A couple of weeks ago, I had a 'moment'. It was 2am, I was crying. In my head, my husband was leaving me, my daughter hated me, I was a terrible mother, I couldn't do anything for myself... basically my life was a shitheap.
You see a month or so ago we all moved in with my parents. It's a money thing. On one wage, with rent and bills, we just weren't able to save. My parents offered us a way out - moving in with them and paying bills, food, and a small amount of rent for up to 2 years. They're in a 4 bedroom house with two large living areas so we have a whole wing to ourselves - a lounge, 2 bedrooms, a bathroom and a toilet. In the 2 years we'll be able to save to build our current deposit and break into the depressingly unaffordable housing market.
Unfortunately I didn't really think the logistics of day to day living through. Sure, there's now a helping hand with housework and dinner, but there's also a relationship with my parents where I'm their daughter and they're my parents. It feels a little like I'm an irresponsible teenager again. We're all learning what our new normal is. My husband and I have been living together for almost 5 years, and we've both been out of home for 10. We've got our own routines and my parents have theirs. We've all got a bit of adjusting to do!
Mum's been trying to help out by suggesting things I can do with my day. Everyone asks what I've done all day when they get home from work. Sometimes I feel like saying 'I kept the child alive today'. Let's face it, being a stay at home mum is hard. It's not what I imagined, and I'm struggling. Pair that with getting rid of all our furniture and moving in with my parents and I'm feeling like a big fat failure.
Fast forward to me crying in the middle of the night. My sobbing and shaking woke my husband who was extremely concerned. I cry all the time during movies and TV shows, hell, a good advert can bring me to tears.... but I never cry over real things. We had a massive chat over my insecurities, my fears, his fears, our daughter... and 3 hours later decided that what I was feeling was a bit more serious than a bad day. The next morning I did a little research on 'the baby blues' and came across the PANDA website where I found all sorts of symptoms of post-natal depression. We made an appointment with our GP and expressed our concerns. She had me fill in a form about these feelings and how often I feel them and what I think about our life... and it turns out that I have most of the markers of post natal depression and things are quite serious.
After those results we've made an appointment with a counsellor and if that doesn't help medication is the next step. I was so scared to admit that I had a problem, but amazingly I feel a weight has lifted simply by opening my mouth. The most important thing I've gained so far, having not yet seen the counsellor, is the reassurance that everything I'm feeling is normal. The GP explained that most women feel a sense of loss once they have a baby. Loss of career, loss of self, loss of independence... it's a big change. She also mentioned that a lot of women don't seek help, which is alarming. Until I'm able to speak to the counsellor, she suggested that I set myself tasks to complete each day so that I can feel a sense of achievement once they're done. I write them down and tick them off. It's interesting because I can do all the things I was doing before, but writing it down makes me see that I am achieving a lot in a day and maybe I am just putting too much pressure on myself.
No-one talks about this stuff openly. You're seen as not coping, weak, or unfit to be a parent if you admit that you're having trouble. It's this admission though that allows us to get the help and support we need. We're not failing, we're flailing... two very different things, and that difference means so much. Reach out to a fellow mum. Talk to your GP. It's going to be a long road, but at least I'm on it now!
Friday, 18 November 2016
Sunday, 8 May 2016
My First Mother's Day
My first Mother's Day was a good day. I had requested a big breakky a little while ago, but as I went to bed the night before I knew we didn't have the ingredients so I wasn't expecting much. My husband got up to our daughter at 6am, and woke me up at 8.15 because he didn't know what time I wanted to be up.
At 9.30 he went 'out' and came back with all the breakky stuff and a huge box of Maltesers! Yum!
He cooked me a delicious breakfast, then it was off to Mum's for lunch. We had hot dogs and cake (celebrating my Dad's birthday, my birthday, and my brother's birthday) - although I didn't eat much as I was stuffed after breakfast, my niece and nephews enjoyed cuddles with Emma and we had some good chats.
We left Mum's and went home for a nap - I don't think I slept but I did relax. Mum came over at about 5.30 and we went off for dinner and a movie. Unfortunately it wasn't my choice of film, but the cinema were giving free choc-tops to Mums so that made up for it!
Here's a pic of our afternoon snuggles... the best way to enjoy Mother's Day!
At 9.30 he went 'out' and came back with all the breakky stuff and a huge box of Maltesers! Yum!
He cooked me a delicious breakfast, then it was off to Mum's for lunch. We had hot dogs and cake (celebrating my Dad's birthday, my birthday, and my brother's birthday) - although I didn't eat much as I was stuffed after breakfast, my niece and nephews enjoyed cuddles with Emma and we had some good chats.
We left Mum's and went home for a nap - I don't think I slept but I did relax. Mum came over at about 5.30 and we went off for dinner and a movie. Unfortunately it wasn't my choice of film, but the cinema were giving free choc-tops to Mums so that made up for it!
