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I was lucky enough to meet the lovely Krysta at our antenatal class. She has kindly written about her journey through labour and beyond for my blog. I've loved reading Krysta's birth story and found it so important to think of the things that can happen AFTER labour, not only to the woman but to the baby too. Thanks for sharing Krysta, and I hope you all enjoy the read! Krysta's storyWhen my waters broke at 1.30am on the 14th of February, first I almost couldn’t believe that we might have a Valentine’s Day baby and secondly I almost wasn’t sure it had happened. I had expected more of a gush of water but instead I had wet knickers. Slightly underwhelming but I was super excited that we’d be meeting our baby soon. The day progressed quite normally. My husband, Stephen, worked from home and I pottered about the house - my contractions were mild twinges most of the day. At around 5pm my contractions intensified. I used a Tens machine which was a good distraction although I can’t say for certain that it really helped with the pain! I think baby may have been putting pressure on my bowel at around this time, as I needed the toilet very frequently. Having an empty bowel turned out to be a positive thing during labour although I now know that this would have been very far from my mind during at the time! At around 9pm I had a shower and tried to rest but the contractions were getting too strong so we drove to the hospital at around 10.30pm. On examination I was about 4cm dilated. The contractions were coming quickly and the pain was pretty intense. I never knew I was even capable of making the noises I made during my contractions. I think the only way to describe them is primal! I was struggling with the pain and decided I wanted an epidural but on a further examination I was told there wasn’t enough time for one. I was moved into a labour room and by around 1am on 15 February I was ready to push. The contraction pain dissipated when I was ready to push which surprised me. The pushing didn’t hurt anywhere near as much as the contractions but took a huge amount of energy. Our little boy, Zachary, was born at 01.29am and weighed 7lb 1oz. We were ecstatic. We were moved around a couple of times in the hospital but all was well and we were both so in love with our little man. But around 6pm the drama started... Zachary vomited a green bile looking liquid which terrified us. He was rushed up to the neonatal ICU. We were told he might have an infection or a twisted bowel which could mean surgery but for that assessment he had to go to another hospital. So during the night Zachary and Stephen went by ambulance to St George’s (I was devastated that I couldn’t go because of technicalities with being admitted) where Zachary had a dye test. It was a horrendous few hours but Zachary got the all clear, and returned to King’s for further monitoring the following afternoon. No one was able to explain why Zachary vomited green, apparently it was just something that happens occasionally. We were just super relieved that our boy was ok. Three very sleep deprived days later we were discharged and took our bundle of joy home. 
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So far with my blog we've discussed reflux and different birth stories. I also want to use my blog to discuss interesting topics in medicine. As a GP almost half of my consultations are made up of people with mental health issues. In the UK, 1 in 4 people will experience a mental health problem each year. Being aware of mental health issues, ensuring we know where to get support and as family and friends we know to offer support is so important. There is no shame in having issues with your mental health. The stigma must stop. I wrote this blog shortly after the incident happened. I wrote it down to help me process what had happened. I didn’t know whether I should post it or not, but it is mental health awareness week and if my story can help raise awareness for others then now is as good a time as any. At the bottom of the blog you will find some useful resources. **Disclaimer - This blog may be upsetting to read, please use your discretion before continuing. ** A Wednesday like no otherThe Wednesday in question, did not go as planned. The beginning of the day had been predictable. Baby BB had had breakfast with me, then he’d played and had a nap. We then went to meet a friend with her family as they were over from Australia and had a delicious (if messy and noisy) lunch catching up. Baby had fallen asleep on the journey home so when I pulled up outside the house, I sat in the car for another 20 minutes, doing the obligatory scrolling of instagram stories and facebook posts. Scroll, scroll, scroll, swipe. Once the clock struck four I decided that If Baby slept any longer his bedtime was in serious peril, so I woke him up and we went inside for a cuddle, some milk and to throw toys around the lounge. Then it happened. We had gone upstairs to change Baby’s nappy when I heard it. ‘Hello?’, ‘Hello?’