Finding out the sex of the baby

15 weeks into the pregnancy we received the results of the noninvasive prenatal test (NIPT). Just what we were waiting for to spread the word about our new baby. Little gosling wasn’t aware of anything, as we had taken care of not talking about the pregnancy in his presence. We wanted to be able to break it to him with all details, including the sex of the baby.

At the last consultation before our three week holiday in Romania, the gynae reassured us upfront the NIPT results were good, no anomalies detected, but wouldn’t reveal the sex until after the routine ultrasound. “On va voir ensemble” (“Let’s see it together”), he said. Baby was not in a favourable position to see anything so, at the end, he simply said: “C’est une petite princesse”. A girl!!! I so badly wanted the baby to be a girl. My husband was unshaken; he had been certain all along it was a girl. “It’s what I ordered” he kept saying :))).

Breaking the news to our son

Little gosling had expressed the wish to have a younger sister. His best friends at school, Gaby and Emile, had younger sisters in the same school, Lucia and Freya. Apparently, the siblings were a constant presence in their conversations. One night, little gosling told me: “Let’s have a little sister”. I was pleasantly surprised and I could see his daddy suddenly raising his gaze and paying attention to us from his corner. I explained that if we had a baby we could not really choose; what if it were a little brother? “I would just ignore him”, he said very naturally. Didn’t know how to react to that :))). So, good thing it was a little girl. 

I already had a short list of girl names. It took us less than a minute to discuss and decide on a name, before we picked up little gosling from school and gave him the news. I listed them and my husband only liked one of them. Our baby girl would be named “Iulia”. 

At home, we told little gosling we needed to talk to him about something. 

“Do you remember how you wanted a little sister?”

“Yes? Is it coming?” 

“Yes, you’re gonna have a little sister. Daddy and I thought of naming her Iulia. What do you think?” 

“I like the name Iulia. Where is she?” 

“In mommy’s tummy.” 

“Can I see it? When is she coming?”

“In January. She’s gonna still grow in mommy’s tummy. She’s about 10 cm big now (approximating the length with my fingers). When she’s ready, she’ll come out.”

He was looking at us with big eyes, full of surprise and excitement. He was curious. That day and ever since, he’s been asking recurring questions about when, how long before Iulia comes out and how, which way she would come out of mommy, how she got into mommy’s tummy. 

I explained calmly and naturally.

“Daddy planted a seed in mommy’s tummy, just like he did with you.”

“She will grow inside mommy’s tummy until she is big enough and ready to come out, just like you did. We expect her to come out of mommy at the end of January next year (after holidays, after mommy’s birthday, after St Nicholas and Christmas).”

“ She will come out through my vagina” and showed him when we took baths together.

He asked whether we could name her Lucia or Freya. “We want her to have her own name and identity. There is already one Lucia and one Freya”. He was ok with that.

It felt good, unpretentious, natural, intimate, the way I wanted it to be.  

He has kept asking to see my tummy (skin, not covered with clothes) and caress it, calling Iulia’s name. When he sees me caress my tummy, promptly asks whether she is moving and quickly puts his small hands on to feel her. There’s a clear sense of impatience and he would like Iulia to come out already, including her in our conversations.

Bodily sensations 

Second trimester brought along new sensations compared to my first pregnancy. 

Round ligament pain was completely unfamiliar to me. The sharp ache in the sides of my abdomen, particularly when doing a sudden movement, like getting up or twisting in any way. I quickly learned to move gently and slowly, lifting my body up bit by bit when lying down. 

The hunger sensation eased, almost to a point where I would feel hungry in the morning when waking, but pretty satious in the afternoon/evening. Reflux and particularly a sour taste in my throat, occasional heartburn settled in early. For a few weeks, I felt discomfort after eating anything made with white flour, so no more pains au chocolat :P. Can’t stand to see or taste broccoli anymore and ethnic food stopped agreeing with me. 

I continue battling constipation, going from one extreme to the other, finding it hard to fix from diet alone and exercise. The pressure on my rectum keeps the piles alive and much more than during my first pregnancy, I struggle with internal piles. The anal itchiness is my constant companion, but the internal piles start to sting more and more often.

Breast tenderness has been less of an issue than during the first trimester, although there have been times when even the touch of the bra was absolutely uncomfortable. Little gosling has kept on breastfeeding, unbothered by anything.  

One thing I have not missed at all from my first pregnancy: swollen ankles. Because I had no issues. Must be courtesy of Brussels weather ;). 

I am still not sure how the famous Braxton-Hicks contractions are supposed to feel like, but mid-way through the second trimester I definitely felt the same sensations as during the real contractions during my first labour: abdominal cramps, low back pain and urges to empty myself. Honestly, these helped ease constipation. 

Energy levels, sleep, exercise

From week 12 onwards I felt super energetic, I wanted to do so much. Good-bye tiredness! I slept like a log again, no longer waking up during the night to pee. What a relief! My body sort of slowed down towards the end of the afternoon, but generally, I felt like I could do anything. 

I kept taking my morning walks, determined to do my 10 000 steps daily as long as possible, if not until the very end. It was my me time, listening to audio books or podcasts, observing the nature around our park, talking photos just for my soul, capturing the little details: the shapes of leaves, the swans chasing the geese away on the lake with their big white wings in this menacing basket-like shape, the flowers, noticing the noisy parrots, following the growth of chestnuts, noticing the same people running at the same hour every day or practicing meditation on the grass, under the same tree…

I mapped the different pre-natal activities in my area, looking for those with physical presence and working hours schedules, as online things did not work for me and I did not want to eat into little gosling’s time with me. Due to the pandemic and holidays it was only from September onwards that courses finally became available. 

I started going to pre-natal yoga classes once a week at my favourite studio. It was almost one year since I had last gone to a yoga class and let me tell you, it was hard. My heels were way up high from the ground again in downward facing dog. The warriors felt uncomfortable on my knees and shoulders and I was back to the easiest version of the tree pose. My balance was off. But it felt good for my body, for my back, for my joints and for my mind. It was just the right amount of time and effort for my body at that point. And the 15 minutes of winding down in a reclined shavasana at the end felt heavenly!

I went to pre-natal aquafit once a week, with a practicing midwife. I enjoyed that tremendously! Being in warm water, with other mommies to be, sharing about our pregnancies, fears, doubts. I kept thinking how great it would have been to be able to swim and spend more time in water pregnant. One day, I’ll definitely learn to swim properly! 

Weight gain/pregnancy bump

Weight gain was less than during my first pregnancy – less than 3 kg. I had the same high bump, right under my chest, for the first many weeks. At some point mid-way, it took on a more normal, equal, round shape and descended further down. I could not locate the box with my maternity clothes from my first pregnancy, so I bought two pairs of maternity shorts, for the warm weather and two pairs of maternity leggings for the cooler times and kept on using my tops. At 28 weeks I still used my longer blouses; they fit just fine.  

Baby moving

I started feeling Iulia move around 20 weeks in. The gentle, fluttering, almost imperceptible kicks from the first days became more frequent and vigorous towards the end of the trimester. The last 3-4 weeks I was surprised by how active she was, especially at night. I could sleep very well, but little gosling had a period of waking up indecently early so we were all on our feet before 5 a.m. And Iulia was kicking to the point my tummy was shaking :)))) Little gosling had been such a calm baby in my tummy, so I feel surprised every time I feel her. I uncover my tummy and watch with wonder, laughing and talking to her, as her moves make ripples on my skin. 

She also becomes very active when I read to little gosling. We joke that she must like the sound of our voice, rejoicing in the certainty that when she comes out, she will recognise us, she will know mummy and her older brother. 

Pre-natal checks 

I continued seeing my gynae once a month, with routine urine and blood tests performed each time. Toxoplasmosis was much more of a concern here than in South Africa. I don’t remember doing these tests the first time around. And I was determined to monitor my thyroid closely. My TSH levels were good on the hormonal dosage I had pre-pregnancy, so I kept it up unchanged. Somewhere along the way, though, I ran out of pre-natal vitamins and completely forgot about them. 

Wasn’t too crazy about the cervical exam the doctor performed each time before the ultrasound. He explained he was doing it to make sure the cervix was closed and there was no risk of infection spreading up towards the uterus. Upon reading up, I understood it was not a routine procedure done by all gynaes, but there were moms for whom it had prevented serious issues. I talked it through with my overly-protective husband and we decided that whilst uncomfortable, we would rather not take any chance. 

The second trimester morphological ultrasound was incredibly technical and detailed. Happily, all was within parameters. I don’t remember having done a special ultrasound during my first pregnancy. Back then, it felt like all our monthly ultrasounds were incredibly detailed (much more so than the routine ones this time), so maybe there was no need and our doctor was specialised in this. 

I had my gestational diabetes test at the end of week 27. I found it such a peculiar experience, that I will detail in a separate post.

Preparation for birth

Keen on having a natural, unmedicated birth like the first time around, I started researching alternatives for giving birth in Brussels. Home birth was not an option we were comfortable with, but a midwife unit in a maternity hospital definitely was top of my preferences. It became quickly obvious there was little choice. While the system here sees C-section as a last resort, the overwhelming majority of births take place in hospital, overseen by gynaes, in the old fashioned lying on your back position with feet up and in 75% of the cases, with an epidural. 

There were two options available. Luckily, one was in the hospital where my gynae was practicing and I decided to explore first his openness to work with a midwife led process. I can’t shake off the complications that followed my first birthing experience and kept thinking if I had to undergo an intervention, I’d rather do it with my doctor. After all, he did a good job with my laparoscopy.  

In parallel, I read books and articles about maximising chances for a gentle birth; started listening to my hypnobirthing affirmation and relaxation tracks and practicing the breathing techniques. I attended the birth preparation classes given at my hospital by a specialised kinesitherapist, focusing on breathing techniques and positions in labour and expulsion phase. I missed the one on perineal education, though. They were quite useful to understand what to expect from birthing in my hospital of choice. 