Here's a pic of our afternoon snuggles... the best way to enjoy Mother's Day!
Sunday, 20 March 2016
Stop! Emma time.
Our sweet girl was born two weeks ago... this is our story.
I had pregnancy induced hypertension (high blood pressure) so was being monitored a bit more closely from about 30 weeks. At 32 weeks, I had a growth scan, and thought nothing of it as I didn't hear from either the hospital or my GP, despite seeing both of them weekly.
At 37 weeks, someone finally looked up the results of the growth scan, and they became worried. Our girl was in the 17th percentile for her size - which meant that out of 100 babies born, she would only weigh more than 17 of them. Pretty small, but nothing to worry about. I was sent for a follow-up growth scan the next day, so went into the ultrasound place after a big day of shopping to buy food to prepare for meals when the time came. Lucky I went home to drop all the food off... because things got pretty hectic pretty quickly!
I went for the scan, and the tech was pretty worried. There was hardly any amniotic fluid, and our girl had hardly grown. She was now in the 3rd percentile for size. He left me in the room while he phoned the hospital. They wanted me to go straight in - so I got in the car and drove across the road to the hospital to be seen by the Foetal Monitoring Team.
Hooked up to the heart rate monitor, no-one seemed worried. Our girl was fine, not under any stress, moving heaps and going well. I was examined by an obstetrician, and then taken through to the Maternity Ward. Another doctor came through after a few minutes and told me that while bubs wasn't distressed, the situation wasn't ideal. They wanted to get her out - she would be safer on the outside. At 5pm, I phoned my husband and told him that we would be induced in the morning. He finished work, went home to get our bags, and was on his way to meet me.
Before he got there, the doctor came back in and told me that inducing wasn't going to happen, I was to have a c-section in the morning. I immediately started crying - my body was made to birth a child, and all along I've said I wanted to avoid a c-section. I wanted a drug-free, vaginal birth. But I was worried.... the doctor explained that with the low level of fluid and a small baby, the stress of labour would probably result in an emergency c-section anyway, so we were better to go in planned, stress-free, and calm. I reluctantly agreed, and broke the news to my husband when he arrived shortly after.
I was admitted to the ward, and hubster went home to try to get a good night's sleep. It was a pretty easy night, I watched some TV, had regular blood pressure monitoring, got a drip inserted in my hand, had a shower, and tried to sleep. My sleep was broken but sound, and I made peace with the fact that the birth wouldn't go the way I had imagined. I made peace with the reality that our girl would have a better entrance into the world if we went with the expert's opinion. There was no point in stressing over the change in plans - things just had to be this way, and I accepted that.
Morning came, and our attitude of 'just going with it' proved successful. The bed that I was in was not the typical bed that the orderlies were used to. It was motorised, and the poor guy couldn't drive it. We crashed 3 times on the way to theatre - twice into walls, and once into another patient's bed. We couldn't stop laughing at how ridiculous the situation felt. I think it was nerves on both of our parts - my husband was just as nervous as I was. After a couple of hours of waiting to be wheeled through, we were told that an emergency had come through and there was no longer a theatre for my procedure. We were sent back to my room - complete with another 2 crashes on the way back. Cue more giggles.
Just after lunch (which came to my room and I had to refuse as I wasn't allowed to eat pre-surgery) we were told that we would be going back to theatre as soon as we found a driver. The original guy who took me down refused to drive me - he was embarrassed that he'd hit so many things and didn't want to do it again. Another guy turned up and drove me quite expertly to the waiting area, where I was prepped, briefed by the anesthetist, and wheeled through to the theatre.
The epidural was strange, I hadn't read anything about c-sections so didn't really know what to expect, but I really didn't feel a thing after the local anesthetic was put in. Soon enough, my husband was next to me, and we were waiting to hear the 'cappucino noise' which was the suction - we were told once we heard this, our girl would soon be out! The suction started at 2.18pm, a tiny scream was heard, and then a squirmy baby was held over the partition, and we were told our girl was healthy. She was taken over to the table for examination, where hubster cut her cord, and then she was wrapped up and whisked away to Special Care for some further treatment. She had stopped breathing for just a second, but the nurse assured me everything was fine. My husband went with her while I got stitched back up. I can't believe how long it took for them to get me sorted out. The nurse came back and told me that our girl was perfectly fine, just a little small, and that I could see her soon.
