Friday 21 February 2014

As per tradition

It's the 21st of February again. My lovely Matilda is now three! And as per tradition every year on her birthday I post her birth story (and at the end of it you will also find the link to her birth story as seen by my amazing doula Lindsey).

Her birth story will always move me and make me feel how strong I can be, no matter what. Tilda was a surprise baby, she wasn't plan, and I feel, she just wanted to be born and to be part of our family. And I will never be grateful enough for this, we needed her to be the happy family we are. We all love you Matilda, and here is again your birth story:

Baby Matilda was born Monday 21st of February at 2.54 am, weighing kg 3.164 (7 lbs). We are doing fine and now at one week she has already put on 400 grams!

But let's get to my birth story. For the second time we ended up with a C-Section, but this time it's been a lot less upsetting than last time.
I had had some very random contractions since Wednesday, but Sunday at 3am, I woke up because of the pain of contractions. I called the hospital at 9 am and an hour after the midwife Anne was at mine. She checked me and I was only 1cm dilated, so she told me that my body was behaving like this was a first pregnancy, but that she was sure I'd been in touch very soon again, so she left and I just kept going, used breathing and yoga positions. Had a lovely lunch with my husband, my daughter and my mum. Then at 4 pm my waters went (and it was Niagara falls again like in my previous labour), so I called the hospital and my Doula - Lindsey - and in less than an hour both, her and the MW,  were here. 
From then until 11.30 pm we've been home, I've kept breathing and used two full canisters of gas and air!!! Had some massage done by my husband and my doula in turn (Lindsey used clary sage oil and I loved it!) , we've been chatting together when I wasn't contracting of course, and we tried to keep the environment as quiet as possible. I've also been vocalising my pain through some vowels, and some mooing, and it was really good! My little daughter was allowed to come in and out of the room, and I was so happy about it: during some contractions she would imitate me breathing and this was filling me up and keeping my morale hour after hour.
At 10.30 pm we decided to have another examination and I was only 4 cm dilated by then and starting to feel exhausted. During the vaginal examination my unborn baby grabbed the MW finger!!! She was amazed, but said her hand was in a strange position. We then decided to go to the hospital, where I should have been offered an epidural. When I got into the hospital we talked about this option and decided to go for it, but we had to wait for an hour because the anaesthetist was already in theatre
I was monitored by then, and after a while my baby's heartbeat went down, so the doctor came and said that it was better to have a C-section. I really wanted a vaginal birth this time, but there is no shame in changing our minds, and what we all wanted then was to meet our baby and make sure she was fine.
So at around 2.30 I've been taken into the theatre and Matilda was born at 2.54 am. 
All in all I feel great this time, I did all I could and have been labouring at mine for as long as it has been safe to do so, I've had the help of three fantastic persons (my husband, my Doula and the midwife), and had the C-section when really there was nothing else that could have been done.
We stayed in hospital for three days, and are now settling very well, breastfeeding is well established and Elisabetta is doing fine with her new sister, plus it feels great to be a mum of two.

So here's her story, as I lived it then. And here's Lindsey's story of Tilda's birth:

http://dosnailsneeddoulas.blogspot.co.uk/2011/03/matildas-birth-monday-21st-february.html 

Saturday 1 February 2014

Not a post!

This is not a post...just a link to my interview for the Daily Record, about my doula life, and one of the mums I "doulaed" for.

Keep calm and hire a doula

Sunday 8 December 2013

The joy of a VBAC: M's birth story.

Every mum I've supported during labour and birth has been amazingly inspiring.
Every mum has taught me so much.
Every mum has reminded me of the strength a woman carries within.
Every birth has challenged my ideas of how a woman can give birth.
Every birth has challenged me as a woman, as a mum, as a doula.
The last birth I have attended and the last mum I supported, perfectly fit in what I wrote above.

M taught me that it is hard to be strong and follow your instincts, but you can do it, no matter what.
Ms and her daughters M birth story, is again a first one of because this birth has been the first VBAC I have attended, and because M has been my first last-minute mum!
Most of the mums who have contacted me so far (apart from my friend who let me know she wanted me as a doula just 4 weeks before her due date) have usually called me between 12 and 16 weeks of pregnancy, while M contacted me when she was almost 35 weeks. We met two days after I got her enquiry because I thought If Im going to be her doula we dont have too much time to get to know each other before baby arrives!

