The Fear

Today, I am 24 weeks pregnant....in my underwear I very much look pregnant whereas in my clothes, I'm half convinced I look more like I've overindulged in an all-you-can-eat buffet!

19 weeks v. 24 weeks
(also digital camera v. mobile phone camera - and apparently our house has tilted over the course of 5 weeks!)

I'm getting into the swing of pregnancy and I'm mostly feeling pretty good (except right at this second as my beloved daughter has generously shared her heavy cold with me and being a horrendous patient I am of course at death's door and letting husband know it).  The plan is also to have a homebirth and I've been looking forward to it, have dug out my Natal Hypnotherapy CD and am pondering at which point I should send husband up to the loft to dig out the birth pool and fix the puncture that it has (assuming it's even in the loft, I'm not actually 100%).

The problem is, that a week ago, while standing in the shower my mind drifting, The Fear crept over me. I didn't expect it, I thought I'd let go and resolved any underlying issues, but suddenly it was there and the tears were rolling down my face....

When I was pregnant with my daughter we lived in rural mid-Wales, not far from the border with England. I went for my booking appointment with my midwife and during it I was asked "Where would you like to have your baby? Here or at home?" with 'here' being a midwife run Birthing Centre tagged onto the side of the small community hospital.  Prior to this I'd never known that there was any other option other than giving birth in a general hospital (not having been pregnant before, or ever having had any interest in pregnancy, babies or the process of giving birth) and had assumed that's what would happened.  At the time of that booking appointment I was told the hospital wasn't suggested unless you were deemed high risk.  I know now that this isn't standard practice, I've learnt a lot over the last few years about other women's experiences and it seems mine wasn't typical - many women who want a home birth have to fight for it.  I was handed the option on a plate.  I can only assume, that with where I lived being as rural as it was (the nearest general hospital being either Hereford or Shrewbury, both nearly 40miles away, but it was the former which was linked to my birthing centre) and with pockets of 'alternative' communities scattered around from the 70s, that the idea of birthing at home had never completely been washed away by the tide of modern medical services and the accompanying medicalisation of birth (which so many women are now fighting against).

So I went away and considered my options, I read up on the potential risks of birthing at home compared to similar risks in hospital.  I read up terms such as the 'cascade of intervention', I drew conclusions on birthing in a place where you felt safe, and I educated myself as much as possible.  Being a scientist-by-training it was all about risk and natural mammalian behaviour (never mind any 'spiritual' aspects that the birth process might bring - but that's something for later).  Eventually I decided to be at home, primarily because there was nothing the Birthing Centre could offer me that I couldn't have at home - the community hospital didn't have any anaesthetists for example so an epidural was never an option, even if I wanted one, which I didn't plan to.  As part of my preparation for birth I actively avoided all birth stories, I didn't want other people's experiences to 'infect' me with fear or doubt.  And I was never afraid of what was to come, and I never doubted my ability to birth my child.  I also used the Natal Hypnotherapy CDs (I hoped to use self-hypnosis and relaxation to manage my contractions) and I acquired an inflatable birth pool.

My estimated due date came and went (as it does with most women, more often than not!) and just before the end of my 41st week, on the Friday morning, my midwife came to my house and performed a sweep and cheerfully told me that I was 1cm dilated and she wouldn't be surprised if my daughter arrived by the end of the weekend (my daughter was also still in the back-to-back or occiput posterior position which she had been for a couple of weeks - I really wish I'd researched that a bit more at the time!).  Come the Sunday I was incredible restless, couldn't settle, and had to get out right NOW! (Looking back, it was a pretty clear sign things would start happening soon).  Husband and I drove the 35 so miles to Shrewsbury for a wander around the town.  Mid-afternoon, in the shopping centre outside of Marks and Spencers (of all places) I suddenly thought that maybe baby had been pressing too hard on my bladder and I'd had a bit of a leak!  Quick pop to the toilet and I realised that it wasn't wee but some of my waters going.  All I could do at that point was unceremoniously stuff my knickers with loo roll and waddle back to husband so we could head home!