I was wheeled to recovery, and just as they were about to send me back to my room, the bed stopped working. No-one had plugged the stupid thing in during surgery, so the battery had gone flat. I couldn't get back to my room. I couldn't move beds because I was still numb from the chest down. We were stuck. The poor nurses in recovery kept apologising for the delay - I couldn't help but giggle. The pain medication probably helped my mood. I waited while they Googled the bed manufacturer. They spent an hour trying to find out how to switch the bed to manual mode so that they could push me back to my room. Finally, about 2.5 hours after she was taken to Special Care, I was back in my room. My husband met me there, and started to tell me how gorgeous our girl was. We decided that the name we'd settled on was definitely her name, and Emma was finally real. I still couldn't see her, which really annoyed me, but I knew she was in the best hands.
At 7pm they told me I wouldn't be able to see her until the morning - she would be staying in Special Care for a couple of days and I was too raw from surgery to be moving to go and see her. I was upset, but still understood. It was a long night where I kept wondering how she was, where she was, and just wanting to cuddle her. My husband had taken heaps of photos but it wasn't enough. I needed to see her, to smell her, to snuggle her. I began to feel very seperated from the whole situation. I wasn't pregnant, but I didn't have my baby in my arms. She wasn't gone, but she wasn't here. It was very strange.
The next morning, I finally was able to get into a wheelchair and go to Special Care. Emma was in a humidicrib, hooked up to a heart monitor, an oxygen monitor, with a feeding tube in her nose, and under UV lights for jaundice. She was so small. I still couldn't hold her like I desperately wanted to. I held her hand, stroked her tummy, and told her I loved her. She was just so precious and tiny. Only 2.2kg. Eventually we had to go back to the room, but I knew I'd be back soon. Both my parents and my husband's Mum visited during the day and my husband took them all to visit her. When my mum came, she wheeled me down and asked the nurse if I could hold Emma. I cried as I looked at her gorgeous face and felt her warmth on my chest.
At about 5pm, just after my parents left, a doctor came to my room. He asked if we had a minute, and my stomach dropped. I knew something wasn't right. He began asking if we'd had any prenatal testing, and wanted to know what those results were. I answered, not really knowing what he was asking us, but wanting him to tell us why he was there. He then said the words I was dreading 'We think Emma has Down Syndrome'. He went on to say that she didn't have all of the classic features, but some subtle ones that made them think, along with her low birth weight, that they should test for Down Syndrome. How could they not know? Wasn't it obvious? I just didn't understand, and I could tell my husband was the same. We looked at each other with wild eyes. We were also bewildered as it was Saturday, and the doctor said that they couldn't perform the test until Monday - the lab didn't work weekends and so we would have to wait. The results would take up to a week to come back, so we wouldn't know until then.
He left. We cried. We both didn't care if she had it or not, we just wanted to know. We didn't know how to deal with the information, or what to do. We were stuck in a stupid limbo between hoping our girl was fine, but knowing that no matter what the result, she was ours and we loved her more than we could imagine. I called my Mum, and through my tears asked her to come back. She did, and we just hugged and cried. My emotions were all over the place. I desperately wanted her not to have it, to have the life we'd always dreamed about for her, but deep down I knew that it was true. I felt guilty for hoping that she didn't. I felt disconnected from her - she wasn't in our room, she wasn't in my arms, she was all alone in the nursery. Mum left, and we cried again. My husband held me while I sobbed. Someone came to check my vitals and told us to go and see her.
It was midnight. The nurses said that we were welcome any time of day or night. No-one had told us that. We stayed for an hour or so, just staring at her. We changed her nappy, and fed her a bottle. She was friggin perfect, and it wasn't fair. We just wanted to love her and do everything we could to make her well, but she was hooked up to all these machines and there was nothing we could do.
We didn't sleep well.
The next day passed slowly. Someone came the next morning to shower me. We ate when food came to the room, but we didn't taste it. We went to the nursery every 3 hours to feed and change Emma, and in between we just sat and waited until it was time to go again. The nurses in Special Care were amazing, showing us how to change her, feed her, burp her. Her feeding tube was removed as she was sucking fine from the bottle. She was taken out of the humidicrib as she was doing fine without the UV and the extra temperature control. She was a perfectly healthy baby, just small.
Monday came, and we were there when they took the blood for the test. They took so much from her tiny body. She didn't cry. She wasn't bothered by the needles or the invasion. She took it in her stride, and so did we. This test was something we didn't want to have... but something we needed. We all needed to know either way so that we could just move forward.
Tuesday came, and all the monitors were removed. She was fine. I was still going every 3 hours to feed and change her, even through the night. I set alarms and walked very gingerly through the ward to the nursery. I hand-expressed, trying to bring my milk in. My husband came during the day and went home at night to try to sleep. Neither of us slept well, but we tried. We met with the social worker to discuss how we were feeling about the results. Neither of us knew how we were feeling. We were told Emma would be staying in Special Care until she put on weight. I wouldn't be able to stay. In the afternoon, we were told that the results would be in the next morning. I was discharged on Tuesday afternoon, but they found me a room to sleep in that night. I couldn't leave my girl... I cried when I told the social worker that I didn't want to abandon Emma, and she did what she could to keep me in. My husband couldn't stay, and that night I felt so alone.
