Expecting the Unexpected

Well, I am shook that a global pandemic was not the craziest thing to happen to us in 2020.  

We’re pregnant. Naturally pregnant.  

Our family Christmas photoshoot, complete with a 6-week pic of our little surprise!

My current range of emotions go like this... Excited. Nervous. Shocked. Anxious. Terrified. Elated. Blessed. Grateful. Shocked. Worried. Bewildered. Unbelievable. Shocked. Crazy. Did I say shocked? 

It’s currently that weird Christmas/New Year limbo time, where you’re not quite sure what day it is, and a pork pie and a handful of Celebrations qualifies as a balanced meal. We announced on Christmas Day our crazy news, because let’s face it – in the world of surprise pregnancy announcements, Christmas Day tops the lot of them. And I can’t believe that we are actually in a position to be able to have done that!? I know some of you may be thinking why haven’t we waited until the safety of the 12-week scan, but in this day and age surely we are all starting to realise that there IS no safe zone, until that baby is safely in your arms? And also, being pregnant whilst running around after an almost-one-year-old is really not easy – hell, being pregnant alone is not easy! - but the exhaustion is killing me and I could do with knowing that people are around me to help and it’s not just me being lazy, I just really need a nap. 

Doctors told us back in early 2017 that we had a 2-3% chance of conceiving naturally, due to the morphology of J’s sperm (in a nutshell – pardon the pun – he has loooaaaads of swimmers, they just don’t quite look right). From 2015 to 2019 we were using absolutely no contraception, and yet nothing happened. So, after Morgan was born in January 2020 via ICSI/IVF, we were certain there was no need for us to continue using anything. And people thought we were crazy for that? 

Let’s take it back a minute. You know our story; you know our struggle. If – by sheer luck – we did fall pregnant naturally, it would be a bloody miracle. Why would we give that up that chance?!  

I’m not really sure why I’m writing this particular post (although I'm sure some of you are curious to know what on earth is going on!) but something that keeps touching a nerve is the lack of empathy that comes straight after we’ve told people our news. We’ve had a lot of “we knew this was going to happen!” and a whole lot more of “well your body has been pregnant before, so OF COURSE you were going to get pregnant again!” And let’s not forget the age-old “that happened to someone I know!”  

Let’s be clear:  

• No one knew this was going to happen.  
• My body HAS been pregnant before Morgan, and yet it still took a further 12 months and two more rounds of IVF for me to fall pregnant with him.  
• My body did not just “know” how to get pregnant again after our miscarriage.  
• J’s sperm did not just suddenly get their act in gear and think “quick! She’s fertile! Assemble the troops!”  
• I was definitely not “more relaxed” this time around, because guess what? I conceived the week I returned back to work after maternity leave (stress level: through the roof), and I had two really important cakes to bake which added to my stress even more, so.  
• Of all the mamas and mamas-in-waiting that I follow on social media, I do not know of any other woman who has conceived naturally after a successful treatment of IVF, save for Izzy Judd and Chrissy Teigen. These people that you “know” are very far and few between, and I’m sure your relation to them is very distant, too.  

Ultimately, this is a miracle pregnancy. Just as Morgan was, this baby will be our miracle for a completely different reason. He or she has so much love already, and although the timing may have come at a shock for us, it just means that we get our Happily Ever After just that little bit sooner! 

This pregnancy hasn’t been without its scares already though. As with Morgan, I’ve had bleeding/spotting on and off since I found out I was pregnant. I’ve always spotted for 7-10 days before my period is due anyway, so when this started happening back in mid-November, I assumed my arch nemesis was on Her way.  

Except... this time it just kinda stopped. I had been tracking my periods ever since they returned in September, just to keep regular tabs on my body. So, looking at my app, I realised I should’ve been due on that previous weekend. Cue shock, anxiety, and the teensiest bit of excitement. I agreed with myself that if I hadn’t come on by the time I was 10 days late, then I’d test. We still have a ton of boxes at my parents’ house from when we moved in January (lockdown thus preventing us from actually renovating our new house, seeing as no contractors could be booked!), including a box lovingly labelled ‘Fertility Shit’. I knew there were some pregnancy tests in there, so when I went to pick up Morgan one evening after work, I snuck upstairs to my old room, grabbed the box, and stuffed two tests up my sleeve to take home with me! 