Ringing the midwife at home she said to pop into the Centre the next day if I hadn't started contracting by morning so she could give me a check-up.  I lost some more of my waters later that evening (should I admit to sniffing my knickers to check that it *definitely* wasn't wee?  I'm pretty certain I can't be only woman who's done that?!) but no contractions so next morning I went to see my midwife who examined me and confirmed I was definitely leaking amniotic fluid and if I didn't go into labour in the next 24-48hours I'd have to go to hospital for an induction due to the infection risk - which was something I really didn't want to do.  I went home and waited some more while husband went to work.

Around 5pm my lower back started to hurt, a constricting band.  A little while later, maybe 10-15minutes, the same again, and a bit of time after that.  Things were starting to happen, no fear, no worry, just relief (if somewhat discomforted!).  Husband was meant to be working until about 8 or 9pm but I rang him to let him know and he asked if I wanted him home (he was working about 20miles from where we lived) and for some reason I said "no, finish your shift!" which he pointed out was actually the wrong answer.  So by 7pm he was at home, I had dug out a TENS machine I'd been loaned which I'd hoped would help manage the contractions but I found it more uncomfortable using it than without (like bad pins and needles - I preferred to deal with the back pain!) and seeing as not long after that contractions were less than 10minutes apart it seemed a good idea to get the pool inflated and filled in the living room.  We rang the midwife to let her know and she said to call again when contractions were 3-5minutes apart.  We did and she turned up about 11pm when contractions where 3minutes apart.  By this point I'd been in the pool for a while and I felt calm, focused and relaxed and never once did I think I couldn't manage.  I was also in my own little world which I hated anyone else to intrude in - I especially hated it when my midwife had me leave the pool to go upstairs to be examined to see how far along I was, or when she made me go upstairs to use the toilet rather than let me use the downstairs one - though I know now the movement was meant to help me (really didn't appreciate the interference at the time!).  Every now and then husband would have me sip from a glass of water and honey for energy - I hadn't eaten since Monday lunchtime and this probably didn't help later on.

So it went on through the night, me calm and focused and (a bit later on) dozing between contractions, husband and midwife probably quite bored drinking tea and eating biscuits!  I remember thinking briefly late on "hmm, I can understand why women might want an epidural" although I still felt it was all manageable, I'm not sure if that was around transition, I do remember feeling pretty tired and that the contractions were starting to run one into the other - they seemed to be less than 2minutes apart for a long time but then, time really didn't have a meaning then anyway.  Around 6am and the 'bearing down' sensations started so my midwife phoned for the second midwife as two needed to be present for the birth,  It still felt good, it still felt manageable  I still felt in control.

Then a couple of hours of pushing later things began to unravel..........

I was out of the pool by then, on my hands and knees trying to get gravity involved and so, so tired.  Husband and midwives were calling encouragement but with each contraction my daughter moved down and back up and never progressed further.  I could feel her and the midwives kept saying "just one more!" and it was never 'just one more'.  And then, when they quickly listened to her heart rate they decided it would be best to transfer me - being so far from the general hospital the decision had to be made before any real problems started, and I agreed.  And then I lost control and The Fear came.  I remember being supported to stand as the ambulance arrived, dressing gown wrapped around me - I half slipped my feet into a pair of trainers as I needed something on my feet, but they were already tied (I always kicked my trainers off without undoing the laces) so I couldn't put them on properly and my heels hung out the back so I walked with a half tiptoe shuffle,  And then I was lying on my side in the ambulance, the midwife I thought of as mine was gone as she'd been with me all night and the midwife who accompanied me was the one who turned up later.  She wasn't 'mine' and I'd not met her before and I was scared.  Then there was the  paramedic in the back as well.  Only room for two so husband followed in the car and I was lost in a haze, I wasn't there any more.  That was the point I took gas and air, I was told only to breathe with each contraction but I clamped that mask to my face and barely let go - did nothing for the pain, and my focus had gone, but it took me away so I didn't care do much about the pain.  I felt every bump and rocking motion as we took the country back roads to Hereford.  At one point I realised that the strange bellowing I could hear (something like a cross between a bull moose and a distressed cow!) was me.  I didn't care.  I just wanted it over and I wanted someone I trusted to be with me.  I wanted my husband (who unbeknownst to me had got stuck behind a tractor - those perils of the rural roads! Looking back it's quite funny in one way).

