Filed under: birth, Life | Tags: birth, empowerment, life, maternity services, trauma
They told me…
…I wasn’t allowed
…they would do
…they don’t do
“They” “told” me…
One syllable words that take away power and makes women hand over responsibility.
Words that make me want to shout “please inform yourself rather than be told”, that make me angry at “them”, and that break my heart a little for every woman who says “they told me… but I don’t want to… but they won’t let me.”
Filed under: birth, Life | Tags: baby, birth, empowered, goddess, life, pregnancy, Rainbow
Today I’m mostly grieving for the end of our our pregnancy journey. I feel totally fulfilled with the experiences of my last two births, I think our family is complete now, so with today’s day 3 hormone surge I’m saying goodbye and looking to the future – I have learned so much as a person and as a doula from my experiences. I also know that my heart is firmly anchored in the “birth world”, for lack of a better expression.
I know for sure that there is no other area that I would want to support women in as much as coming out of the other side of their birth feeling healed, strong, empowered or just plain happy.
My experiences won’t disappear, and they will never lose significance, they will stay with me for the rest of my life, and I will always be able to draw strength from them.
I truly feel like I looked the Goddess in the face.
Filed under: birth, Life | Tags: baby, birth, empowered, goddess, life, love, Rainbow, strength
Filed under: birth, Life, Poetry | Tags: baby, belief, birth, goddess, instinct, intuition, life, meditation, mother, trust, world
I believe that birth is safe.
I believe that my baby should get to choose his or her birthday.
I believe that I am the Goddess, and I believe that you are the Goddess.
I am part of the natural world, and the natural world is part of me.
I am the leaf on the wind.
I am the wind.
I am the drop of water in the river.
I am the river.
I am the bank that contains the river.
I am the sea.
I am love.
I am patience.
I am energy.
I am one with all women, past, present and future.
I breathe and open.
My baby guides me as I guide my baby earthside.
I am trust.
I am balance.
I am time.
I do not need to wait, because I am.
Filed under: birth, Life | Tags: AIMS, baby, birth, BRAIN, caesarean, consultant, decisions, dignity, induction, informed choice, intervention, midwife, necessary, pregnancy, trauma
There’s something I would like to say (while we’re being honest and all that)….
I find it really hard to read posts like “I don’t really want an induction/caesarean/sweep so I hope I give birth before” or something along those lines. Or “Next time I have a baby I HAVE to have a caesarean/induction/whatever”.
I don’t care *HOW* someone chooses to have their baby, it’s a very personal choice and it has to be right for you. I’m not going to get all sanctimonious about natural home water births with delayed clamping blah blah blah, because for some people induction is the right choice, or caesarean.
The important thing is that you all know you have a choice, and if you don’t want to go through with a procedure, nobody can make you. We live in the age of information – if you are unhappy or unsure about something, please ask! Ask here, ask in groups on facebook, ask an independent midwife or doula, contact organisations like AIMS (http://aims.org.uk/) for unbiased advice. Ask your doctors and midwives for evidence of why what they are telling you they would like to do is the right choice. (You may be surprised; NHS procedures are not always based on evidence.)
Use your BRAIN.
Ask the following questions:
Use the answers to make your decisions. It’s not “informed choice” when the person making the decision doesn’t have all the relevant information to base that decision on.
It’s ok to say “no, thank you.” You won’t be punished for it. Nobody has authority over your body and your decisions, other than yourself. Take ownership of your birth, however you decide it should play out. Make plans, have a voice. Be heard.
Even if I don’t know you, I’m heartbroken for every one of you who is coerced into making a decision, sometimes even bullied (the “dead baby card” should NEVER be used by a professional to make you agree to a procedure!), and who ends up traumatised. Birth should not leave you feeling broken, coerced, bullied, degraded or abused. Regardless of the circumstances, even in medical emergencies, you can always come out of the other end feeling like the decisions you made were the right ones, that even when things didn’t go to plan you were treated respectfully, like a sentient human being who matters. Because you do.
Meningitis and septicaemia can strike with little or no warning, but knowing the symptoms and acting fast can save lives.
Some of the symptoms for meningitis and septicaemia are the same, while others differ. It is important to remember that not everyone gets all of these symptoms and they can appear in any order. In the early stages of both diseases, symptoms can also often appear flu-like.