We kept the conversation going with little gosling about the progression of the pregnancy, baby’s birth and how we would all need to adjust and cooperate to take care of her. Much like we took care of him. We read stories about the arrival of siblings. We talked about what she would eat; about the fact that babies’ only way of communicating with us is by crying; about the fact that in the beginning they can’t talk or walk and spend most of their time sleeping. 
We decided it was a good idea to ask my mom to come and stay with us for a while. A one way ticket, my husband called it. We talked to my parents and made arrangements for her to arrive around 4 weeks before the due date, just in case.. In Belgium, mom and baby are kept in hospital at least three days post-partum and with the pandemic restrictions, it was not entirely sure kids would be allowed to visit. My husband’s main concern was to make sure little gosling was cared for while he was with me during birth and in hospital.

We also decided that the only thing we really needed to have ready for Iulia’s birth was a bigger family bed. We would co-sleep, but that did not mean we would change anything in little gosling’s routine. He falls asleep in his bed, in his bedroom, but sometime in the middle of the night, he moves to our bed, between us. A bed of 2m x 2m would do. Not your typical size in Belgium. So, we ordered a mattress from a German company and my husband undertook the task of expanding our bed frame to fit it (I can hear him cutting the wood as I am writing this :)). 

We kept all little gosling’s baby clothes and items, including pram and car seat, so no need for creativity there. Wasn’t too keen on blue for him, just as I am not keen on pink for Iulia, so his clothes should give us a good breathing space. 

Uncertainty about birth 

Once the NIPT results came back positive, my anxiety levels dropped. I felt relieved and I could relax, although not completely. Being a 39 year old mom-to-be, I was alert to the different increased risks, so kept counting the weeks and marking the different milestones we were safe from. 

Anxiety levels went up after our 25 weeks appointment, when I opened the conversation about birth with my gynae, with the intention to understand his views on cooperating for a midwife-led birth. He enquired after my expectations and calmly said that based on the little information he had about my post-partum complications the first time around, he would recommend a C-section. 

That was a big blow to me. All my hopes, expectations and plans were shattered. I asked questions, wanting to know the risks. I understood his concerns revolved around the recurrence/avoidance of the post-partum haemorrhage (what was the cause? Inability of the uterus to contract?) and a possible uterine rupture (How big had the uterus perforation during the failed querretage been? How had it been sutured? Where exactly on the uterus was it? Had there been any infection?). I did not have a detailed answer. He suggested I get a medical report from my caregivers in South Africa and continue the conversation on that basis. 

I felt disappointed. I came out of the consultation with tears in my eyes. This was the very opposite of what I wanted. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to get the details requested in time. Luckily, my midwives and doctor in South Africa quickly provided me with the medical reports and I even got the post-surgery nursery reports from one of the hospitals. My gynae is yet to examine them in detail, but it may be less dramatic than he had imagined. The conversation about birth however, is a pending one and it may yet be influenced by the evolution of the pregnancy during the next weeks. 

Risk of preterm birth

Week 27 added on a new layer of anxiety and frustration.

27 weeks and two days in, I ended up in the emergency room. One very early morning, I woke up with abdominal cramps, low back ache and the urge to go to the toilet. Nothing happened the first time around, but half hour later and yet another thirty minutes later I emptied my bowels. On the soft side. When nausea and dizziness added to the mix, I became scared. I threw myself onto the bed and asked little gosling who was awake and gently caressing me, telling me “don’t worry, mummy, it’s gonna be ok” to call his dad from the other room. I wasn’t feeling well. My husband called the emergency room and we were advised to go straight to the maternity ward. 

Half an hour later, I was vomiting on the hospital’s corridors, as my husband pushed me in a wheelchair, with little gosling holding my hand. I was immediately accommodated into a single room, with monitors on to check my baby’s heart rate and detect any uterine contractions. I could feel her kicking very actively. It was 7 a.m., her peak time. I knew she was fine, but started wondering about the contractions. More than anything, I just wanted to feel better. 

By then, pain on the sides of my middle back was quite strong. My husband took little gosling for breakfast to the cafeteria, whilst I waited for the doctor. I peed into a cup and the midwife took a blood sample. No uterine contractions were detected and baby’s heart was just fine. I kept moving around, trying to find a comfortable position. I got nothing for the pain, even though I asked several times if there was anything that could be done. At some point, I fell  asleep. Two hours later I woke up and the pain had subsided. 

The gynae came in, with the blood results and part of the urine test. Nothing extraordinary. A little anaemia, which wasn’t unusual. All pointed to a gastro virus possibly combined with a urinary infection. Nothing worrying so far. She did an ultrasound, including the first transvaginal ultrasound since the very beginning of the pregnancy. All looked fine with the baby, but my cervix was shortened (27 mm, below the 30 mm normal lower range) and showed signs of opening.

This meant I was at risk of premature labour. She prescribed progesterone three times per day and recommended bed rest. Going to the toilet and taking the occasional shower was ok; if I felt really brave, I could take a 10 min light walk, but that was it. I needed to do all possible to keep Iulia inside at least until 34 weeks or 2,5 kg. Seven more weeks.

I could choose to stay in the hospital, but I wanted to go home with my family. I wanted to go back to my life. Not to mention the financial implications of an extended hospital stay. That was ok, as long as my family would allow me to sit still and calm. No sexual contact, no stimulation of any kind, including nipple stimulation or caressing my tummy.  The doctor then mentioned a hospital stay further down the road to have corticosteroid shots to help mature the baby’s lungs. I was tired and it was all moving too fast for me to process or ask any questions. I was just listening…

When she mentioned no nipple stimulation I naively brought up the issue of breastfeeding. She was most obviously surprised. It took her 30 seconds or so to react. Was I still breastfeeding?! She had seen little goslings in the corridors.. At three years and a half.. Absolutely no, that needed to stop. Breastfeeding could bring about uterine contractions, which was to be absolutely avoided. 

The doctor repeated all these to my husband, who took it all in very seriously. He would make sure that I rested and did not get upset by anything. And we went home. Worried. Scared. Frustrated. We needed some time to process all the information and the implications…

The post My (Second) Pregnancy Diary: Second Trimester Combination of Energy and Anxiety appeared first on Mommy Goose Chronicles.

My second pregnancy has felt nothing like the first one. Nothing more so than the first trimester. Anxiety has been at very high levels since the very beginning and bodily sensations were all over the place, resembling more my first third trimester. The world upside down, and then some more. 

All websites on pregnancy, what to expect and week-by-week progress, have these very long lists of possible pregnancy symptoms that one may experience. In my first pregnancy, the first trimester was hardly out of the ordinary, aside from some nausea around noon, for a couple of weeks, that I washed away with some Schweppes. This time around, I felt more like the women those websites seem to be addressing. 

The very first weeks were incredibly uncomfortable. Itchiness and stinginess all around my intimate area, pelvic and anal were annoying, making me feel very irritable and edgy and probably contributed to an increased anxiety. 

Vaginal thrush

I had experienced a very mild episode of vaginal thrush immediately after the birth of my son, but it had all subsided with one or two applications of balm. What I felt now was plainly unbearable. It was itchy to the point it gave me spasms and made me jump up and want to scratch the hell out of it. This happened immediately after implantation, so very early on in pregnancy. My GP prescribed a vaginal cream and it took around a week to completely go away. It came back once more just before the end of the first trimester, but quickly subsided with cream. 

Piles/haemorrhoids

I call them “my friends”. During the third trimester of my first pregnancy, I got myself three “friends”: two rather big ones and a tiny one. All external piles gathered together around my anus. Never painful or stinging, only itchy during pregnancy. They generally kept the same size they had before the birth and never bothered me since. Until now, that is. 

A new, tiny one came out after conception. It stung and hurt for a few days. What a nuisance that was! It has stung ever since. Added to that, from the very beginning, the entire anal area has been itchy. Internal piles have also been constant, as proven by regular traces of blood after stools come out. It did not help that despite my best efforts to manage it from diet, water intake and exercise, I was constipated. However, only the bleeding from the internal piles subsided when I had an easy time passing stool. I gave up putting cream on pretty quickly. Although I feel itchy every day, it is not all the time, but rather some moments, usually in the evening. Sometimes I give in, sometimes I manage to breathe it away. 

Anxiety

In retrospect, my first pregnancy felt like a breeze. It seems to me we were very relaxed, oblivious and maybe a little unconscious, too. Not to say this was a bad thing. It just made the contrast to how we navigated the second pregnancy all the more starker and evident. Understandably, I believe, given the difficult history of this pregnancy and my age (39), I, we have been more anxious, worrying more. 

Anxiety in the first weeks was around the impossibility to get a quick appointment with my gynae, who happened to be away for a few weeks. With my history of ectopic pregnancy, I had been advised to confirm early on the pregnancy was fixed inside the uterus. I had scheduled an appointment with his back-up at seven weeks, so I tried to relax, but could not shake off a feeling of impatience and urgency. 

I could not really be happy and hopeful about the pregnancy without this first confirmation. If it was ectopic, there was a good chance I could lose my remaining tube and with it all chance of conceiving naturally. Could we be that unlucky? 

A week before the appointment I started feeling mild cramps in the lower abdomen, much like my usual pre-menstrual cramps. I thought it was weird, because I felt them more on the right side, the one without a fallopian tube. No idea if there is or should be any connection. I felt them for a couple of days. Suddenly, they were with me constantly all day long. It felt like (autosuggestion, maybe?) they were radiating in my lower back and down my legs at times. I got worried. Then I started noticing some light brownish traces after peeing, once, twice, three times, every time I went to the toilet, and I became more and more worried. 

The following day, six weeks into the pregnancy, I had a first look at my baby. I heard the heartbeat for the first time and confirmed it was in the right place, inside the uterus, on the ER ultrasound machine. All was fine. The urine test came back normal I got this one ultrasound image that I showed my husband who was waiting for me outside. He had not been allowed to accompany me in the ER because of COVID-19 restrictions. What a relief! And what a surprise to hear the baby’s heartbeat so early on! I had not expected that. It was so alert..

The nurses in the ER did not seem impressed, advising me next time to call the ER beforehand. There was nothing particularly worrying in my story. Apparently, if it was not bloody red, there was no reason for concern. The kind, smiling gynae that handled the ultrasound looked equally relaxed about it all. 

Once the ultrasound at six weeks and then the medical check-up at seven weeks confirmed all was in order, I started counting down to week 12-13 and the end of the first trimester. I kept reading about signs of miscarriage and all the things that could go wrong. I would not get rid completely of the anxiety around something potentially going wrong thereafter either. 

