Primigravida, no longer

THIS morning I woke up with two smelly cabbage leaves stuck to my chest, cockatoo-ruffled hair and bags under my eyes I could dip a paintbrush into to mix a dark purple grape colour — how did my life come to this?

Three weeks ago today, I gave birth to my first baby — a beautiful baby girl we called Lilia Rose or just Lila for short.  

Despite my six-page birth plan for a natural birth, drawing on preparation gained in calm birth classes and from extensive reading, little Lila had other ideas. A breech baby from about 35 weeks gestation, she was adamant on using her tiny feet as ear muffs in preparation for the imminent winter chill, my cheeky little monkey. Perhaps it was because I spoke and sang to her so often that she moved closer to my heart and higher-up so she could hear me better?

Although the doctors didn’t share my enthusiasm and explained that Lila’s position combined with my astronomical blood pressure and the protein detected in my urine could make natural birth a risky business for us both.  

‘With two things working against you: pre-eclampsia and the foetus presenting in a breech position,’ a hospital obstetrician advised, ‘a caesarean section is recommended.’

I felt blank, not able to speak momentarily. It was as though he had pulled the lungs from my throat or wherever they were to be found at that point in my pregnancy.

‘We could try to turn her,’ he offered. ‘But that can cause foetal distress and cause you to go into labour prematurely, which would mean an emergency caesarean. Perhaps it’s something you want to go away and think about.’

Good advice … but was this it? I mean, this was not in my birth plan. Breathe in slowly and out through the nose, slowly again.    

A few long days passed. After hours at the pregnancy assessment unit where both Lila and I were hooked up to a device that monitored her rapidly beating heart and movements and other routine tests, we were finally sent home.

An hour later, I received a call from one of the obstetricians from the hospital.

‘I’m sorry, but you need to come back to the hospital right now,’ he advised. ‘We’ve detected an abnormally high amount of protein in your urine and fear your pre-eclampsia may get worse. You need to pack some clothes and come down right away.’

‘But we only just left … how long will I need to stay in hospital?’ I asked, meekly.

‘It’s difficult to say,’ he paused. ‘It could be a few nights or longer.’

‘Doctor, please … how long?’

‘I’m very sorry but it could be until after delivery.’

As I hung up the phone, tears streaming down my cheeks, I resigned to the fact that the most comprehensive plans can be written but are never set in stone.

Two weeks and three days later at 11.18am on a Thursday, baby Lilia Rose came into the world smiling and eyes closed. She weighed 2890 grams and was 49 centimetres long.  

Plans undone aside, becoming a mother for the first time marked the happiest day I have ever experienced.

And with this first post, so too begins my writing life with Lilia Rose.

.        .        .