right to life (including preventing forseeable death), and the right to equality,  prohibits torture, prohibits slavery, protects individual liberty and security, provides the right to free trial, protects individuals from being tried for offences that have become illegal since committed, protects the individual right to privacy and family life, and protects freedom of thought and expression. It also protects the right to form trade unions, to marry freely, and for countries to derogate these rights in times of war. Magna Carta promises none of this, the vast majority of it is no longer statute law, and as a document, was never legally enforceable. Hence, war.

I can see why we're making a big deal out of Magna Carta. It's a form of living history and tradition that British people thrive upon. However, to act like it has any bearing whatsoever on modern law or living ignores the centuries of change that have fallen since, in favour of a sycophantic romanticised daydream.

We all like to think we would have been lords, ladies, knights and barons in the olden days of chivalric lore, but if you're reading this, believe me you would have been little more than a serf. And Magna Carta was not written for the likes of us.

University Year 4: Complete

Another year of uni is over. I have time, at last, to focus on my special summer project. It's a little more intensive than the usual voluntary census transcription...

How did it go? Well...I WANTED to be pregnant this academic year, so I only have myself to blame for the difficulty of it all. I thought I knew how difficult it would be, reasoning that doing the previous three years with an autistic preschooler/child and a baby/toddler/preschooler was quite hard as well. I did not know how hard it would be. It was...fucking hard. I got pregnant pretty much the week the course started, and was plagued by anxiety, exhaustion, nausea, sciatica, pelvic pain, anaemia, ligament pains, oedema (thank you, summer) and the mental treacle of baby brain. I am never doing it again.
These are my OCAS marks. Not bad for such a crap eight months:

The EMA for K311 was a huge challenge, which I perversely rather enjoyed, but it's not exaggerating to say that module was one of the hardest things I've ever done.
I did the exam for SDK125 this morning. I couldn't start revising (well, in any meaningful way) until I'd got the EMA submitted, which gave me a little over a week. I revised like someone of brittle sanity until about 10:30 last night, when I figured if I don't know it now, I'm not gonna know it. I think I probably passed, although I probably should have checked I had a calculator that could cope with numbers like 0.4x10¹⁴. I got the exam done in 70 minutes (the hit and run method, my favourite) and escaped in a rush of joy...without my cardigan. I have to say, the OU are brilliant if you're very pregnant and doing an exam. I could have done it at home (being 36 weeks today), but instead was permitted to take a cushion in to sit on and have half an hour rest if I needed it.

I find out if I pass about a week after the baby's due. I cannot imagine I will care ALL that much by that point, but I would prefer NOT to resit anything.
I am a glutton for punishment, however, and start again in October doing my FINAL MODULE. The end is in sight. I've signed up for K319: Adulthood, Ageing and the Lifecourse, a 60 credit level 3 course. We just have to hope the baby likes sleep, and doesn't object to mummy being on the laptop for the duration of the school day.  I'm quite prepared to defer if I have to, but I do like a challenge. Masochism runs strong in my blood.

And after that? A masters, perhaps, but more on that if I ever finish this bloody BSc.

Things To Look Forward To

I've reached the "fucking fed up" stage of pregnancy now. Not QUITE at the "so fucking fed up I just want him out" stage (let's not get ahead of ourselves), but almost. I have begun to dwell on all the things I will be able to do in a few weeks...

Like... SLEEP ON MY FRONT. In fact, sleeping in any position that doesn't cause pain will be a novelty. Such is the state of my pelvis that I cannot sleep on either side, or my back, without waking up in pain and walking like a newborn fawn. A really bloody fat newborn fawn. Oh to wake up without backache, without feeling like someone's crowbarred my pelvis open at the sides, without my thighs hurting for NO GOOD REASON. It will be beautiful.
And DRINK WITHOUT IMMEDIATELY PEEING. Oh the joy of an unburdened bladder. You know not your fortune in being able to sleep all night without waking up from your unborn gently headbutting you in the bladder.
No more MORNING SICKNESS. It is a universally accepted myth that morning sickness only lasts for the first trimester. It does not. Well, I suppose for some lucky beasts it does, but I'm not among them. No more will I vomit into the kitchen sink while my other children shriek "MUMMY! DON'T BE SICK IN MY BREAKFAST".