J still swears I didn’t tell him I was going to test, but I’m sure I did. But in my frazzled state, who knows actually?! The next morning, I woke a little before 6am and instantly the fear set in when I realised I needed to pee, and therefore, test. There was fear because so many times I’ve been here before, having to take a test, only for it to be negative and for disappointment to set in. I think subconsciously I was terrified it would be negative, and all these emotions about not being able to fall pregnant naturally would come flooding back to me.  

I peed in a cup, dipped the tests (both of them, one was a Clearblue Digital Weeks Indicator, the other was a First Response), and waited the two minutes. I was CONVINCED it would be negative, and when I turned over the First Response and saw the most solid two lines, my initial reaction just went “fuck”. When I turned over the digital, it read ‘2-3 weeks’ so I knew this was a strong indication that not only was I pregnant, I was REALLY pregnant. 

There was no denying it - it's happening!

Now, please don’t take my ‘fuck’ reaction as disappointment. It was genuine shock! I’m still shocked, even now at 9 weeks!! I actually cannot believe this is happening to us, after everything we’ve been through. And that was a line I’d regularly use - “after everything we’ve been through” - for me to use an excuse for every bad thing that had happened to us. Remember my “It’s not fair” storyline? This is us, now on the other side. I’ve most certainly lost followers because they’ve seen my announcement and thought the very same thing. “Why should she get pregnant naturally when she’s already got a baby?” and the reason I know this is because I was one of those people. I am STILL one of those people, when some just get handed golden ticket after golden ticket, without lifting a finger.  

Anyway, I digress. 

I crawled (literally on my hands and knees!) back into bed, and put the tests in front of a bleary-eyed J. He’s seriously not a morning person, and his reaction was brilliant! He just kept blinking at the tests, looking at me, and then asking if it was real! 

I had to take myself off to work that day, walking around in a daze of shock and confusion. I couldn’t tell a soul what was going on, I thought I’d jinx it if I said it out loud! It wasn’t until the evening that I Face Timed my best friend to drop the bombshell on her, that it finally started to sink in. She couldn’t stop crying (I’m sure they were happy tears!) and it was her who rightfully pointed out that this was all we ever wanted, and we were getting our forever family just a bit sooner than we’d expected!  

J and I agreed we’d keep the news to ourselves, and if we should make it to Christmas, we’d announce it to our families then. They would literally have no clue, and it would be the ultimate gift! But a week and a half later, I started spotting quite heavily. I panicked, thinking it was all over, and rang 111 for advice, since my GP surgery was closed. They managed to get me booked in for an early scan at the Early Pregnancy Unit at my local hospital for the very next day at 9am. This was great, except my work had no clue what was going on, and I had no notice to tell them I had a doctor’s appointment! I had to tell my manager and colleague that I was just feeling “off” and had booked an emergency appointment for the next morning, so I’d be a bit late in. I didn’t want to tell them that I was pregnant, in case there was nothing on the scan and therefore worry them for no reason (I know this is silly and of course they would just want to know anyway), but equally I didn’t want them to think I’d had Covid symptoms! 

Obviously, cue a global pandemic. 

J couldn’t go to the scan with me because of Covid restrictions, and so I experienced first-hand what I’d been reading about all summer: women going to ultrasounds alone, fearing the worst, without their partners hand to hold.   

The nurses themselves were lovely and reassuring, but the minute I was left alone to wait for the ultrasound tech I start sobbing uncontrollably. On the walls around me were leaflets for miscarriage charities and helplines, and it brought the experience of our 2018 loss back with a bang. I can’t imagine how a woman must feel having to go through something like this alone whilst this awful virus rages – the maternity system has been let down enormously, and it’s so sad.  

According to my dates, I should’ve been 7 weeks and 2 days at the scan. Lo and behold, there was a teeny-tiny baby who popped up on the ultrasound screen – and oh my god, the relief at seeing that little grey blur was enormous! I started panicking slightly when the tech said I was only measuring around 6 weeks though (around 1.9mm) but by sheer luck, they could detect a heartbeat, which was incredible for that gestation! She put my mind at ease though when she said that judging by the size of the sac and foetus, everything was exactly on track for that size.  

