The day I became a mother was not the happiest day of my life.
It just wasn’t at all like how I imagined.
When I watched Offspring last week and Nina, the slightly wacky but lovable obstetrician had to hit the panic button when a delivery did not go as planned, I found myself in a wet, heaving, sobbing, snot nosed mess.
Sure. Labour hurt. Watermelon out your vagina and all that, but for me it was what happened next. Or more like; what didn’t happen.
My labour was apparently ‘normal’ (but for the love of God on what scale?), but as I lay back hearing the cries of my healthy newborn son, I searched for that feeling that everyone bangs on about. That euphoric, beatific, “I am a Mother” moment. That, “my world is now complete” feeling of exultation. Nothing.
But I rallied. I’d seen the movies. So I pushed my bloodied body upright and reached my arms out for my son. His face was swollen and his hair was red. He didn’t look like either of us. Still nothing. In hindsight I believe I was possibly in shock, or maybe my body knew the fight wasn’t over. The Obstetrician busied herself with the wind up so she could get ready for the next mother-to-be I could hear voicing her objections (quite strongly) down the hall. The midwives began to help me guide my baby to my breast. Or rather cold hands clamped my boobs and slapped his pursed lips on. My toes curled in shock as I smiled widely for the camera.
Here it was.
The moment we had all been waiting for.
He was here.
“Anna, Anna; we are having some trouble down here with your placenta.”
Oh that? Yeah. I’d heard of that…obviously. It comes out after the baby. An injection helps. May be necessary to give a push or two.
“Just relax, Anna. We will need to get this out soon. We just need to be aware of possible complications.”
Oh.
This was not good.
My eyes sought out my husband and we stared intently at each other as the tension built with the background noise of instruments and slapping gloves and frantic calls to the anaesthetist.
I stared at his face.
I stared at his light, blonde hair on his tanned arms, and his tired, crinkly, cornered eyes.
I looked again at my son.
Actually, he did have his Daddy’s nose and that hair was his Irish heritage, so silky and soft under my fingertips. Love began surging through as I stroked his little face that I already knew so well.
They took my son and handed him to my husband and my eyes followed them, drinking them in as they were ushered out the door. He was left alone cradling our baby in the next room as he waited.
This placenta had to come out now.
No time to be wheeled into surgery. The longer the placenta remains after the birth of the baby, the greater chance the mother has of serious bleeding. The obstetrician hugged me upright and still on the side of the bed, as exhaustion took hold. The needle in my spine barely registered in my world. I watched on from another place as the manual retrieval began.
I had not even heard of this.
So many different birthing scenarios were dreamt about, discussed and analysed, but not this.
I had never imagined I would be lying in my own filth watching on as a hand scraped my placenta from the uterus wall. Apparently I was a high achiever and it was stuck fast. Sorry for the detail, but on the up side I can tell you I could not feel a thing. No pain at all.
What I could feel, only moments later, was when the air in the room prickled.
Sharp gasp, step back, blood.
“OK Anna, we will have to leave it there.”
I looked at the ceiling, but what I saw was that little red haired boy, I heard my husband’s laugh and I remembered the old, red, family station wagon.
I was haemorrhaging and I knew it.
I felt inwardly warm and calm and I said my prayers.
But the chat of the obstetrician kept at me and I arrived back in the moment. Midwives were stroking my brow and squeezing my hand.
I was OK.
Many, MANY stitches later, future ultrasounds and information thrust at me about post birth bleeding, and my life as a new mummy was happening just like the others before me. For the next baby (yes; I went back…) we were ready for this possibility, and after my daughter was born I was whipped straight into surgery where it was removed without any complications.
I am a proud mum of two healthy, beautiful children.
I needed to write about it, and revisit why I break into a million pieces whenever Nina delivers a baby on Offspring.
I am so very lucky and I count my blessings.
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