While we're on the subject of food, EATING PROPERLY will be amazing (and relatively guiltless on the breastfeeding diet). I can't eat a full meal. I'm too full of child. He's quite a big baby (on course to be at least 9lb at birth) and I have his head in my bladder, and his arse in my stomach. I throw up if I eat too late, or too early. I miss food. I'm almost never hungry, because of the pressure, but sometimes I will get very hungry for very specific things I cannot have, like...Mr Kipling apple pies at 11pm. Or mustard. Or I'll really fancy something at 4pm, but by the time my husband brings it proudly home from work, won't be able to abide the sight of it.
And eating ALL THE FORBIDDEN THINGS will be amazing as well. It wasn't too bad when it was colder (except Christmas) but this time of year, all I really want is stinky cheese, wine and paté. I know, I should have been French.
AND not getting INDIGESTION. Of all the hateful pregnancy afflictions, not being able to drink my permitted cups of builder's tea without getting fearful indigestion is probably the cruellest.

Then there's the physical bonuses of not lugging a huge bump around 24/7, like BEING ABLE TO BEND. Currently, I have to get on my knees to pick up the countless toys and clothes scattered about the house, and to load and unload the washing machine.
Not to mention BEING ABLE TO WALK UP THE STAIRS WITHOUT DYING. This is not wholly the child's fault; I'm quite anaemic and breathless fatigue is an annoying side effect.
And I'll be able to SEE WHERE I'M GOING. I can't see my feet. I can't see anything below my midline, including my younger son who is short. I am forever stepping on lego and have to scan the kitchen floor for slugs if I go in there at night, lest I have a terrible,  labour-inducing horror shock. 
And I won't be BEATEN FROM WITHIN anymore. This baby is lying on his side. His brothers preferred to lie on their front and beat the shit out of my placenta, which I couldn't feel. This baby is all limbs (hence his nickname: Squid), and gets his feet under my ribs while he puts his hands under my pelvis and then PUSHES AS HARD AS HE CAN, which is pretty fucking hard considering how tiny he is. 

I'm well enough versed in motherhood to know this exhaustion isn't going anywhere when the baby's born. BUT I will at least be ABLE TO SLEEP. Currently, my body gets really tired around 2-4pm, and then again around 8:30pm and if I don't go to bed, it wakes up and goes on the alert until around midnight. This appears to roughly coincide with the baby's sleep pattern. In my experience, I will be able to fall asleep standing up once the kid is out. Hurrah! I may even be able to CONCENTRATE. You try revising for an exam at this stage of pregnancy. Tisn't easy. I can't even read a magazine without getting distracted and staring into space for five minutes.

Oh, there will be all the negatives of birth as well. Stitches, arse pain, constipation, aching, bleeding half to death, Lola Ferrari boobs, milk spurting everywhere, HATING THE WORLD, being so tired I might die, getting peed on, shit on, sicked on (and that's just my husband...lolz), getting cried at every 20 minutes for five hours. But ... FOOD. AND BENDING!
Five more weeks til I'm due. Nearly there.

Planning A Birth

When you are pregnant the first time, all the baby magazines, books and websites talk about your Birth Plan, as though it is something enshrined in law. While your midwife concentrates on various medical choices, which either horrify you or go straight over your head, the baby media remind you that you should pack incense and candles and soothing music. The reality of a first birth is usually some miles away from the happy ideal of the joyous birth plan. In fact, the birth plan is usually ignored. No pain relief sounds a noble thing indeed until the 36th hour of labour. No amount of Enya is going to stop you screaming like a banshee at some point. And that's fine.
I would argue that giving birth for the first time is inherently traumatic, regardless of how natural and beautiful it's supposed to be. It would certainly explain the vast numbers of women who speak of their first delivery in terms of awestruck horror. I certainly found my first birth traumatic, although most other women regard it with a mix of disdain and envy. Only four hours of labour? Lucky bitch. Yeah, four hours of labour is fine until you're going down the A47 at 80mph in the middle of the night, trying not to give birth in the front seat. That is less relaxing.
I was strongly advised to have a homebirth with my second baby. This was no problem for me: not only was my first birth traumatically fast, I also had an absolute shit time on the postnatal ward and was left in a very fragile mental state for six months. I blamed my postnatal depression mainly on my poor postnatal experience, and was scared it would happen again.
So, when the time came, I popped my middle boy out at home. I was considered low risk in comparison to the high risk of precipitate labour. As far as the labour and delivery went, it was beautiful and just like birth is SUPPOSED to be. Then it all went to shit.