I rang my manager when I got back to my car, and she instantly knew what I was going to say! She was thrilled for us, and told me to take it easy. I then told my colleague, who was equally just as shocked as we were!  

I’ve since been on and off spotting pretty much since that day, and still testing, just to be on the safe side! Just like with Morgan’s pregnancy, there’s no cause for the bleeding, and baby is still healthy. We booked ourselves in for a private scan closer to Christmas, just to be sure we had news to tell our families on the Big Day. That in itself was a right faff, and we couldn’t get any appointments where we live in Plymouth, so had to travel up to Exeter for a 7:30pm appointment! We dropped Morgan off at my parents’, saying we were off on a pre-Christmas date night, and raced up the A38, stopping off at a McDonald’s service station for some dinner on the way! “Would you have preferred a steak?” I asked J as he munched on his Big Mac, ha! 

Our sonographer at BabyBond Direct was brilliant and kept us so calm at the scan. We’d previously had a fantastic experience at the Plymouth branch when we had our 16-week gender scan with Morgan, and this did not disappoint! We told her about our history, and she was equally as shocked when we told her our story. She was then very surprised to find out our son was only born this year, and asked what the hell we were playing at! J’s response... “well we had to do something to keep busy in lockdown!” 

Christmas Day was a blur of emotions. I’d bought some DIY Christmas crackers, and thought I’d put the scan in there for our parents to pull and find out! Obviously, we couldn’t see ALL of our families on the day together, but we saw J’s parents for breakfast, and mine for lunch. (If anyone wants to get funny about bubbles, sod off. My parents are our support bubble, and J’s are our childcare bubble!) J’s parents are notoriously hard to buy presents for, and so I told J to tell her we’d just got them a gift voucher, and me being creative wanted to present it in an unusual way I.e. inside the cracker! I filmed their reaction, and the looks on everyone’s faces is absolutely priceless! His mum instantly bursts into tears, my sister-in-law couldn’t open her mouth wider with shock, and J’s dad had to sit down! Needless to say, we finally got the reaction we had wanted for so long, and it was worth waiting for! 

Absolutely no joke happening in these crackers!

My parents’ reaction was slightly different, albeit equally emotional. Both of them cried for a short while, and then went back to their Christmas dinners like nothing had happened! Afterwards I talked with them about everything, and it turns out my mum is just cautious for us – happy of course, but knows how hard I fell when things to a turn for the worse previously, and is just worried for us once again.  

However, in a far cry from Morgan’s pregnancy, we could not be more textbook with where we’re at now. We’ve had our midwife booking appointment, and they really reassured me that they were going to keep an eye on my mental health so that I don’t fall into a trap of antenatal depression, again. I’ll be referred to their perinatal team, so that should I ever feel the need to contact them, I’ll already be on their radar and won’t have to wait for an assessment to be done. I thought this was really great and proactive of them, and given the current climate I’m sure it’s something that is being flagged up and down the country.  

So that’s where we’re at. We are pregnant. Naturally pregnant.  

Baby Bywater 2.0, due July 2021!

KEB x 

Welcome to the World, MB

I’ve put off writing this post for fear of getting it wrong. After all, my birth notes are quite literally 12 bullet-points of random notes, some of the medical jargon I had to Google because I don’t understand midwife-talk. You may also wonder why on earth I’d want to share all the gory details with you? Well simply put, this blog post isn’t for you. It's for me. For my own sanity and clarity, to try and understand what happened with our birth.  

People assume that because I gave birth quickly, that this is a good thing. In my experience, it’s not. There are a lot of unknowns, and hardly any preparation for the new parents to get to grips with what’s going on. Decisions are made quickly, and without much understanding or consent. Of course, at the time all you want is for your baby to be delivered healthy and happy, but that doesn’t mean that it was all plain-sailing for you. I’ve actually been referred by my Health Visitor to speak to my midwives for a ‘Birth Afterthoughts’ consultation to talk through what decisions were made and why. But of course, a global pandemic hit the fan, and my little referral has been put on their proverbial back-burner. I get that resources are stretched. I get that there’s worse things happening in the world. But this is where Covid – and the Government – has completely fucked maternity services for new parents, and our mental health has simply been left behind with no one to pick up the pieces. #butnotmaternity

 

Very simply, on Wednesday 22nd January 2020, I walked into hospital at 8:31am for a scheduled induction, and my baby was born at 16:22 the very same day. So, what the hell happened? 