. It was coming from outside. I went to the window to have a look and I saw an elderly gentleman waving and shouting ‘hello’. He was behaving in a peculiar fashion and was walking straight towards the car outside the house. I felt perturbed. I was alone with Baby, what did this man want? ‘Excuse me, can I help you?’ I asked from the front door with Baby on my hip. ‘I need you to come quick and call 999, someone is trying to commit suicide’. Oh. Shit. I shoved on my trainers and walked as quickly as one can with a chunky 1 year old on their hip, ensuring I’d taken the front door keys. The gentleman was still acting bizarrely, but I thought that this sounded very serious and I was walking much quicker than him, so if things were not above board I should be able to get my baby and I to safety. He told me that I had to go into his house - the front door was open. I stopped. Why was I going into this strange man’s house, alone, with my small vulnerable baby? Then I saw him. He was lying on the floor in the hallway by the front door. Still. Lifeless. Shit. His fingers were the first thing I took in properly, they were blue. I ran in, sat Baby behind me in the dining room and gave him the house keys to play with. ‘Oh god’. I definitely remember saying ‘Oh god’. I had seen dead bodies before in hospital, but why was this one different? He was a large man and I struggled to pull him onto his back. I took the noose off from around his neck. I looked up - it had been attached to the banister. I dialled 999 and immediately started chest compressions. The longest 4 minutes of my life. After about 3 minutes I heard a car pull up, no sirens. ‘HELP!’. A woman poked her head around the door and immediately stepped back. A man came to the door, ’can you help me?’ I begged. He shook himself and came straight in, a slight whiff of alcohol followed him. ‘Are you first aid trained?’. ‘Yes’ he replied. I don’t know why I didn’t let him take over. ‘Please can you watch my son he’s behind me’. Sirens. The sweet sound of sirens echoed down the road. A warm sensation filled my chest. Although I knew my attempts of resuscitation were in vain, I had to try. Baby started to cry. The man I had asked to watch him had started to play with him and of course THIS is what made him cry, not watching mummy do CPR on a blue corpse. The paramedics came straight in and put on the heart monitor. Asystole - no electrical activity in the heart. They called the time of death there and then. I went outside with Baby, he was looking for planes in the sky. People had started to gather outside. Where had they been when the man was shouting for help?! The gentleman who had asked me to help was the dead mans husband. He had dementia, this was why he was acting strangely. He didn’t realise what had happened. Now I was outside I became aware that he had watched the whole thing unfold. Every second. The rest of the evening blurred into one. Daddy arrived home and took over looking after Baby whilst I spoke with the police and cried on another neighbours shoulder. I didn’t want my son to see. I didn’t want him to realise that what had happened today was traumatic. Shocking. Enough to scar some people for life. I thought about the events of that afternoon on repeat. Should I have gone out sooner? He must have hung himself as I sat in the car waiting for Baby to wake up. Could I have somehow stopped him doing it? What was going to happen to his husband with dementia? Would Baby remember any of the events? Did I do the right thing? I won’t have answers to all of my questions, I have feelings of sadness, anger, anxiety and concern about the whole thing but slowly I am dealing with my feelings by talking and writing down how I feel. I’ve realised that this situation could happen to anyone. The fact Baby and I just happened to be there at that exact time, is something that couldn’t be predicted. This very complicated situation is one that will stay with me for life, but hopefully one that I can learn from. Resources and more informationPlease, please talk to one another. It’s ok to cry, feel sad, anxious or have strange thoughts. Knowing to get help is really important - go and see your GP if you feel that you or a close friend/family member is not coping. For those who are in crisis, please call 999 or go to your local A+E.
Self-refer to get help - here is the link for SE London - https://slam-iapt.nhs.uk/self-referral/ https://www.mentalhealth.org.uk/campaigns/mental-health-awareness-week https://www.nhs.uk/using-the-nhs/nhs-services/mental-health-services/how-to-access-mental-health-services/ https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/ Our next birth story is brought to you by my wonderful friend Jessica. We also met in our antenatal class and I have loved reading her birth story and hope you do too! Jessica's storyTheo was born on Valentine’s Day 2018. My husband Bart and I exchanged cards and presents over breakfast when my waters broke (all the oxytocin maybe?!). After googling “How to tell if your waters have broken” as I wasn’t entirely convinced I hadn’t just wet myself…we called the labour ward. They told us to go to the Maternal Assessment Unit. At this point Bart asked if we could wait a bit as he was waiting for some trainers to be delivered, I wasn’t having contractions at this point so I agreed, but after an