When we met we had the usual chat I have with mums, M told me about her past birth experience (not a very nice one) and what she expected from this new birth, and, since we are both Italian, we spoke about our lives in Glasgow, our bilingual kids and all the usual things two people of the same nationality might chat about when the meet and live abroad.
M told me straight away that she was more than happy to have me as her Doula also because she really liked the idea to have an Italian-speaking birth supporter with her.
So, the following week we started our antenatal meetings.
I got to know M, and met with her partner too, P.
M had a previous C-Section (4 years ago) and this time she wanted to have a VBAC. When she found out she was pregnant the second time, she thought shed go for an elective CS, but after speaking to her care providers and after reading a bit about VBAC, she changed her mind and she was now sure she wanted a natural (as much as possible) birth this time. And she read online that the support of a doula is among the things suggested to help you have a successful VBAC. Then she contacted me.
So in three weeks we tried to get to know each other as much as we could, I tried to understand Ms reasons for a VBAC, and those of her partner who, on the other hand, would have felt more comfortable if M had decided to have an elective CS. We chatted about all things related to childbirth and the perinatal period. We also met once outside of our official meeting just to have a nice cup of chocolate together. And then the time for Ms baby to be born arrived.

Her due date (which I strongly prefer to call guess date as due reminds me of an expiry date, and babies do not expire!), the 15th of November, arrived and went, but since Ms first baby was 9 days late this delay was expected. But the full moon was around the corner and I had been joking with M and her mum about the fact that this baby would be born with the full moon.
So Saturday 16th of November around lunch time I got a text from M saying that she had had some signs of impending labour, but contractions were still far apart so she would keep me updated. I told M to call me as soon as the contractions were getting 30 minutes apart (and not less) because this was a second labour, and even if her first labour lasted three days, this could be a lot quicker (and it was indeed). I was all day on my toes, checking every 5 minutes if the signal on my mobile phone was good or if I had missed a text or a call. But things were quiet, so before dinner I texted M to tell her Id go to bed early as I thought shed call me quite soon. I went to bed and read a bit and I had just switched off my bedside lamp when the phone rang. It was M: contractions were 5 minutes apart, we didnt even had time to stay home, I just called a taxi went to hers and then, together with P we went to the hospital. Excitement and thousand of emotions kicked in. I send a message to my doula circle as I feel protected and positive when my doula fellows know Im with a laboring mum. During the journey by car (a very short one) M was worried that maybe she wasnt progressing even if she had very close contractions.
We arrived at the hospital around midnight, and there I spent an hour and 15 minutes waiting to have news of M, because only 1 person is admitted with the mother in the Maternity assessment unit (I dont know if my fellow doulas feel the same, but the waiting outside Maternity assessment is for me one of the worst parts of my doula life). After an hour had passed I started thinking that maybe M had already been transferred to the labour ward and the midwife had just decided not to let her doula in, or that maybe things were not going as well as we hoped; I paced the corridor where I was waiting restlessly for an hour! Then, finally, P came out and told me that she was 1cm dilated but since the contractions were quite strong they decided to keep her in and to move her to the antenatal ward, they just wanted to monitor her for 15 minutes more and then well all move upstairs to the new ward. One of the MW told M that her friend couldnt go with them though, but when M told her that I was her doula she said shed see, and I was allowed with them. I was there to support her, so how was I suppose to do it if they allow me in the ward? The cheek of some people ;).
We have been showed to a small single room. It was, by then, already 2am, M had strong contractions, and she was doing really well! We asked for a birth ball so M could sit on it, I gave her some back massage as she felt sore, and she kept breathing through every contraction, coping really well. Between Ms contraction Id shortly chat with P, as we didnt have much chance to know each other before, but I was always worried that M might find this annoying (tricky bits of a doulas life I guess). At 2.45 Ms waters broke, so I went to call the MW who said she would come and check her. A few minutes passed and M felt as if she wanted to push, so I went out again to call the MW who said, before I could speak Yes, yes, two minutes and Ill be there so I told her, Its just that M feels like pushing, Ops! goes the MW, and there she is in the room in no time :).
The waters had definitely gone, so the MW said it was better to move to the labour suite. M was really sore, and she was feeling tired, she felt she couldnt even walk. Still in the antenatal ward M had been asked what she wanted to do about pain relief, and M was thinking of an epidural; the MW said she would have seen to it.
Once upstairs in the labour suite the monitoring started, so a few straps were placed around Ms bump to check babys heartbeat and mums contractions. M was still able to change position, not to freely move around, but she could still change position and the midwife in charge has been very helpful with this.