Wednesday came, and we had asked to feed and change her at 9am before meeting with the doctor. My Mum arrived while we we feeding her. The doctor popped his head in and said that it would be a little while as he was waiting for the social worker and the head pediatrician. We looked at each other, Mum, my husband, and I, and we all knew what the answer was. It was a long half hour before everyone was ready, and we went into a small room. The head pediatrician told us straight away that the result was positive. Tears flowed, questions were asked and answered, and tissues were handed around.
The doctors left, the social worker stayed. Mum cried the hardest. I cried a lot. My husband cried a little bit. The social worker left. Mum rang Dad. She cried again. We worked out a plan to tell our families. My husband rang his Mum and Dad. My Mum organised for my brothers to come in that night. She left to go and visit some and ring others. We cried. We went back to the nursery and held our girl, while trying not to cry. We fed and changed her every 3 hours. We ate, not tasting anything. They found us a room for the night - my husband got to stay this time - and we stayed.
The next morning, we had decided that we wouldn't stay again. We would make it work, going backwards and forwards between home and the hospital. We couldn't stay there forever, we needed to be home and in a routine. We would work out how to be there for Emma, the most that we could, even though it would be exhausting for us. The social worker mentioned that we might be able to transfer her to a hospital a bit closer to home. Phone calls were made, plans were discussed, and then the most amazing news...
We could go home! The hospital closest to home had a program, where a midwife comes every 2 days to weigh and check and consult. No Special Care nursery. No monitors. No hospital. Just home. We were overjoyed. The next few hours were the longest. Waiting. Waiting for paperwork. Waiting for doctors to give their final tick of approval.
And then we were home.
We have been home just over a week, and that week has been a blur of sleepless nights, daytime naps, visitors, nappies, bottles, snuggles, cuddles, and learning how to be a family of 3. Emma has been putting on weight like a champion, and will be discharged from the program on Tuesday (she was only 20 grams away from the target at the last visit!).
Emma is just like any other baby. She cries, she poos, she eats, she wees, she sleeps. She has her own personality already - she's so strong willed, yet takes everything in her stride. She is starting to be so much more alert. We're struggling to breastfeed as my supply is not increasing along with her appetite, but we are mix-feeding and trying to increase with medication, just like any other new mother would.
Emma's diagnosis was a relief. We know that she will face some challenges in her life, especially in the next few years. However, unlike so many parents, we have a diagnosis. We can prepare her and ourselves for challenges, and rejoice when she hits her milestones. There is no more 'not knowing'. We have found support, both from our family and friends, and also from Down Syndrome Victoria. We have begun our journey, not the road we thought we would be on when we found out we were having a baby, but a great road nonetheless.
I had pregnancy induced hypertension (high blood pressure) so was being monitored a bit more closely from about 30 weeks. At 32 weeks, I had a growth scan, and thought nothing of it as I didn't hear from either the hospital or my GP, despite seeing both of them weekly.
At 37 weeks, someone finally looked up the results of the growth scan, and they became worried. Our girl was in the 17th percentile for her size - which meant that out of 100 babies born, she would only weigh more than 17 of them. Pretty small, but nothing to worry about. I was sent for a follow-up growth scan the next day, so went into the ultrasound place after a big day of shopping to buy food to prepare for meals when the time came. Lucky I went home to drop all the food off... because things got pretty hectic pretty quickly!
I went for the scan, and the tech was pretty worried. There was hardly any amniotic fluid, and our girl had hardly grown. She was now in the 3rd percentile for size. He left me in the room while he phoned the hospital. They wanted me to go straight in - so I got in the car and drove across the road to the hospital to be seen by the Foetal Monitoring Team.
Hooked up to the heart rate monitor, no-one seemed worried. Our girl was fine, not under any stress, moving heaps and going well. I was examined by an obstetrician, and then taken through to the Maternity Ward. Another doctor came through after a few minutes and told me that while bubs wasn't distressed, the situation wasn't ideal. They wanted to get her out - she would be safer on the outside. At 5pm, I phoned my husband and told him that we would be induced in the morning. He finished work, went home to get our bags, and was on his way to meet me.
Before he got there, the doctor came back in and told me that inducing wasn't going to happen, I was to have a c-section in the morning. I immediately started crying - my body was made to birth a child, and all along I've said I wanted to avoid a c-section. I wanted a drug-free, vaginal birth. But I was worried.... the doctor explained that with the low level of fluid and a small baby, the stress of labour would probably result in an emergency c-section anyway, so we were better to go in planned, stress-free, and calm. I reluctantly agreed, and broke the news to my husband when he arrived shortly after.
