Premature labour. 

I absolute guarantee that you will know someone who has been touched by this or indeed have experienced a premature labour scare in some form for yourself. It’s the hardest thing in the world to explain to people but is so so common. 

When I was in labour with #3, and throughout our neonatal journey, I wrote random thoughts down, a diary if you like. It feels ok to let them out now, almost cathartic really. It is still, and probably always will be, the most surreal experience I have ever been though. Nothing compares to it and it is very hard to vocalise all the thoughts and emotions and happenings of a neonatal journey for each one is personal…but this is my attempt. 


The before…

Wednesday 19th March 2014.
Shit. I think I’m in trouble. Started bleeding earlier, feeling a bit ropey. Managed to go to college but sitting at swimming lessons feeling like I might just lose all my organs through my bum hole. Reckon I should probably call triage but don’t want to worry anyone – I’ve probably just got thrush or something, stress maybe. Christ he’s only been away a week, there’s no way I can tell him to come home now…

Thursday 20th March 2014.

Morning…

Knew this would be a waste of time. Of course triage wanted to see me. Didn’t have the heart to tell them I reckon I was just constipated. Had to get Mum to stop on the way up so I could have a poo, pretty sure she thought I’d had the baby on the floor, she came in to find me after a while – thankfully baby seems perfectly fine and is happily wriggling about. Still, they kept me in ‘just in case’. Well they better hurry up and discharge me. I’ve got an exam tomorrow…

Mid-morning…

Being kept in. Consultant wants me to get steroids just in case baby decides to evacuate. Damn, I forgot how much they sting. So I’ve had one, need another one tomorrow. No exam for me. Bumped into Chris my circuits lecturer in the corridor (his wife is in being induced), can anyone say awkward turtle. Ah well, beats being at college I suppose…

Sometime after 10pm…

Holy shit. My waters broke. In something not dissimilar to a comedy movie I rolled over in bed and ‘pop’, they just went. Midwife doesn’t believe me. She didn’t say anything and has trotted off to get a doctor but I reckon she thinks I’ve just pee’d myself. Little does she know I’ve got an amazing pelvic floor, no involuntary peeing here thanks! But actually, shit. My water broke. And it was all going so well too…

Some time before the clubs shut…

The doctor has been. Seriously, I’ve got older leg hairs. Assured me I’d probably just ‘leaked some urine’ but would check anyway. He soon changed his mind when he asked me to cough and I sprayed amniotic fluid all over his scrubs. Hi ho hi ho off to labour ward we go. Text Anna but reckon she’s asleep. Haven’t text Mum yet, don’t want to stress her out, will do it in the morning.

Friday 21st March. 

Morning…

In labour ward, on a monitor. Yay. Everyone is flapping, think they all think she’s going to come today. She’s not. I feel less in labour than I did yesterday, reckon I’ve got a urine infection to be honest. Still leaking water, forgot what that feels like, every time I move another load comes out. Really hope this baby stays put, not sure I can deal with another prem experience. And god knows what’s going to happen when he finds out I’m here. If he calls I’ll tell him. If he doesn’t I won’t. Easy.

Not morning…

He called. Of course he did. I’m an awful person but I don’t even care if he’s here. In fact it’s going to be worse if he is. Anna gets it. My Mum sort of gets it (not sure she knows what delayed cord clamping is) but I know she’s got my back. If this baby does come soon I want them there. Not anyone else. Maybe the army will keep him in wherever the fuck he is.

Evening…

Army are sending him home. I’m still not in labour, obviously.

Saturday 22nd March. 

Hmm. So maybe I’m in labour. Shh. Definitely getting contractions and they’re definitely a bit sore. Hoping they sod off, the consultant gave me drugs to help slow them down and I’m not dilating which is a bonus but these aren’t Hicks.

Got Pizza Hut delivered to labour ward. Tried to help Anna write her essay but didn’t understand any of the words in the title so left her to it. Some random cooper showed up to make sure I hadn’t been harmed (WTF?!), and in my wisdom I spoke to him wearing Doug’s superman’s jammies after taking drugs. Pretty sure I complimented his arms. Life is weird here but diamorphine is a LOT of fun.

Sunday 23rd March. 

I don’t feel well. I think this baby is going to come and I’m not sure how that’s going to work out. The doctor came and explained what she’ll look like and what she’ll need done to her medically, but I’m not sure I really get it. Part of me is utterly convinced she’ll be ok, the other part is utterly convinced she’ll die. He’s on his way now.

Later…

He’s here. Mum and Anna have gone and he’s asleep. Life is shit right about now. The midwife is nice but I feel really alone. I’m really frightened and as much as I don’t think I’m in proper labour, I’ve been having contractions every 3-5 minutes for over 24 hours now, I’m so tired. Spent a lot of time googling ‘babies born at 25 weeks’- What. An. Idiot. Google is shit for a start and throws up lots of images of babies born before 25 weeks and babies that aren’t living, as well as loads of pretty sobering mortality facts and medical stuff about babies born this soon. Can’t shake the feeling she’ll be ok though, maybe I’m just too optimistic, maybe I should prepare for the fact she might die, but whenever I think about it I just know she’ll be ok. She’s not moving very much now, think she’s tired too in there. Can’t be very comfy with no water to float about in and internal forces trying to squeeze you out all the time. Hang in their baby, I’ve got your back.

Monday 24th March. 

So. Day 2/3 of ‘labour’. I’m not dilated. Which is great – yay for a closed cervix. But seriously. This isn’t funny now. I’m so tired, and I’m sore, and I miss my kids. My Mum and Anna are here but it’s weird…pretty sure something has happened I’m not meant to find out about. I want to go home but going to settle for a walk to WH Smith and some pick n mix.

3pm(ish)…

Oh ok. I’m in labour, like actual labour now. It went like this – went to the shop for sweets, the wheelchair hit a bump and suddenly I had a huge contraction and was actually fairly sure I was about to deliver in the middle of the concourse so  we rushed back to labour ward. I’m 4cm, and this it’s game on. Ok then, shit.

10pm…

Contractions have slowed. Everyone it seems is asleep. Midwife is nice but quiet. I’m on my own again and terrified. This baby is going to die.

2am…

Still 4cm. Baby is tired. Her heart rate keeps dipping, she’s had enough (I hear ya baby). Consultant is coming, midwife thinks they’ll give me something to ramp up the contractions. They’re regular and strong but just not quite strong enough, she’s so tiny they’re not really moving her.

3am…

Oh holy Jesus. 2mg of whatever the fuck that was and it’s party time. I sound like a cow, I know I do, and the door is open. Not that I care right now but I hope no one can hear me. No pain relief though, not sure if I’m happy about that or not, suppose it depends how long this bit lasts…please be ok baby we love you a lot…