Forty-five minutes the ambulance journey took.  I remember being lifted out and wheeled through A&E on the trolley and strangely remember thinking to keep quiet as I didn't want to  embarrass myself!  In the delivery room I was lost and alone, in a dark place even with the brightness of the room and the whiteness and the silver of the metal and the female doctor asking me questions.  There was no one to speak for me because husband was still someway behind and I couldn't speak for myself.  The pain, and gas and air had completely addled my thoughts, and suddenly birth wasn't something I was doing, it was something being done to me.  On my back, antibiotic drip, knees up, cut, ventouse, baby.  I don't remember her being born but at some point my husband was there, by my side.  They took her away, just for a few minutes to check her and for some reason all I kept asking was how much she weighed, my addled brain's way of asking if she was ok.

And then she was passed to me, wrapped in a blanket, and I felt nothing but shock and relief in equal measures.  I remember speaking to my mother on my mobile and telling her that her granddaughter had a conehead!  A combination of my gas-addled brain and ventouse delivery misshaping my daughters skull.  I felt no bond with this baby in my arms, no overwhelming love.  I think there was toast to eat at some point and eventually we were moved to the maternity ward.

I felt so disconnected.  There was a shower room in the corner of the room and I wandered off to shower.  I was fascinated with my reflection in the mirror, I still looked the same, I didn't look as if my whole world had just been turned upside down.  Except for my belly, all deflated with no baby inside.  I stood under the hot water just letting it pour over me, just wanting to wash everything away.  Somewhere far away I could hear a midwife asking my  husband where I was, sounding annoyed, I couldn't understand the annoyance, in my head I was irritated as it wasn't like I'd left the baby alone.  I took my time to dry off and wandered back to my bed and the plastic cot by it's side.  They wanted me kept overnight because of the delay between my waters breaking and labour starting but my husband couldn't stay so eventually I ended up alone again.

The first time my daughter cried I just stared at her in panic, no clue as to what to do and had to call the midwife on duty to help.  She seemed unimpressed by the fact I was calling her for what turned out to be a nappy change.  I didn't know.  I'd never changed a nappy before, or had a baby - in fact I'd probably only ever held a baby twice in my life and quickly passed them back in discomfort.  But the nappy got changed, and we survived our first night, my daughter and I, and the next day we went home.  Me still dazed and lost and disconnected from this baby that I'd birthed-but-hadn't.

And that is The Fear, the fear that caught me off guard as I stood in the shower a week ago.  That it will all happen again.

I probably sound excessively dramatic - I know, in that rational part of my brain, that my experience wasn't that bad, that I should be grateful for the wonderfully relaxing time I had in my own space in my own home, that sometimes things don't quite go according to plan.  It's not like I had a traumatic Caesarean, or something terrible happened to my baby.  Yet there was the darkness, and being lost, and most of all, being alone because the one person I really needed couldn't be there at that moment through no fault of his own.  And then there was the shock, and that lack of bond, everything by instinct and autopilot but no real connection to the child I'd given birth to, and eventually the postnatal depression which was, I think, mostly exhaustion from trying to do too much in the 12months after her birth, but also that disconnection and shock.

I am afraid that history will repeat itself.

More Cake!

It's my Godson's first birthday today and he's having a party tomorrow (or at least, his mum's inviting family and friends over for the afternoon).  I offered to make the cake as the birthday present.  My back and pelvis are killing me now from the time it took me hunched over the kitchen units.  I have a bit of pelvic girdle pain/posterior pelvic pain because of the pregnancy, right at the bottom of my back, deep inside on the left hand side behind that little dimple - standing for too long tends to make it worse though walking around is fine. Prepping the Christmas meal I did for the 12 of us had me barely able to move and I was limping like Long John Silver!  I got stuck on R's bed once when she wanted a cuddle at bedtime, it really wasn't funny - took me nearly 15minutes to manoeuvre myself off and as I was desperate for the loo it really didn't help (only just made it in time, how embarrassing that could have been! ).

Anyway, I digress - this should be about cake!  An Iggle Piggle birthday cake to be exact.....

I'm pretty pleased with it although admittedly I think it could be better - but you don't get better without practice, right?  I was rushing it a bit at the end because of the aching - and I cocked up one of his arms while shaping it and had to cobble another together with the bits of cake that was left (which wasn't much).  Overall though, I'm happy with it and as my Godson is only one I'm sure he won't be too critical! :-D

Today is mostly about....