Once upstairs the MW checked M and told her that she was progressing really well, she was 5 cm, so she felt she might actually do without an epidural, and she also mentioned that her blood test showed she had high white cells, so an epidural was not advisable. M started then using G&A and shes been offered, diamorphine. M didnt want to have diamorphine because she reckons that during her first labour diamorphine slowed things down. So we had a chat with the MW who explained us that because she was progressing really well and she was already 5cm, diamorphine wouldnt slow down her labour. Apparently this happened the first time because she was only 2cm dilated when shed being given it. So M kept for a while just with G&A, but she said she was very sore and tired so the MW suggested again if she wanted diamorphine and M agreed.
Contractions were still strong (actually stronger) and closer, but M was asleep between contractions. P was a bit concerned because she was falling asleep, so I told him it is quite common (and quite good!) for a labouring mum to fall asleep between contractions.
M kept changing position so to help baby to move down; babys heartbeat was fine and the MW was happy with Ms progress, and so was M, even if she was really sore.
The hours were passing by, and M was really doing well: G&A (maybe just for some kind of placebo effect rather than a real one) was constantly at hand; every time P moved a few steps away, shed just call him back saying GAS GAS!
Meanwhile, in the best doula tradition, I wasnt doing a lot, I was just whispering to M how well she was doing and reassuring her. She started saying Non ce la faccio più” (I cant do it any) and I told her this was, albeit strange, a very positive thing, feeling you cant go on, means you are getting closer. Id ask M from time to time if she could feel a proper break from pain between contractions (just wanted to make sure that her scar was ok), and she said she was fine. Soon after 5, M was already 7 cm, so still progressing very well, and at 7 o clock she was fully dilated. The MW, had complete trust in M and told her that she would let her do what she felt like doing, so if she wanted to push just to follow her instincts; she also told her that in an hour, if the baby wasnt born yet, shed help her with pushing. But she was really positive, she kept telling M she was sure she could do it, and the baby would be born before the end of her shift.
But things dont always go as planned or hoped for. So after an hour the baby wasnt born. The MW finished her shift and another one arrived, another nice one.
She started directing Ms pushing a bit more. Telling her where to push or how she could direct all her energy inside in order to push effectively. So far every birth Ive attended has had at least one funny moment. And this one is no different. The MW told M that it was better, instead of vocalizing during her contractions, to take a deep breath in and then send all the energy and the breathing inside, with no noise. At this point P  asked me Butthe MW told M not to vocalize, sowhen is she suppose to scream?. I wish I had been a fly in the room to see my expression when I looked at him and I said Thats TV then I think I surely smiled, because I really found it funny: we are so used to see births on TV where mums scream their eyes out, that a man who sees his wife being quiet is lead to think there is something wrong.
So M started pushing with the help of the MW around 7.50am. The MW and I kept supporting M and telling her how well she was doing, the MW would call me to see the babys head to reassure M that things were moving on, and she was really really supportive. After half an hour the doctor came and checked M, she said that she was doing well but she needed her to push more efficiently, because the babys heartbeat had become quite irregular and she thought it wasnt wise to keep her pushing for much longer. Still she said M could have some more time. M was really tired at this point: she shoke her head with every push and I didnt know if she just meant that she couldnt do it any more or if she meant I cant do differently from this. The MW suggested M to put her legs on the stirrups and M accepted. Maybe it is at this point of this labour that I have my main regret. Sometimes I think I could have helped M to change position rather than let her stay on her back and in stirrups; but at the same time I knew she was tired and she had already told me she didnt feel like moving. Stillsometimes I think of it.
At 9am the baby wasnt born, so the doctor came in and said she would give M a helping hand, and she told her that at this point the best thing to do was to go for a forceps delivery. M was tired, and the doctor explained her that this would have been an easy one because the baby was quite low, but because the pushes where not working well enough and the baby didnt come down further, they couldnt just go for an episiotomy (as suggested by the MW). M agreed on using forceps and at 9.15am a wonderful baby girl was born! She started crying straightaway and for a few good minutes.
I started crying too: M had done it, she had her VBAC, things didnt go totally as planned, but she still managed to have her baby the way she wanted to, and to acknowledge the strength of her body and of her mind.
There is something truly magic about birth: and I can see it every time I observe the face of a mother soon after she has given birth. The same face that only a few minutes earlier looked in agony, was now, soon after the birth, bright and blooming.
When the MW asked M if she wanted the baby straight on her tummy for skin-to-skin, M was still so overwhelmed that she looked at her as if she was asking, Shall we go for a coffee?. She had immediate skin-to-skin, and I just couldnt help crying.
I know that 75% of women who try a VBAC will succeed, but being able to witness it, is something else. It cant be explained with a statistic