I thought I was OK with my second birth. My baby was alive, somehow. I was alive and safe if a bit fucked up for a week, and I'd done it at home all by myself. It was a lot more controlled and easier to cope with than the first. I drew a line under it.

Or I thought I did, until I got pregnant again.
Initially, I thought I would have a homebirth. As pregnancy progressed, I realised that I was actually quite terrified of having another homebirth. They're great. They're lovely. They're amazing. Until they go wrong, and then they are SHIT. You have to hang around waiting for an ambulance, get dislodged from your comfy house to go and lie on a horrible hospital bed. And that's if you manage to get your baby out first - the idea of doing the same IN LABOUR fills me with horror.
My consultant got my notes from my old hospital, and said it would be a lot better if I had the baby on the consultant led unit so they can treat me immediately if I haemorrhage again.
And what upset me was not that the decision to have a homebirth was taken away, but that I no longer felt able to trust my body how to have a baby. I no longer WANTED to have a homebirth, and that felt very strange to me.

I've got 46 days to brew, give or take a fortnight. And I am dreading birth. I don't want to go into labour - not enough to be induced, which has been offered, but enough to already be second guessing my body's various twinges. I am scared of haemorrhaging again, scared of tearing, scared of everything. It sucks. I have never feared birth before, trusting wholly in my uterus to do what is expected of it, but now I am full of doubt. I sincerely hope that I am so sick of pregnancy that I welcome it by the end, because this anxiety is all new. It may be because I *know* this baby is my last, and I feel pressure to get it right, to minimise the curious feeling afterwards that I need to do it again to make it right.

There is no such thing as a perfect birth. There are only births that are good for the individual, and being realistic in your aims and expectations is the first step. I expect to give birth without pain relief - I have twice before. I expect to refuse induction unless the baby's distressed - I'm like that. I expect to be allowed to labour without monitoring or VEs - I've always laboured at home, so this might be a bit more of a stretch. I expect labour to be fast - if it's not, I shall be surprised! I am prepared to labour too fast to get assistance, which is part of the fear. I expect to haemorrhage, but I hope I won't. I expect to need surgical repair, but really hope I won't. I expect a big baby.
But that's all I expect. Everything else is too unpredictable to even think about trying to plan for.

Culture and Bodies

Richard Dawkins posted a link to a story about a woman sent to jail for contravening a court order, insisting on her son's circumcision. Richard Dawkins, noted atheist, said this is wrong because it's based on respect for religion.

Boy doesn't want circumcision. His mother wants to protect him. So she’s jailed. “Respect” for religion strikes again http://t.co/K1YNQ5Chv0

— Richard Dawkins (@RichardDawkins) May 19, 2015

A very brief bit of research demonstrated that neither father nor mother are Jewish or Muslim (both of which require infant male circumcision), and the father is on record as saying he wants his son circumcised for personal reasons.
The USA has a strong culture of male infant circumcision, based on ideas of cleanliness and health, rather than religion. The USA's board of paediatricians say that it the benefits of male infant circumcision outweigh the risks of the procedure.

Some atheists shun religion on the base of no evidence. Empiricism is at the heart of atheism - "show me the proof and I'll believe". Well, in the USA, the evidence seems to point to male infant circumcision being beneficial. On this basis, surely all infant males should be circumcised?

Well, no, they argue, because there is choice. But where does the notion of bodily autonomy come into atheism, an ideology based on evidence and facts?

We have a humanity-old tradition of our bodies being good only if intact and whole. This is a tradition that has endured, despite knowing our entire body regenerates every few years and is not, therefore, the same body as we started with. The DNA remains, but the cells regenerate constantly, otherwise we wouldn't get cancer. Amputees do not just suffer from the physical loss of their limb, but from the psychological effects. The tradition that we take our bodies with us to the afterlife goes back as long as we can find graves for ancient people. People were buried with things they used in life, things they might need in death, even slaves. This didn't stop with the birth of the big monotheistic faiths, or with the slow decline in religious belief. Even today, we sometimes tuck in mementos and possessions with our loved ones before their burial or cremation, whether we consider ourselves religious or not.