I was admitted to the ward, and hubster went home to try to get a good night's sleep. It was a pretty easy night, I watched some TV, had regular blood pressure monitoring, got a drip inserted in my hand, had a shower, and tried to sleep. My sleep was broken but sound, and I made peace with the fact that the birth wouldn't go the way I had imagined. I made peace with the reality that our girl would have a better entrance into the world if we went with the expert's opinion. There was no point in stressing over the change in plans - things just had to be this way, and I accepted that.
Morning came, and our attitude of 'just going with it' proved successful. The bed that I was in was not the typical bed that the orderlies were used to. It was motorised, and the poor guy couldn't drive it. We crashed 3 times on the way to theatre - twice into walls, and once into another patient's bed. We couldn't stop laughing at how ridiculous the situation felt. I think it was nerves on both of our parts - my husband was just as nervous as I was. After a couple of hours of waiting to be wheeled through, we were told that an emergency had come through and there was no longer a theatre for my procedure. We were sent back to my room - complete with another 2 crashes on the way back. Cue more giggles.
Just after lunch (which came to my room and I had to refuse as I wasn't allowed to eat pre-surgery) we were told that we would be going back to theatre as soon as we found a driver. The original guy who took me down refused to drive me - he was embarrassed that he'd hit so many things and didn't want to do it again. Another guy turned up and drove me quite expertly to the waiting area, where I was prepped, briefed by the anesthetist, and wheeled through to the theatre.
The epidural was strange, I hadn't read anything about c-sections so didn't really know what to expect, but I really didn't feel a thing after the local anesthetic was put in. Soon enough, my husband was next to me, and we were waiting to hear the 'cappucino noise' which was the suction - we were told once we heard this, our girl would soon be out! The suction started at 2.18pm, a tiny scream was heard, and then a squirmy baby was held over the partition, and we were told our girl was healthy. She was taken over to the table for examination, where hubster cut her cord, and then she was wrapped up and whisked away to Special Care for some further treatment. She had stopped breathing for just a second, but the nurse assured me everything was fine. My husband went with her while I got stitched back up. I can't believe how long it took for them to get me sorted out. The nurse came back and told me that our girl was perfectly fine, just a little small, and that I could see her soon.
I was wheeled to recovery, and just as they were about to send me back to my room, the bed stopped working. No-one had plugged the stupid thing in during surgery, so the battery had gone flat. I couldn't get back to my room. I couldn't move beds because I was still numb from the chest down. We were stuck. The poor nurses in recovery kept apologising for the delay - I couldn't help but giggle. The pain medication probably helped my mood. I waited while they Googled the bed manufacturer. They spent an hour trying to find out how to switch the bed to manual mode so that they could push me back to my room. Finally, about 2.5 hours after she was taken to Special Care, I was back in my room. My husband met me there, and started to tell me how gorgeous our girl was. We decided that the name we'd settled on was definitely her name, and Emma was finally real. I still couldn't see her, which really annoyed me, but I knew she was in the best hands.
At 7pm they told me I wouldn't be able to see her until the morning - she would be staying in Special Care for a couple of days and I was too raw from surgery to be moving to go and see her. I was upset, but still understood. It was a long night where I kept wondering how she was, where she was, and just wanting to cuddle her. My husband had taken heaps of photos but it wasn't enough. I needed to see her, to smell her, to snuggle her. I began to feel very seperated from the whole situation. I wasn't pregnant, but I didn't have my baby in my arms. She wasn't gone, but she wasn't here. It was very strange.
The next morning, I finally was able to get into a wheelchair and go to Special Care. Emma was in a humidicrib, hooked up to a heart monitor, an oxygen monitor, with a feeding tube in her nose, and under UV lights for jaundice. She was so small. I still couldn't hold her like I desperately wanted to. I held her hand, stroked her tummy, and told her I loved her. She was just so precious and tiny. Only 2.2kg. Eventually we had to go back to the room, but I knew I'd be back soon. Both my parents and my husband's Mum visited during the day and my husband took them all to visit her. When my mum came, she wheeled me down and asked the nurse if I could hold Emma. I cried as I looked at her gorgeous face and felt her warmth on my chest.
At about 5pm, just after my parents left, a doctor came to my room. He asked if we had a minute, and my stomach dropped. I knew something wasn't right. He began asking if we'd had any prenatal testing, and wanted to know what those results were. I answered, not really knowing what he was asking us, but wanting him to tell us why he was there. He then said the words I was dreading 'We think Emma has Down Syndrome'. He went on to say that she didn't have all of the classic features, but some subtle ones that made them think, along with her low birth weight, that they should test for Down Syndrome. How could they not know? Wasn't it obvious? I just didn't understand, and I could tell my husband was the same. We looked at each other with wild eyes. We were also bewildered as it was Saturday, and the doctor said that they couldn't perform the test until Monday - the lab didn't work weekends and so we would have to wait. The results would take up to a week to come back, so we wouldn't know until then.