....the early morning bubble-wrap disco.

1. Forgetfully leave bubble wrap from previous days package delivery in an obvious and easily accessible place.
2. Allow four year old daughter to discover said bubble wrap and spread it across the kitchen floor.
3. Four year old daughter then proceeds to the dressing-gowned, barefooted bubble wrap disco-stomp while you attempt to carefully squeeze around preparing breakfast as "you're not allowed to pop the bubbles mummy!"
4. Post breakfast persuade, blackmail or otherwise move daughter onto bedroom and bathroom for getting dressed purposes.
5. Ten minutes later express confusion at daughter's sudden disappearance.
6. Follow popping sound back to kitchen where second bubble wrap disco stomp is in full swing.  
7. Fact: Wearing school shoes makes for a better bubble popping experience.

Be joyful, keep the faith and do the little things.

Yesterday morning we packed a picnic while pondering whether it would be a good idea as intermittent showers (or miniature deluges) sped across the skies and soaked the green outside our house - but a picnic can be eaten in the car so we packed up and headed across to St David's; me, husband, daughter and dog.  I'd suggested taking the short, narrow lane down to St Non's Bay as although I've walked that stretch of coast before, I'd never stepped off the coastpath to explore the sacred spring (or holy well) or ruins of the chapel.

There was no rain on arrival, the sky was blue and the clouds were dispersing  We squeezed together to enjoy the picnic in the car before heading down towards the well and the chapel ruins.  There's a small shrine with a statue of the Virgin Mary situated just to the north of the well  and water flows as a stream from underneath.  When we visited there was also a picture of the Pope propped on the ground beneath the shrine, I'm assuming it's the current one and R wanted to know who the strange man in the picture was!  The problem with trying to explain a picture of the Pope to a four year old is it ends up being more than you anticipate.  "He's the head of the Catholic Church" inevitably leads to the question of what is the Catholic Church, basic explanations regarding a section of Christianity/group of Christians leads to questions about who Christians are, further explanations relating to belief in God are then met with "What God?".  Ah, good question, uhhhh - we'll leave that one for her to work out for herself when she's older.  My husband just laughed  and declared her a natural born Atheist ;) 

Shrine to the Virgin Mary

The spring itself exudes a sense of peace - it's sheltered below the lie of the land and catches the sun; add the sound of flowing water and you have the perfect place to be caught in a moment of meditative reflection.  The story goes that when St Non gave birth at this spot (to the baby who would grow up to be St David) the spring water suddenly started flowing from the ground.  It's very much a place to pause and reflect - although with R, husband and dog charging off through the kissing gate into the adjacent field where the chapel ruins stand, pausing and reflecting was carried out in a very short space of time.  I would like to go back some time by myself, to spend a bit more time in that quiet place - and although it is said to be one of the most sacred wells in Wales, I suspect the spring was a sacred place long before the Christian Church dedicated it to St Non.

There's not much left of the Chapel - it passed out of use after the Reformation and over time fell into ruin.  Regardless, R enjoyed exploring it.  The slab in the corner (in the photo) is inscribed with a cross within a circle - St Non's Cross - it was originally found in the same field as where the chapel stands but may not originally have been part of the site.  It's about 12-1300 years old!

Ruins of St Non's Chapel

Scattered around the field where the ruins stand are a number of small standing stones (most, less than three feet high).  Most of the information I've found suggests it may or may not be a stone circle, but probably indicates bronze age habitation.  I'm inclined to lean towards the idea that it *is* the remains of a circle as looking at them from above the field (where we parked the car) they form a rough circle, with a slightly larger stone further north reminiscent of the position of the outliers at Gors Fawr Stone circle near Mynachlogddu in the Preselis (I'll have to write about them sometime!).  It's suggested that the position of the outliers (which are north-east of the circle there) is possibly connected to the midsummer sunrise - maybe the original layout of the stones at St Non's means the same.  It's another reason it feels like the area was sacred long before the Church found it - after all, it's well accepted that churches were often built within areas already considered sacred.   

R Checks out one of the standing stones - seeming less than impressed.

Beyond the field we wandered the coast path for half a mile or so - the rain of the past few days making it a little treacherous in places but mud is half the fun.....