Various cultures all over the world deform their bodies with knives, with brands, with tattoos, with lip-plates, for reasons of religion, or traditional heritage, or to meet their particular standard of beauty. In the UK, this tends to be limited to tattoos, piercings and cosmetic plastic surgery. Harder body modifications like scarification are considered abnormal, whereas piercing a baby's ears is socially acceptable. Orlan, a French artist, has repeatedly undergone plastic surgery to challenge the norms of beauty, and been castigated for it. Too many modifications are seen by some as a sign of mental instability. It is entirely culturally dependent.

Circumcision was originally adopted by the Jews to differentiate themselves from the Gentiles. It was adopted by the Islamic faith for similar reasons, and broadly common in the Middle East at that time. It is the oldest surgical practice on record.
Unlike female genital mutilation, which is widely condemned for the barbaric practice that it is, male circumcision is considered generally harmless, with a very small risk of side effects. It is not specific to religion. In the UK, it is almost solely done either for religious reasons or because of phimosis (the foreskin 'balloons' when the child urinates). It has not been normalised through tradition. In the USA, things are very different. There is a growing anti-circumcision movement within the USA, but it is still a normal thing to do to your newborn son.

People do things because their culture informs their practice, and religion has often informed their culture. When people claim the UK is not a Christian country, perhaps they mean in terms of going to church and professed religion. In this, they are correct. But culturally, it is wholly Christian. We don't generally work Sundays, because of religion. Shops aren't open for as long for the same reason.The church practiced the earliest forms of taxation, and that noble tradition has continued in earnest. We get Easter and Christmas and the second bank holiday in May off because of Christianity. Going back further, we celebrate Bonfire night, Halloween, May Day, and touch wood for good luck, because of ancient religious practices we don't even have records for.

Unusually, the USA's preference for circumcision doesn't seem to be based on religion, but medical belief and recent tradition. It is, in fact, an exception to the religion=culture=practice rule.

So, it entertained me a little bit to see Atheism's Self-Appointed Spokesman attacking a court judgement based on evidence and personal autonomy, because of assumptions of religious connotations.

PS: I don't agree with the court ruling, at all. That poor child.

Birth Story - Jack, 2011

I'm putting these up here for posterity's sake, rather than to horrify you all while you're eating your lunch, so please skip unless you love gory, onomatopoeic descriptions of birth. 

IN BRIEF:
Gestation: 42w
Site: Home
First Stage: 90 minutes active labour
Transition: About two minutes
Second Stage: 20 minutes
Third Stage: Ages and horrific
Tearing: Deep, extensive, borderline 3rd degree
Weight: 7lb 12oz

Details:
The day before he was born was Easter Sunday. I felt odd all day. I had a few really vicious cervical pains, but nothing major or long. My sisters all came round so we danced. Really danced. I was buggered up afterwards, but evidently it worked. I kept feeling like my waters were going to break, but kept telling myself it was wishful thinking because I was getting closer to bedtime and my admission was looming. Everyone went home after dinner and I got Jimmy to bed, then went down to watch TV with Mum. This was around 9pm. I didn't feel right. I wasn't in pain, just felt restless and inverted. I had some ice cream and then felt like I was weeing. I said to Mum "Either my water just broke or I'm incontinent". I asked her to come to the loo with me to check and when I got to the bottom of the stairs, it just POURED out. I went to the loo and it was clear with some blood in, but definitely water rather than wee. A load more came out on the loo. Mum went a bit hysterical - I think coz she was pleased it was finally happening rather than panicked - and got a shower curtain on the sofa in case I kept leaking. I called the midwife and she phoned back a few minutes later, saying she'd pop out around half 11 (my waters broke approx 9:30) and I phoned the ILs to come and get Jimmy. The midwife phoned again while the in laws were round to say she was gonna come over sooner rather than later. Then I kissed my Jim goodbye and sat in curious limbo waiting for the midwife. I text his dad and told him my waters had gone and got back "OK. Good luck". lol.