hour I told him his trainers would just have to wait! When we got there they confirmed my waters had broken but told me I “definitely wouldn’t be having a baby that day” as my contractions hadn’t started. This made me nervous as I knew I was on a 24 hour countdown to induction after my waters had broken. We went home, had some lunch and I started to have a few very light period type cramps so we decided to go for a walk to try and ramp things up. This had the opposite effect to what we’d hoped and made my contractions completely stop. At about 4pm I thought it would be a good idea to have a nap in case things picked up later but as soon as my head hit the pillow I had a HUGE very painful contraction, quickly followed by another! From that point on, I decided to stand up/kneel over the bed for all my contractions and this definitely helped lessen the pain. I found focusing on the break between contractions helpful. It completely makes sense why they are sometimes referred to as “waves” – the pain peaks up to point but then there is a lull between each one to get your breath back when you don’t feel anything. An hour and a half later we realised I had been having 3 every 10 minutes for the last hour so Bart suggested we call the labour ward. I thought it was far too early to be going in but after speaking to them they thought I should be checked out. I was sure I would be sent home (not ideal as we are a 20 minute drive away) but I was also quite curious to know how dilated I was so Bart called a taxi. When the car pulled up and half our bags were already in the boot, apparently I calmly announced that I didn’t actually want to go to the hospital and wanted to give birth at home (I barely remember this); luckily Bart managed to persuade me that “we could talk about it in the taxi” (very crafty…). We had an amazing taxi driver who wasn’t fussed by my screaming and kicking in the back seat. I felt a strong urge to push in the car but I thought I must just be imagining things, and continued to breathe through the contractions. We eventually arrived at the hospital. A little back-story here: I am quite claustrophobic and don’t like lifts. The Labour Ward at King’s College Hospital is on the 4th floor. When we arrived I refused to take the lift and decided to take the stairs. To his credit, Bart took it entirely in his stride (potentially too terrified of arguing with a woman in labour) and picked up our bags while I grabbed the handrail and started making my way up, pausing every minute to let out a blood curdling scream/roar. FYI it wasn’t as painful as it sounds – I think my body just needed to make noise to cope with each contraction. This obviously attracted attention and after refusing 2 offers of people meeting us with a wheelchair, a midwife was called and rushed down to meet me on the 3rd floor where she proceeded to pull my leggings and underwear down fully in the stairwell before re-emerging saying “I thought I was going to see a head down there!”. I had been adamant I wanted to give birth in the Midwife Led Unit but the midwife told me she couldn’t admit me before checking how dilated I was so I was taken straight into a tiny side room where she examined me and told me I was 10cm and should start pushing as there was no time to move me. I could not have been more surprised! Interestingly I wasn’t really feeling any pain from the “pushing” contractions (which are different to the “dilating” contractions), just a constant amount of intensity but nothing I would describe as pain. This, combined with how exhausted I was from the epic stair climb, meant I couldn’t actually tell when I was having a contraction which made it very hard to know when to push. The midwives kept telling me I should be pushing but I couldn’t feel a thing. The next few hours were a blur of pushing. They could see his head for most of this time but I just couldn’t summon the energy to actually push him out. Luckily his heartbeat stayed steady the whole time (they were checking it every 3 minutes) otherwise I think I might have had to resort to more interventions to get him out quicker. A doctor was called 3 times to do an episiotomy but would take a look and say “2 more pushes and he’ll be out, there’s no need for me” until the 3rd time when they realised this wasn’t going to happen without a little help. I had a small episiotomy which was painless and then he was out in a couple of pushes! An enormous slippery baby was placed on my chest (he weighed 9 ½ pounds, probably why I had trouble pushing him out). He looked exactly how I had imagined, it was just utterly surreal!  We spent the night on an empty recovery ward which was brilliant and transferred down to the postnatal ward at 7am before heading home about 5pm, less than 24 hours after we had arrived! The whole experience was pretty amazing but I hadn’t really factored how much I would need to recover from the birth physically, despite it being a pretty “good” birth. I was limping and in pain sitting down for the next week and felt pretty bruised and battered. Overall though, I feel incredibly lucky to have had such a fast birth for a first timer and am strongly considering a home birth for any future babies!