He left. We cried. We both didn't care if she had it or not, we just wanted to know. We didn't know how to deal with the information, or what to do. We were stuck in a stupid limbo between hoping our girl was fine, but knowing that no matter what the result, she was ours and we loved her more than we could imagine. I called my Mum, and through my tears asked her to come back. She did, and we just hugged and cried. My emotions were all over the place. I desperately wanted her not to have it, to have the life we'd always dreamed about for her, but deep down I knew that it was true. I felt guilty for hoping that she didn't. I felt disconnected from her - she wasn't in our room, she wasn't in my arms, she was all alone in the nursery. Mum left, and we cried again. My husband held me while I sobbed. Someone came to check my vitals and told us to go and see her.
It was midnight. The nurses said that we were welcome any time of day or night. No-one had told us that. We stayed for an hour or so, just staring at her. We changed her nappy, and fed her a bottle. She was friggin perfect, and it wasn't fair. We just wanted to love her and do everything we could to make her well, but she was hooked up to all these machines and there was nothing we could do.
We didn't sleep well.
The next day passed slowly. Someone came the next morning to shower me. We ate when food came to the room, but we didn't taste it. We went to the nursery every 3 hours to feed and change Emma, and in between we just sat and waited until it was time to go again. The nurses in Special Care were amazing, showing us how to change her, feed her, burp her. Her feeding tube was removed as she was sucking fine from the bottle. She was taken out of the humidicrib as she was doing fine without the UV and the extra temperature control. She was a perfectly healthy baby, just small.
Monday came, and we were there when they took the blood for the test. They took so much from her tiny body. She didn't cry. She wasn't bothered by the needles or the invasion. She took it in her stride, and so did we. This test was something we didn't want to have... but something we needed. We all needed to know either way so that we could just move forward.
Tuesday came, and all the monitors were removed. She was fine. I was still going every 3 hours to feed and change her, even through the night. I set alarms and walked very gingerly through the ward to the nursery. I hand-expressed, trying to bring my milk in. My husband came during the day and went home at night to try to sleep. Neither of us slept well, but we tried. We met with the social worker to discuss how we were feeling about the results. Neither of us knew how we were feeling. We were told Emma would be staying in Special Care until she put on weight. I wouldn't be able to stay. In the afternoon, we were told that the results would be in the next morning. I was discharged on Tuesday afternoon, but they found me a room to sleep in that night. I couldn't leave my girl... I cried when I told the social worker that I didn't want to abandon Emma, and she did what she could to keep me in. My husband couldn't stay, and that night I felt so alone.
Wednesday came, and we had asked to feed and change her at 9am before meeting with the doctor. My Mum arrived while we we feeding her. The doctor popped his head in and said that it would be a little while as he was waiting for the social worker and the head pediatrician. We looked at each other, Mum, my husband, and I, and we all knew what the answer was. It was a long half hour before everyone was ready, and we went into a small room. The head pediatrician told us straight away that the result was positive. Tears flowed, questions were asked and answered, and tissues were handed around.
The doctors left, the social worker stayed. Mum cried the hardest. I cried a lot. My husband cried a little bit. The social worker left. Mum rang Dad. She cried again. We worked out a plan to tell our families. My husband rang his Mum and Dad. My Mum organised for my brothers to come in that night. She left to go and visit some and ring others. We cried. We went back to the nursery and held our girl, while trying not to cry. We fed and changed her every 3 hours. We ate, not tasting anything. They found us a room for the night - my husband got to stay this time - and we stayed.
The next morning, we had decided that we wouldn't stay again. We would make it work, going backwards and forwards between home and the hospital. We couldn't stay there forever, we needed to be home and in a routine. We would work out how to be there for Emma, the most that we could, even though it would be exhausting for us. The social worker mentioned that we might be able to transfer her to a hospital a bit closer to home. Phone calls were made, plans were discussed, and then the most amazing news...
We could go home! The hospital closest to home had a program, where a midwife comes every 2 days to weigh and check and consult. No Special Care nursery. No monitors. No hospital. Just home. We were overjoyed. The next few hours were the longest. Waiting. Waiting for paperwork. Waiting for doctors to give their final tick of approval.
And then we were home.
We have been home just over a week, and that week has been a blur of sleepless nights, daytime naps, visitors, nappies, bottles, snuggles, cuddles, and learning how to be a family of 3. Emma has been putting on weight like a champion, and will be discharged from the program on Tuesday (she was only 20 grams away from the target at the last visit!).
Emma is just like any other baby. She cries, she poos, she eats, she wees, she sleeps. She has her own personality already - she's so strong willed, yet takes everything in her stride. She is starting to be so much more alert. We're struggling to breastfeed as my supply is not increasing along with her appetite, but we are mix-feeding and trying to increase with medication, just like any other new mother would.
