Had a talk with the health visitor today. I talked about the stress leading up to baby's birth with having to fight for the midwife led unit, then the raising creatinine levels and the threat of induction; I talked about the chaos of her birth and my feelings on that and I explained how I have had trouble letting go in my mind of how everything worked out. I cried a little. In the end she said she thought I should talk with someone more professionally qualified to help me work through these feelings. She hesitantly suggested that what I am experiencing is not unlike post traumatic stress.
At home, I had a bath with baby, gave her a massage and let her have 10 minutes nappy free play. Baby is growing so fast. Already she can roll over and almost sits unsupported. She is not quite crawling but can confidently drag herself 3 or 4 feet at a time so we have spent a lot of time double checking our baby proofing recently. She likes her food. She started trying solid at almost 5 months. Her favourite is definitely watermelon. How quickly she is turning into a little person with likes and dislikes and a personality I am falling in love with more and more each day.
Thursday 2 July 2015
Monday 27 April 2015
Reflections (Warning: potential triggers)
Listening to the sounds of my partner moving around in the other room, I furtively turn down the volume on the television and brace myself for the next hour's viewing.
I've developed a strange need, in the months since my daughter's birth to watch programs such as 'one born,' especially those advertised to contain traumatic births and/or emergency C-sections. It's like poking at a bruise. I know it will hurt and that it's completely unproductive but I can't help it.
It's not the birth stories that I'm actually after; it's the cathartic release afterwards.
When I posted an account of my daughter's birth in the previous post, my intent was to keep the blog up-to-date and to write something a little neater at a later date. Now I feel it is best left as it is. There is something almost fitting in the rough, unpolished account I've given. It may have been a long labour but to me, it still felt as if it was spiralling out of my control too fast for me to adjust. As a result, I was left feeling like her birth was something that happened to me, rather than an experience I had been waiting for all my life. I felt robbed of the natural birth I had been fighting for tooth and nail all through my pregnancy, I was frightened by how fast everything was happening and angry and confused with myself and my inability to let go of the feelings that memories of her birth evoke and the implications for future birth (should we be so lucky)
I tried to voice these feelings; first to my mother, herself having delivered by emergency C-section twice and then I tried to broach the subject on my first home visit. I was told in the first instance that I had been too focused on my expectations for birth and that I needed to let it go and focus on my beautiful baby girl. The health visitor made noises to indicate she was listening as I tried to explain but I actually started to feel like I was making something out of nothing. Even when I briefly mentioned it on my post-natal check up, it was almost as if the GP took a mental step back as I was talking - like she was humouring me.
So now, I'm left feeling guilty about these emotions and not sure how to handle them. I take baby for long walks during the day and once I've found a secluded spot on the cycle path, I allow myself a few frustrated tears. I watch programs relating to birth as if I need this reason to validate my need to cry.
Maybe these feelings will pass one day, I don't know. In the mean time, I just keep going.
I've developed a strange need, in the months since my daughter's birth to watch programs such as 'one born,' especially those advertised to contain traumatic births and/or emergency C-sections. It's like poking at a bruise. I know it will hurt and that it's completely unproductive but I can't help it.
It's not the birth stories that I'm actually after; it's the cathartic release afterwards.
When I posted an account of my daughter's birth in the previous post, my intent was to keep the blog up-to-date and to write something a little neater at a later date. Now I feel it is best left as it is. There is something almost fitting in the rough, unpolished account I've given. It may have been a long labour but to me, it still felt as if it was spiralling out of my control too fast for me to adjust. As a result, I was left feeling like her birth was something that happened to me, rather than an experience I had been waiting for all my life. I felt robbed of the natural birth I had been fighting for tooth and nail all through my pregnancy, I was frightened by how fast everything was happening and angry and confused with myself and my inability to let go of the feelings that memories of her birth evoke and the implications for future birth (should we be so lucky)
I tried to voice these feelings; first to my mother, herself having delivered by emergency C-section twice and then I tried to broach the subject on my first home visit. I was told in the first instance that I had been too focused on my expectations for birth and that I needed to let it go and focus on my beautiful baby girl. The health visitor made noises to indicate she was listening as I tried to explain but I actually started to feel like I was making something out of nothing. Even when I briefly mentioned it on my post-natal check up, it was almost as if the GP took a mental step back as I was talking - like she was humouring me.
