Update: I went back to bed after the last posting for another few fitful hours sleep punctuated by strong contractions every 10 minutes. We got up about 8am, and I had breakfast and a shower. Then the contractions stopped completely about an hour later and have not resumed.
We're off to hospital in about 15 minutes and I am going to ask for whatever it takes to get this party started properly because I think I have finally reached the end of my tether.
Oh good grief. Hi! Hello! Would you believe I'm still here? I did suspect this was going to be a long saga, but...well. Yeah. Are we having fun yet?
Here's the update.
After two hours of contraction-y spasms, I went to bed yesterday morning about 6am for some shut-eye. When I woke up at 9am, the contraction activity had pretty much totally ceased. Apart from the odd one during day, there was no regular resumption of..anything. As per the instructions from the midwife, we waited around until early evening, then went back up to the hospital about 7pm.
We waited for about an hour and half, since it was busy and I wasn't exactly high priority. E. and I gorged on the trashy magazines in the waiting room, interspersed by watching a steady stream of women arrive in various stages of labour. My favourite was the girl who just about fell out of ambulance as soon as it pulled up, moaning and clutching her midriff. It all looked rather...exciting, which sort of added to the general frustration of my lack of anything other than an ongoing trickle of amniotic goo.
When I was finally seen, it was the same drill as previously- only without the internal exam. Blood pressure check, temp check, hooked up to the fetal monitor with the little heartbeat chart churning out beside us. They gave me a little button to press when Botany moved, and it was fun to see how it corresponded with the spikes of heartbeat accelertion on the monitor. Halfway through, she obviously got bored and decided to take a nap, since the variable beats flattened out. My drinking a cup of ice cold water roused her, with three sharp spikes in quick succession. Finally, the midwife also checked my pad to see what was trickling out of me (answer: pale fluid mixed with a garnish of old brown show. Yum yum yum.)
The good news is that all seems well in babyland. So we had a chat about the next step. Basically, the plan was formulated that if nothing had happened by 2pm today, we were to come back up and at that point, induction was probably on the cards. Much to my mother's horror, the practice here is that they can leave you up to 72 hours after your waters break before inducing, but I doubt it will come to that, since both the midwife and I agreed it would be better to maybe move things along after 36 hours or so.
And so home to bed by about 10pm. We're both tired and I dropped off to sleep without too much trouble. And then about 1.30 am, the contractions started again, coming about every half hour. I was able to sleep through for a couple of hours, but at 3am there was pretty big one which got me up. It's now nearly 5am, and I've been keeping track- contracting with a certain amount of intensity every twenty minutes or so, although the last two were coming about 15 minutes apart.
So, we'll see. Given what happened last night, I don't want to hold my breath. But my hope is that things now proceed apace, so that by the 2pm deadline (or before, preferably) I'm actually in well-established labour, and that the induction hanging over my head becomes less of an issue. However, I'm trying to go with the flow- as it were.
This all reminds me of the time that E. and I had to check out of swanky New York City hotel by 11am, and yet as the minutes ticked down, he continued to tippy-tap away on his laptop and make phone calls- to the point where I was hopping up and down in frustration, hearing the cleaning staff make their way down the hall to our room. This is so typical of E. It's looking like Botany may take after her daddy in these matters- but she's only little, so we'll make such allowances as we can.
Gah. Bah. Still here. I am beginning to think my guesstimate is not going to become a reality, although admittedly the day is not yet over. Perhaps I am jaded because I have been up since 2am.
Apart from being slightly psychotic with lack of sleep, I am alternating between frustrated boredom and Zen-like calm. With some major bouts of cranky thrown in for good measure. I keep reading how adrenaline and anxiety can delay labour. So in other words, to bring this baby on, I need to relax. Oh hahahahaha. See my sides shake with mirth. My inability to relax is, accordingly to some, is what prevented me from getting pregnant in the first place- let's take a moment to savour the delicious irony of the notion that it also may inhibit the pregnancy from ever being over.
It does appear the baby has dropped somewhat- or at least according to the nice elderly woman we meet almost every day when we take Little Guy for his walk in the local park. She has five children, and is taking a keen interest in the state of my wellbeing. Yesterday she assured me, with an impartial eye, that the bump looks a lot lower- I'd be inclined to agree, if only because the searing heartburn I have experienced nightly for the last two months has all but vanished.