 

That booty though. He gets it from his mama.

I’d been scheduled for my induction since October 2019. I always knew that at 8:30am on the 22nd, I’d be heading to the day assessment ward to kickstart my labour. IVF inductions are very common, as there is some research that suggests the rate of stillbirth is higher in IVF pregnancies due to complications with the placenta past 40 weeks' gestation. As previously stated, I am NOT a medical professional, and not all hospitals follow this guide. Not all mothers want to be induced either, and what I didn’t realise is that by Week 36, I was one of those mamas. As someone who likes – no, relishes on – being organised, this suited me just fine knowing I had a small window of time that my baby would arrive. But I realised that the last chapter of our pregnancy journey would be just as it started - planned right down to the time and date, with medical intervention. I realised I wanted a spontaneous delivery, and tried my hardest to get baby moving in the last couple of weeks before I-Day! Our consultant tried to keep things simple for my sake, and the induction would play out as follows:  

• Day 1 – pessary in for 24 hours, kept on labour ward for monitoring. Was told to bring books and tablet to keep occupied. Also told if it fell out of me to just “pop it back in, because they’re expensive” 
• Day 2 – no progress? No problem. Either another pessary would be used, or they would switch to the syntocinon (synthetic oxytocin) drip and see if that kicked my vag into gear. 
• Day 3 – after 72 hours, if there was still no progress, I'd be taken to theatre for an unplanned caesarean. 

The morning of my induction, I wanted to look as nice as possible, knowing that this was the last time it would be just J and I. I curled my hair, and had painted my nails the previous night. Our bags were packed well in advance (see previous post about hospital admissions due to bleeding late in the pregnancy) and we had snacks-aplenty to keep us topped up for the foreseeable. Everyone – and I mean EVERYONE – I had ever spoke to who had been induced had been admitted for at least 24 hours, and it was usually a long old slog until baby made an appearance. We were ready! 

A taxi took us to the hospital, and of course with it being rush hour, a usual 15-minute trip quickly turned into a 40-minute car ride, with the taxi driver berating us for not booking it even earlier for our 8:30am appointment! I felt like I could cry, knowing we were going to be late for the most important day of our lives. I let J take the brunt of the taxi driver’s moaning, and popped my headphones in to listen to my birth playlist. As you know, we arrived at 8:31am, so fuck you, Mr Taxi Driver. 

8:31am We met one a very loud, very Scottish nurse, who took us away into a side room to be told about the plan of action. All the usual risks and side effects were laid out to us, including the possibility of hyper-stimulation, which is where your body essentially overreacts to the artificial drugs inducing your contractions – potentially causing you and your baby extreme distress during labour. After all the usual monitoring and observations taken, it was time to pop the pessary in which would dilate my cervix and hopefully kick-start my contractions. I realised just at the last moment as we were headed to our consultant’s room that the theme tune from my favourite film Pearl Harbor was playing. It's not a very well-known song (Faith Hill – There You’ll Be) so I was astounded that it just so happened to be on the radio as we walked through the wards! It was a sign!

 

9:54am Well, after popping nearly 180 pessaries in my IVF lifetime, this one hurt like a bitch! Being used to a waxy little bullet-shaped thing, the Propess pessary looks like a SIM card with a tampon string attached to it, so they can easily remove it if necessary. It was extremely uncomfortable going in (I swear it scratched the sides going up) and instantly I felt discomfort on par with period cramps. I just put it down to someone having a root around in there to make sure it was in place correctly, and off I went to the antenatal ward to wait for something to happen. I had also just been told that I was actually already 2-3cm dilated, which should have prepared me for knowing that things would be happening soon.  

 

My mother-in-law met J and I on the antenatal ward to keep us company as we assumed we were in there for the long-haul. As I reached our cubicle (oh, hello J2. We meet again!) I couldn’t even sit down on the bed, and requested a gym ball to relieve some of the pain I was feeling. “Are you in labour?!” asked my MIL. “Absolutely not, I’m fine. It just hurts. A lot.” I replied. “Does it feel like period pain in your lower back?” She responded, and when I agreed, she immediately knew I was in the early stages of labour. J pressed the call button soon after this, I couldn’t take the pain and knew something wasn’t quite right! 

