A Difficult Beginning (part one)

I'd like to take the time to share the story of my second pregnancy, without a doubt the most difficult time in my whole life. 

My son was just 6 months old when we discovered I was expecting our second child. It was our first wedding anniversary and we were on holiday with my mum, dad and little sister. My parents had offered to stay at the lodge with the children (our baby, plus my two step daughters) so my husband and I could go out for a meal to celebrate. I'd been feeling off it for a couple of days and, although my period wasn't due for another day or so, I decided to take a pregnancy test before I went out and enjoyed a few glasses of wine. Good job I did! I remember it well. We drove to the local supermarket under the pretence of getting supplies for the lodge and I did the test there and then, in the toilets of the supermarket. We were overjoyed to be having another baby, even if it was a little sooner than we had planned. 

The first 12 weeks went by as you'd expect. A bit of sickness, plenty of tiredness, but nothing out of the ordinary. Then at the dating scan, the sonographer seemed to be taking ages. Then she asked me if I'd had a positive pregnancy test. Tears instantly rolled down my cheeks while she went off to fine someone more senior. Had I just imagined all my symptoms? Where was my baby? Luckily the person she brought in to double check found it. My tiny little bean, heartbeat flickering away on the screen. Relief! 

Fast forward to the 20 week scan. November 11th 2008, the day my world fell apart. The sonographer taking the baby's measurements asked if my waters had gone at all. Of course, they hadn't. I'm pretty sure I'd have noticed if they had. She disappeared to find the consultant on duty. They returned a short while later and the consultant repeated everything the sonographer had done. The baby, our daughter as we'd found out by this point, looked fine, growing well, heartbeat strong. But she had very little amniotic fluid surrounding her. 

My husband and I were a bit lost by this point. What did it all mean? We were asked to wait until the consultant had finished her clinic and she would sit with us and go through everything with us. I made a quick phone call to the nursery where my son was and we sat and waited. And waited. It seemed to take forever. In fact it was only about half an hour, but it was the longest half hour ever! 

When the consultant called us in, she explained that we had a condition called oligohydramnios. Not enough fluid surrounding the baby. Apparently this can be caused by a number of things. One cause is a problem with the baby's kidneys, which all looked fine on the scan, so the consultant was confident this was not our problem. She mentioned a couple of other things, but what she suspected the most was that my waters had ruptured (I was sure they hadn't). 

The prognosis wasn't great. Figures like 80-90% fetal mortality in cases diagnosed early were being thrown at us. As there was no way to determine when my waters had gone, or indeed if there were any there to begin with, there was no way of knowing how developed my baby's lungs would be. The amniotic fluid is vital for the development of the lungs up to 22 weeks gestation. We were told that while she was still in utero, all would be fine. She would appear strong and healthy. The problems would arise after her birth. If her lungs were not fully developed, she'd have a slim chance of survival once she had to breathe for herself. We were told that 'many couples would choose to terminate at this stage'. I didn't understand. My baby had a chance of being born fine, not the best chance, but a chance all the same. Why would I even consider that option! There was no questioning it, my pregnancy would continue. 

We left the hospital at 6.30pm, from our 3.00pm appointment. We were emotionally drained. And we faced a very long 20 weeks ahead of us. 20 weeks of being scanned and poked and prodded by various different specialists. At 28 weeks I had a leak. I lost fluid, what little I had of it. From this point on I had to have twice weekly blood tests to check for infections plus a weekly speculum examination. My arms were battered and bruised. It became second nature to have a midwife looking up my lady bits! All this, as well as my fortnightly scan. It's a good job we lived opposite the hospital! 

Then at nearly 37 weeks we had our latest scan with our consultant and she decided that the baby was ready to be born. She was breech, and with all the other complications, they wouldn't try and turn her. Nor would they let me attempt a natural delivery. My worst fear. A cesarean section. She booked us in for the following day. That night was tough. For the last 16 weeks, I had been dreading the day my daughter had to be born. While she was inside me, I was taking care of her, she had all she needed. Giving birth could mean losing her. But I couldn't keep her inside me forever. 

The cesarean went well. My baby girl was born at 36+6 weeks, only one day before she would be classed as full term. The paediatric doctors were on standby, although it seemed they wouldn't be needed. In the recovery room, Mr P sat by me, holding our baby girl. All seemed well, apart from the little clucking noise she was making, apparently common in cesarean born babies. Within half an hour we were back on the maternity ward, baby girl included. But it wasn't over yet... 

Keep your eyes peeled for part two...