P.S: every time I read this story to proofread it, I remember something new, or I just change some words. So this is Ms birth story today. If you ask me about it in a few weeks, there will be surely something new. J

Thursday 7 November 2013

On call!

I wouldn't say this is a post, this are just a few lines to share with you my joy and excitement for being on-call again. During my on-call weeks I live in such a different state of mind. I jump every time a phone rings, and I feel on my toes all day…but I just love it!
I live these days actually waiting for my phone to ring and the call to arrive; my Mary Poppins doula bag ready, a mix of emotions in the background and the knowledge that I will soon witness the miracle of birth again. Isn't that great?

Thursday 31 October 2013

Doppio post: Dite soltanto 'Mi dispiace' e Storia di una nascita di quattro anni fa.

Volevo scrivere questo post il 14 ottobre, il giorno del quarto compleanno di mia figlia e poi scriverne un altro il 20 ottobre, per ricordare il giorno in cui, esattamente cinque anni fa ho scoperto di aver perso il mio primo bambino; ma il mio computer era via in riparazione e ho dovuto aspettare fino ad oggi. Così, quei due post diventeranno uno. Probabilmente doveva andare così perché le storie dei due post sono strettamente legate tra loro.
Inizierò dal post che avrei scritto il 20 ottobre.

Durante l’estate 2008 e il mio (allora) fidanzato avevamo deciso di iniziare a “metterci in pista” per avere un bambino; pensavamo fosse un po’ presto, ma poiché eravamo entrambi convinti che per ragioni personali ci avremmo impiegato un po’, abbiamo deciso che era meglio provarci prima possibile. E invece, sono rimasta incinta al primo tentativo! Abbiamo subito dato un nome al bambino: Lenticchia. Eravamo al settimo cielo, non vedevamo l’ora (specialmente io) di poterlo dire alle nostre famiglie e ai nostri amici, così quando ero incinta di appena 6 settimane lo abbiamo spifferato alle nostre famiglie, alla maggior parte dei nostri amici e ai colleghi di lavoro. Sapevo che 1 gravidanza su 3 si conclude, purtroppo, con un aborto spontaneo, ma pensavo che non potesse succedere proprio a me. A 6 e 9 settimane ho avuto delle perdite, ma sono bastate due ecografie per rassicurarci: Lenticchia stava bene e il battito del suo cuoricino era perfetto.

Nonostante la nausea costante, stavo benissimo, mi sentivo bellissima, felice e camminavo parlando continuamente (non a voce alta) con il mio bambino.
Allora lavoravo a Renfrew e il viaggio (autobus poi treno poi ancora autobus) mi faceva sentire ancora di più la nausea (a volte dovevo precipitarmi in bagno appena arrivata a scuola, o tra un’ora e l’altra!), ma nonostante ciò andava bene così. Mi trovavo in un tale stato emotivo per cui potevo scoppiare a piangere o a ridere per un nonnulla. Era per me uno stato mentale completamente nuovo.

Era arrivata la data dell’ecografia delle 12 settimane (credo che in Italia sia quella della traslucenza nucale), non ce la facevo più ad aspettare! La notte prima avevo sognato che il bambino (o bambina) aveva la sindrome di Down, ma al mattino non l’avevo raccontato ad Ale (come faccio di solito con qualsiasi sogno) perché mi sembrava una sciocchezza. Ora so che non era una sciocchezza: il mio corpo mi stava, probabilmente, dando dei segnali che solo il mio inconscio ha recepito, e che mi ha mandato attraverso il sogno.
Così, belli contenti siamo andati a fare l’ecografia, smaniavamo dalla voglia di vedere come stava crescendo il nostro bebè, quanto grande fosse ora, e tutte quelle altre cose che ci si aspettano da un’ecografia.

Quando siamo arrivati l’ecografista ci ha chiesto se per noi fosse un problema se una studente era presente mentre lei faceva l’ecografia. Le abbiamo detto che andava bene allora l’ha fatta entrare. Era una donna davvero bella, di circa 25/30 anni e con un bellissimo pancione! 
Mi sono stesa sul lettino e l’ecografista ha iniziato a mettermi un po’ di gel sulla pancia.
Appena cominciato ho immediatamente visto il mio piccolo (piccola?) sul monitor. Mi sembrava che ci fosse qualcosa che non andava, ma l’ecografista sembrava felice e spiegava alla studentessa che cosa vedeva. Tutto quello che io riuscivo a vedere era che il mio bimbo non si muoveva come aveva fatto le altre volte, sembrava piuttosto che si spostasse solo quando l’ecografista passa sulla mia pancia il doppler per l’ecografia. Ad un certo punto l’ecografista è diventata silenziosa, mi aveva detto che stava impostando il monitor per mettere in risalto alcuni colori che le avrebbero permesso di vedere bene il cuore, perché stava facendo fatica a trovare il battito. Non ha parlato per un tempo che allora mi è sembrato infinito, ma probabilmente non era più di un minuto.
Poi si è girata verso me e mi ha detto “Mi dispiace. Mi dispiace, non sento il battito del cuore del bambino,” e ha continuato a parlare, probabilmente mi stava giusto spiegando che questo significava ufficialmente che non c’era un battito cardiaco da rilevare,e continuava a spiegarmi non so cosa. Il mio cervello si era disconnesso, spento; mi sono alzata, ho tirato su i pantaloni, mi sembrava di muovermi come fossi un robot. L’ecografista mi ha detto che stava per arrivare una midwife (che il dizionario tradurrebbe con ostetrica, ma siccome non è esattamente così, terrò il termine MW) che mi avrebbe chiarito cos’era accaduto e mi avrebbe spiegato cosa si poteva fare; continuava a ripetermi che le dispiaceva, e le sue parole erano sincere, si vedeva, ma suonavano così distanti. Non potevo credere che stesse succedendo proprio a me. Avevo le lacrime agli occhi. Alessandro era con me, sotto shock, paralizzato dalla notizia, ma io continuavo a sentirmi sola, persa in un enorme buco nero.
Una parola continuava a ronzarmi in testa: morto, morto, morto.