Initially, I told only one friend about the pregnancy, immediately after seeing the positive test. Just to have someone to talk about this in case it all went terribly wrong. Around 8 weeks in, I told my mom and dad. It was my mom’s birthday, so it felt like a good moment to share something like this. We told everyone else around week 14, when we got the pre-natal genetic screening results back. 

Nausea

I experienced nausea differently than in my first pregnancy. Still mild; I never actually vomited, nor did it incapacitat me in any way, but a nuisance nonetheless. A nagging sensation that accompanied me between weeks 6 and 12, randomly coming and going at any time of day or night. Plus, I felt hungry all the time; that feeling of having a hole in my stomach that I needed to fill NOW, URGENTLY, or else I could pass through a wall :D. 

Frequent peeing

Very much like in the last trimester of my first pregnancy, I felt the urge to pee frequently. It was particularly annoying at night. I was already having trouble falling asleep to start with. I lay with my eyes wiiide open, impossible to close them, until they did. Once I was up and back from the toilet, I was back to square one and it could take me up to two-three hours to fall back asleep. Luckily, my boys let me sleep as much as possible in the morning.

Tiredness

This only further intensified my chronic tiredness and irritation during the day. I felt tired all the time, up until weeks 12-13. Particularly during late afternoon, after picking up my little gosling from the nursery, I felt exhausted and irritable. It was a tough period for my relationship with the little gosling. The occasional naps I took, privilege of teleworking during a pandemic, helped me cope better. They made for calmer, more serene afternoons and our relationship was gentler and less bumpy. Daddy stepped in quite a lot, at play and bathtime and was, as always, a tremendous help. Generally, throughout the pregnancy, he’s been most supportive, encouraging me to exercise – without overdoing it – and to get some rest. 

I hardly felt up for any kind of exercise. It felt impossible to keep up the running routine I had started the months before getting pregnant. Whilst I continued going out for my morning walks in the park, more often than not, however, I ended up sitting on a bench, breathless and tired for most of the time I was outside. 

Constipation, bloating, reflux

Constipation, bloating and reflux have been an issue throughout. More than in normal times. I tried to eat as healthily as possible, plenty of veggies and fruits. Some days were better than others. Drinking water was always an issue. I made sure I had extra fiber at hand, just in case I needed to supplement my regular diet. 

Breast tenderness

Breast tenderness was more problematic this time around. More often than not, breastfeeding little gosling felt uncomfortable, sometimes downright painful. This also rendered our relationship difficult. He found it hard to understand my reluctance and irritation, as I ended up limiting his time at the breast or suddenly interrupting it. It often led to tantrums on one side, irritation on the other. 

Nevertheless, I was determined to keep our breastfeeding journey going. I did not want him to feel that he was losing out on account of a new baby coming. Furthermore, I have this strong belief (no idea if it is supported by research or not) that breastfeeding my second one would be easier on my breasts if there is continuity. Maybe avoid some of the early issues with sore, cracked nipples or mastitis or such. We pushed through and adjusted. Only some positions have worked for me. I needed him to face the breast front and center, if we were in an upright position and when lying down, I needed him to be similarly at a 90’ angle, at the same height as my nipple. 

Weight gain/pregnancy bump

I gained around 1,5 kg in the first trimester. Sometime around week 12, I woke up one morning and I had a weird looking bump, very high, just under my breasts. It was visible to me when naked, but could easily remain hidden under a loose shirt. At this stage, I still fit into my normal clothes. Breasts seem to grow bigger from early on, but I was anyway still wearing my breastfeeding bras, so no need to adjust on that account either. 

I had a medical check-up roughly once per month. Not counting the ER ultrasound, I saw the doctor at 7 weeks and then at 12 weeks. Blood pressure checked; cervix checked to make sure it was tightly shut; ultrasound to check the embryo/foetus. We heard the heartbeat every time. Luckily, despite the COVID-19 restrictions, pregnant ladies could be accompanied, so my husband came along to all the appointments. We had made it to the end of the first trimester. All was in order. We were happy. 

My gynae called it a “miracle pregnancy”. Might be because of the little odds he had given me for conceiving naturally with one sub-optimal fallopian tube and a history of ectopic pregnancy, at my age. Might also be because the ultrasound showed that my right ovary (the side missing the fallopian tube) produced the lucky ovule, which was subsequently caught by the left fallopian tube. 

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I thought “I want to read her books if I ever get pregnant again”… So, once the first 12 weeks of pregnancy were safely behind us), I diligently ordered a copy of her first book, “The positive birth book”.  

This is an informative and empowering reading, particularly for first-time moms-to-be or mummies who are looking for ways to have more control over and improve on their subsequent birthing experiences. With exposure to the medical systems in three different countries on two continents, with different approaches and options offered to women to give birth, I found the book an especially useful read for women who give birth in traditionally highly medicalised or interventionist settings. 

It can help ease a lot of the anxiety and fears first time moms-to-be experience. It challenges some of the common misconceptions and negative perceptions around birth. It is packed with research-based data, medical and birthing experts’ opinions and all kinds of personal birthing stories. Although rooted in the anglo-saxon ways of doing things, there are many important lessons that can be drawn to improve on birthing experiences of women everywhere. 

I have a positive recollection about the birth of my son: a quick, natural birth, in an informal, quiet, cosy, non-medicalised setting, with a midwife who only made her presence known when absolutely necessary, my husband next to me. The book reinforced my belief that I had done the right things the first time around to help me birth my baby as I wanted and the  wish that my second birthing experience resembles the first one. I noted down a few tricks for labour and preparation for labour looking at how I could improve on my first experience. 

I definitely want to practice more and regularly (and starting much earlier) staying into the relaxed zone. I remember how difficult it was to stay relaxed and focused on breathing during the active phase of labour. I felt out of control of what was happening. I thought about making up my own affirmations and practicing one or two visualisations of my own (e.g talking to my baby, imagining moments together with baby and little gosling, cuddling, singing or reading together or just spending time outdoors). I would also like to try and be more present during labour, including active labout, taking mental notes of my sensations, for an accurate picture of my birthing story. 

I will make sure to have the image of different birthing positions at hand and put a note to move more. During my first labour, I was quite static. This worked amazingly well for me during the first stages, being all relaxed, either sleeping or in the bathtub, listening to my relaxation tracks. The later stages were messy and although I tried a few different things, maybe, just maybe, moving around more (maybe dancing? :)))) and trying a richer variety of positions could render it more manageable. 

More importantly, the book inspired me with two intentions (may be common sense to many, but not obvious to me): 

• Be more assertive in my interactions with doctors/caregivers. Ask questions; discuss options and alternatives; ask for pros and cons. Not be afraid to say “no” or “I want to do things differently”, “I want to wait a while longer” if something does not feel right. One thing I would definitely be more inquisitive and assertive about is the idea of a possible induction or a membranes sweep. Little gosling was born at 41 weeks exactly, a few hours before a planned membranes sweep which we had accepted without much questioning, but very anxiously, purely trusting our midwife. 

• Stay open-minded and flexible about the way in which birthing could go. If my plan A cannot happen (a natural, full-term, non-medicalised birth), there are ways to make other courses of action more palatable. I intend to prepare myself as much as possible, so as to have a birthing experience that I can feel good about and remember without angst.

The post My (Second) Pregnancy Diary: The Positive Birth Book appeared first on Mommy Goose Chronicles.

One of my tubes was completely compromised, the second one partially compromised and the uterus half covered by adhesions. I was told this was likely a consequence of the (many and invasive) post-birth interventions I had undergone.  

The procedure was scheduled for 9 a.m. on the Friday before Christmas 2020. I was invited for the pre-op consultation days before, with a nurse and an anesthetist. More blood tests and an EKG. I was told to shower the night before and again the morning of the intervention, washing thoroughly my body, gradually advancing top to bottom, with iso-betadine received. I was to avoid any fragrance, perfume, cream, as well as shaving the few days prior. 

I went in at 7 a.m. Little gosling was still sleeping. My husband kissed me goodbye and I took the metro to the hospital. It was still very dark outside and the air was crisp. It felt kind of lonely, but we had no one to ask to babysit. Mr Obama was reading to me from his book in my headphones. I carried a backpack with me (completely pointless, as it would turn out, but I was following the hospital’s recommendations) – phone, charger, Ipad, headphones, a book, a pj, slippers, a towel and a change of underpants. I was, apparently, geared up for boredom :))) during my scheduled one night stay in hospital. 

We had explained to little gosling (2yrs 8 months at the time) that mummy would be away, in hospital, undergoing an intervention whilst asleep for a day and a half. It was the first night we spent apart since his birth. No visits were allowed (COVID safety regulations), but we could talk over the phone. Daddy would be taking him to and fro the nursery, read to him the next book from our book Advent calendar and he could sleep the entire night in mummy and daddy’s bed. He seemed to understand, although he did ask for mummy and for tzatzi a couple of times during the evening/night. 

After a quick registration procedure, I got a white plastic wristband, complete with a barcode (which was scanned every time I was moved and changed rooms) and my photo on it. I proceeded on my own to the extremely quiet maternity ward. I checked into my private room (the only way to guarantee that the intervention would be assigned to my obstetrician of choice) and changed into the hospital gown and panties I was given. A training nurse came in to shave my lower abdomen (at pre-op I was advised to avoid any shaving/hair removal the preceding days) and helped me put on compression socks. I drank the Xanax she left for me with just a small sip of water. I was feeling thirsty and hungry by now. I lied down. I read a bit, but mostly dozed off, waiting to be taken to theatre. I felt quite emotional, with tears coming to my eyes. I put on the new mask given by the hospital, just in case. I watched the short video my husband had sent with my son, delaying getting dressed for school, singing and saying hello to me into the camera. So sweet! 

The scheduled time passed without anything happening. At 9.45, a stretch-bearer took me down, scanned my wristband and “parked” me in the big waiting room of the operatory block. It was a big hall, with mobile beds parked perpendicularly to the wall, separated by curtains. Nurses, doctors and “bed couriers” were coming in and out. More patients came and went almost immediately, their beds pushed by their operating nurses or anesthetists. I stayed put. I kept quiet and still, listening to the chatter next to the other beds. I was drowsy and had no sense of the passage of time. I asked the nurse in charge of the waiting room for the time – 11.15h. Hmmm… No idea when all that time had slipped by. It took a while longer before the anesthetist came, apologised for bringing me down too early and pushed me towards the theater. I climbed onto a higher mobile bed, my wristband was scanned again and off we went. 