The midwife (Suzy) turned up at half 10 and checked me over. My fundal height was 33cm by then - 9 weeks behind! She didn't want to do a VE until I was in labour coz of infection risk, so I took a low vag swab and she checked my wee and obs. Then we sort of sat around chatting. I'd had one, painless contraction before she arrived so she waited for me to have another. I told her when I had one, and the pain was in my kidneys. The pain went off long before the contraction did, coz she kept hold of me the whole time. She made me run up and down stairs a couple of times to try and get me going. I'd told her how Jim's labour had started almost identically, so she said she'd hang around rather than get home and have to come straight back out. I had my first "Oh shit, this is it" contraction around 11:30 and they started coming every 4 minutes after that. I didn't keep track at all, but Suzy did. My best friend Carly arrived around midnight - I told her she didn't have to come considering the hour, but I'm bloody glad she did after everything else that happened. By the time Carly got there, I was contracting regularly but not that painfully. I could still talk except at the very peak. Suzy did a VE around 12:15 and I was 2-3cm, not fully effaced, but very 'stretchy'. I felt a touch dishearted then, but then the contractions ramped up, probably from all the swishing of cervix. My labour 'start' time was 12:30am.

She phoned the second midwife out then. I was alright between contractions, but couldn't work out where I wanted to be when I was having them. I tried the toilet, which was OK. I tried crouching right down into my knees, which was really good for a while. Sue, the 2nd midwife, came out at about 1-ish. She came out in a rush because I was getting a bit pushy. They got nicely set up for the birth and then I tried kneeling on the sofa for the contractions, which was AMAZING. I recommend it. I knelt up the back and leaned on the back with a big sheet folded up under my face to whimper into. I have no idea what time anything much happened after I got on the sofa, mainly coz I had my back to the clock and everyone in the room. I kept trying to join in the conversation between contractions, but I was too buggered to turn round. I remember the midwives telling me I needed to take my trousers off and I thought "Not yet...not yet..." but then I started wanting to push at the top of the contraction, so they took my trousers off for me. It was very undignified for poor Suzy who was crouched between my legs ready to catch.
I had a couple of mega-contractions, and told Suzy I was definitely wanting to push. Then I had transition. I felt sick, but I wasn't sick, and started crying really quietly that I wanted to go to bed and I wanted my mum and suddenly thought "Bugger me, transition already". I don't think anyone heard me, I was mewing like a kitten with the pain, rather than howling. Then everything went really quiet and my next contraction had three pushes at the end of it. Mum and Carly thought I was lying when I said I wanted to push until I started bearing down.
I started pushing around 2:10am. I couldn't coordinate it very well to start with, Mum told me to pull my chin in and focus DOWN so I tried doing that instead and that worked far better. Once his head was up to my cervix, I started getting really emotional and crying that I couldn't do it and I wanted to go to bed and I didn't want to. I remember crying "I can't, I can't, I can't" and everyone else saying "YOU CAN". Then his head crowned and I managed to breathe his head through rather than just push him straight out. I was absolutely SCREAMING by that point. I didn't mean to, I couldn't seem to help it. Then he was out, all flobbetyschlobbety. It was about 2:24am.

I was still facing away from everyone and it took a few seconds to pass him up through my legs. I kept crying that I wanted my baby. He didn't cry immediately, and it seemed an age before he did. He pinked up so fast once I had him and I rolled onto my back so I could feed him. Then I fed him and cuddled him and was a bit WOW.

In the mean time, carnage was happening. He had two true knots in his cord, which I didn't really think about right then, but his cord was thick and jelly-like at the umbilicus from where it was all pushed up. He's been double clamped. I planned to have a physiological third stage, but once the baby was born my womb didn't want to push anymore. Then I started to haemorrhage, so they gave me syntocin quickly and started tugging me about. I just wanted them to piss off and leave me alone, I felt horribly ill from the haemorrhage (my official blood loss was 650ml, so over 3 times the amount I lost with Jim, and it was probably a lot more of that because it went under the shower curtain) and I wanted to faint even though I was sitting down. I managed to push the placenta out myself, then they started fiddling about to see to what extent I'd torn. The light isn't great in my house, but they deduced that I had torn all the way through and would probably need stitching in theatre. By then, I just wanted everyone to FUCK OFF and leave me alone. They called me an ambulance and helped me get dressed and get Jack dressed. My mum washed all the blood off me - I looked like I'd been in a horrible accident, lol.
He was wide awake and staring at me and I had my hand under his bum and he felt like he did in the womb, coz I was so thin I could feel his bum really well within.