If you think something is wrong, GO IMMEDIATELY TO YOUR NEAREST GP OR CASUALTY UNIT – FOLLOW YOUR INSTINCTS AND ACT FAST.
dislike of bright light
Other symptoms can include:
difficulty supporting own weight
vomiting and diarrhoea
confusion and drowsiness
The symptoms of pneumococcal meningitis are the same as meningococcal meningitis.
aching limbs (particularly leg pain)
cold hands and feet
a rash which starts like pin prick spots and develops rapidly into purple bruising
Other symptoms may include:
difficulty supporting own weight
vomiting and diarrhoea
confusion and drowsiness
change in skin colour
Do the tumbler test
Important: Someone who becomes unwell rapidly should be examined particularly carefully for the meningococcal septicaemia rash. The majority of people (over 50%) with meningococcal septicaemia develop a rash of tiny ‘pink prick’ spots which can rapidly develop into purple bruising. To identify the rash, press a glass tumbler against it and if the rash does not fade, it could be meningococcal septicaemia. On dark skin, check for the rash on lighter parts of the body, eg. inner eyelids or finger tips.
Babies and toddlers
In addition to the symptoms mentioned above, other symptoms to look out for in babies include:
blotchy skin, quite pale or turning blue
tense or bulging soft spot (fontanelle)on the baby’s head
high pitched cry/irritable (especially when being held)
It is particularly hard to tell when babies and toddlers are ill and what their symptoms are. Unfortunately, the symptoms in babies do not present in any particular order. In the majority of cases, with babies in particular, you will notice a rapid deterioration in their condition. It is important to trust your instincts – you know your child best. If you suspect anything is wrong, seek medical help immediately by going to your nearest GP or casualty unit.
Thank you to Meningitis UK for the above. Here is also the link to the NHS page on meningitis that also lists some other symptoms.
We’ve been hit hard by illnesses in recent months. Actually, thinking back, poor squidge has always been prone to catching all the bugs and the incubating them into something nasty. In November he had pneumonia, which took doctors way too long to diagnose, and which made him so poorly I wished I would never have to witness anything similar again.
All of his illnesses start the same way. A bit grumpy at bedtime, then by the time I go to bed a few hours later he is burning up. Daytime brings -some, small- relief from the fever on the first day, only to strike back in the afternoon, and by day two he is floppy, grey and lethargic.
Our last bout, a strep A infection manifesting in nasty scarlet fever that took three weeks and a hefty dose of antibiotics for ten days to get over had only been three weeks earlier.
Monday evening when I went to bed I felt his hot little hand on my arm and thought “oh, no. Not again,”
Tuesday I woke up early to the sound of his panting breath. I counted. 65. I know it’s way too fast. I sit for a little longer. I observe. No improvement. He seems ok, otherwise, but I know something is not right.
The out of hours doctor rings back within twenty minutes, tells me to take him to see our GP who is about to open. I get the first appointment of the day. GP looks in his eyes, ears and mouth, listens to his heart and chest. Counts. 68. Too fast. His temperature is only a little above 38C/100F. She says she doesn’t know why he is breathing so fast but he needs to be in hospital. Do we want an ambulance or can we drive there straight away? We drive.
In the paediatric assessment unit a nurse waves us to the seating area. He doesn’t look unwell enough for a bed yet. We sit. Wait. Squidge sits in my lap, occasionally he tries to move and I notice his arms and legs shaking when he puts weight on them. An hour later a doctor, too young, too slim, blonde, comes to see us. She tells me she doesn’t know why we are there, he seems to have a cold maybe. She counts. 48. I mention the shaking arms and legs, she tells me it must be the fever. I tell her he gets poorly quickly and spectacularly. She tells me she will get her senior consultant to look at him to put my mind at ease.
We wait some more. The shaking increases, now happens also when he is sitting still. He looks pale, subdued, but makes eye contact, even laughs. The senior consultant listens to his chest and sends him for an xray, which shows an infection in both lungs. She prescribes antibiotics and asks for a urine sample before we leave. Of course, Squidge won’t wee on command or in a cup. His temperature is still going up and he becomes slow, yet still shaking. I undress him and stand ready with the pot. His eyes glaze over, his stare vacant as he starts shaking uncontrollably. I call the nurse who says he has a fever and he is sleeping. With his eyes open? His bladder releases a stream of urine that misses the pot completely, but the consultant is satisfied that he does not have retention. He jerks, his eyes refocus.
I dress him, ready to go, and he vomits everywhere. It smells of the antibiotics he had only taken an hour ago. The consultant says it’s the fever, now 39C. Keep giving him the antibiotics and he’ll improve in a couple of days.