In the very well lit theater, the table stopped under a huge light. A nurse put electrodes to monitor the heart rate on my chest and somewhere on the back, the blood pressure thingy, then wrapped my right arm safely alongside my body. The anesthetist installed the drip, whilst telling me a joke from one of Louis de Funes’ movies. I was covered with an extra green blanket – I was cold and shivering. My hand started to hurt when the drip started flowing. The doctor slowed down the flow. He held a mask on my face; my hand started to hurt all the way to my elbow and I lost consciousness before I could finish telling him that.  

Next thing I know is waking up with pain in the lower abdomen, much like strong menstrual cramps. I was feeling heavy. Had this constant need to clear my throat to be able to speak. I was feeling groggy. A nurse was busily moving around my bed, hanging things. I could feel pressuring and letting go of my arm, followed by a beeep, the thingy measuring my blood pressure. I was in a haze for most of the time I was conscious in the recovery room. The nurse kept talking to me. She gave me painkillers and placed a hot water bag on my tummy to ease the pain. At some point, I located a clock on the wall in front of me – 14.15h. I tried to calculate how long I had been under, but found it impossible to be precise. At 11.15 I was still in the waiting room, but my sense of time had already been altered by then. And who knew how long it had taken me to open my eyes after the procedure? 

I thought to check the bandages, to make sure things hadn’t gotten wrong and there was no big cut. I slowly took my hand under the blanket and felt small pieces of bandage here and there on my abdomen. Oh, good! I felt relieved. It had stayed laparoscopic… 

I could feel the hotness of the water bag and kept moving it around my tummy. At one point, my bed was moved to one side, waiting for a stretch-bearer to take me to my room. A different person, chattier, took me back up. He made small talk, but I can’t remember what it was about. It felt like my stay in the recovery room had been very short, but by the time I was back in my room it was past 16.00h. I sent a quick message to my husband. 

My throat cleared out quickly. I still felt the menstrual-like cramps and some stingy sensations alternating between the cuts, one at a time. I pulled up my shirt and counted 5 small squared bandages: 1 in the navel, 3 in the lower abdomen (middle, left and right a bit higher), one above the navel on the left side. I was intrigued: why so many? Why the one above the navel? I suddenly felt hot and I took away the additional blanket they had put on me in the theatre. 

A nagging sensation to pee came to me. A nurse helped me get up slowly from the bed and then waited outside the bathroom door. I pulled up the hospital shirt and looking down, there was suddenly more blood than I had anticipated and it started flowing down my legs, staining the compression socks.. I asked for help, I was too slow… I sat down, but did not manage to pee in the end. The nurse called for help and they helped me back to bed. I felt dizzy and a bit nauseated. “Call us when you want to get up again”, they told me.  

The nurse came in regularly to check my temperature, blood pressure, the bandages for any further bleeding, as well as for any vaginal bleeding. All normal. She warmed up my water bag as well. That helped a lot. 

I called my husband and parents. They had been worried. I had gone into surgery three hours later than scheduled, so my husband had immediately feared complications. He had called the ward to ask after me. I could sense my parents were also relieved. I wrote back to my best friends who had left messages of encouragement during the day. 

At some point, the pain came back. The perfusion got stuck and the nurse could not manage to fix it. She called the anaesthetist to ask whether she could change the whole thing, but couldn’t reach him. He had just passed by my ward minutes earlier and was possibly on his way home. The surgeon told her she could it take off completely and give me pills instead. Dafalgan forte every three hours or so. I also got a pill, good tasting, to put under my tongue and suck it. And, at some point in the evening, the much dreaded anti-clout injection in the belly came upon me. 

The surgeon stopped by to see me in the evening. He gave me a quick summary. He had taken out the right tube. He had saved the left tube, but “it wasn’t exactly beautiful”. He had cleared the adhesions in the uterus and he had spread a gel all over to prevent further adhesions from forming. Half of the uterus was closed; “all sorts of things had happened inside” he said. He told me to drink a lot, stay hyperhydrated. Gave me the medical leave paper and prescribed me antibiotics for the next five days. 

Afterwards, I dozed off, woken up only by the nurse’s visits. The night nurse told me to drink water and call for help to go to the toilet. I had to pee before midnight. I drank 1l and a half of water and waited… two hours until I felt any need to pee, not remotely as pressing as I would have thought after drinking that amount of water in one hour! Victory!!! 

Around the same time, my shoulder started to hurt, around the clavicula. Sharp. Numbing. It came and went. It felt particularly poignant when I stood up and went to the toilet. No more dizziness, but it came with nausea. Keeping it warmly tucked under the blanket helped. I rubbed it with my other arm and put my head on it, kind of like hugging it. Pain in the abdomen was now localized between the five cuts, not anymore focused on the lower abdomen. It was surprising to me to learn this was absolutely common after a laparoscopy, an effect of the CO2 they put inside the abdomen to dilate it during the intervention. It takes a while to make its way out of the system. 

I went to sleep listening to Mr Obama. Between midnight and 6.00 all was quiet. I woke up a couple of times, either to go pee or to adjust my position. My feet hurt, swollen in the compression socks. 

Early morning, after the usual checks (everything was in order, very little vaginal bleeding, bandages same as the previous day, no fever and my usual low blood pressure), I peed again. It seemed like “the” milestone to meet, my nurse was very interested in it. My bandages were changed. I decided it was time to go for an extended walk around the ward. I felt bloated. My shoulder pain kept coming and going, particularly when I stood up. It went all the way from the stomach, with some nausea, through the diaphragm, all the way up into the right clavicula and then through my right arm all the way down to the pinky finger. I had read that walking should help. 

The anesthetist came again and prescribed me a diclofenac for my shoulder pain. A kinesitherapist subsequently came by to check on my shoulder. All was within parameters. 

I left the hospital on my feet right after lunch. My husband and little gosling were waiting for me outside. The little one had fallen asleep in the car seat. My backpack felt heavy. I realised I could have gone with just my phone and headset to the hospital. Anyway, better to be prepared for the worst. 

The laparoscopy was a success. The best result possible had been achieved, no miracles. Out of the hospital, I felt no more pain in my abdomen. However, the pain in my right shoulder was strong and numbing. The worst was between 18 – 36h post-op. During the same period, gases were also quite painful, particularly so when lying down. The second night after the intervention was difficult. Without the adjustable hospital bed, my improvised pillowed backrest was much less comfortable. It was also a struggle to keep little gosling at distance from my tummy. It took a lot of explaining as to why we needed to be more careful for a while.

Later on, together in the bathtub, with the bandages off and the cuts still visible, little gosling would ask what happened. I told and retold him how those many tiny cuts on my tummy had come about on the occasion of our first and only night apart, so far. 

Four days and a half after the laparoscopy, we flew home for Christmas. A two hours and a half flight. I was anxious, as I had read that gases in the intestines dilated at least 30% at great heights, and was afraid of pain and discomfort. The surgeon had reluctantly given me a green light to fly; he would have preferred I waited, but it was already the 23rd of December. The International Civil Aviation Authority indicated on its website it was safe to fly 2 days after a laparoscopy. So, we took a chance. All went well, no sensations whatsoever. I spent two weeks convalescing at my parents’ home, reading books and doing little of anything else, whilst little gosling was enjoying his grandparents and their garden and animals, in the mild winter weather. 

The post My laparoscopy experience appeared first on Mommy Goose Chronicles.

My period properly returned one year after little gosling’s birth. I had felt some cramping from six months post-birth and some light occasional spotting from 9 months post-birth onwards, but it was around 12-13 months that it came back in all strength. 

At around 9-10 months post-birth I had seen a GP. He advised a general ultrasound to check that all inside of me was ok. I had an ultrasound of the abdominal cavity, including ovaries and uterus, and everything was deemed in order. As I had expected, he suggested extended breastfeeding could delay another pregnancy. I had no intention of altering our breastfeeding journey, so I plainly ignored that part. 

I had (and still have) a very positive recollection of my birth experience (shared here), but the negative emotions, the anger and anxiety that surrounded the post-birth complications and the way in which they were medically dealt with (my story here), took a while to fade away. I still remember conversations with my husband the weeks and months after it was all over.. He was seriously considering avoiding a second pregnancy and opening to the idea of adopting instead, just to avoid the risk of reliving the first post-birth experience. The idea of giving birth again brought me to tears.  

I did not see a gynae for a while after the birth experience. The doctor who had followed my pregnancy had not answered my messages after the birth of my little gosling and that had made me feel disappointed and distrustful. I kept recommending her to other women around me, but I did not feel comfortable seeing her again. Neither me, nor particularly my husband felt comfortable going back to the gynae who had managed by post-birth complications. We blamed her for having to go through a second curettage and an abdominal surgery. The expat women around me saw one of these two doctors and I felt uneasy about seeking advice from strangers. I kept postponing seeing a gynae and felt reassured with my GP’s advice.  

With all these in mind, we felt ready to try again. We were quite laid back about it, much like the first time, when we had just stopped using any contraception and let it happen (which it had fairly quickly, with no stress, just a few months later). This time we kept a closer look at the calendar. I was expecting it to happen as easily and naturally as it had then. It did not. 

I remember seeing my GP at around 13-14 months post-birth. He made me pee on a stick, can’t remember why. What I do remember, however, is the deep sense of hope, followed by a huge disappointment when it came back negative. He suggested again that breastfeeding would be an obstacle to a second pregnancy and advised me to start tracking my ovulation to actively help my chances. We did that for a couple of months. I was ovulating each month, but no pregnancy ensued.