Quando è arrivata la MW, ha accompagnato me e Alessandro in un’altra stanza piccola con tre sedie e un piccolo tavolino; ci ha spiegato che avevo avuto un aborto silenzioso (perché allora non sapevo che esistesse una cosa simile?) e ci ha spiegato quali opzioni avevo. L’ascoltavo e sapevo che stava a me decidere, ma avrei voluto così tanto che qualcuno potesse decidere per me. Volevo che mi dicesse “Penso che la cosa giusta per te sia A, o B o C.” Ma non poteva farlo (per etica professionale), e non l’avrebbe fatto.
Ce ne siamo andati e ci è stato chiesto di richiamare più tardi per fargli sapere che cosa volevamo fare.
Non mi ero mai sentita così vuota. Non c’era più una ragione per continuare ad accarezzare la mia pancia, non c’era vita là dentro, il cuore del mio bambino si era fermato una settimana prima; e allora perché, perché io non me ne ero accorta? Questo pensiero stava aggiungendo dolore alla mia sofferenza.
Una volta a casa, abbiamo chiamato le nostre famiglie e gli abbiamo dato la brutta notizia, poi abbiamo chiamato i nostri amici più strettie lo abbiamo detto anche a loro. Stavano tutti aspettando le nostre notizie. E tutto quello che riuscivo a dirgli era “Ciao… dall’ecografia è risultato che non c’è più battito. Abbiamo perso il bambino.”
Ho pianto con Ale e lui ha pianto con me. Ho deciso di fare un raschiamento, la shock era già troppo forte, e io non volevo vedere il mio corpo abortire.
Due giorni dopo sono andata in ospedale e il mio primo bambino è stato portato via; non l’ho mai visto o vista, non so quanto piccolo/a fosse. Non so nemmeno perché mi abbia ha lasciato. E non lo saprò mai.
Mia mamma è venuta a stare da me per un po’, e anche se allora le avevo detto che non era necessario, le sono davvero grata per essere stata con me. Perché è mia mamma; perché ci è passata prima di me; perché ci sono alcune cose che soltanto una mamma può capire.

La famiglia, gli amici e i miei colleghi sono stati fantastici e non mi sono mai pentita di aver parlato con tutti loro della mia gravidanza quando ero incinta di solo sei settimane. Se non gliene avessi parlato sarebbe stato molto più difficile tornare al lavoro (non sarei mai potuta rientrare facendo finta di essere stata in malattia per una semplice influenza, quando continuavo a piangere costantemente) sarebbe stato impossibile uscire e socializzare (non avevo voglia di uscire e divertirmi, allora i miei amici venivano spesso a passare del tempo con noi a casa), o anche solo telefonare a casa.
Ancora però alcune persone mi dicevano “Non ti preoccupare, ci saranno altre gravidanze,” o “Non sei la prima a cui accade, purtroppo succede spesso,” o ancora “Sono sicura che la prossima volta andrà tutto bene.” Lo so che lo dicevano per farmi stare meglio e non per ferirmi, ma il mio solo pensiero era “Non puoi giusto dirmi ‘Mi spiace’ o ‘Piangi, sentiti in lutto se ne hai bisogno’ o qualsiasi cosa simile?”
So che un aborto non significa che non ci possano essere altre gravidanze (Betta e Tilda ne sono una prova molto vivace!), ma una mamma è mamma dal momento in cui scopre di essere incinta, e quel bambino dentro di lei diventa suo figlio subito, non deve aspettare di nascere. Perciò anche se ci saranno nuove gravidanze, questo non significa che quella mamma potrà dimenticare quel bambino che voleva così tanto e che l’ha lasciata troppo presto, solo perché avrà altri bambini. Riuscirebbe mai una mamma con tre bambini a dire “Oh, fa niente se ne perdo uno, tanto ne ho altri due!”? No, non ci riuscirebbe. E anche se il paragone sembra sciocco, credetemi, non lo è.
Sapevo di non essere la prima (e purtroppo nemmeno l’ultima), ma questo non faceva, e ancora non fa nessuna differenza.
E sentirmi dire “Vedrai che la prossima volta andrà tutto per il meglio,” era solo come una pugnalata nella schiena (seppur involontaria) perché quando hai un aborto non riesci a smettere di pensare che forse c’è qualcosa che non va, che il tuo corpo forse non riesce a portare avanti una gravidanza e così via.
Quindi la prossima volta che avete davanti a voi con una donna che ha avuto un aborto, offritele semplicemente la spalla e ditele “Mi dispiace.”