A first responder turned up first, to 'stop the clock' as they call it, at which the midwives were most scathing. The full crew showed up not long afterwards. They got me in the ambulance and I sat on a stretcher holding Jack for his first car ride! Mum and Carly followed. All the neighbours must've thought something awful had happened coz I had two ambulances out. I got pulled through A+E on the stretcher and all the beaten up drunks had a look at Jack and said congratulations. I was bunged into CDS and transferred onto a bed.

A consultant came to poke me about some more. He said I'd torn all the way through, but not actually damaged anything in my arse, so I could be stitched as a second degree by a midwife. Neither Suzy nor Sue wanted to stitch me coz my sphincter was visible and they didn't want to fuck me up, so Stevie came to do it. She's the midwife who delivered Jimmy and did an excellent job of stitching that tear. While I was stitched up, they did Jack's weight and measurements.

I was stitched, then had a diclofenac suppository, then started wishing everyone would DIE and leave me alone, because there's only so much vag pulling about I can stand and the doctor was ROUGH. Suzy and Sue went home to sleep - poor Sue had a clinic yesterday and we had a cup of tea and some biscuits. Then Carly took Mum home. It was gone 6am by the time everyone went.
Jack settled nicely and I had a doze for a bit. His dad rang me, having been informed of his son's birth by a barrage of texts and voicemails *eyeroll*. A woman came and did his hearing test, then a midwife came and did his paediatric check. Then I was discharged.

Birth Story - Jimmy, 2009

I'm putting these up here for posterity's sake, rather than to horrify you all while you're eating your lunch, so please skip unless you love gory, onomatopoeic descriptions of birth. 

IN BRIEF:
Gestation: 40w 4d
Site: Hospital
First Stage: 4 days of on and off annoyance, then 2.5ish hours active labour
Transition: ONE. HOUR. NEVER. AGAIN.
Second Stage: 55 minutes
Third Stage: Interminable, probably around 30 minutes
Tearing: Long, internal, second degree
Weight: 9lb 1oz

DETAILS:
On his due date, I had a haemorragic show. I trotted obediently up to the hospital, who found me to be 2cm dilated and likely to start soon. I went home, feeling quite proud of myself for managing to have a well behaved body.
The next morning, I went to see my midwife, who did a VE and sweep and found me in much the same position as before. I bled all damn day and after worrying about the amount of mucusy clots, went to CDS and they said I was fine and to go home and wait for stuff to start.
The next day, we went to my mums because I was in a furiously bad mood and sick of clock watching and being stuck in the house. We went to the pub for lunch and I was getting the odd twinge. Nothing major, enough to make me wince. Around 3pm, I started to get fairly regular, weak contractions. They got slowly stronger until they were coming every ten minutes. Around midnight, they suddenly got very painful and I started getting a lot of HIDEOUS back ache. I couldn't cope with the backache so we went to CDS. Again. Yes, again! A very nice midwife examined me and said I was 2-3cm and not ready yet. I cried. A lot. I really thought that was it. Anyway, we didn't get home til 4am and I still had quite bad backache. I went to sleep but could still feel the pain in my sleep.

The next day, a Thursday, I got up around 10am and had no pain. No pain at all. I was HEARTILY PISSED OFF. I made a decision to stop worrying about every pain and washed my filthy hair, had a nice bath and read a book. I kept falling asleep. We had a curry and watched TV and then decided to watch Bill Bailey as my mum kept telling me laughter would do me good.
Lo! Bill Bailey had been on but ten minutes and I felt a little gush - this was around 9:30pm. Then a bigger gush. I instantly got VERY EXCITED and went to the loo and it was not wee, and I was MOST PLEASED. I phoned CDS, they said to come in. All the way there, I kept losing a little fluid at a time.