I got curious and stumbled online upon the concept of secondary infertility. This is the inability to conceive a child (or carry a pregnancy to full term) after previously giving birth, assuming the previous birth occurred without fertility treatments. Secondary infertility typically is diagnosed after trying unsuccessfully to conceive for six months to a year. No idea whether this timeline holds for parents of all ages (we were both 35+). None of the medical professionals I saw in the past year used that term concerning my situation, but I could not have been very far. It appears to be a phenomenon as common as primary infertility. It was a surprising discovery for me. The fact that it was a medical condition labeled as such somehow reassured me. It was something that happened. I also just had a colleague giving birth to her second child completely unexpectedly in her early 40’s, more than ten years after the first child and without purposefully trying to have a second child. So, we continued trying, more or less organised about tracking the ovulation periods. 

A few months later we moved back to Brussels. Little gosling was 18 months old. I had the intention to see my regular gynae, but kept postponing for until after little gosling was settled into the nursery; after we came back from my grandpa’s funeral; after the one month Christmas holiday with my parents in Romania; after we had settled into our newly rented apartment…. Then the pandemics came upon us and somehow, going to the clinic and seeing a doctor for non-urgent matters became close to impossible for the first months. Ten months passed before I actually got to see my gynae. Little gosling was 2 years and a half by now.  

The check-up was routine-like to me. I shared my story with the gynae – the expression of cautious disbelief on his face upon hearing how it all had happened! I asked whether there were any obstacles preventing me from getting pregnant again, as we had been trying for many months with no result. I remember asking this more out of curiosity and to check a box (since I was there anyway…), than out of serious concern that something could be wrong. We kept trying, without any pressure on us; we wanted a second child and gave ourselves time until we turned 40, but put no pressure on ourselves. 

The gynae very calmly explained the ultrasound revealed something on one of my tubes that needed to be further checked. He had also noticed adhesions in the uterus, a rather common occurrence following surgical interventions like those I had experienced, he explained. He recommended both a hysteroscopy and a hysterosalpingography, which he described as specialised medical imagery tests, one resembling an ultrasound with a telescope going inside the uterus and tubes, the other a localised X-ray of uterus and fallopian tubes with a contrast substance. He also prescribed some blood tests. His tone and demeanour were calm and not a bit alarming. He said we would figure it out. As always, he would only call me if there was a problem with the results. I left the office without any alarm bells ringing. 

I gave blood the same day. The following evening the gynae called me. The blood tests had detected the presence of the pregnancy hormone, but in a quantity that signalled an unhealthy pregnancy. I was shocked and froze on the spot (I had come out of the supermarket to take the call), trying to process it all. I had just had a normal period two weeks before. Gynae said it must have been a false period; the pregnancy was several weeks. And the embryo must have been what he had detected in my tube during the ultrasound. He called me back the next morning to redo the blood tests. If the hormone levels were going up, an intervention could become necessary in order to remove the ectopic pregnancy. If hormone levels were going down, there was a chance I could get away without an intervention. 

I shared the news with my husband. He was equally taken aback. We had not seen this coming. We were dismayed. All I knew about ectopic pregnancies was the experience of a colleague who had undergone interventions to remove both her tubes following two consecutive ectopic pregnancies and had been left unable to conceive naturally. I found the prospect of another curettage daunting. It brought back all the anger and frustration from the post-birth times. It was all I could think about. I felt guilty and blamed myself for waiting so long before seeing a gynae. If only I had seen my gynae upon returning to Brussels! I blamed the gynae who had dealt with my post-birth complications for not alerting us to the risk of uterine adhesions and insisting on regular, frequent follow-ups. She must have known uterine adhesions were a common occurrence and a strong possibility in my case and that they could lead to possible difficulties for a second pregnancy, if left unchecked. Why didn’t she take the trouble of even mentioning this to us? If only she had… 

I shared the news with a couple of my mummy friends for support and alerted my mom – in case of an intervention, we planned on flying her over to help with little gosling. One thing we had learned from prior experience is that one knows how you go into the theatre, but there is no guarantee on how one comes out and how long the recovery takes. 

The next morning gynae did another ultrasound, to check whether there was any change with the tube. Everything looked the same it had days before. He explained the risks carried by an ectopic pregnancy as advanced as mine – more than six weeks. Rupture of the tube, internal bleeding.. And there’s a limited timespan before it ruptures the tube. An intervention, if required, would need to take place within days, to avoid the risk of the pregnancy rupturing the tube and provoking further damage. 

I redid the blood tests. That same evening the doctor called with “good” news. The hormone levels had gone down (from 20 to 1), meaning the pregnancy was dying on its own. No intervention was needed. I felt relieved. And I still had my tube. The embryo would be expelled by the body at the next menstruation that would take place in 10-14 days. He insisted for me to make the appointment for the two medical imagery tests immediately after that. And I did. 

A couple of days before the date for the tests, I started developing COVID symptoms. That week, little gosling’s nursery had been quarantined for a week upon detection of the virus among the carers. It was a Sunday. The on-call doctors told me to continue monitoring symptoms and see a GP if they persisted/got worse. The night before my tests, I developed a light fever. I called the hospital the next morning and was advised to cancel my tests and call back the following month. Both tests need to be performed within a certain interval at the end of the period, so one can’t really plan much in advance. Add to the uncertainty I felt about a COVID infection the frustration of having to delay the tests and wait another month. Luckily for us, we sailed rather easily through COVID, with only mild, albeit disconcerting symptoms. 

35 days passed without any period. No, I was not pregnant. I was worried. What did it all mean? I went to see my gynae again. He confirmed the situation was unchanged, as well as the absence of a pregnancy. He revealed a bit more on the occasion, saying the tube where the ectopic pregnancy had been was dilated and I really needed to do those imagery tests to have a better look at them and decide the course of action. Particularly so if I wanted another baby. But even without it, it would need monitoring. There was the possibility of a rupture of the tube, in which case I risked an internal haemorrhage. According to him, the period delay could have been due to COVID and prescribed me some pills (Lutenyl) to bring about the menstruation. One pill and one day later, there it was. 

It was a difficult period for both myself and my husband. We were feeling discouraged. Angry that all this should have happened to us. My husband was quite affected by the ectopic pregnancy and the idea of pregnancy loss. A chance lost. At the time, I was so shocked and so anxious about the possibility of yet another curettage and losing one tube, that I didn’t even fully realise there was a pregnancy in the middle. My knowledge of being pregnant was too-short lived and overtaken by other kinds of fears and thoughts, that it hadn’t really sunk in. We felt disheartened, lost. Anxious that we were losing so much time to get those tests done and have it fixed. We started thinking of all the other times my period had taken longer than the post-birth average of 28 days, wondering whether some of those had been ectopic pregnancies that just died on their own. After all, if I had gone to see my gynae a few days later, we would have never known about the ectopic pregnancy. 

I had the tests done less than a week later. Another gynae. More shocked looks upon hearing the story of my post-birth complications. Another vaginal ultrasound prior to the tests, to make sure there was no pregnancy anywhere and to have an idea about the baseline. He said something to me that felt reassuring: I still had plenty of ovules left. At least that.. 

I had the hysteroscopy first, in the morning, on the last (6th) day of my period. I had taken some painkillers, as instructed, one hour or so before the intervention. The setup was very much like during a regular consultation, although it was in a special room. I was on my back, legs in the stirrups. Something was placed inside to keep the vagina open whilst the gynae worked his way up to the uterus with the hysteroscope (a tube with a telescope at its end), while watching everything on the screen. It wasn’t pleasant, but it did not hurt. I kept looking at the screen. All I could see was a pinkish tunnel. The gynae was having trouble advancing and said something about the cervix having an unexpected bend. Can’t remember much of the sensations really, apart from a general and gradually stronger discomfort with the tube moving inside me. Finding a way to make the tube advance took a while, maybe one or two minutes, maybe more. It felt very long to me, especially as I was feeling myself fainting. My blood pressure, quite low usually, got lower and both gynae and nurse started fretting a bit, the nurse rubbing my face and hands with something cold, holding my hands and talking soothingly, the gynae trying to speed up the procedure. I was almost out of it, when the doctor said he was wrapping up. He could not see much. Hopefully, the hysterosalpingography scheduled for a few hours later would feel better. In any case, he said, that would go much faster. He insisted not to forget to take my painkillers beforehand. I felt weak, but colour was coming back into my cheeks and a few minutes later I made my way back to the restroom to get dressed. Out of reflex, I locked the door after me, with both doctor and nurse instantly crying I should unlock it. What if I fainted in the bathroom and I needed help?! 

I went back home, weary about the second procedure. Bought the exact painkillers the doctor mentioned and went back in the afternoon. It was during the second COVID-19 lockdown, so patients could not be accompanied to hospital appointments. The hysterosalpingography was done in one of the X-ray rooms and I laid down on my back on one of those big tables, with my feet up. It was super quick, it was done in no time. The contrast substance did not have much space to spread. Same doctor as in the morning told me one tube was completely blocked; the other one was also partially blocked and the uterus was full of adhesions. He spoke in a way that let on that the most likely course of action for a second pregnancy would be a laparoscopy, possibly followed by IVF. But my regular gynae would get the images and his report and would talk me through the options. 

I left the hospital in tears. I felt anxious and hopeless, fearing the laparoscopy and losing my tubes. I could not make out what it all meant for the uterus. I called my gynae a few days later and he confirmed we needed to schedule a laparoscopy to see what could be done about the tubes and uterus. However, due to COVID constraints, he could not be definitive about the date. He was super prudent, not venturing into any speculations about the outcome. He’d only know once he got inside. It did not feel reassuring at all. We were in a state of constant anxiety about it. And impatience. It felt like it was dragging on and on..  

I started reading about IVF procedures, thinking it would help ease my weariness. In hindsight, it was premature and only added to my anxiety. It sounded intrusive (needles would be used), uncomfortable, if not outright painful, the result was by no means guaranteed. It did not sound like something I was prepared to do.  

The laparoscopy was scheduled for a few weeks later. A couple of days before it was moved back a week – the Friday before Christmas. I asked the gynae to give me a call and walk me through the intervention. I was very weary. I wanted to know more about what he expected to be able to do. One of the tubes was dilated a lot and full of fluid, a condition called hydrosalpinx. It was over 6.5 mm in diameter (compared to its original 1 mm) and the chances of saving it were aleatory, according to medical literature. The second tube was also in a bad state, a few mm dilated, but in a better shape than the other one. He would do his best to save them. The uterus was half closed, covered in adhesions. He would clear them and put on a coat of gel to protect it against further adhesions. 