Emma's diagnosis was a relief. We know that she will face some challenges in her life, especially in the next few years. However, unlike so many parents, we have a diagnosis. We can prepare her and ourselves for challenges, and rejoice when she hits her milestones. There is no more 'not knowing'. We have found support, both from our family and friends, and also from Down Syndrome Victoria. We have begun our journey, not the road we thought we would be on when we found out we were having a baby, but a great road nonetheless.
Saturday, 26 December 2015
Looking back on the year
This year has been a ride, that's for sure!
I'm sitting here in a house we moved into 2 months ago, feeling the kicks of the baby we so dearly wanted, trying to plan out how the nursery will be set up. I'm looking at boxes containing the pram and car seat that we're too scared to open because we heard it's bad luck to open them too early. I'm wondering when exactly it is that I'm allowed to set them up? How early is too early? Apparently we need to get the car seat fitted before the baby arrives, but when do we do that without bringing on the bad luck? Where's the line between being organised and being slack? How far can we push it? Can my husband ring the fitters while I'm in labour? Do I leave him to put the pram together while I'm pushing?
It's getting to that time now where I'm looking forward to what's coming next for our little family, but at the same time I'm spending a lot of time reflecting on the year that's been. This time last year I was excited to be 'trying'. We'd just moved back to my side of town to be closer to my family after spending 3 years living an hour away. I had just been given the fantastic opportunity to take over the calisthenics club I love, and started a new temporary job with an agency. My husband had quit his job and was due to start a new one in the new year.
Fast forward 12 months and we're getting ready to welcome the baby. We both stayed in the same jobs and my husband is currently gunning for a promotion that will see him earn a bit more (woo!) but also be more challenged mentally, rather than physically as he is now. I really hope he gets it - he's worked hard for the last 12 months to build a rapport with the company and prove that he's there for the long haul. I'm worried that if he doesn't get it, he'll need to look for a new job with a new company and start again from the bottom - he's stressing that we won't have enough money once I stop working to look after bubs. It will be tight, we always knew that, but he's feeling the pinch to earn more. It's sad that it's not feasible for me to go back to work full-time - we've been doing our research and full-time child care coupled with my current wage will actually leave us worse off financially than me not working and receiving some benefits from the government. I may be able to pick up some part-time work with the agency I began this job with, but child care isn't something I can arrange if I get a phone call to temp somewhere... so for now I'll be looking after the house and bubs and the hubster will be the sole breadwinner. Scary stuff!
Even scarier is the prospect of actually having this kid. Up until now, my life has been about me, and then about my husband and myself. Now there's someone else we have to consider, and even more than just consider. For the next 20 years at least, someone else is ALWAYS going to come first. Our needs and wants will take a back seat to keeping this kid alive - at least for the first few months! After that it's all about making them happy, giving them the best start, and teaching them how to be a great human being. It's questioning our choices, walking the fine line between giving them everything and spoiling them rotten. It's making endless decisions, falling down and getting back up. I hope we're ready because there's really no going back now..
Cheers to a relaxing end to 2015 and welcome to 2016!
I'm sitting here in a house we moved into 2 months ago, feeling the kicks of the baby we so dearly wanted, trying to plan out how the nursery will be set up. I'm looking at boxes containing the pram and car seat that we're too scared to open because we heard it's bad luck to open them too early. I'm wondering when exactly it is that I'm allowed to set them up? How early is too early? Apparently we need to get the car seat fitted before the baby arrives, but when do we do that without bringing on the bad luck? Where's the line between being organised and being slack? How far can we push it? Can my husband ring the fitters while I'm in labour? Do I leave him to put the pram together while I'm pushing?
It's getting to that time now where I'm looking forward to what's coming next for our little family, but at the same time I'm spending a lot of time reflecting on the year that's been. This time last year I was excited to be 'trying'. We'd just moved back to my side of town to be closer to my family after spending 3 years living an hour away. I had just been given the fantastic opportunity to take over the calisthenics club I love, and started a new temporary job with an agency. My husband had quit his job and was due to start a new one in the new year.
Fast forward 12 months and we're getting ready to welcome the baby. We both stayed in the same jobs and my husband is currently gunning for a promotion that will see him earn a bit more (woo!) but also be more challenged mentally, rather than physically as he is now. I really hope he gets it - he's worked hard for the last 12 months to build a rapport with the company and prove that he's there for the long haul. I'm worried that if he doesn't get it, he'll need to look for a new job with a new company and start again from the bottom - he's stressing that we won't have enough money once I stop working to look after bubs. It will be tight, we always knew that, but he's feeling the pinch to earn more. It's sad that it's not feasible for me to go back to work full-time - we've been doing our research and full-time child care coupled with my current wage will actually leave us worse off financially than me not working and receiving some benefits from the government. I may be able to pick up some part-time work with the agency I began this job with, but child care isn't something I can arrange if I get a phone call to temp somewhere... so for now I'll be looking after the house and bubs and the hubster will be the sole breadwinner. Scary stuff!