The midwife examined me (yet again) and said I was 2cm dilated and my cervix was still in the wrong place. By this time, I was slightly irritated because my cervix appeared to be un-dilating itself. This was before I knew about the variation in finger size that is crucial in gauging dilation. She said my waters were leaking around the baby's head but still intact at the front. She said I could come back in the morning for an induction, or wait for it to happen on it's own. She said they would induce me on Sunday morning if I still hadn't started because of infection risk etc. I opted for Sunday and made an appointment for monitoring on Friday afternoon. The whole time I was in hospital, I was losing fluid. On leaving hospital, my backache started and I started getting small pains.

We got home at midnight and I knew that I'd started properly and it was just a matter of waiting til I couldn't take it anymore. I was still on a bit of a high because I KNEW it was finally happening. The pains suddenly got a lot worse around 1am and I went for a bath. The bath did JACK ALL for my contractions but helped with the shitting backache. I took one paracetamol around then. His dad decided to go to bed for a bit as we'd had so little sleep the night before and we figured we had a few hours before anything dramatic happened. I kept needing to sit on the toilet as I found it easiest to cope with the contractions on there, so he went to bed and I sat on the loo, trying to read a book...
I went and got in bed with him after a bit, somehow thinking that I could get some sleep myself. With hindsight, that was a laughable... I was having MAJOR contractions and trying so hard not to scream and to breathe through them instead and in between, I wasn't really there - I was very much in my head. I managed to let him sleep til around 2:15am and then woke him up screaming WE HAVE TO GO TO HOSPITAL NOW...FUCKING NOW.

I ran downstairs in my knickers, bra and shirt and tried to phone CDS to warn them I was coming. But instead I had a massive contraction and threw up everywhere and had a big loss of water. His dad came down, still half asleep and I was trying to phone CDS again but couldn't stop screaming with the pain so gave him the phone. They said they would get some pain relief ready. You must remember that at this point, I'd only been in labour for two hours and figured I had HOURS to go yet.
His dad had to get me dressed and put a towel down on the car seat so I didn't mess it up and found me a sick bucket. Somehow I was still functioning reasonably well between contractions and managed to wash the bowl I'd been sick in up and get my notes together.

He drove to hospital at 80mph while I was screaming all the bloody way and trying to remember to breathe and I remember thinking that I must be a proper fucking wimp to make such a fuss when I had so long to go. Apparently I told his dad off for driving too fast and what if the police stopped him. I was clearly not entirely with it. At this point, contractions were around 4 mins apart and lasting 40 seconds, with definite peaks and troughs of pain. Nothing like what I thought it would feel like anyway. By the time we got to hospital, it was 2 minutes apart and at the end of every one, I was losing loads of water.

I don't know how the fuck I got up to CDS. His dad had to carry me up the stairs. When we got to the stairs, I declared that I couldn't possibly get up them and I wanted to go home and not have the baby anymore. He just lugged me up the stairs anyway, lol.

CDS were VERY busy and they took ten minutes to find me a room. I don't know how I managed to stand up for that long. It was the birthing pool room, which is kept at a nice 28 bloody degrees. Because it was so hot, they left the door open and put a screen across it. I then deafened the entire hospital
I spent the next twenty minutes in the toilet screaming and asking why I needed to push and I couldn't push because I'd break my cervix and why the fuck did I need to push and where the FUCK were the DRUGS?? Annoyingly, there were two canisters of entonox in the room with no way of using it. I felt they were taunting me. In between contractions, I was just talking complete gibberish about wanting to get in the giant bath. His dad kept trying to touch my back or bump to calm me down and I was yelling at him to get off me. It was the most frenetic moment of my life those last few minutes before the midwife came in.
The midwife (Stevie) came in, took some history and my obs and then asked me to lie on my back for an examination (I was all over the place until then, mainly on my side). I told her I wanted to push. I laid back and she did it and just as she finished, I had another contraction. She told me to be quiet and listen (in a nice way) and told me I was fully dilated and if I wanted to push, that was fine. Oh and did I want any pain relief? I asked how long it would be, she said an hour max and I said no, I would be fine! She said she was going to get another midwife to assist and wouldn't be very long. She came back with a student to help.

I remember saying over and over that I'd done it by myself and I couldn't believe it. His dad was absolutely shell shocked. I didn't have time to change position or my t shirt or anything. I hadn't even brought the labour bag, with the camera in, up.