As far as the property thing goes- yesterday my parents and I secured the flat we were after. It was all accomplished with astonishing speed and efficiency (which disappoints me slightly, in that now what will I do for entertainment?). The plan is that in future they will spend part of the year here, so as to spend lots of time with their grandbaby. And it works out well since they find it too ungodly hot in Florida in the summer months anyway. We've discovered over the years that we all do better during their visits when everybody has their own space, so they really wanted a flat to call their own and even at the punishing exchange rate, it's a far better investment to buy rather than rent. As the crow flies, the place they are purchasing is literally the next street over from our house, albeit there is some fencing in the way that will necessitate a funky little detour round the block.
It's peeing it down with rain today which is going to make it hard to go anywhere and I predict serious cabin fever is going to set in later. I guess I should start researching the option of a 'stretch and sweep' since I absolutely predict that is the first thing I will be offered on Monday when I phone the midwife to discuss the lack of progress. I confess I am not crazy about the idea- has anyone ever had this done and if so would you recommend it?
Just a quick update- nothing much has happened yet although I continue to feel a gently increasing low draggy sort of ache/crampiness- more so in my lower back than before and I do have the sense that it could all kick into high gear any time now.
In the meantime, my parents and I have embarked on some whirlwind real estate transactions. They've been looking to buy a place here for a couple of years now, and wouldn't you know it, someplace suitable has actually popped up this very week. So I have spent the last couple days parrying in the cut and thrust of the Scottish property market, which is actually great fun (if you like that sort of thing, and I do). It's been exactly the diversion I need to keep my mind off every little Botany-related twinge and mumur. Now all that remains to be seen is if we can get an offer accepted at the price we want before I go into labour. It's tenterhooks aplenty chez Mare!
In terms of blog announcements when Miss Botany does decide to finally arrive: I have been advised by my friend (you know, the one who popped the sprog a week ahead of schedule and who I gather is already back into size 12 jeans!) that there is internet access available on the ward at the hospital. I have my doubts as to the viability of this as a blogging solution- but if possible, I will try to post something on my laptop from there.
Otherwise, I believe I will be able to use my mobile phone on the ward (again according to the friend, who reminded me to pack my charger). Therefore I can send a text to my Scottish comrade, the divine Ms Pamplemousse and her sexy new mobile. She has very kindly offered to offer an update on her blog. If all goes really quiet here, it may be worth checking in there to see if is any news.
Roll on 18 August (still my best guess. Not that I am, uh, fixated on it or anything). Also, I am loving the lovely comments and the sense that people are waiting with me-thank you dear internetters. It does lift the spirits so by all means please keep 'em coming!
Apart from a few more similar rumblings in the nethers over the last few days, nothing much happening. No news is, er, no news. I am trying not to get overly focused on being due today. Obviously, nobody has informed Botany, because she shows no signs of making a move. Or at least not at 4.53 am as I write this- I'm awake having clocked up a whole 3 hours sleep tonight, whoo hoo.
Just to clarify on the appointment situation since I may not have explained that very well- I did have a check at 39 weeks with my GP. All was fine, no cause for concern. Now. I am due on a Tuesday (today)and unfortunately, the midwife only attends the surgery once a week on a Thursday and there were no appointments for this week- that being week 40 and two days overdue. I'm annoyed because I booked all my appointments a month ago, and the surgery apparently should have scheduled me with the midwife instead of the GP. Yes, I tried to get the midwife to squeeze me in, but they were unable to. We're dealing with the National Health Service and midwifery resources are a little stretched in this area. Thus hence the best they could do (or were willing to do) was to offer a phone call for the following Monday (40 weeks plus 6 days), with a view to making a plan at that point.
Apart from the Monday phone call, I do have a scheduled appointment for the following Thursday (week 41) but by that point I would be 9 days overdue, and given that they do not generally allow pregnancies to continue much past 10-12 days here, it does not leave much time to sort out scheduling an induction, if it comes to that. What I don't want to happen is for things to get left until very late only to discover (as happened to a friend of mine) that there were no beds available at the hospital. That is of course something I can and will discuss with the midwife during our Monday call.
Yes, I could go back to the GP for another check this week, and I will do if I feel the need. However, the GP will frankly not do much. The routine checks are all well and good, but would be unlikely to tell me anything new. They don't do internal exams nor will the GP arrange an induction date. Nor would I be referred for non-stress testing, which apparently is not routinely done here, even at 41 weeks. Basically, they are pretty blase about first time mothers being late- at least up until a point. Also, due to a recent change of staff at the clinic, I'm unfortunately dealing with a particular midwife who by reputation (I've never met her yet) is relatively hands off. Thus she is not desperate to do anything until Monday 20 August at the earliest. No, there isn't anyone else I can go to, except my GP- who wants the midwife to handle things from now on- and so that will not particularly assist.
