Cystogram, I want one!


No you do not. 

It is not fun at all. 

Imagine having cold liquid pushed up your ureather and into your bladder. Then having it hurt and not being able to piss it out as you already have a catheter in that said liquid is being squirted in by. 

And the best thing? I have to have another one in May! Lucky for me I’ll be back under general for that one. How much fun does that sound?

But truly the best bit was when they said ‘we can’t see any leaks from your bladder or the ureter so let’s get that catheter out!’ 

Weeing had never felt so odd. Underwear has never felt so right (I haven’t worn any for 15 days) and I don’t have a bag of wee strapped to my leg! 

Today is ending on a good note. 


Day 13: welcome home!

Today we came home from hospital. Both of us. Leaving no one behind. 

And I couldn’t be happier. 

It has been a crazy 18 days and to think my little guy should still be on the inside for almost a month. 

There were tears upon leaving the NICU but not sad ones. It just felt weird after being in one place for so long, being told to enjoy my baby and head home. 

He has come a long way these last 13 days. From being born at 34 weeks 2 days to being allowed out at 36 weeks 1 day. He passed all his checks with flying colours and I am so thankful. 

He’s slept all afternoon, fed wonderfully and just been a delight. Ask me tomorrow how it’s going and I’m sure I’ll be answering differently. 

Me? I’m doing ok. I’ve come home with a catheter still in because of the damage done to my bladder. I get a cystogram done on Monday (where they put dye in my bladder and check for leaks) and a pelvic scan on Wednesday then a baby check Friday and a urology check for me that day too. So I’ll be spending more time at the hospital but it will be worth it to make sure I’m healthy. 

Our healthcare system really truly rocks. 

But overall I’m doing pretty good. I’m not sure how I’ll go mentally in the near future and I’m sure I’ll need some help along the way. Looking at my scar is heartbreaking. And I know it will fade over time, but scars are there forever and it will remind me of this shit time and what I went through to get my family.   

that’s a lot of staples that were in my stomach!

 Just glad I never have to go through this again. 

Day 3: hit by a bus

Then times that by about 68. That’s how I feel right now. 

What a fucking nightmare the last week has been. A roller coaster for sure, but scarier than you’ve even been on. 

It all went pear shaped on Saturday night. I’d been having small bleeds on and off since Tuesday but Saturday they decided to take me back upstairs for monitoring. Lucky they did. 

Around 10.30 (I think-things are quite groggy still) I sat up and started bleeding like a horror film. Covered the bed, the floor and it just wasn’t stopping. My husband was called in and we were told one more bleed it would all be done and surgery would happen. 

I didn’t bleed again but I started getting hot and sweaty and blacking out and vommitty. Signs things weren’t going well. The doctor made the right decision to call time for surgery. 

Of course I lost my mind. Baby is too small, I was totally not ready, but it had to be done. 

They worked amazingly fast to get me prepped. Once I was wheeled to theatre they had to get more cannulas in. Bigger ones. One thing I’ve learnt being in hospital is my veins don’t work. I was already up to 4 cannulas with 8 attempts in 5 days. After me screaming in pain the head lady kicked everyone out of the way and got a needle in. Said the rest can be done later. I’ve since counted 25 holes in my arms.  Not including my central line in my neck. 

the damage done to my arm during surgey. getting blacker by the day.

 Then the next thing I knew I was crying and being put to sleep. 

Waking up with a tube and oxygen is scary. My neck is still sore from it. I spent the first day in icu. It’s all a blur but I remember having the physio telling me to breathe deep and cough. Don’t know what that was about. I couldn’t see straight let alone cough! But that’s about it. My mum and husband were there and rightfully worried. 

I lost 5 litres of blood during the operation. That’s really all you have! So my blood belongs to others and for that I am eternally grateful. As the doctor said ‘you’re lucky to be alive.’ Pretty terrifying to hear that. 

When they got to my cervix to remove it, I was dilating and at 3cm. So the need for surgery was right. They couldn’t wait. It could have gone even more wrong!! I thank the doctors on that night for making the choice and being on the ball. 

They performed a hysterectomy, which we knew would happen, and I’m ok for now about it, but once they started removing my uterus my bladder was damaged along with my ureters. They have been repaired for now but who knows the on going issues I’ll face. 

Baby wasn’t breathing due to me being under general anathestic. But they got him going after 12 minutes apparently. But his oxygen levels were always good so there shouldn’t be issues. 

He’s doing great. I think he’s so tiny but my other boys have weighed over 4kg and this little guy is only 2.68kg. So a good deal less. But real baby size. I’m happy I make big baby’s. He came at 34.2 weeks so he’s got a bit of growing to do. He’s sleeping and eating and popping and I don’t have to do any of it. I’ve only had 3 cuddles so far as we are still trying to work out pain management. I am not tolerating the medications so it’s all a balancing act right now. 

Getting up and moving has been a huge struggle. I’m currently in a chair but feel like I could just fall on my face any moment. It’s a horrible feeling to be so out of control. But to get me better, to start breastfeeding and to get us home I’ve got to move. 

This won’t defeat me, I’m stubborn and this is just the next chapter in this insanely weird time of my life.  


Week 33.5: needles, cannulas and ultrasounds. 

So it happened. 33.4 weeks it all went south! I end up in hospital. 

Waking up to blood is scary. For 20 weeks since this crazy journey begun, I’ve woken up daily wondering if today was the day for a bleed. I’m not good at resting, never have been. But I have been trying my hardest to take it easy. 

So yesterday when I woke at 6.30 to blood I panicked. Woke the husband, threw clothes on the kids and called the hospital. One thing that’s been drilled in is ‘don’t mess with bleeding’. Don’t um and ah about it. I go straight in. And it was a good thing too. 