Even when you're a grown-up! .......

And although explaining geology and geography and coastal processes to R was possibly a bit beyond her age.....

Coastal erosion in action - check out that arch ;)...

....And that stack formation ;)

You don't need to understand it to be able to appreciate the scenery.........

Nothing beats Pembrokeshire on a sunny day - though I may be biased!

After our muddy trek along the cliffs and back to the car we headed for home - with a brief stop in St David's to visit the Cathedral.  It's another favourite place of mine.  It nestles in a shallow valley, so unlike many other Cathedrals which seek to claim a high spot.  And although I've visited many that have been awe-inspiring in their architecture, and the skill that went into their construction (Wells and Salisbury Cathedral are two that spring to mind) St David's Cathedral is comforting in it's simplicity and feels more connected with the landscape around it.  For me it reflects it's construction in faith - the more impressive Cathedrals often seem to be more about power and suppressing those at the bottom; combined with something a little more presumptuous that seems to compete with the God it's built for.

St David's Cathedral

We thought to spend a little time hunting inside for the hidden green man in the arches above - I've seen him before but had forgotten where.  Sadly, on this occasion the only green men we found were the ornamental ones for sale in the Cathedral shop and as R was growing tired by this point we thought it time to head home.

R's too tired to walk ;)

One thing did strike me as we ambled among the vaulted ceilings - there was a display near one of the internal chapels relating to repairs carried out, and written within the display were the words I've used to title this blog entry: Be joyful, keep the faith and do the little things.  They refer to the last words of St David's and I think, for me they epitomise the best way to live (regardless of how you might define 'faith' - even if it has no spiritual or religious meaning we all have faith in something).  Yesterday was a day  of joy, and today carried on the theme with walks down to the river and splashing in muddy puddles.  And the little things?  I guess that's the day to day bits that might make another person smile - and it's not just the doing, it's the noticing the little things too :)

Noticing the beginnings of spring.

The things they say...

I can never keep up with all the little things that R says, and the odd little conversations we have - sometimes cute, sometimes profound, often vaguely insulting!  I regularly wish I could grab those seconds and record them for ever, sometimes I update them as my Facebook status because it's the quickest way to make a note.  So much happens and it's so easy to forget.

So far this morning we've had.....

R:  How did it go last night mummy?

Me: It was lovely, we had lots of yummy Chinese food.

R:  Did you use chopsticks?

(that was one of those moments where I wonder how she knows things - She's four and we've never used chopsticks at home or been to a Chinese restaurant as a family.  I know she must have learnt things from Cbeebies, or stories we've read or nursery but it's still one of those "Oh!" moments, that delight in learning something about R that I didn't know before).

We've also had the cute....

"Mummy!  I've got chicken wrinkles again!"

(she meant goose bumps!)

The slightly gross.....

"Mummy, my poo looks like a wolfs head"

 (I know we like to avoid shame associated with bodily functions but maybe that's going a bit far - although at least this time she didn't request I take a look!)

And finally, the typically insulting.....

"Mummy, your breath smells like dog food"

Thank you so much fruit of my womb!  Although, the comparison was probably fair as at that point I hadn't cleaned my teeth.  At least you can trust small children to be completely honest (blunt!) about things.

I hope I can capture those little moments through the years.  Not just the words, but the pictures and the stories that go with them.

Cake!

I really need to motivate myself to shower and get ready for the day, but after a very enjoyable Chinese meal out last night with friends for a 50th birthday I'm suffering an incredible MSG hangover which does nothing to inspire me to get moving! I knew there was a reason I rarely ate Chinese food.

On the plus side - the birthday cake was enjoyed by all. A Big Bang Theory inspired chocolate sponge. I rushed it a little so I felt it was a bit scrappy but still. Mmmmm......cake!

The Selkie Mother

The night air is surprisingly warm, not what I'm expecting as I stand here on the shore line with bare shoulders and feet.  The shift in air currents, barely enough to be called a breeze, lifts the hairs on my arms as I bury my feet in the soft pale sand feeling each grain trickle between my toes.  I have my eyes closed for what only seems a minute, taking in the sensations around me and I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with the sweet tang of ocean drenched air.  Yet when I open them again the moon has risen, hanging huge and full on the horizon, it's luminescence nearly overwhelming the softer twinkle of the surrounding stars.