Are you rigid with the tedium of it all yet? I'm probably making it sound worse than it is. The bottom line is that I've sort of fallen through the cracks insofar as my "official" due date does not line up well with the days for midwife clinic appointments. It's sort of crappy, boring and not quite what I had expected but if I have any real concerns, then I can still phone the GP, the midwifery centre or the hospital, so it's not the end of the world. It just doesn't particularly fit with my modus operandi of plan, plan, plan.
Assuming I do go into labour naturally (yes please) anybody want to place bets on the actual birth date? My own guess is 18 August. No pressure, though, Botany. No pressure.
My formal due date is not until this coming Tuesday, so strictly speaking I suppose I should not really expect to have given birth yet. Except I was kind of hoping it might happen, say, a day or two ago. Or tonight. Or any time now really would be OK with me.
I had struck up a new friendship with one of the women I met at my antenatal classes, primarily on the basis that we were due on the same day. For a couple of weeks there was a lot of meeting for coffee and phone calls and comparing of notes. Then earlier this week she texted me to say she was going to have to miss our next coffee date- because she'd given birth to her son the night before. She's already home from the hospital with him. Harumph. I don't know if its the uber competitor in me or simply the desire to be safely disembarked from the ferry myself- but I am wildly envious. And it's put me in a slightly grumpy frame of mind, and I can't seem to shake it off.
Yesterday I began feeling very crampy in a sort of menstrual way- not exactly waves or anything I could pinpoint as definitive contractions, but not far off it. And it didn't go away when I walked around or lay down. I had just about convinced myself that this was the start of it all- yay- only to have all the symptoms completely vanish after I had a bath later in the evening. Then today- nada. Again, harrumph. Yes, I knooooow the baby will come when she is ready but I am fervently hoping that it's not going to be a kind of long,vague run up to the main event followed by a panicked dash to the hospital.
Also, being late? Not ideal. At the last appointment my GP informed me that after my due date, I should be seeing the midwife instead of him next week. Except it turns out I can't get an appointment at the clinic with my midwife next week, as she is fully booked. When I asked the receptionist what I am meant to do in that case, she simply canceled my GP appointment and gave me the phone number of the midwife to organise something. Except the midwifery centre has no computer and the person I initially spoke to was totally unable to help as they cannot make appointments themselves.
When the midwife finally phoned me back, she suggested that I "wait until August 20" and if I haven't had the baby by then, then I am to get in touch for a chat and we'll discuss formulating a plan. The third harrumph. I know it's not that far over, but I do find it a bit odd and frustrating that they insist on weekly appointments & checks from week 36, only to leave me hanging for seven days after my due date with no monitoring or clear strategy thereafter.
Anyway. Stand by. E is making a very hot curry for dinner and a long walk with the dog is on the cards, and who knows. Until then, harrumph.
When I first read Forever Lurking Margaret's question (that is: to what did I attribute my miraculous change in fertility- was it getting the dog/switching jobs, etc?) my initial reaction was that yes, I had already tried to answer this earlier. But then on reflection, I realised that there is probably always some more to be said on the topic. And so here it is.
Firstly, a little recap. In our particular case, our apparent inability to conceive a child over the course of several years was (and remains) "unexplained". We started trying around about June 2003, when I was 33 going on 34 years old. (If you do the math, that presently makes me coming up for age 37.) But there was a certain amount of quirkiness to our situation which didn't necessarily help matters. Specifically, we worked in different cities about an hour apart, and rather than subject ourselves to a punishing commute, we kept two places of residence during the week, with a lot of regular to-ing and fro-ing.
During this time, I was, like all good little control freaks, obsessively charting my very regular cycles and making sure that whenever possible we were together during the crucial times of month for conception- even if that involved one of us getting on the motorway for a long drive after work. Clearly, though, it was less than ideal.
So for awhile I operated on the basis that my failure to get pregnant might be due to something as simple as not having enough sex. However, as the months dragged on, and the statistics indicated that we were, in fact, doing what we should in the relevant windows of opportunity, I began to worry. And that is when the fun began.
Cue the first nervous trips to the doctor, the preliminary testing and all the other relationship baggage that comes with the burden of trying to get your groove on, on schedule, at the expense of spontaneous joy. Onward to more months of despair and an escalating panic- and no baby. The biological clock in my head became a time bomb. And so one day, I woke up to find myself injecting needles in my midriff- in the middle of an IVF cycle which to all extents and purposes was being carried out as an expensive diagnostic tool. An unsuccessful one at that.
Leading into an agonising period during which, despite the removal of the difficulty of the two-city problem, it was then unclear if there was going to be a partner with whom to have a baby, never mind a baby itself. And when the dust settled, there was a longish period of slow and delicate reconciliation, which went hand in hand with a gradual exploration of what lay ahead in the family building department- or not. Meanwhile, life went on, and this happened to include the arrival of a small, sweet, cheeky dog with inordinately large ears.