So put on monitors and checked throughout the day, it all seemed to go away. It felt weird as I was probably the only woman on the birthing unit wanting to keep baby in!

I’ve had cannulas placed, steroid shots in the bum – twice. I don’t recommend that! Needle count is 5 already. 

All goes well for the day. I’m admitted and told “welcome to your new home until this baby comes!” I just wanted to go home. My boys wanted me to go home. This place is so lonely. 

Cue 2am wake up! Another bleed, a much bigger one! I press the button, the midwives come fast! My words – ‘fuckity fuck fuck fuck’. 

Taken back for monitoring and more bloods for testing. The bleeding slows but cramping starts to come in waves. Not enough to be called contractions but enough to worry a few. By 5am I’m passing out from the pain killers but the pain goes and hasn’t come back. 

It’s been an up and down day. I had my veins mapped so they can insert catheters for surgery. I’ve spoken with my amazing doctors who have said to tell my body to behave and hold on a bit longer. 

Surgery has been brought forward 2 weeks so we get to meet this one way earlier than full term. Way earlier than originally planned. So providing it stays in and there’s no more blood or contractions, then looks like I’m here for at least the next 2 weeks. 

Can’t wait to feel sun on my skin!

At least I now have the correct attire! 

 Have I mentioned how awesome the food is??? 

I have zero idea what this is….

Tapping away the pain

After my melt down at the hospital the other week, it was strongly suggested by many people that I get urgent help. There is only so much a social worker can do. 

So with the (incredibly strong) nudge of my husband, he got me booked into a therapist who just happened to have a spot open up the next day. After I finished panicking, as I hate talking to people, especially when I know I’m going to blubber my way through the birth histories, I put my big girl pants on and went to see her. 

Talk therapy is not for me. This I knew. One reason why I’ve never done anything. But this lady is different. She does tapping therapy. I only knew about it from my husband who does it too with his clients. And of course I’ve scoffed at the idea. How does tapping your body do anything?

I had my second session today, and honestly, I’m still not sure what to think about it. I felt completely stupid while doing it, crying over these thoughts, wanting to not cry when I think about them. Aparently I’ve got plenty to deal with, with my stress level incredibly high based on the worst parts of the first birth experience.

But, talking to a dad at school pick up today, he mentioned my boys looked so similar. I told him my experience of having Marshal taken away from me in hospital at only a few days old, when I got moved to high dependency ward, not knowing what the squishy pink boy looked like, having his ankle bands fall off and me worrying that he would get swapped with another baby. My husband wasn’t there at the time and of course at that moment, I panicked. The midwife holding him to take him to the children’s ward, me not saying goodbye until I freaked out and reached for him. I got 20 seconds to say goodbye before I was wheeled away and hooked up to monitors. 

When I tell this part of my story (well all of it actually…), I tense up, I get sweaty and hot. Teary. But today, nothing. I was able to tell the story and still smile. After tapping my way through this traumatic memory this morning, I was able to disconnect the emotion from the story, and have it just that. A story. The horribleness of it is still there, just not the tears that come with it. 

For 3 years it actually kind of bothered me that maybe he was swapped and I didn’t know. But then Maverick came along and now they are so similar the thought hasn’t crossed my mind since. It’s funny how your mind plays tricks on you. 

I’ve got so much to work on, more than I thought, but if I can now talk about that crappy experience, up until being moved wards that first time, without tears, then something must be working. I need something that works now, not in 12 months. I just want to get to a place where I don’t completely freak out when they produce the needle. I’m sure if I started this ages ago, I’d be in a better headspace now. Always leaving things to the last minute. 

I’m sure after this birth, I’ll need help dealing with it too. I might need to take out a loan to pay for it all….but if it helps my parenting, and stops me feeling like such a failure as a women, then it’s all worth it. 

Week 32: the count down is on

I’ve always had the belief that babies should a) be pushed out and b) choose their own birthday.

Being an almost third time c section mamma, I know this is not always possible and things don’t go to plan. Fuck, zero of my births have gone anywhere near the plans I wanted. It makes me wonder why I even bothered with the “birth plan” I was told to write. 
When Marshal was born and I started getting sick, I remember feeling pretty shitty that this wasn’t in the plan. I was supposed to push baby out and walk out and take him home. A lovely bitchy midwife snapped at me “well what does this tell you? Don’t plan!” She was the same midwife who was there for my first breastfeeding experience. 5 years on I still want to punch her. 

So today when I was given the delivery/operation date, I actually had no idea how to feel about it. Both my boys have come when they wanted. Yes, Marshal was late and Maverick came early, but they were ready. Yes, both ended in c sections, but it was when they were ready. 

I’m glad there is a final date set and I can now plan and count down the days. But it just feels weird/odd to have your babies birth date chosen. They get to chose nothing else. Their name is given, how they are fed is decided for them, the day they come into this world should be up to them. 

And I know there are circumstances that need medical intervention, like accreta, previa and more and yes, I am thankful for modern medicine otherwise I wouldn’t be here to have my third baby. But it doesn’t change my beliefs. 

It’s been hard enough coming to terms with never having a natural birth, and I still get upset about it. I’m still allowed to have beliefs about how I think things should go, no one can change that. It might seem hypocritical to think one thing and have gone through a totally different situation, but mine wasn’t by choice. I have never tried harder at anything than I did to get those baby’s out. 

I guess this time the plan is simple. Get baby out and don’t die. I’m sure the rest will fall into place on its own. 

I’m actually glad that I NEVER ever have to go through anything like this again. No more ‘oh no’s’. My beliefs can stay with me, and I never have to plan another birth again.