I recounted my laparoscopy experience here. The outcome was probably the best one could reasonably expect. One tube was lost, the second one was saved. He had also managed to recondition the uterus. 

I went back to see my gynae a month later. He walked me through the procedure, showing me photos. I don’t recall much of what I saw, only the distinct sensation that it wasn’t pretty. The next thing he said startled me. He asked whether to send me already to start the IVF procedure. I was not ready to go down this road and my husband was fully supportive. I felt discouraged that conceiving naturally appeared less of a chance than IVF, or so I deduced from the doctor’s advice. I asked him whether it was really necessary at that stage. He said I was in a better condition to fall pregnant than back in August/September, before the ectopic pregnancy. Advised to give it a try for 3-4 menstrual cycles and prescribed pills to help with ovulation. He was also very clear that given my history, it was wise and important to detect the pregnancy early, to make sure it was fixed inside the uterus. 

At this point, I was really discouraged. I saw no reason to hope and thought it unlikely that we would be able to conceive naturally. We decided to try for a few months and then see again whether my feelings about IVF changed. We talked about IVF and decided we were both ok with not going down that road, if I still felt uneasy about it. 

It was end January. I had already had my period that month and lost the window for the pills this time. I tracked my ovulation, but none was detected. I took the pills in February and again in March. Afterwards I stopped. The pills coincided with the surge of painful pimples all around the vaginal area, vulva and area, which lasted quite a long time and were uncomfortable day to day and particularly dissuasive for any sexual activity. In my mind I established a quick causal link between the two – it was hormone-based and the only other time in my life when I had experienced something similar had been in the weeks immediately following the birth, when hormones are supposedly still running crazily wild. Ovulation happened those two months, but I suspect I had started tracking it too late, albeit following the tests’ instructions. 

After my April period, I started tracking my ovulation earlier. After two empty tests, the third one showed the start of the period with optimal chances to conceive (a few days in advance to the calendar). Three days of ovulation in which we applied ourselves to the job :). On the day that should have been the second one of my following period, I did a pregnancy test. It was positive. 

Both my husband and I were cautiously happy. We did not want to get our hopes up before confirming that it was a viable pregnancy. Our thinking was: first make sure it was fixed in the right place; then make it through the first trimester; then wait for the pre-natal genetic screening to come back ok. Only then would we take a breath and allow ourselves to truly enjoy it. 

What followed were two weeks of feeling pregnant in a completely different way than the first time. Small, but constant discomfort was the norm. Tiredness. Anxiety. Imagining all the different ways in which things could go wrong. Finally, a healthy baby girl is growing inside my tummy, with a family of three waiting to meet her when she is strong enough and ready to come out. 

The post My Unexpectedly Bumpy Road to a (Viable) Second Pregnancy appeared first on Mommy Goose Chronicles.

In South Africa, I enjoyed seeing children going around barefoot, at any age up to teen years and pretty much everywhere: in the supermarket, in the shopping malls, in restaurants and at terrasses. It was not a matter of lack of means to get shoes in this case or lack of good manners. It was just how things were. One expected to see children barefoot; it was one of the most common sights. The weather is, of course, very generous and enabling almost all year round. And it is very much a car-centred culture. 

Coming back to Europe, during late autumn as it was, I felt a pinch of regret at not being able to delay more little gosling wearing shoes all the time. I found it so refreshing to allow children that freedom, pleasure and communion with the surroundings and nature (we had a beautiful garden there, whereas we live in a 5th floor apartment here). Even in warm, nice weather, one does not really see children going around barefoot this side of the world. Sometimes, I spot kids barefoot at the playground, but it is not really that common. 

Very early on, I decided shoes were not an indispensable or even a desirable accessory for little gosling. At least until such time that he started walking, but possibly, not even then. I distinctly remember reading an article about things parents don’t need during the first year of the baby’s life. Shoes were one of them. I also vividly remember another article arguing that the cut of most Western shoes nowadays is only a mild form of foot binding, restricting the natural development of the foot from a very young age. This had quite an impact on me. I could personally relate to that, as well. I have a naturally wide foot and feel uncomfortable in most elegant ladies’ shoes. 

Conclusion? I delayed as much as possible getting little gosling into shoes and when I did, I did my best to find the lightest, most flexible and widest shoes possible. 

I liked our paeds in South Africa. She advised us to allow the baby to spend as much time as possible outside, in nature, in direct contact with plants and dirt, letting him crawl around the garden, walk barefoot and generally exposing him to the world as it is. Before he started walking, it never crossed my mind to buy him any kind of shoes. At best, he had socks on. He started taking his first steps barefoot and it did not seem to bother him at all, irrespective of the surface he was on. 

It took a trip home to Romania, the relentless nagging of grandparents (“How can you let him walk outside without shoes?, “He’ll hurt himself”, “What will people say? They’ll look at him funnily” …)  and chilly, rainy weather for us to get him his first pair of shoes. He was 15 months old. He got a pair of espadrilles, that I turned on all sides very carefully to make sure were wide enough so as not to constrain his little feet. Trouble is, the moment he got shoes, he resisted being barefoot again. He became very particular about wearing shoes. Wherever he was, he looked at people’s feet first, observing their shoes. The espadrilles did not make it past the first puddles :)))). 

Back to the dry South African winter, we opted for some bearpaw-like fleece booties to keep him warm, inside and outside. For the morning dew and chill (he was and still is a very early waker), he had waterproof textile booties. Luckily, the nursery policy supported our approach. Kids were encouraged to stay barefoot inside and outside, weather permitting.It was only when spring came, when he was around 17 months old, that he got something resembling normal shoes: a pair of textile sandals, wide and light, that he was very fond of. All in all, before returning to Europe, he spent most of the time barefoot or in barefoot-like shoes. 

Upon returning to Europe in November, we got him a pair of mustard yellow rubber rain boots and a pair of winter padded boots. I don’t believe he wore the patted boots more than five times; they must have felt too overwhelming and tight. He did the entire winter in the rain boots. At the nursery, parents were asked to bring slippers and we opted for thick padded socks instead, just to make sure his feet were as free as possible. We have three pairs of socks that we alternate every few days. 

I was looking forward to warm weather to encourage him to spend more time barefoot. We were lucky for an early and warm spring this year. But… it was tough to get little gosling out of his boots and accept any other shoes. Already in the coronavirus lockdown, we bought online a pair of (very) soft trainers, with the sole almost as thin as the rest of the shoe. It took him a few days to accept them; every time he saw them he got anxious and nervously, almost crying, asked me “send them back, mummy!!!”. I kept them by the door, in plain sight. Until one day, he reached out for them. He only accepted a different pair of shoes when the first one got torn (which happened in a few weeks). 

It was the same story with sandals. We had had more than two months of summer-like weather when he finally accepted to wear the sandals. Our occasional attempts to have him try the sandals on always ended in frustration on all sides. One day, when schools had reopened, I went to pick him up and found him playing outside in his sandals. I had placed the sandals in his backpack just in case… Apparently, it took no effort on the part of his teachers. He’s loved them ever since. 

One day, out of the blue, he gave up wearing socks with the sandals entirely on his own. And another day, again out of the blue, he declared he wanted to walk barefoot. And he did :)))). It was a Friday morning. We left for school with him barefoot. I did not resist his decision, I was delighted he wanted to walk barefoot. When we got to the park and he felt the gravel beneath his feet, he asked to be picked up. He went to the supermarket barefoot. The next day, we went to a nice green area outside Brussels and he loved running around barefoot. Since, he’s walking barefoot weather permitting. And I gladly indulge him as long as he wants. 

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There are, however, small and less visible ways in which my body has changed with childbirth. My body will never feel or look the same. It took me a while to accept this. My body adjusted quickly, but the mind needed so much more attention and caring to learn to live with the new me. 

Tears and stitches

That final push motivated by my absolute want to avoid an episiotomy ended in tears and lacerations all over the vulva and perineum. Our midwife spent more than forty-five minutes to stitch me in the midst of constant post-partum bleeding, in what felt like longer and more uncomfortable than labour itself. I don’t know how bad it was in medical terms, I don’t remember anyone telling me the degree of the tears and I did not know about it to ask. I assume it can’t have been that bad. I did not really experience pain or much discomfort because of the stitches. The first two days post-birth I was in intensive care with a catheter on, so that must have helped a lot. I had a slight sensation of burning the first time I weed on my own, but that was all in terms of immediate bodily sensations. What I did feel was a sensation of heaviness, like carrying a piece of lead between my legs. Nevertheless, I did take daily twenty minutes sitz baths with Epsom salts, as recommended, for the first weeks. It helped me relax and disconnect (that is, until my husband came in asking how much longer, cause the baby was fussing :P). 

During the first weeks, the idea of the tears and stitches was mentally uncomfortable. I avoided looking down between my legs for weeks. Looking back, I must have been quite anxious. I attribute it to a feeling of having “damaged” my body, having rendered it different than before in a way I could not grasp, probably mixed with disappointment about having ended up tearing, against my hopes and efforts to avoid it. Given the situation of the baby and the way I pushed him out, tearing was probably unavoidable, and I am probably lucky it wasn’t worse. 

I kept asking my husband whether all looked fine. I asked the midwife to check at each one of our post-partum appointments. It felt itchy sometimes and my gynae prescribed a cream. I only used it a couple of times and the itchiness went away. A couple of weeks in, it started to feel a bit stingy and even a tiny bit painful at contact. When I finally took the courage to take a look at it, it turned out it was because of small pimples that have appeared all over the vulva. They cleared away quickly and it all went back to normal. Pimples continued to appear here and there on the vulva and perineum for the first few months, sometimes making it uncomfortable to sit down properly. They went away on their own. I didn’t speak to a doctor about the pimples, but I assume hormones must have had something to do with that. 

Every once in a while I can still feel a momentary tingling. I remember a gynae telling me she could only feel her episiotomies when the weather changed, kind of like my dad feeling discomfort in his knees because of his rheumatism. It’s something I can relate to now. Another thing, for at least a year after childbirth my vagina was very dry, so extra lubrication was needed during sex. It’s gotten better, but it still requires dedication to get things going :). 

