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ailbheWe arrived in the hospital in plenty of time, and queued up to be dealt with. The officiating midwife (Gina) came and took my notes, then led us to the waiting room, where I was given a fetching hospital gown (ankle-length on me, and would go around me at least twice) and Rob was given scrubs but told not to change into them until about 8:30. We sent My Lovely Midwife (Fiona) a text message to let her know that we were both (a) not vomiting and (b) at the hospital, and she responded that she was getting her kids off to their various childcare placements and she'd be with us shortly.
So Rob went to find himself a cup of tea, and we broke out the Scrabble. I thrashed him, of course, while Gina took my blood pressure and found my notes and took my pulse and my temperature (she forgot to turn the thermometer on, at first, ditzy lady) and went to hunt down my blood test results and so on. Fiona arrived, left her jacket with us for safekeeping (things in the pockets) and went to change into her scrubs; Rob changed into his, too.
Then it was time to go. Gina pushed my wheelchair to theatre, while Fiona pushed a Marks and Spencers trolley with the day-clothes and wallets. We got to the theatre and I was instructed to sit up on the table. People introduced themselves to me by job title, rather than by name, but they almost all addressed me and Rob by name. Everyone was very cheerful and calm; Rob and I were almost capable of making jokes, though all I did was refuse to have music playing, because the things I wanted playing would put the surgeons off. Then came all the nudey bits; I was covered in front, where Rob was, and exposed entirely behind, where a bunch of total strangers were. The anaesthetist's assistant sprayed my back with pink antiseptic which was unpleasant to breathe (I was doing anti-panic deep breathing exercises at the time) and then anaesthetic happened. That went well; I was terrified but had neither a panic attack nor a flashback, even when my left leg buzzed.
The next difficult bit was the catheter; I could feel it, though because of the anaesthetic it didn't hurt, and that was upsetting. Had I not been immobilised I would have wriggled like crazy though; I couldn't have helped it, and it wouldn't have been a good idea. There was a blood pressure cuff on my right arm and a pulse monitor on my left, but neither arm was strapped down. I was told nicely to please put my right arm across my chest, to keep it out of the way, and later when I asked could I move it to hold Rob's hand I was told yes of course I could.
Fiona stood near me the whole time but not between me and Rob, ever. She told us - particularly me - what was going on in enough medical detail that I knew what was happening, but not so much that either of us got queasy. She had previously explained the whole operation to me with diagrams so she was able to refer to "that thing, you remember" rather than naming instruments, which helped.
She also asked whether the pulling felt like the washing up, and no, it didn't :)
There was some pulling strong enough that my back was partially lifted from the table. That was weird. Then the baby was born; Fiona told Rob he could stand up to take a picture, so he did, and sat down again in a hurry because he was shaking. Someone asked whether it was a boy or a girl, and someone said "It's a girl!" and I said "Of course it is!"
Then the obstetrician said "She just weed on me," and I said "Good girl!"
She was taken to the resuscitaire and Fiona manouvred things so that I could see her almost continuously while they dried her off, nappied her, and wrapped her up. I managed not to cry, but couldn't stop my hand reaching out towards her; she seemed so far away. She was put across my chest at a funny angle, because the screen was still in the way, and I was able to sort of hold her. Then Gina asked if we wanted her dressed now or later, and I was much affronted. I said something like "She's been messed around enough, poor thing."
They stitched me up, and we got from theatre to recovery somehow. I was in a proper room for that, too, with a real door. They left us with Fiona to be tired and happy.
So Rob went to find himself a cup of tea, and we broke out the Scrabble. I thrashed him, of course, while Gina took my blood pressure and found my notes and took my pulse and my temperature (she forgot to turn the thermometer on, at first, ditzy lady) and went to hunt down my blood test results and so on. Fiona arrived, left her jacket with us for safekeeping (things in the pockets) and went to change into her scrubs; Rob changed into his, too.
Then it was time to go. Gina pushed my wheelchair to theatre, while Fiona pushed a Marks and Spencers trolley with the day-clothes and wallets. We got to the theatre and I was instructed to sit up on the table. People introduced themselves to me by job title, rather than by name, but they almost all addressed me and Rob by name. Everyone was very cheerful and calm; Rob and I were almost capable of making jokes, though all I did was refuse to have music playing, because the things I wanted playing would put the surgeons off. Then came all the nudey bits; I was covered in front, where Rob was, and exposed entirely behind, where a bunch of total strangers were. The anaesthetist's assistant sprayed my back with pink antiseptic which was unpleasant to breathe (I was doing anti-panic deep breathing exercises at the time) and then anaesthetic happened. That went well; I was terrified but had neither a panic attack nor a flashback, even when my left leg buzzed.
The next difficult bit was the catheter; I could feel it, though because of the anaesthetic it didn't hurt, and that was upsetting. Had I not been immobilised I would have wriggled like crazy though; I couldn't have helped it, and it wouldn't have been a good idea. There was a blood pressure cuff on my right arm and a pulse monitor on my left, but neither arm was strapped down. I was told nicely to please put my right arm across my chest, to keep it out of the way, and later when I asked could I move it to hold Rob's hand I was told yes of course I could.
Fiona stood near me the whole time but not between me and Rob, ever. She told us - particularly me - what was going on in enough medical detail that I knew what was happening, but not so much that either of us got queasy. She had previously explained the whole operation to me with diagrams so she was able to refer to "that thing, you remember" rather than naming instruments, which helped.
She also asked whether the pulling felt like the washing up, and no, it didn't :)
There was some pulling strong enough that my back was partially lifted from the table. That was weird. Then the baby was born; Fiona told Rob he could stand up to take a picture, so he did, and sat down again in a hurry because he was shaking. Someone asked whether it was a boy or a girl, and someone said "It's a girl!" and I said "Of course it is!"
Then the obstetrician said "She just weed on me," and I said "Good girl!"
She was taken to the resuscitaire and Fiona manouvred things so that I could see her almost continuously while they dried her off, nappied her, and wrapped her up. I managed not to cry, but couldn't stop my hand reaching out towards her; she seemed so far away. She was put across my chest at a funny angle, because the screen was still in the way, and I was able to sort of hold her. Then Gina asked if we wanted her dressed now or later, and I was much affronted. I said something like "She's been messed around enough, poor thing."
They stitched me up, and we got from theatre to recovery somehow. I was in a proper room for that, too, with a real door. They left us with Fiona to be tired and happy.