We arrive home, and he vomits again, and the shaking becomes stronger still. He can’t walk because his legs won’t hold him, he can’t crawl because his arms won’t support. I try giving him his dose of antibiotics before bed and some paracetamol, and he vomits again. I take him upstairs to give him some milk, and he vomits again. I call the assessment unit, where a doctor tells me to try him with a fluid challenge. 5Ml by syringe every 5 minutes. He takes it, holds it. Falls asleep, but lightly. Moaning, in discomfort. He seems stiff, and hot still. I check his skin; it’s white and blotchy but no rash.
I daren’t leave his side, so I stay next to him. I phone the assessment unit again and the doctor tells me that I can bring him back if I feel I need to, as I am not coping with treating him at home. I am coping, I just have a voice in my head that keeps telling me something is wrong. Something is wrong. It’s about 3 am when he has the first seizure. It’s a single full body jerk, and it wakes me up. He is burning. Shaking. At 4 am he starts twitching just with one arm, one leg. Then every few seconds his entire body spasms. His eyes roll up and into the back of his head, his breathing rapid. I sit for a couple of minutes and observe. Something is wrong. I know it.
I get dressed, phone 999. Pack a bag while Daddy stays with Squidge, still jerking. The ambulance arrives at 5. I run through our story and they bundle us into the back of the ambulance, and take us to hospital. In the ambulance he still jerks from time to time but the paramedic thinks it’s him trying to fall asleep. I know it isn’t, it happens every minute or so. We go through more details, observe. There drive takes a lifetime, and by the end of it we have plied Squidge with so much anti-pyretics that he has regained a semblance of consciousness.
In the Emergency Department I feel treated like a paranoid mother with her baby who has a cold, until he vomits again. They ask me to try breastfeeding him, but he can’t coordinate his swallowing, and every time he tries it goes down the wrong way making him choke, or vomit more. They bring us rehydration solution to syringe into his mouth, which also makes him vomit. He is shaking violently. The doctor says they will admit him for observation even though he is not clinically dehydrated yet. We go to the ward, and a doctor puts an IV access in his foot. Remembering the traumatic process four weeks previously when Raptor had to have one and it took 4 people, 9 attempts over 2 hours to get it in I was dreading it, but Squidge is now so lethargic he doesn’t even twitch, let alone whimper. Fluids are put up but and we see the consultant from the phone the night before, who listens to me. For the first time I feel someone is taking in what I am saying. Something is wrong. He is shaking, he is still jerking. She calls them myoclonic seizures. She mentions meningitis, which I don’t (want to) believe, surely they are just being cautious. We go for a lumbar puncture straight away. No waiting or messing around. In fact, there has barely been any waiting that morning. Again, he doesn’t even twitch or cry. The consultant looks at him, thoughtfully.
The results do not take long. An hour, maybe a little longer. She comes back to tell me herself. Meningitis. It doesn’t sink in.
They give him steroids to protect him from brain damage, and antibiotics, a big dose. Also fluids as he hasn’t peed since the day before in the assessment unit. They ask me to sit with a pot and try to catch some, which will take five hours and a bolus of 100ml that is meant to stimulate his kidneys.
He sleeps. Shift change, and the next nurse says Of course he is sleepy. He has Meningitis. And it dawns on me; this is real. This is us. He was lucky. My inner voice knew something was wrong. It sinks in. I feel panic rising. Dread. I look at my sleeping boy, tubes and wires and plasters mad curly hair. He jerks. He will be alright, right? The next couple of days pass in a blurr of bleeping, IV fluids and medicines, examinations and sleeping. Squidge sleeps about 42 out of 48 hours, only waking for boobies and a bit of food. He doesn’t vomit anymore, the jerking only happens every few hours, and the shaking is a lot less violent. Awake time increases, and we start hoping for our own beds again. The nurses come in less frequently, steroids stop.
Fresh air, a walk with the mei tai and Squidge on my back. The cannula still flushes beautifully. Squidge polishes off a packet of Quavers while his antibiotics run through. He wants to run, climb.
Things will be ok, for us.
Are you aware of the symptoms? I didn’t know Squidge’s symptoms were that of meningitis. I didn’t even really know there didn’t have to be the rash, red and non blanching, that we are always told to look out for.
I’ll do a separate post with a list of symptoms so it doesn’t get lost in this story. Please read it, please share it. Please listen to that voice in your head that tells you something is wrong.