Gemma is an aspirational woman and friend that I was lucky enough to meet at our antenatal class. She has kindly written a piece for my blog about her birth story which I hope you will enjoy reading as much as I did! Gemma's storyWhen I look back now, I think I pretty much had my birth plan sorted when I saw two little heart beats on the ultra sound monitor. I’d like to think that I was going to have a ‘natural’ birth, and I said to myself and anyone who asked that ‘I would decide when I had the final scan at 36 weeks’. However, the fact that over 50% of twin mothers who try for a vaginal birth end up having a C-section, along with not meeting any twin mum who’d actually had a vaginal birth, left me pretty much set on an elective C-section. We’d already had a rough ride on getting to this point: ten rounds of Clomid (one of which resulted in a pregnancy and then a miscarriage that knocked me for six at 10 weeks), one unsuccessful round of NHS-funded IVF, the very sudden death of my father from five previously undetected brain tumours and then one round of very intensive but ultimately very successful privately-funded IVF. Looking back, I can see how I wanted an element of control and certainty after four years of very testing times. Anyway, back to that first scan. We’d elected to have two embryos put back so we shouldn’t have been surprised to see those two beating hearts, but for so long, the only question had been, ‘Would I be pregnant or not?’, not ‘…and with how many children?’ So, after thinking it about it extensively, (Would I miss the bonding experience with other women by not having a ‘natural’ birth? Would I feel like I ‘wussed’ out? Would I regret it if we ended up not having any other children?) we both made the decision that on balance, an elective C-section would be best. It was booked in for the 23rd January 2018. But as with most birth plans, nothing is guaranteed – not even a pre-booked C-section. On the 23rd January I sat in the ward from 6am until 6pm very hungry and extremely thirsty (it’s nil by mouth for 12 hours pre C-section) and was eventually sent home at 6.30pm after having been pushed (quite rightly) down the queue due to emergency C-sections. I went home in tears carrying a bag with two sets of carefully folded baby clothes inside whilst my husband celebrated another night of freedom by ordering a curry for us. The next day we were back in at 6am and we were told we’d be first in – Yey! but also arghhhh! I was scared – would it hurt? (No), would I feel anything? (Yes, I could feel them shaking my whole lower body – if you want to see exactly what happens, watch a C-section video on youtube). It’s such a strange concept to be wheeled into theatre and to know you’re going to be holding two babies within the next 40 minutes. It’s like taking a ticket at a cheese counter but instead of a nice bit of gruyere, you get two, red and wriggling babies. Our twins were born at 9.13am and 9.14am – a boy and a girl. We suddenly had gone from two adults to a family of four in under an hour. 
 I thought it would be a nice idea to collect a few birth stories to share with you all. The main point of this series is to demonstrate from first hand experience some of the things that can happen during labour, and potentially anything we’d have done differently if we could have! When squid came into the world - my storyImagine going to the office, taking all your clothes off and showing your colleagues, friends and boss your fanny and boobs - welcome to my birth story! Ok there is slightly more to it then this, but having worked on the maternity unit just 2 months before my delivery, I very much knew all the staff involved in my care. Of course it was bizarre having many different midwives I’d been friendly with sticking their fingers up my foof and my registrar snip open my perineum as easily as you would cut the Christmas wrapping paper; but it was all necessary! I had tried not to have much of a birth plan as I knew that they often went out the window leaving the labouring woman in much distress. I thought I’d be as cool as a cucumber and just roll with it. That was until I was almost 2 weeks over due, most of my NCT class had already had their babies and eventually I gave in and agreed to be induced. Oh joy. I had one big no-no on my ‘oh so relaxed’ birth plan which was ‘please God no forceps’…
Bliss, sweet bliss. The epidural went in very easily. I tried to have a nap but the doctors kept coming in to look at the CTG (baby’s heart tracing) as they were concerned there was a problem. A few murmurs of ‘may need a C-section’ later, they attached the fetal scalp electrode to better monitor baby - all was fine, the CTG had been loosing the trace. Nine hours later I was fully dilated. Time to push. A quick 10 minute rest to gather some strength (we’d all been up for 24 hours at this point). Then the most random thing happened - a small choir gathered in the corridor and started singing the Beatles ‘here comes the sun’. So strange but quite lovely, we should have known we were having a boy ‘here comes your son’ we thought! This was quite a touching moment for Daddy and me right before our world was going to change forever. Then they started singing Shakira’s ‘Hips don’t lie’ and ruined it. Oh well. PUSH. PUSH. pant, pant, pant, PUSH! Utterly exhausting. My epidural was quite light as I wanted to feel as much as possible so I had some control. Two and a half hours of this. No baby. That’s when my Registrar came back. Uh oh. Don’t say it, I thought. ‘Forceps’ she said, ah crap. Snip, salad tongues inserted and PULL/PUSH!!! Luckily Baby’s head stayed firmly attached to his body and out came a gorgeous slimy alien! Welcome to the world baby squid!   If I’d had my time again, would I have done anything differently?Although I didn’t have much of a birth plan, I was terrified of forceps and an episiotomy. Having had both I can say I had nothing to fear (at the time) from these. Largely thanks to my epidural. I think sometimes pregnant women can feel ashamed for needing an epidural. Why? Does it mean you’re less of a woman for wanting one? No. Does it mean you’ve failed the fun game that is giving birth? Nope again. There is plenty in life to feel guilty about already, don’t add your birth plan to it! Your hormones are running wild during and after pregnancy which doesn’t help.