Now, I'm reiterating all of this ancient history, even for those of you who have followed it from the beginning, because I am trying to convey the fact that for each individual, the causes of (and reactions to) infertility can be many, varied and complicated. However, if I were to apply the Occam's razor principle (as summarised in the title to this post) to the root of our fertility problem, then I would say that it was simply that we were "sub-fertile" rather than infertile. And I reach that conclusion simply on the basis that, yes, it took a long time, but ultimately I did manage to get (and remain) pregnant naturally.
Delighted as I am to have come this far, it is somewhat bothersome not fully knowing the exact reasons for why things were so difficult. I don't know why it took so long. I don't know why the IVF didn't work-it was a sombering lesson to me that fertility treatment was not the silver bullet that I expected it to be. I don't know why the embryos made during IVF expired, while the embryo created back in November the old fashioned way is now a full-term baby kicking me in the side with great enthusiasm.
To those of you still waiting and combusting with longing for a child- I would dearly love for my story to offer something more concrete for you. Sadly, though, as I have tried (perhaps clumsily) to explain, I don't think there are any easy, pat answers to be gained from my experience. There are no universally applicable magic wands to be found here. But for anyone struggling through the nightmare of fertility troubles, I do sincerely wish for you the succour of sustainable hope- and the conviction that no matter what the eventual outcome, better things lie ahead.
With an estimated due date now two weeks away, here's a quick round up of my current state, both physical and emotional:
Puffy- my ankles are OK-ish but my fingers have turned into mini-sausages. This post is being typed by baby kielbasas. Also, the carpal tunnel, which had been held at bay for a few months, has returned with a vengeance. I can barely grip anything and there is a shooting pain in my left wrist. Furthermore, my feet have expanded. I had been told that, during pregnancy, your shoes may no longer fit (i.e. due to loosening of the ligaments)- but I confess to being wholly in denial about that one. Until recently when the reality became inescapable. Now the only thing that I can wear are my formerly too-big Birkenstocks, which makes me feel sort of dorky and clumsy.
Sleepy- I go to bed about 11 o'clock, exhausted- but can't fall asleep. Toss & turn for hours, then get up to wander around the house. Fingers too swollen for knitting (see puffy, above.) Drink glass of milk, stare out the window looking for rogue foxes rifling through the rubbish bins. Finally doze off about 4am and would happily sleep until noon, except I am invariably woken up at the usual time by the dog, the doorbell or the phone. Sometimes, like today, all three at once.
Weepy- I attribute this to hormones and sleep deprivation (see sleepy, above). Yesterday, I sat at the computer looking at old photographs and listening to music with a steady stream of tears down my face. This morning I sat for about twenty minutes halfway up the stairs, crying about absolutely nothing. Then I wandered into the baby's room, running my hands over all the nice things; with a lump in my throat. On days like today, the horrid, persistent dread takes me by the throat- that the baby won't come home and will never see this nursery, and who's going to deal with removing all the stuff? Then I cry some more.
Sartorially challenged. I was fairly restrained in the buying of maternity clothes, and consequently, having worn the same things over and over and over and over and over for the last six months, I am now sick to death of the sight of certain items. Also, even the most forgiving of expandable waistbands is now under stress- I feel like cutting a hole for my head in the dining room tablecloth and being done with it.
Dopey- brain like a sieve. Short term memory shot to hell. Have to write down everything or I will forget. Coupled with a vague spaceyness (see sleepy, above), I am slightly afraid to go out in public (including driving), in case I accidentally do something dumb like omitting to leave the parking brake on or wander into a lamppost.
Ready- while I can say while that I have (for the most part) loved being pregnant, I am now firmly moving into the headspace of wanting to get the show on the road. Except ideally it would be probably be preferable to wait until my parents arrive next Wednesday. Not to mention until, um, Friday when E. gets back from an unavoidable business trip. But tick, tick, tick. I do have the sense of now being at the airport terminal, bags checked, hanging around the gate, anticipating boarding call any time.
Happy- burbling somewhere underneath all the above, I am actually happy. Even if I have forcibly to remind myself of that during some of the lesser moments (see sleepy, weepy, puffy, etc. above).
On a separate note- I will try, if at all possible, to later respond to Forever Lurking Margaret's question (see comments, last post) before Botany arrives- if only because I love the name "Forever Lurking Margaret" too much not to. Even if I have to type with my sausage thumbs.
