Saturday, 29 September 2012

Down to earth with a bump (2) HORMONES AT WORK (I)

HOME OR HOSPITAL BIRTH?
It is fair to say that I blubbed a lot in those first few weeks. Well initially I grieved; upset for the fact that my life was over. That we two were going to become three. How selfish is that? But Simon and I had such fun. It was SOOO great just the two of us.

One of our chats, I’m now ashamed to admit, was where I beside myself, sobbed that actually I wasn’t sure I even wanted this baby. Hormones are a terrible thing. My husband is a wonderful man. He helped me see that actually, I also hadn’t been sure if I’d even wanted to get married – and it had ended up being the very best thing I’d ever done.

That and the realisation that thousands of women spent thousands of pounds on trying for a baby and still didn’t get the end result, made me pull myself together and start to see it from another angle.

Simon had a theory. His thoughts were that had we actually been trying for a baby, it would not have happened overnight. As usual he’s probably right.
But as it was happening and with renewed acceptance of the whole scenario, I suddenly found myself buying books galore. What to expect when you’re expecting, what to eat when you’re pregnant, Dr this and Nurse that. You name it. One had included a survey which asked you and your partner a series of questions. I was filling in my answers and calling through to Simon in the lounge.

‘Hospital or home birth?’ I wrote my answer in the allocated space: ‘Don’t know.’ Quick as a flash he shouted back, ‘home birth’.

Clearly he’d given it some thought as when I quizzed him on it, he said:
1)   You’re less likely to pick up an infection – both you and the baby.
2)   You’d have 100% midwife care
3)   You’ll be so much calmer.
Yes. It all made sense. After all, years ago there was no alternative and all babes were born at home.

My first visit to the midwife I was eight weeks pregnant. Although in fact I was only really six. It’s strange how they do that as it throws you completely at the start. According to ‘them’ at the time of conception (surely zero point something) you are already two weeks. Anyway, go with it. So there I am at the surgery asking the midwife about homebirths. She clearly loves me for this and is a massive advocate, because it is immediately written on my notes that I’m having a homebirth before I’ve even discussed complications with her.

And then the pregnancy continued and the baby developed and I began to grow. At rather a rate. I recall it was actually around the five-six month mark that I changed my mind; realising this whole birth thing was fundamentally flawed. I mean, how in God’s name is something so big supposed to fit through something so small? An obstetrician I’d once met on holiday had said to me: ‘Travelling from being in utero to the outside world is the most dangerous journey we ever make.’ And that was the clincher.

So there you have it. I was going the hospital route and pain relief was to be my birthing partner. The midwife changed my notes.