                           **************************

E questa è la seconda parte del mio blog, fortemente legata alla prima perché quattro mesi dopo l’aborto ho scoperto di essere nuovamente incinta. Ero terrorizzata. Volevo così tanto diventare mamma, ma avevo troppa paura di “farmi coinvolgere” e di soffrire di nuovo come la prima volta (non ho mai pianto così tanto come per quell’aborto, strillavo e gridavo mentre piangevo). Questa gravidanza procedeva bene, ma ho cominciato a viverla serenamente solo dopo aver raggiunto le 20 settimane, e in realtà fino al momento in cui non ho visto la mia Betta per la prima volta, ho avuto paura che qualcosa potesse andare storto.
Così qui di seguito, come da tradizione per ogni compleanno, trovate la storia della nascita di Betta, come l’ho scritta alcuni giorni dopo la sua nascita. Se dovessi riscriverla oggi sarebbe diversa, perché ogni volta che racconto questa storia, viene sempre fuori qualcosa di nuovo. E perché oggi so tante cose che non sapevo allora. Qui avete il racconto originale:

La nascita di ELISABETTA
Elisabetta è nata mercoledì 14 ottobre 2009 alle 5.15 del mattino, un fagottino di kg 3,150 (non male per una piccolina come me!) dopo tre giorni di travaglio.
Non siamo riusciti ad avere il tanto desiderato parto in casa e alla fine ho dovuto sottopormi ad un cesareo d’emergenza.
Nonostante ciò, inutile dirlo, ne è valsa certamente la pena ed è stata un’esperienza unica.
Ho cominciato ad avere contrazioni la domenica mattina (11 ottobre), alcune ore prima che mia suocera arrivasse dall’Italia. Di sera le contrazioni erano già diventate “più forti, più lunghe, più vicine.” Sono andata a letto e le contrazioni sono continuate con una frequenza di una ogni 7/10 di minuti, pensavo quindi di poter continuare a stare tranquilla a casa senza avvisare l’ospedale, ma mia suocera mi aveva detto che era probabilmente ora di chiamare, e così abbiamo chiamato l’ospedale alle 2am è arrivata la midwife. La MW mi ha confermato che le mie erano vere e proprie contrazioni e non Braxton Hicks, ma non c’era dilatazione perché la testa della bambina non era nella posizione giusta. Così durante i due giorni successivi sono venute a visitarmi diverse MW, ma le cose erano abbastanza stazionarie (e la dilatazione di solo 1 cm). La mattina del martedì sono andata in ospedale dove mi hanno somministrato della morfina (qualcosa di cui ora mi pento!) per farmi riposare un po’ visto che non dormivo da più di 48 ore e iniziavo a sentirmi distrutta, molto stanca (e questa non era una buona cosa se dovevo prepararmi a spingere nelle ore successive).
Sono tornata a casa nel pomeriggio e alle 10 di sera è arrivata mia mamma, ero davvero felice che fosse lì con me; pochi minuti dopo la mezzanotte, mi si sono rotte le acque! Mi sono subito resa conto che non erano così limpide come avrebbero dovuto essere allora, io e Alessandro abbiamo deciso di andare subito all’ospedale (potevamo sempre tornare a casa se tutto era a posto - o almeno questo è quello che pensavo allora).
All’ospedale ci hanno confermato che c’era un po’ di meconio nelle acque. Dopo più di 48 ore ero dilatata di soli 3 centimetri. A quel punto è iniziato il monitoraggio: ero ferma a letto con i fili del monitor e con la flebo per l’induzione al braccio. Dal tracciato arrivavano segni di “fastidio” da parte della mia piccola e, secondo il medico, il tracciato mostrava che c’era anche il cordone ombelicale che si era attorcigliato da qualche parte (ma avremmo scoperto solo alla nascita dove). Erano circa le 3.30 e le mie contrazioni erano più forti che mai, la MW era sorpresa di come riuscissi a stare tranquilla e superare ogni contrazione solo con la respirazione e con l’entonox (gas & air).
A questo punto la dottoressa che era già venuta in precedenza a controllare il tracciato, mi ha proposto di fare un epidurale, ma mi ha detto che non stavo progredendo a causa della posizione della testa della bambina, e che secondo lei non mi sarei dilatata oltre. Tutto quello che desideravo in quel momento era non danneggiare la bambina e avere la certezza che nascesse in maniera sicura (come sono cambiate le mie idee oggi riguardo a cosa significhi sicura - ndA), così ho acconsentito ad un cesareo d’emergenza. Mi hanno fatto l’epidurale, e poi anche lo spinale, che non erano ovviamente nei miei piani, ma così in meno di un’ora ho potuto incontrare la mia meravigliosa bambina.
Aveva il cordone attorcigliato intorno alla gamba, ma per il resto stava benissimo!
Me l’hanno data appena finiti i controlli post cesareo e abbiamo iniziato subito il contatto pelle-pelle e Betta si è attaccata al seno in meno di 5 minuti! Non siamo riusciti ad avere il parto in casa che desideravamo, ma l’esperienza è stata così intensa, e mi sento così orgogliosa di aver superato tre giorni di travaglio solo utilizzando esercizi yoga e respirazione (ho usato i TENS, ma devo ammettere che nel mio caso non sono stati molto utili). Non posso negare di essere ancora turbata a causa di quel cesareo perché so che ci sono alcune cose che avrei dovuto affrontare in maniera differente e forse il mio travaglio sarebbe andato in maniera completamente diversa.