 

My mum, aunties and gran had decided that on today (of all days!) they would visit my grandad’s memorial at the cemetery for the first time since he passed away in June. I knew something wasn’t quite right, so text her as soon as I was able, asking her to come to maternity when she was finished there. I later found out that she was so frantic that she missed the cemetery altogether, and came straight to be with me – good job too, I needed my Mumma for this next part! 

This is how the conversation went with my mum, telling her that I was in labour!

11:45am A midwife arrived soon after (I say soon, it’s now been 2 hours of me being in pain! But this is what the notes say!), and after putting me back on a CTG monitor to keep an eye on both the baby and I, she realised I was starting to contract very quickly, and hard! She and another midwife agreed that the pessary should be removed to calm the contractions down – I had started hyper-stimulating, one of the risks that comes with induction. As they removed the pessary, they noted I had dilated to 4cm. It was agreed that it was time for my waters to be broken artificially (ARM – Artificial Rupture of Membranes), and the midwife announced “you’re having this baby, TODAY!” 

Jim’s mum tearfully hugged us goodbye as I was wheeled down to my delivery suite, and she went upstairs to meet my mum. Our midwife, M, was so lovely, and made us feel calm and at ease as we settled into our room. “So this is where I’m going to give birth, right?!” I asked, looking around. I was gutted to realise that I couldn’t hang my fairy lights anywhere, and thought that my NCT classes had misled me to believe that I could make it as personal as possible in the room. M found a colour-changing mood lightbox for me when she realised I was upset, and J played my birth playlist out from my phone. Unfortunately, at this time, J also had to shoot off and grab some lunch as it was time for him to take his insulin (he has Type 1 Diabetes, if you’re just joining me!), but luckily my mum arrived for her to take over from J!  

Not long after J left, M proceeded to break my waters. If you don’t know what they use, it looks like a crochet needle, and they pop it up towards the membrane holding your waters in place and ‘gently’ nick it to start off the process. I barely felt anything wet, just extreme discomfort. M decided she’d have to get another midwife to help her, and the next thing I knew was this confident woman who strode into my room, politely informed me to sort some Gas and Air out for this next part, and she quite literally let rip on me. And boy did I SOB! The “gush” came next, and it just kept coming, and coming, and coming. Thankfully, my waters were clear (there was nothing clear about them, all I saw was a bloody, red mess on the floor!) and they proceeded to let me continue on contracting with Gas and Air. 

The next couple of hours are a blur. I remember only a few things:  

• J finally returned after what seemed like an age! Through sobs and contractions, I asked him if he’d had a Meatball Subway. “Yes! How did you know?!” he asked, “because I can FUCKING SMELL IT!” was my response. Yikes. 
• I really needed to go to the toilet. Like, go go. Because everything had happened so fast, I was still in my cute jumper dress, leggings, and black lace underwear (who the fuck wears a thong to their induction?) so where drips and monitors had been attached to my arms over the last hour, I hadn’t even been able to take my day clothes off and get dressed into something more comfortable (like the pyjamas I bought especially “for visitors” in hospital). The wires, my fluid drip, my bra, and my top were all hanging off my right arm. When I realised I’d need assistance to go to the loo, I had to take J with me. I held my right arm up and over my head, through the door (it was to the left side of the toilet!), and the door had to be kept open slightly while J held onto the wires. You realise what true love is when you’re going for a #2, contracting heavily, apologising, and crying on the loo – all while your husband is saying “it’s okay, it’s okay!” to you. Poor guy. 
• At some point I had the pethidine injection to help ease the pain. There’s no mention of this in my notes, but I definitely remember having an injection in my lower back. (I think - who the fuck knows?!)

 

14:00 Okay, I’m really in pain. My waters just keep coming, and I literally just think I’m constantly peeing myself. The contractions are hard to monitor, as baby kept moving too much every time they peaked. This next part I think is completely absurd. Even though I’m labouring on my own, the midwives agreed I should be put on the Syntocinon drip – even though the first try at induction with the pessary resulted in me hyper-stimulating?! I recall them saying that they were happy it was starting at 2pm on the dot, because it needs to be increased/adjusted every so long (half hour? An hour? I don’t know!). Lo and behold, I immediately started hyper-stimulating again. The drip was stopped. 