Abdominal surgery scar

From a physical point of view, the pain went away fairly quickly. The four days I was in the hospital, I got painkillers through the drip. I was sent home with a bag full of painkillers, but I took four or five at most, during the first two days. By that point, it wasn’t pain anymore. I probably could have gone without the pills, but I did not want to feel any discomfort related to the surgery or the scar. 

For a very long time, the area around the scar felt numb. I could feel nothing around it. To a certain extent, it is still true, but it doesn’t feel foreign anymore. 

Mentally and emotionally, it was very challenging and it took me a while to accept I had an abdominal scar. I hated it so much, I didn’t look at it for days. I felt deeply frustrated and angry that it should be there at all. I had done everything I could to have a natural birth and I had had it and still…. For the first two weeks, the staples around the stitch would prick in some positions. Taking the staples out was uncomfortable, but not painful. The nurse who did it was extra careful and empathetic; her husband had had stitches removed in a very rough way and she was aware of the emotional effects. 

In time, the scar faded away. I used to look at it every once in a while, just to see how the fading was progressing. Looking at it still can bring up painful memories and feelings of helplessness and disappointment mostly, that this happened to me. When going to the beach and particularly when seeing mommies in bathing suits, I can’t stop but look below their tummy to see whether there’s a sign of a C-section scar. Whilst not visible, it is noticeable through a one piece swimming suit; it’s like a tiny ditch in the flesh and skin. 

Hip and lower back pain

I felt signs of discomfort in my hip and lower back (or maybe lower back irradiating down into my hip) around three months after birth. I was sitting down on the bed, resting my back on a pillow and had just finished breastfeeding. I didn’t know whether it was the pre-pregnancy hip pain that was coming back or whether maybe I had not paid enough attention to protecting my back during breastfeeding. At some point, I had my lower back checked by an orthopedist and a physiotherapist. There was nothing particularly wrong with it, but I did ten sessions of physiotherapy and kinetotherapy anyway and for some weeks, it went away. Then the pain came back.

I assumed my sleeping conditions bore the responsibility. We co-slept throughout the night with baby until he was 14-15 months. That meant sleeping on one side only for half the night or so and then switch sides and breast. There was also definite pain on the hip at the contact points with the bed. Yoga helped keep discomfort away, as long as I could keep up a regular practice. Ten minutes of gentle sun salutations in the morning at least three days a week did the trick. That, together with ensuring adequate support for my back whilst breastfeeding during the day. As soon as I let a few days pass without exercise, the pain came back. It is still the case today. Baby sleeping in his bed half of the night has helped over the past months, but I still spend at least half the night on one side, with my spine twisted.

On a few occasions over the past two years plus we managed to indulge in a massage treatment. It always felt so good afterwards. I felt like new for a short while, with all the tension in the back gone. Breastfeeding however makes back massages deeply uncomfortable. Lying on my tummy quickly became painful. I used to breastfeed immediately before having the massage and would constantly reposition my breasts when facing down. It was stressful, I kept waiting for the moment my breasts would start aching. And they always started with me face up, which gave enough time to the breasts to start filling up again. It got better with time, as the pace of breastfeeding slowed down and milk production decreased. 

Upper back pain

This one triggered in later, from holding and carrying baby around, once he became a bit heavier. An orthopedist told us upper back pain was absolutely common in new parents. He should know; he had an eight months old baby. It just occurred to me that now that baby is two and a bit and he asks only occasionally to be picked up and he can understand if I only hold him for short spans of time, this particular sensation has toned down. I can still feel it during yoga practice, oh those moments in extended child’s pose, but generally, this one is pretty much gone. Yeei!!!

Piles/Haemorrhoids

My buddies have stayed with me. I lost all hope that they would retreat on their own. I used all tricks and home remedies I heard of, but nothing worked. They are still alive, so I have to be very mindful about my transit and constipation. When I don’t, they grow a bit and then go back to their normal size.  

I have always had a lazy transit, but it is only since developing the piles that I have become much more aware of all the factors enabling a good transit and avoiding constipation. I have to pay attention that I eat properly and have a good fiber intake, drink enough water and exercise during the day. It is not always forthcoming and it takes a conscious effort still. I don’t always get it right, and for those times, I have at hand extra fiber to drink. Back during the first weeks post-partum it was more challenging. I was on iron supplements because of all the blood loss and that can cause constipation. I took a natural laxative to counter the effect of the supplements. 

My GP advised to live with my buddies as long as they didn’t create discomfort. Should I really want to get rid of them, he advised to only consider surgery once I was done having kids. 

It took me a long time to accept my very close buddies were here to stay. The first few days, when the stitches on the perineum were fresh and I could feel something with my touch, I was convinced somehow one of the piles had been stitched in. I was very anxious about it and asked the midwife to check every time. She calmly looked at them and told me everything was fine, that also the doctor had revised her stitching and all was in order. I was still hoping then they would go away and didn’t want anything to prevent that.  

My husband has been checking them regularly, their colour, number and size. According to him, they look healthy. And they haven’t multiplied :)). He keeps telling me it is not a big deal, not to think about them. It just feels foreign, to have bits of skin just hanging outside the anus. 

Rectum pressure 

For months and months after giving birth I felt pressure on my rectum, particularly when sitting down for long stretches (at the office or just home). I don’t know whether this was a consequence of constipation or piles or something else, my GP didn’t offer any real explanation, other than being something related to giving birth that should go away in time. I also did not keep a journal about it in relation to my transit and bowel movements, to observe a possible link. It certainly became unbearable on flights, especially when the baby was also sleeping in my arms. On more than one flight between South Africa and Europe my husband ended up walking up and down the airplane aisle with the baby in his arms most of the night. That was a dreadful experience. I still experience it occasionally, but it is much less rare and painful. And now I know better to stand up frequently and stretch when bound to a seat for longer periods of time. 

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Whilst rasism against black people was not part of our immediate reality growing up, my society at home has been experiencing many different forms of intolerance and discrimination, against the Rroma minority, antisemitism or xenophobia, LGBTIQ+, for example, as well as very deeply rooted stereotypes and perspectives on women and their role in society. I have lived outside my country for 15 years, on and off; mostly in a more visibly diverse and open society and work environment than I would have had at home. I also spent two years in South Africa, where my baby was born. Granted, over there, he was naturally surrounded throughout the day by black people: his nanny, our helpers, the guards, the nursery teachers, kids in his “ducklings class” at school, passers by on the street in our neighbourhood; and they were all engaging and loving. He won’t remember this, but we’ve got stories and photos to show him. Now we’re back for the foreseeable future to a place where just going to the park around the corner and to the playground we bump into people and kids of all races, different religions and speaking different languages and I find it is quite a good mix for little gosling to grow up in. 

With all this in mind, I am trying to raise my child to hopefully be as tolerant and open-minded as possible, to speak out and take action as much as he can. I will do my best to foster a link to Africa, even if just because he will always have South Africa as his place of birth written down on his birth certificate and no other link whatsoever with the country/continent. For now, I have been trying to expose him to books that portray characters different than he is/we are or which challenge the norm and stereotypes and send positive messages. I believe and hope that he grows up to be not only a citizen of Europe, but a citizen of the world, that much like where we live now, different bits of the world will cross him every day. So I want to prepare him to understand and embrace that diversity, not to be scared or shocked, to be a good and kind person.

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Once we were allowed to go home, I thought all was over and behind us. I thought it was only a matter of taking the many iron supplements I was given upon discharge and paying attention to my body and emotional state while I recovered my strength. Besides the usual other things one needs to take care of following a natural birth, I mean. I was definitely weak; going up a flight of stairs or carrying the baby for longer periods left me breathless and exhausted. I certainly never contemplated the possibility complications could linger on and turn into something worse further down the line.

Everything seemed to be going fine. The midwife did not detect anything out of the ordinary during the follow-up meetings during the first two weeks after birth. I was puzzled at first and concerned to an obsessive point after a while about the ongoing bleeding (lochia). It wasn’t heavy, nor brightly colored, nor painful or anything, but I could not understand why it was still going on if the uterus had been cleaned. I was told everything looked normal. In around two weeks or so it had gone down to some brown-red spotting, which sounded like within the range of normal… but it went back to a red constant diminished flow. It bothered me terribly. And it went on like that until I decided to advance my check-up with the gynae at 5 weeks post-partum. 

An ultrasound revealed two bits of something were left behind in the uterus. I was told another uterus evacuation intervention was needed. That caught me completely off guard and I was under shock. Several dates were suggested to me and I initially opted for the later one. I needed time to process it all. It was a quick procedure that would have me out of my home for 4-6 hours, all included. The nurse explained to us the administrative procedures; depending on the date chosen, different hospitals were involved, with different anaesthetists, different payment methods and rules about keeping baby with me. I went home crying… I felt so much resentment and impotence; I was upset. I shared this with our midwife, our mommy friends from the hypnobirthing class, with my best friend. They all had kind words of support for me. 

My mom, who was still visiting, was very much in disbelief and angry. Between my husband and her, they convinced me to undergo the procedure the following day. What was the point in delaying it? Just get it over with as soon as possible. My husband went back to the gynae office and arranged everything. The next day, at 13.00h I was to be at the hospital to complete the necessary forms and make the upfront payment. Gynae charged no fees for this, but we had to pay for using the hospital facilities. 

We had to cater for the baby’s needs during my absence. He was staying home with grandma and he was sure to need at least two feeds. I had never needed nor considered pumping breastmilk before and it was hardly the time to start then. I quickly scouted around for formula recommendations, just in case, and went out and bought a box and a bottle. I sent a message to my direct boss to tell her about the procedure. I figured being in a foreign country for work reasons and with the institution having a duty of care, it was wise to let them know, just in case. 

Next day, I breastfed baby just before leaving for the hospital, to make sure he would only be given the minimum of formula possible. We got there about an hour before the scheduled procedure. The administrative procedures went quickly. We were then taken to a ward; I changed into a hospital robe and waited. The anesthetist came by to have a chat about my medical conditions and finally, I was asked on a wheelchair and taken down to the theatre. I think I went down with tears in my eyes. My husband was not allowed in the elevator, but he went down the stairs; I saw him again briefly when coming out of it. I remember lying down in the theatre; there were only three people there: anesthetist, gynae and a nurse. I got a prick and a wire again in my hand and I heard them chit chat for some seconds before going under. 