In between pushes, Stevie was asking me about my birth preferences, which is hilarious looking back. I remember being amazed that it didn't hurt once I knew the baby was coming. It was a huge HIGH just to know that I'd done it without any help. God did I make some noise though, I was like something out of the Exorcist. The midwives were absolutely brilliant and kept telling me how well I was doing and to breathe slowly in between and try and relax when I could and how to position myself to take better advantage of the pushing. His dad just held my hands really tight, and kept stroking my head with some wet tissue paper (no time for flannels) and it kept falling in my eyes and making me laugh. Everytime I opened my eyes, I remember being amazed that I was in hospital having a baby.
The baby's head crowned and I remember yelling "Shit that stings", even though it actually didn't, and they told me that they would ask me to push, then pant, then push again. His head came out and then his body and that felt WEIRD and then they plonked him straight on me, this giant red and blue and purple baby that somehow used to fit inside me. With a giant blue umbilical cord that weighed a ton.

I was sort of in shock for a second at this little person. The student cut the cord because his dad didn't fancy it. They gave me the syntometrine which I consented to in labour because I was absolutely PETRIFIED of haemorrhaging. And then he was all ours and on top of me and I was still wearing my bra and t shirt, lol. His dad said something about him being a boy and then we all sort of calmed down a bit. The placenta came out around 20 minutes later, although it felt like five minutes and felt very odd when it came out, like having another baby. They said it was a very large placenta and would barely fit in the bowl! I didn't look.

Stevie cleaned me up and I asked her if I'd torn and she said yes and she was going to have a look if I needed stitches. They put a towel over the baby and I was in a strange half-sitting position and couldn't get my bloody bra off. I managed to eventually, and then fed him. He seemed to know exactly what to do although he didn't suck for long. Stevie said I needed some stitches and went off to prep. They put me in stirrups, but it wasn't uncomfortable at all. I wasn't really aware of anything except having this baby all of a sudden.

His dad held the baby for ages while I was being put back together and was very nervous of him. I have to admit, I was a bit scared. He was really wriggly and slippery. He pinked up nice and quickly though. I know I fed him again, but I don't remember when. His dad went and phoned parents to inform them that I'd finally dropped and it'd all been rather quick. I went and had a bath, which was a shock. No bump and outrageous bleeding. I knew the bleeding would be bad, but it's still a shock when you've been period free for so long! I went back, had some food which made me feel horrible and then walked over to the postnatal ward.

And I sat upon the fucking PN ward until 9:30pm. I'd requested a 6hr discharge and they said they would aim for lunchtime as I was fine. The physio came round and I had a blood test to check my iron stores. My womb went down brilliantly. A midwife came round and taught us how to give him a bath. He failed his hearing test, twice, because he had such a wet delivery .There was a midwife handover at 3pm and that was the last time I saw anyone until 8pm, which is pretty shitty by any standards.

The paediatrician came round and frightened us by telling us he should be feeding every 3 hours when he hadn't been fed since I'd gone on the ward at 9am. He's also got an undescended testicle, which is very common. His dad got in a panic about the feeding and we tried to feed him but he wasn't interested. I wasn't worried, as he'd fed three times since delivery and had latched on etc very well. A fucking horrible old cow of an auxillary came and said they wouldn't discharge me unless he fed. 8pm is kick out time for dads, and she tried to make him leave so I burst into tears and he went and complained to the nearest midwife. Who happened to be the head of CDS. She came round to talk to me and I said that if he hadn't fed again by 4am, I would come back and admit myself and I really didn't want to stay in hospital and would self discharge otherwise. She said she would get my midwife to come round and have a chat.
My midwife, Hayley, came and apologised profusely for not seeing me before as they were mighty short staffed and had two emergencies. She had a look at me and him and said she was happy for me to go home and it was entirely usual for newborns not to feed for a long time after birth and as he'd had three shitty nappies and sicked up a lot of crap, he was probably fine. She was nice, I wish she'd been around earlier than I might have got home earlier.
We got packed up and off we went, me hiding the fact I was feeling incredibly faint and dizzy. I hadn't managed to sleep at all all day, constantly expecting to be discharged home. We got back to ours and the grandparents all popped in for a look, which I didn't mind. Sure enough, he wanted feeding as soon as we got in the door and then every 2 hours after that. My mum cooked me some food as I hadn't eaten for over 24 hours, and then we were left alone with our tiny boy.