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Monday 28 October 2013

Double bill:Just say "I'm sorry" and A four years old birth story


I meant to write this post on the 14th of October, my daughter's 4th birthday and then another one on the 20th of October, just five years after I discovered I had lost my first baby, but since my computer was away to be fixed I had to wait until now. And those two posts will just become one. It was probably meant to be this way, because the stories of those two posts are strictly related.
I'll then start from the one I wanted to write on the 20th.

During the summer 2008 me and my (then) fiancé decided we would start “trying for a baby”, we thought it was a bit early but as we were both convinced that for personal reasons it would take a while, we decided that starting sooner was better. Mind you, we found out we were pregnant after the first attempt! We started calling the baby Lenticchia (Lentil).We were over the moon, we (and probably especially me) couldn't wait to tell family and friends, so when I was just 6 weeks pregnant we had already spilled the beans to our families, to most of our friends and to my work mates. I knew that 1 in 3 pregnancies end in miscarriage, but I thought this couldn't happen to me. At 6 and 9 weeks I had some light bleeding, but two scans showed that baby was fine and his/her heart was beating happily.

I felt amazing even if I had morning sickness (or rather most-of-the-day-sickness!), I felt beautiful, happy and I walked always thinking that I wasn't alone, constantly talking (not out loud) to my baby.
I was working in Renfrew at the time and the travel (bus, then train, then bus again) would make me really sick (sometimes I just had to run to the toilet when I arrived to school), but still I didn't mind. I was really emotional, and could burst out laughing or crying for no reasons. I was in a completely new and different state of mind.

Then the 12-week scan date arrived, I couldn't wait! The night before the scan I dreamt that the baby had Down syndrome, but I didn't tell Ale when we woke up, because I felt silly. I know now, that I wasn't silly, my body, probably was giving me signs that only my mind could understand, and was passing them on to me in my dreams.
So we happily went for our scan, eager to see how our baby was growing and how big he/she was, and all those things that you might expect from a scan.

When we arrived, the sonographer asked us if we minded if a student was there while she performed the scan. We said we were fine with it, so she came in. She was a lovely looking woman, probably in her late twenties and with a gorgeous big bump! 
So I lay down and the sonographer started rubbing some gel on my bump.
She starts and I can see the baby on the monitor straight away. I notice there is (in my opinion) something wrong, but the sonographer looks happy and she explains to the student what she sees. All I can see is that my baby is not actually moving or wriggling around, but it looks more like he/she just moves when the sonographer pushes with her device on my tummy. Then the sonographer becomes quiet, she tells me she's setting the monitor to show some colours so she can see the heart properly, because she's finding hard to hear and find it. She doesn't speak for a time that seemed very long then, but probably it wasn't more than a minute.
Then she turns to me and just says “I'm sorry. Oh I’m so sorry, I can't hear the baby's heartbeat” then she keeps talking, probably just saying that this officially means there isn't a heartbeat to be detected, and explaining I don’t know what. But my brain has gone, I just stand up, and pull up my trousers, I feel as if I'm moving like a robot. She starts telling me that a midwife will come soon to tell me what happened and to see what I want to do, she keeps telling me that she is really sorry, and I can see she is, but her words sound distant. I can't believe it is happening to me. My eyes are full of tears. Alessandro is there with me, in shock, paralyzed by the news but I just feel as if I am just alone in a big black hole.
One word keeps buzzing in my head: dead, dead, dead.

Then arrived the midwife, she led me and Alessandro to another small room with three chairs and a little coffee table; she told me I had a missed miscarriage (why I didn't know then that something like that could happen?) and she explained us which options we had. I listened and I knew I had to decide, but I so wanted someone to decide for me. I so wanted her to tell me “I think the right thing for you would be A, or B or C”. But she couldn’t, and she didn’t.
We left and we were asked to call them back later that day to let them know what was our choice.
I never felt so empty. There was no more reason to keep caressing and rubbing my bump, there was no life in there, my baby’s heart had apparently stopped a week before; so, why, why I didn’t realize? This thought was adding pain to my sorrow.
Back home, we called our families and gave them the bad news, then we called our closest friends and told them too. All of them were waiting for our news. And all I could say was, “Hi… the scan showed there was no heartbeat. We lost our baby.”
I cried with Ale, and he cried with me. I decided I wanted to have a D&C, the shock was already too big, I didn’t want to see my body miscarrying.
Two days after I went to the hospital and my first baby has been taken away; I’ve never seen him or her, I don’t know how tiny he/she was. I don’t even know why he/she left me. And I will never know.
My mum came to stay with me, and even if at the time I told her she didn’t have to, I am so glad she came. Because she is my mum; because she’s been there before me; because there are some things that only a mum can understand.