 

??:?? Who even fucking knows what the time is at this point? All I recall is a lot of activity, from a lot of different people. 

• M kept trying to get me to turn over to ease the pain of my contractions. They literally felt like it took me about half an hour just to do turn onto one side, and then the other. 
• J showed me my photo album I'd made full of memories from our IVF journey and quotes and song lyrics to keep me occupied. I’d nod every time I wanted the page turned, and tried to soak up these last few moments before my world completely turned upside down. 
• The baby kept moving so much that the CTG bands were abandoned, and a clip was put on his head to keep a closer eye on his heartrate through each contraction – which was increasingly distressing for him. 

• Gas and Air was not the trip for me that most people enjoy, I felt extremely sick and loopy for most of the contractions – exactly NOT how I wanted to feel according to my birth plan 
• At one point, I vividly recall M taking my ‘Mama’ necklace off me, while she instructed J to take my earrings out. I opened my eyes to see someone at the side of my bed holding a hospital gown up at me. “Am I going to have a caesarean?” I asked. “Yes darling, we’re getting you ready now,” She replied. “Okay then,” I said. And I carried on sucking the Gas and Air like it was the most normal thing to be prepped for major surgery. 

My Birth Photo Album - my therapist suggested making this to help control my birth as much as possible!

Before they could get the gown on me, I screamed “I NEED TO PUSH!” and was told it wasn’t time yet, just to hold on. They say that when you know the baby’s coming, you know. I battled with them some more, bearing down hard as yet MORE waters just kept coming! And instantly it was like a switch flipped and they went “Okay! Get her on her back!” Half the bed fell away, my legs went up in the air – J holding one of them, M holding the other, me holding onto my bum cheeks for dear, dear life. I pushed once, and screamed the room down. “There’ll be no screaming on my ward!” cried the head midwife who had come to assist with the delivery. I remember thinking I was so upset, so belittled. I was in absolute agony, terrified that I was so in and out of consciousness that I had no idea what was going on. Despite really, really not wanting an instrumental delivery (after our experience with IVF I was terrified of having yet more medical tools near my vagina!) I’m not sure why, but they had to use a Kiwi Cup (ventouse) to help with the delivery. Another doctor was in the room – I’m sure she was called Steph – and she recognised that I needed someone on my side. She told me to look at her, use her as a point of focus. She told me to put my chin on my chest, and push like I’d never pushed before.  

16:22 Three or four more pushes, and all 7lbs 0.5 oz of Morgan Anthony Arthur Bywater made his grand entrance into the world.  

 

I didn’t cry or sob, like I always imagined I would. I just brought him up onto my chest and kept saying “Hello Morgan!” over and over again. J was in floods of tears, as he had been for the past hour or so. He instantly peed over me (Morgan, not J) which made the entire room laugh. 

 

The next hour was a whirlwind. Something slipped out of me not long after the pee incident, to which I asked “was that the placenta?” and the midwives agreed happily that it had been delivered without the need for more pain relief or pushing. I had second-degree tears in three places (one of which, thankfully, tore in the same fashion that an episiotomy would have been cut!), which were stitched up while J had his first cuddles with his son. I continued on the Gas and Air while they did this, as that stung like a bitch! I asked M what pain relief I’d had in the end, and she said it was just the G&A – the pethidine injection must've wore off at this point, which I believe happens after a couple of hours. And, I didn’t poop myself either! Win! 

 

J went to fetch both sets of parents soon after this, and I couldn’t quite bring myself to tell them his name. As you may know, Morgan was Jim’s step-grandad's surname, who passed away the previous year. Anthony is my dad’s name, and Arthur was my mum’s dad who had died in June (the one she was supposed to visit that day!). I choked on the words as I went to tell them, so J ended up announcing our baby’s name, to which everyone was very emotional about! My dad made me laugh, he didn’t even consider that we would name our baby after him! 

 

I had arrived at the hospital less than 8 hours earlier, with no inclination that I was about to have one of the speediest inductions they’d ever seen! 

 

KEB x