The only thing I’d maybe have tried my best to avoid is instrumentation (forceps / ventouse). I don’t think anything could have actually be done differently in the end, and it didn’t hurt me at the time, it’s just the after birth issues - see blog coming soon on prolapse! I don’t regret anything and our squid came into the world healthy and as happy as one can be considering he was extracted with salad tongues. Hurray my first blog post! Brought to you courtesy of my wonderful friend and colleague, Dr Verity. She has written about her journey with her son's reflux. It has been eye opening for me as a doctor and will prove informative for anyone who is struggling with feeding, I hope you enjoy reading it and find it as useful as I did. Although this blog gives you evidenced based and tried and tested advice, if you are ever concerned about your child, please seek advice from a trained medical professional. Crying over spilt milkWhen my baby was 3 weeks old I went for coffee with a friend who was a fellow doctor. Struggling to breast feed for the second or third time out the house I got my muslins ready, one tucked into my bra to catch all the vomits whilst he fed and one ready to burp him for the inevitable deluge of milk post feed. She watched me struggle as my boy bobbed on and off the boob screaming, arching his back and then watched him vomit up the majority of his painful feed. She exclaimed “poor little thing’s got reflux”. Before this conversation I was just thinking “shit this breastfeeding stuff is hard”. Reflux is when a baby brings up milk, or is sick, during or shortly after feeding. Its very common (50% of babies have it) and most children outgrow it by a year. There’s a wide range of severities from a small amount of extra washing every day to babies needing hospitalisation for failing to gain weight from severe symptoms. Reflux is caused by many things and sometimes it’s a symptom of an underlying problem including allergies or intolerances. From that day to now (my boy is now 5 months) the weeks have consisted of trying anything and everything to ease his symptoms, analysing said interventions and trying to quantify whether they’re making any difference at all. For us, reflux dominated his early days in this world. He fed so often because he vomited a lot of his feeds and was always hungry. We had to rock him to sleep or let him sleep on us because we had to hold him upright for 30 minutes post feeds so there was no way we could start sleep training. We had to do nappy changes with a screaming hungry baby because if we waited until after he fed as soon as he lay down he’d vomit again. The inordinate amount of washing every day led to my inability to give a shit about what he wore other than baby grows because I knew I’d be changing it in 2 hours. Early on we didn’t go out to “nice” places that weren’t specifically baby friendly because we knew there was no such thing as a discrete breastfeed with him screaming and vomming whilst he fed. Always holding a muslin in front of his mouth and never being able to be at ease playing with him because you know if you jiggle him too much he’ll probably be sick really takes its toll. But the worst part of it was I was still feeding him at least every 2 hours up to 4 months in. When you’re holding your baby upright for 30 minutes after these feeds, I’ll let you do the maths to work out how long max you can sleep for. When you’re chronically sleep deprived like lots of mums you suddenly understand the saying crying over spilt (vomited) milk! However, we’re really lucky because my boy’s reflux was not severe at all compared to how bad it could be. Other than feeds or lying flat he’s a very happy baby and he very rarely would be inconsolable from his reflux. He always continued to gain weight, was thriving developmentally and some of the “treatments” really helped to settle him. Ranitidine, although it didn’t stop his vomiting, did stop him from being unsettled. My GP was supportive (when we managed to get to see them) and did organise a prompt paediatric referral. Unfortunately, these positives mean that my boy is, like many babies, not categorised as ‘severely ill’ and in our current underfunded and overstretched NHS is therefore not a priority. He was given a gastroenterology appointment 6 months after the GP made the referral and we were left alone in the meantime. The main thing I think I learnt from being a mother of a reflux baby as well as a doctor was that there’s unfortunately no quick fix. I meet other mums with older children and they see the muslin draped over his pram and give a knowing look and they all say it gets better and they will grow out of it. They are right. It is not forever and I can see that now but it doesn’t make it any easier in the meantime. I think however, being realistic and not chasing a cure can help you stay sane rather than being upset that nothing is stopping your poor baby from vomiting. Also you may be someone for whom one of the interventions along the way works and things get much better for you, fingers crossed! Struggling with reflux? Here are some things to try...
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Mummy Buddy BantamNew to blogging but very excited to get Buddy Bantam Escapes going! I'm hoping to use this blog space to discuss tips and hot topics to do with travelling with babies and friends and some medical topics too. ArchivesCategories |
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