Family, friends and workmates have been great then and I have never regretted the fact that I said to everybody that I was pregnant when I was only six weeks. If I hadn’t told them it would have been so much harder to go back to work (I could have never gone back pretending that I was off sick for a flu, when I was just crying constantly) to go out and socialize (I just didn’t feel like going out and have fun, so my friend came often to spend some time with us), to call home.
Still sometimes people would say to me “Don’t worry, there will be other pregnancies,” or “You are not the first one, unfortunately it does happen a lot,” “I’m sure next time everything will go well.” I know they meant no harm, but all I thought was “Can they not just tell me ‘I’m really sorry’ or ‘Mourn if you need’, or anything like that.”
I know there can be other pregnancies after a miscarriage (Betta and Tilda are a very lively proof of it!), but a mum is a mum since the moment she finds out she’s pregnant, and the baby inside becomes her new kid there and then. So even if there will be new pregnancies, this doesn’t mean that she can forget of the baby she really wanted but the left her too early because she will have other kids. Would a mum with three kids say “Oh never mind if I lose one, I’ve got the other two!”? No she wouldn’t. And even if it might seem a very silly comparison, believe me, it isn’t so.
I also knew I wasn’t the first one (and unfortunately not even the last one), but this didn’t and still doesn’t make any difference to me.
And hearing people saying to me “Everything will go well next time,” was just as a stab in the back (involuntary, I know) because when you have a miscarriage you cannot help thinking that there might be something wrong, that your body can’t embark on a new pregnancy and so on.
So next time you meet a woman who had a miscarriage, just offer your shoulder and say “I’m sorry.”



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And here is the second part of my blog, strictly connected to the first one because four moths after my miscarriage I found out I was pregnant again. I was terrified. I wanted  a baby so badly, but I was so scared to “get involved” and have to suffer so much again (I never ever cried as much as I did when I miscarried, I shouted and yelled while crying). This pregnancy went well, but I started to live it happily only after I was 20 weeks pregnant, and still until the minute Betta was born I was scared that something might go wrong.
So here, as per tradition is Betta’s birth story, as I wrote it a few days after her birth. If you ask me to talk about it now, it would be different because every time I tell her birth story, there is something new. So here you have the original one:

ELISABETTA’s birth story
Elisabetta was born on Wednesday 14th of October 2009 at 5.15 am weighing kg 3.150 (a very good size for a wee thing as I am!) after 3 days of labour.
We didn't have the homebirth we had planned and I ended up having an emergency C-Section.
Still, no need to say, it has been worth it and a unique experience.
I started having irregular contractions on Sunday morning, just a few hours before my mother-in-law arrived from Italy. By Sunday night the contractions were getting "stronger, longer, closer"! I went to bed and the contractions kept coming every 7/10 minutes, I thought I could keep going but my MIL said it was high time to call the hospital so we called the midwife who came at 2). The MW who came verified that mine were "real" contractions, but still I wasn't dilating and she felt that the baby's head was not still properly positioned on my cervix, but slightly tilted. So for the following two days a few midwives kept coming to check me, but things were pretty much the same (just 1cm dilated). On Tuesday morning I went to the hospital and I've been given morphine (another thing I regret now!) just to get some sleep as I hadn't been sleeping for more than 48 hours and I was becoming to feel shattered and very tired (not good if I was going to progress in the following hours).
I went back home in the afternoon, and at 10 pm my mother too arrived from Italy, I was so glad about her arrival; just a few minutes after midnight my waters broke! I realized that they weren't the light colour they should have been so  Alessandro and I decided in no time to go to the hospital (we could have always come back home if everything was fine – or at least this is what I thought at the time).
At the hospital they confirmed that there was some meconium in my waters. I was by then only 3 cm dilated (after more than 48 hours) Then the monitoring started and I’ve been put on the drip, but my little one didn't seem to like it, plus the trace showed that the umbilical cord was twisted somewhere (but didn't Know in which part of her body until she was born). It was around 3.30, and I was having the strongest  contractions ever, and the midwife was surprised on how well I was still coping with them only with yoga breathing and gas and air.
At this point the doctor who had already come before to check my trace, told me that I could get an epidural, but that I wasn't progressing because of the baby's head position, and that I would not progress further. At this point all I wanted was not to distress my baby and to make sure she would be born safely, so I gave my consent for an emergency C-Section. I had and epidural and a spinal, which weren't on my plans obviously, but that lead me in a bit more than an hour to have my wonderful baby!
The umbilical cord was twisted around her leg, but apart from that she was fine!
We've had plenty of skin to skin contact as soon as she has been cleaned and she started to breastfed in less than 5 minutes! So, we didn't have the homebirth we wanted, but the experience was so intense, and I feel so proud that still I managed to go through almost three days of labour just with yoga positions and breathing techniques (got tens but I have to say the didn't work for me). I can’t deny that I still feel upset about that C-section because I know that there are quite a few things that I could have done differently and maybe my labour would have progressed in a different way.

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