So now, I'm left feeling guilty about these emotions and not sure how to handle them. I take baby for long walks during the day and once I've found a secluded spot on the cycle path, I allow myself a few frustrated tears. I watch programs relating to birth as if I need this reason to validate my need to cry.
Maybe these feelings will pass one day, I don't know. In the mean time, I just keep going.
Monday 26 January 2015
Birth Story
*In order to keep the blog up to date, I'm compiling this entry from brief updates I posted to a discussion board as it happened. There are many things about our experience - the birth and the days that followed - that I am still working through and I shall perhaps post more on this at a later date. In the meantime, sorry if this is a little choppy*
Begining early afternoon on the 12th January, I had strong back ache and cramps (in addition to the tightening since late boxing day) I actually resorted to paracetamol to get some sleep (which for me, is a big deal)
Then my waters went around 1:45am. I got up and changed, paced out the beginning contractions for an hour until mum came downstairs (she'd been listening out for me) and called the labour ward to make sure they had record of me since I'm still technically from out of area.
After asking a few questions, the midwife on duty recommended that I get some sleep and call FMAU in the morning.
After five hours of dozing off and on, I called FMAU who were already pretty busy. They recommended that I attend my midwife appointment, let her know what was going on and that she would book an induction after the usual 24 hours, if labour hadn't progressed. In the meantime, A arrived just after lunch and was helping me to stay active and move labour along.
When labour didn't start by Wednesday morning, we were induced. Of all things, it had to be the pessary. Uncomfortable for most, to those of us with penetration anxiety and a tilted uterus to navigate... in the end we got it halfway.
We then went up to the birth centre to await developments. From 9:30 to 5, we watched others coming in after being induced and then being carted off to labour ward. My contractions started in earnest in my back, progressing very quickly to almost a minute duration and alternating between a minute and five apart. Unfortunately for the other couples on the ward (and I felt really guilty about it but couldn't stop myself) I quickly latched on to vocalising as my main coping strategy. The cramps I could have handled but the backache was so strong, I could barely move.
As the night wore on, I accepted first a tens machine and then paracetamol and codeine. It had eased off a little by bed time but I was still vocalising and to help me relax about it, we were moved to a two bed ward where we were alone for the night. Don't know what I would have done without A that night though. It's times like these that make me so grateful and proud to have her in my life.
By the morning, labour had not progressed further. After monitoring and breakfast, we were headed up to labour ward.
Ten hours of back labour with the drip and we found out that I was only 3cms gone. I was about to lose it at this point -already feeling I had nothing left to give. We tried diamorphine and then an epidural before one of the doctors realised that the reason we were struggling so much was because baby was presenting with her head in an awkward position.
We were taken down to theatre, where they tried first forceps and then suction to turn her. As a final resort when these failed, baby arrived by emergency c-section at exactly 4am.
Back on the labour ward, we seemed to be doing ok. Baby was struggling to feed but the midwife didn't seem concerned and said she'd get it in time. And we were discovering that my fast healing extends to surgery too.
About 7:30 someone came in to talk to us about needing to give baby anti-biotics for a potential infection I had been showing signs of during delivery. A went with her, when they took her away.
Whilst they tried to identify the source of the infection and the cause of her slightly lowered oxygen sats, baby was kept in a hot cot with oxygen for the first three days. I felt the distance between the postnatal ward and high dependency, especially at night. I'm just grateful that the hospital is pro-breast and encouraged me to visit for feeds. The infection has since almost passed on its own, under a general range of anti-biotics but was never identified and was put down to PROM (my waters went over 70 hours before the C-section) And as a result of their investigations, a chest x-ray turned up a concerning sized pneumothorax. There has been some improvement and she continues to be monitored.
The three days before we came home, baby and I were on a special ward between postnatal and high dependency. I was the only mother there breastfeeding and found it a little difficult, between baby's feeding hourly through the night and A returning home for work. Mum would pop in for half hour visits at mealtimes, giving me just enough time to dash (as fast as my healing would allow) to grab something to eat and attempt to clean/tidy myself up. Don't get me wrong: given how she had been taken away from us so soon after birth, it felt so good to finally have that time with her and even the long nights felt close and intimate, with the curtains drawn and the soft glow of the night light. There were just so many moments where I felt down and unsure, living like a single parent and feeling like the night was going on forever. The dawn always came though and with it: mum, pastries and a hot shower for my aching back. She continues to cluster feed through the night but now that we're home, I'm starting to take it into my stride.