It always gives me a small chuckle to see which parts of a post seem to excite the most commentary. Disposable knickers- who knew? Truth be told, I hadn't really thought past rigorously following the lists of "What to Pack in the Hospital Bag" (to be found on various websites and in books about, ah, what to expect). So it hadn't really dawned on me that normal knickknacks (though crummy old ones, possibly in the granny pant style) could also suffice. But then I realised that, in any event, my box of "older undies" is somewhere in the loft, amongst the pre-pregnancy clothing- where it will have to stay until I eventually get a chance to sort through things properly. I anticipate getting to that chore in, say, four or five years time. So disposables it is. And my word, having opened the pack for a little sneak preview, they are hideous.
Oh, and someone mentioned the muslin cloths and queried the uses thereof. I guess it may be a UK thing, but everyone here is nigh on obsessed with muslin. Forget about worrying if you have the right pram, crib or nursing bra- it's woe betide you if you haven't laid in a supply of about 4,000 muslin cloths. As if, OH MY GOD, honey! Make sure you stop en route to the hospital at the Baby-o-rama store, because I am not sure we have sufficient provision of muslins.
Yes, but what are they for, you may be asking? Well, everything, apparently. Bibs, draping around self during feeding, cleaning up spills, possetting. Etc. D'you know, by way of demonstrating my total ignorance of the practicalities of dealing with an actual baby, I had never heard the word "possetting" before a couple of weeks ago? I still think it sounds like a dessert item. As in, "I'd like the apple crumble with some possetting on the side, please."
In other news, the cot bed arrived today and I had an amusing two hours putting it together. It wasn't actually that difficult to do, but there is something about assembling a piece of furniture which is intended to house an infant- it demands a certain amount of attention to detail. Unlike my usual laissez-faire attitude to those little IKEA projects (la, la, la, so what if there is an extra screw or bracket or three- or else not enough?), I must have checked the cot over about four hundred times to be sure that nothing would come apart/topple over/snag the wee one's clothes or limbs and so on. But it's solid, looks delicious, and I only swore like a salty pirate four or five times in the process (cover your ears, Botany.)
Anyway, it's quarter past two in the morning, and of course, I'm awake, as usual. I think I may dust the skirting boards and the underside of the television with a spare muslin for half an hour or so, and see if I can perhaps finally fall asleep before dawn.
After a week during which both E. and I worked like Trojans (including an epic 6 hour shopping trip to that abyss of doom, I*K*EA)- the house has finally started coming together. Or at least so I am no longer going to feel the need to be unpacking boxes at 2am. We have curtains. We have carpets. I have the all important muslin cloths and disposable underwear (mmm, lovely). I am feeling, if not exactly prepared, then at least as if it won't be complete chaos if I suddenly do go into labour.
And this is all good, considering that the word from my GP during my last appointment was that from now on, the baby could come "anytime." Eh? Eh? Excuse me, I have at least three more weeks. Right? Right? Erm, apparently possibly not. Huh. I guess it makes sense in some ways- if this baby is anything like me, she will be at the airport check-in with her bags neatly packed 4 hours early.
Of course, if she is anything like her father, she will be 2 weeks late, turned around the wrong way and unable to find the exit.
Because we are expecting a girl, and have been sharing that information with anyone who happens to ask, the next question on people's lips is whether we have a name yet. The answer is, yes, and quite a definite decision on that. Someone the other day expressed considerable surprise that a name was so fixed- to which I say that given that I've had nearly four years to think about what we would call our offspring, it's fair to say it's not exactly a rushed choice.
For the purposes of bloggage, I suppose I won't really be able to continue calling the little stranger the Apocryphetus much longer, so it's time to saddle up an appropriately silly pseudonym-since much as I love you all, if E., and I ( not to mention the dog!) get to be anonymous, then I think the baby should be no different. But while I won't reveal the actual moniker, I will tell you that it is the name of a tree, flower, plant or fruit. So dispensing with the horse metaphor for a change, let's just call her...Botany.
Um, what else? A couple of people have requested pictures of the bump-unfortunately, I feel inclined to decline on that one, for reasons which I hope you will understand. You see, in my experience, when I was still in the trenches, while I often quite enjoyed reading the pregnancy adventures of previously infertile fellow bloggers, seeing any pictures of the actual bumpage could often seem just a tad too much to witness. So I always promised myself if I was ever in the fortunate position of having a bump of my own, I was going to keep it under wraps, and I've decided to adhere to that.
I will however tell you that you can see a pretty good example near to what I currently look like (minus the blond hair) is here. I guess we're roughly the same build. Scary, no? I wonder if her ankles are as swollen as mine. Probably not- no swollen appendages in Hollywood.