When I regained consciousness, I was drowsy and in pain; I had such a heavy body. I could only speak with difficulty. It was a completely different sensation from the first time around, when I had felt better than ever. My husband was with me; we were alone in a different hospital ward. I told him it hurt. He explained that the procedure had gone wrongly and I had just had abdominal surgery. I was shocked. I started crying with sobs, which only made the pain in my abdomen worse. He held my hand and hugged me. 

It turns out the “scoop had slid” (beautiful euphemism for a doctor making a mistake) and had perforated the uterus. They had gone in through the bellybutton to check whether anything else had been touched; confirming one loop of the small intestine had also been perforated, an abdominal surgery was performed to sew it.

I had been in the theatre much longer than expected. No idea what my husband and my mom thought or felt during that time. My husband is not much about sharing his feelings and instead focuses on what needs to be done; my mom was angry. I imagine my dad, at the other end of the world, also felt quite worried. I was angry, but I was probably more shocked and in disbelief that all this should have happened to me. I believe I was more depressed than anything else. 

The first night I went to sleep without breastfeeding or emptying my breasts. I was in such an emotional state that it felt best to rest and delay seeing baby and grandma. The following morning, more than 20 hours after the last feeding, my breasts were engorged, painful and leaking. Baby emptied them and stayed with me during the day. We built a pillow fort on top of my tummy when he breastfed, for protection. Early evenings, however, baby went back home with grandma; we agreed I needed my night sleep to rest and recover this time. I did not want this to affect my milk supply or develop mastitis on top of everything and I wanted baby to have the least formula possible. With the help of the nurses we tried it all: hand expressing; expressing with a manual pump and with an electric pump (both of which my husband went out and bought on the spot). Nurses brought us hot towels to place on the breasts. We managed to get some milk out with the electric pump; the first time we used it, we got 150ml out, the most I ever got by pumping. I emptied my breasts last thing before going to sleep and first thing in the morning (around 5 a.m, when the first nurse came around with tea :O). My husband took it home to baby immediately; he spent the first nights with me in hospital. The hospital had provided us with a family room, at no extra cost. 

Around lunchtime I finally saw the doctor. She was sorry for all I had to go through and she explained what had happened, without admitting any fault. It had just happened…But now finally all was in order and there were to be no consequences for my ability to have more children. I was on antibiotics and I was being fed through the tubes. I needed to stay in hospital four more days to confirm that my body was functioning properly, during which I slowly worked my way up from drinking sips of water to having a regular meal. 

A physiotherapist, a young, fragile looking but quite strong lady came twice to help me get up and out of bed, walk around and go to the toilet. She showed me how to get up on one side, pulling myself up with the arms on the bed’s handrails, so as not to use my abdominal muscles and feel pain. The first day, I was exhausted only after doing that; I sat up on the bed for a short while with my feet dangling in the air. She also showed me some series of static movements I had to repeat many times a day whilst lying down, to prevent blood clots in my legs. And I did it all, repeatedly; it felt like I was doing something for myself. The second day, with her support, I walked down the hall to the toilet; she went in with me and guided me through sitting down and getting up, always keeping the body in an upright position, no bowing. After that, the catheter was removed and I started doing walks up and down the corridor, longer and longer each day. Now I was in that funny situation of the person in the movies walking slowly, with the support of another person and pushing my drip with one hand. 

I needed to have daily anticoagulant injections in my tummy – the mere thought of this was physically painful. Seeing the nurse coming in with the small needle brought tears to my eyes. The first day, the nurse did it in my tummy. I could feel it during and after the shot. The second day, a different nurse came and seeing me so distressed, offered to do it in my thigh instead. It felt so light; I couldn’t feel anything. Therefore, when yet another nurse came on the third day, I asked her if she could do it in the thigh again; it wasn’t the same – it hurt. Doctor had mentioned three shots to me. On the morning of the fourth day, when the nurse arrived with the injection, I refused to have it done. No way I was getting pricked yet again. The doctor had said three shots only;  not to mention they had only started with the injections 36 hours after the intervention. Nurses, my husband and my mom’s pleas and attempts to reason with me led nowhere; so, they had to put a note down in my file and that was it. 

I hated it all. Plus, the stupid drip would get air bubbles in all the time and the nurses were just so careless at the time of taking the air out. It hurt; the thought of it all and all that was happening. At some point, the drip split the vein and they had to prick the other hand as well. Getting up and out of bed the first time was terribly hurtful. I couldn’t stop thinking – if this is how it feels after a C-section, why would anyone consciously choose one?! 

The moment I could eat soups and mushy things, my mom cooked for me some of my childhood dishes: chicken soup; semolina porridge with cinnamon; mashed potatoes with butter and milk; runny scrambled eggs. At least on that account I felt spoiled. My husband brought me Downton Abbey and The Big Bang Theory which kept me entertained when I was not wapping with friends. I am so grateful for all those people who cared for me during those days. The mommies from the hypnobirthing course were so sweet, they got me a voucher to a beauty parlour, to help me forget about it. Colleagues from work also came by; my husband had been in touch about the visiting schedule. 

For a while we considered suing the doctor; a South African friend did a quick research and it came out it was very unlikely anything would happen to the doctor. I did not really care about suing the hospital; I was angry and frustrated that two consecutive uterus evacuations were needed and had gone so wrongly.. 

By the time I got home, the pain had mostly subsided. I remember being given so many painkillers; I took maximum 4-5 pills over the next two days, only when I really needed pain relief. The “staples” were taken out two weeks or so after the surgery. It took me a while to get the courage to look at the scar and I did it very rarely for a time. Almost two years later, it is barely visible and only in the middle section. And anyway, it is below the bikini line. It slowly went from red to pink to blending in with the skin. I didn’t really take care of it, although I had been advised to use bio-oil on it. For many months, I had no sensitivity in the tissues around the scar, it even felt numb. It still doesn’t feel normal, but I can feel much more. 

Before the procedure, I had lost around 10 kilos compared to pre-birth me. When I left hospital, I was puffy again and four kilos heavier; which was curious, given I had not been eating much for five days, but probably made sense, with all the fluids I had been ingesting.. 

I was terribly emotional; felt like crying all the time, incapable of doing much but staying in bed or hanging around my bedroom. I had done everything to avoid a C-section and I had ended up with vaginal tears, two failed curettages and an abdominal surgery similar to a C-section. My mom kept the baby sleeping with her a few more nights and I avoided holding baby while walking or going up and down the stairs; he was six weeks by then and quite bigger than a newborn. 

I took the advice of our hypnobirthing coach and called a trauma release consultant, one or two weeks after the surgery. We thought, why not? An amazingly warm and gentle doula paid me a visit and we spent a couple of hours alone together. She listened to my story, allowing me to cry as much as I needed, when I needed, no holding back. She encouraged me to express my feelings, my anger in an imaginary dialogue with the doctor  – I did that in Romanian, among strong and shaking sobs. All the time, she was holding, patting and massaging me gently. Until at a certain moment I just stopped crying. After that, I felt much better. It became easier to talk about it and I tried to share my story on every occasion there was a friendly ear around. It took me a long time to be able to talk about it without breaking down into crying. Writing now about it is an exception; maybe because I am dwelling on all the details, on all I can remember. 

We had planned to spend my four months of maternity leave travelling around South Africa. We could just as easily take care of the baby anywhere and my husband could work from any place with a decent internet connection. After all that happened, I just wanted to put some distance. It took three months to do all the administrative work to have the baby’s passport and residence in order so that we could travel internationally. When we had everything in place, we went away to Romania for two whole months. When we returned, I had moved on. 

These complications made my first weeks with baby more difficult and uncertain than they would have normally been. They affected my emotional state. Before the 5 week appointment with the gynae, whilst in her waiting room, I was given a form to fill in – a form related to post-partum depression. All kinds of orange flags were raised. It became obvious to me whilst filling it in that the outcome would be pointing in such a direction and I felt sad about that. The doctor said I was definitely at risk and advised taking pills. Good thing my husband was with me and he resisted any drug prescription; wasn’t it premature? Have all physical issues solved and then reevaluate and take it from there. I was too down about anything; when she mentioned the risk and drugs, I believe I felt even more shocked that that was happening to me. Just days after I was released from the hospital, we took the baby for his 6 weeks check-up. It must have been obvious on my face, or maybe it was just a routine thing, but the paeds told me to not hesitate to ask for help if I felt depressed. 

My husband was a tremendous help, and the trauma release was useful in unlocking my anger. I probably could have used professional emotional support much earlier and possibly for a while longer afterwards, but I consider myself lucky with what I had.

The post My Birth Story: (More) Post-Birth Complications appeared first on Mommy Goose Chronicles.

Little gosling’s pea-green book bin was one of the last additions, before we changed continents again. It’s a model based on something I had seen on Pinterest, that my husband then rescaled and made sturdier. I chose the colour (we had already explored the mustard yellow and turquoise for other pieces of furniture; we left before he could build something purple). I love it so much; such a happy, bright colour.  It makes me feel good every time I see it. We set it up in little gosling’s room when he was almost 17 months old and placed all the books we had at the time (that we had previously kept on low shelves, next to his toys) inside. Little gosling came in and was initially thrown back by it; he’s always been resistant to change. However, he quickly started browsing through the books like a pro. 

What we like about this book bin is that it has allowed little gosling from the beginning to browse through it on his own, whilst seeing the full cover of each book and do this effortlessly whilst standing. It’s very visual and he can easily recognise books by the cover. Daddy also made sure it had sufficient capacity and can hold a good number of books; little gosling has access to the largest number of books possible at all times. It is a flexible, friendly and easy to use means of storage for books. Little gosling gets on average half of the books out on any given day and it takes him only a couple of minutes to put them back in. Whichever way he places them back in, they’ll look good. 

Now I am on the lookout for a complementary storage system, for books he grows out of or just to facilitate rotation of books. Preferably an equally user-friendly for toddlers and young children model and one that does not need fixing in the wall. DIYing our way out of this will not be possible due to lack of any workshop space and we hold on to the hope that we won’t need to paint the apartment when we move out… Luckily, we now live in a country with Ikea :P. 

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