Even scarier is the prospect of actually having this kid. Up until now, my life has been about me, and then about my husband and myself. Now there's someone else we have to consider, and even more than just consider. For the next 20 years at least, someone else is ALWAYS going to come first. Our needs and wants will take a back seat to keeping this kid alive - at least for the first few months! After that it's all about making them happy, giving them the best start, and teaching them how to be a great human being. It's questioning our choices, walking the fine line between giving them everything and spoiling them rotten. It's making endless decisions, falling down and getting back up. I hope we're ready because there's really no going back now..
Cheers to a relaxing end to 2015 and welcome to 2016!
Sunday, 20 September 2015
It's been a while... again...
But I've been super busy making something. It's not finished yet, and it will be another 6 months or so before it IS finished...
It seems so long to wait for something that I have been waiting a long time for already. It's something I didn't think was possible given what's been going on for the last few years but I am super excited to show you the reason I won't be losing weight any time soon.
This kid will be joining us in March 2016 :) I am so stoked, and I didn't think it was possible to be more excited than I am, but my husband is positively bouncing off the walls!!!
It seems so long to wait for something that I have been waiting a long time for already. It's something I didn't think was possible given what's been going on for the last few years but I am super excited to show you the reason I won't be losing weight any time soon.
This kid will be joining us in March 2016 :) I am so stoked, and I didn't think it was possible to be more excited than I am, but my husband is positively bouncing off the walls!!!
Sunday, 28 June 2015
What if....
Today as I was driving through the Hungry Jacks Drive-Thru (woops! so not part of the plan...) getting 6 nuggets and a small chips for $3 I had a thought. What if food cost how many calories it was?
What if fruit and veg was cheaper per 100g than say chocolate or chips or fast food? Would I still make the choices I make? Would it influence the way I eat at all?
I read about all the advances in technology where in the future we could be implanted with a chip connected to our bank account so there would be no physical money. What if it went a step further and food was only available via scanning your chip? What if you got turned away from a restaurant because you'd already eaten your allotment for the day? What if restaurants and supermarkets didn't exist and we went to a central place to get our food for the day?
On the one hand I would be flabbergasted and embarrassed and enraged. On the other hand maybe it would make my life so much easier. I freakin LOVE food. I spend way too much of my time thinking about what I'm going to eat next, how things taste, what I can make...
What if?
What if fruit and veg was cheaper per 100g than say chocolate or chips or fast food? Would I still make the choices I make? Would it influence the way I eat at all?
I read about all the advances in technology where in the future we could be implanted with a chip connected to our bank account so there would be no physical money. What if it went a step further and food was only available via scanning your chip? What if you got turned away from a restaurant because you'd already eaten your allotment for the day? What if restaurants and supermarkets didn't exist and we went to a central place to get our food for the day?
On the one hand I would be flabbergasted and embarrassed and enraged. On the other hand maybe it would make my life so much easier. I freakin LOVE food. I spend way too much of my time thinking about what I'm going to eat next, how things taste, what I can make...
What if?
Sunday, 14 June 2015
Learning to change my thinking
These last couple of weeks I have been learning to change my thinking around food. WW is good because there are no restrictions on what I can eat - but sometimes that can be a bad thing! It gives you a certain amount to eat each day, and then some extra to use over the week to allow for splurges and extra indulgences. The first week I didn't use any of the extra ProPoints but the next two weeks I used them all plus more.
This week I have vowed to end the week with Propoints to spare and with one day to go it's looking promising. The interesting thing is that I have still indulged in the foods that tipped me over the edge in those two weeks, but I have been able to 'ration' the portions a bit better by keeping mindful of what I am eating and trying not to eat mindlessly.
If there is one thing I have learned over the last few years, it's that I am no good with withdrawal. I am a binge-eater and absolutely love eating sweet foods. The more I think I can't have something, the more I want it, and the more I will eat when I eventually cave in.
This isn't gonna be easy... or quick... but it will happen!
This week I have vowed to end the week with Propoints to spare and with one day to go it's looking promising. The interesting thing is that I have still indulged in the foods that tipped me over the edge in those two weeks, but I have been able to 'ration' the portions a bit better by keeping mindful of what I am eating and trying not to eat mindlessly.
If there is one thing I have learned over the last few years, it's that I am no good with withdrawal. I am a binge-eater and absolutely love eating sweet foods. The more I think I can't have something, the more I want it, and the more I will eat when I eventually cave in.
This isn't gonna be easy... or quick... but it will happen!
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