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Sunday 8th June 2008
1100 litres of Entonox later . . .
  
Today was a long day. Some time after a midnight (I forget the exact time), M**** started with the contractions and was desperately hoping these were some kind of Brackston Hick-type things. "Why can't they start after I've had a decent night's sleep?" asked M****, presumably rhetorically. I remember at about 01:40, I started timing the gaps . . . 15 minutes, 5 minutes, 10 minutes, 15 minutes . . . all a bit irregular, M**** pacing around to alleviate the pain. M**** then seemed to disappear downstairs, laying the table for breakfast, making such things as jam sandwiches (thinking ahead), whilst I drifted in and out of sleep. By about 4am (?!), the contractions were
   
two/three minutes apart, but not yet intolerably painful. The advice given to M**** by the hospital was to contact the
hospital at (or before) this point, so this we did. They advised a hospital visitation. So, I rang my dad, who stayed to look after A******, whilst M**** and I went to the hospital. On our way in to the delivery unit, we tailgated another couple, who were clearly in a similar situation to M**** and I. That should have been an ominous omen. We got our own en-suite 'delivery room' and were seen by our midwife, Louise, who explained that tonight was a bit busy. Hmmmm. Alarm bells (this is what happened in Leeds three years ago). The next few hours were spent with M**** getting increasing painful contractions. We tried a bath (moderately successful) but otherwise seemed to spend most of the time with M**** crouching/kneeling/standing/pacing during the contractions whilst I did some massaging and otherwise tried to keep M**** relaxed. Erm . . . so far so good. When the pain got too much, M**** asked for an epidural (hell, it worked out last time, didn't it? Didn't it?!) but was told (I say 'told', but I suspect 'something' is going on here) that the anesthetist was currently in theatre and, thus, an epidural was not an option. When this same midwife, Wendy, returned I enquired as to how long the anesthetist would be in theatre for. "Oh, he hasn't gone in yet," she said, "but it won't be for at least an hour and a half," (this at 07:10). So it was an option, but just not yet. Fair enough, you think. I found it slightly odd the degree of certainty, the tone of voice, that the midwife had used in ruling out an epidural, but hey . . . Same midwife suggested Entonox. Entonox. Entonox? Well, we remember this stuff from some Surestart classes years ago (yes, it's a gas - one part nitrous oxide (laughing gas), to one part oxygen, it being used as some kind of pain relief thing during established labour) but what the hell is this stuff? M**** started tentatively at first, but the midwife coerced M**** into taking ever larger lungfulls and it seemed to pay off. M**** wasn't sure if it helped alleviate the pain or rather helped one feel so spaced out, that one kind of forgot to feel the pain, or something or somewhere and, erm . . . what? Oh, lordy, lordy, lordy . . . Hello? . . . and plus, the breathing in, breathing out, in . . . out . . . in . . . out . . . of the Entonox also served as a further distraction from the pain. Distraction: good. So, M**** was given a full 2200 litre tank of Entonox and got well and truly stuck in. I'm not exactly sure when . . . between 8am and 9am . . . M**** again asked for an epidural . . . but the midwife (back to Louise, we like Louise) suspected it was too late, and that . . . well, we better check to be sure. M**** now almost fully dilated. Perhaps around this point Louise attempted to insert a, erm . . . I wish I knew what these were called . . . I've had one of these in my hand before (but that's another story) . . . it allows intravenous access, to take blood away or add things to the blood. Very useful. She started putting one of these in, didn't quite finish . . . and . . . WHAM! A contraction starts! M**** flings her left arm and weird intravenous attachment flies off somewhere and blood pumps freely out of the vein, splattering clothes, bed, walls, ceiling . . . blood everywhere (I'm exagerating a bit here) . . . this was quickly dealt with and the pressing business of childbirth was swiftly returned to. So, anyway . . . epidural? NO! It's too late! M**** and the Entonox become the best of friends and the midwife expertly instructs M**** when to push, when not to push, when to breathe Entonox, when not to breathe Entonox . . . and at 09:13 a healthy baby arrives and it's over . . . kind of . . . the placenta is removed and M**** suffered some damage (I hope she doesn't mind me writing all this . . . erm . . . M****?!) both due to R****** (?!) having his arm somehow over the top of his head (i.e. elbow came out awkwardly), but also due to never quite healed damage from the birth of A******. Some, erm . . . stitching was required, but nothing (in terms of blood loss) approaching what happened with A******. Partly (largely?) due to staff at Lancaster, but perhaps also partly due to M****'s body being more experienced in such matters, the whole thing went comparitively easily and trouble-free. We asked Louise if she had checked R******'s weight . . . "Hmmmm, not yet . . . do you wanna know?" Yes, we would, we said. "Oh, I'd say about . . . probably about seven pounds 15 ounces. Will that do?" So we were happy with that. R****** (which seems to be his name, but hey . . . ) has been a decidedly placid baby so far; when born, he looked a bit perturbed and coughed a few times, but that was about it. He's had a few feeds and mainly slept . . . not really done too much else. Before we left the delivery room, I checked the reading on the Entonox canister - it was now showing half-full. Some of these events and conversations never took place.
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June 2008
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