As the moon steadily rises higher above me, it's silver moon path stretches across the lapping waves, their gentle rush echoing my breathing and the twin heart beats in my body - my own and that of the child I carry.  Beyond the moon path occasional cresting waves, or maybe sea creatures I can't see, disturb the surface of the water and spread a soft green fluorescence that seems to flicker and die before I'm even fully aware it is there.  I look up to the moon again and for a moment, held within it's glow I see my child, curled as though in the womb, sleeping in the moons embrace - my embrace.

I am drawn to the sea and step forward, the sand behind me so soft it collapses into my footprints obliterating them as though I never stood there.  At the water's edge the tiniest of waves  curl around my feet, as warm as the night air, drawing me further in.  I wade deeper and the ocean waters support me, in much the same way as the waters of my being support the new life growing inside.  I sway with the movement of the tide, the ebb and flow of water, of blood and breath, heartbeat and life.  Suddenly all is one and I'm am lost in the water's velvet darkness   I am the seal mother, the selkie; the waters open for me, embrace me and welcome me in, swirling spirals within spirals.  I am both chasing the spirals of life and cocooned in a watery sleep where time has never been and holds no meaning.

And then, somewhere beyond now, the Moon's song calls me back and I hear her and respond, the salt waters releasing their hold and carrying me back.  Still I feel embraced, but I float on the waves now, carried gentle to the shore.  And now, I find myself lying under the night sky as the ocean recedes behind me.  My sealskin caul fades and I am here again, feeling the warm damp sand rough on my cheek.  The moon is gone for now but I still feel her, as I still feel the rhythm of the ocean.  All is connected.  I breathe deeply and close my eyes.  I am home.

The above is inspired by a meditation I carried out on Tuesday evening, as part of a group of pregnant ladies, under the direction of a lovely lady called Nikki.  The meditation itself lasted nearly an hour and the guided visualisation was only a small part of it - and even then, the imagery suggested was simple; standing on a beach under a night sky then entering the sea and floating for a while supported by the waves before returning to the shore.  But, as often is the case when I follow guided visualisations, I found my inner being creating a much greater picture.

Through my 20s I was what might be viewed as 'left-brain' orientated - or at least, that's what I aimed to be.  I was a scientist, my bachelors degree being in Biology/Ecology and my Masters being in Ecology.  I tried to be logical, think only practically, I questioned everything and facts were the priority.  I treated my pregnancy with my first daughter in much the same way -  wanted to understand the biology of pregnancy, researched how it all worked, how labour worked, what could go wrong and the likelihood but I never allowed myself to imerse myself in the emotional side of it and I never created a bond with my unborn child.  In part because my daughter was unplanned and part of me was in denial (perhaps until she was maybe 3 years old - the PND I suffered didn't help) and also because I didn't have 'time' to be pregnant.  I was commuting 60miles each way to work, I was studying for my Masters degree, I was busy. Work was a priority because I never wanted to be a mother, motherhood damaged children, I was safest with a career.....

As a child I was much more 'right-brained' - I was artistic, created fantasy worlds, allowed my imagination free reign.  Somewhere between childhood and my 20s I came to believe that part was wrong - and I denied it, even though it was always there, you can't remove what's innate.  I'm not sure whether the depression I suffered through the latter part of my teens and my 20s was in part, a result of that.  You can't be whole if you deny the aspects of yourself you believe to be 'wrong' and if you can't be whole then you can't be helathy....or happy.

So now, over the last 12-18months - from when I entered my 30s - I've begun to re-embrace what was once a massive part of who I was.  I'm rediscovering the joy in intuition, in imagination and I'm letting go of the shame I've always associated with being 'emotional'.  And because of this, my current pregnancy feels very different to my last.  I feel connected to it, and I'm looking for ways to strengthen that connection and the bond with the baby I'm carrying - which is where the pregnancy meditation comes in.  And a side effect of this is I feel like I'm forging a better shared space with my daughter, I'm learning patience (slowly) and I'm learning to accept the bad days with the good (very slowly!), without feeling like I've constantly failed at a task that I was never prepared for.

I am the Selkie Mother, chasing spirals within spirals since the dawn of time.  Singing the pull of the moon tide of emotions, drawing me to the life within.