At home now and we continue to marvel at what a character she is. She has such a calm, placid nature, most of the time. At night, she asks for a feed with a little whimpering and will lie quietly once she's acknowledged, waiting patiently until I have myself sorted. Even the nappy changes are quiet and stress free. It's almost a completely different baby however when we try to change her clothes...
Begining early afternoon on the 12th January, I had strong back ache and cramps (in addition to the tightening since late boxing day) I actually resorted to paracetamol to get some sleep (which for me, is a big deal)
Then my waters went around 1:45am. I got up and changed, paced out the beginning contractions for an hour until mum came downstairs (she'd been listening out for me) and called the labour ward to make sure they had record of me since I'm still technically from out of area.
After asking a few questions, the midwife on duty recommended that I get some sleep and call FMAU in the morning.
After five hours of dozing off and on, I called FMAU who were already pretty busy. They recommended that I attend my midwife appointment, let her know what was going on and that she would book an induction after the usual 24 hours, if labour hadn't progressed. In the meantime, A arrived just after lunch and was helping me to stay active and move labour along.
When labour didn't start by Wednesday morning, we were induced. Of all things, it had to be the pessary. Uncomfortable for most, to those of us with penetration anxiety and a tilted uterus to navigate... in the end we got it halfway.
We then went up to the birth centre to await developments. From 9:30 to 5, we watched others coming in after being induced and then being carted off to labour ward. My contractions started in earnest in my back, progressing very quickly to almost a minute duration and alternating between a minute and five apart. Unfortunately for the other couples on the ward (and I felt really guilty about it but couldn't stop myself) I quickly latched on to vocalising as my main coping strategy. The cramps I could have handled but the backache was so strong, I could barely move.
As the night wore on, I accepted first a tens machine and then paracetamol and codeine. It had eased off a little by bed time but I was still vocalising and to help me relax about it, we were moved to a two bed ward where we were alone for the night. Don't know what I would have done without A that night though. It's times like these that make me so grateful and proud to have her in my life.
By the morning, labour had not progressed further. After monitoring and breakfast, we were headed up to labour ward.
Ten hours of back labour with the drip and we found out that I was only 3cms gone. I was about to lose it at this point -already feeling I had nothing left to give. We tried diamorphine and then an epidural before one of the doctors realised that the reason we were struggling so much was because baby was presenting with her head in an awkward position.
We were taken down to theatre, where they tried first forceps and then suction to turn her. As a final resort when these failed, baby arrived by emergency c-section at exactly 4am.
Back on the labour ward, we seemed to be doing ok. Baby was struggling to feed but the midwife didn't seem concerned and said she'd get it in time. And we were discovering that my fast healing extends to surgery too.
About 7:30 someone came in to talk to us about needing to give baby anti-biotics for a potential infection I had been showing signs of during delivery. A went with her, when they took her away.
Whilst they tried to identify the source of the infection and the cause of her slightly lowered oxygen sats, baby was kept in a hot cot with oxygen for the first three days. I felt the distance between the postnatal ward and high dependency, especially at night. I'm just grateful that the hospital is pro-breast and encouraged me to visit for feeds. The infection has since almost passed on its own, under a general range of anti-biotics but was never identified and was put down to PROM (my waters went over 70 hours before the C-section) And as a result of their investigations, a chest x-ray turned up a concerning sized pneumothorax. There has been some improvement and she continues to be monitored.
The three days before we came home, baby and I were on a special ward between postnatal and high dependency. I was the only mother there breastfeeding and found it a little difficult, between baby's feeding hourly through the night and A returning home for work. Mum would pop in for half hour visits at mealtimes, giving me just enough time to dash (as fast as my healing would allow) to grab something to eat and attempt to clean/tidy myself up. Don't get me wrong: given how she had been taken away from us so soon after birth, it felt so good to finally have that time with her and even the long nights felt close and intimate, with the curtains drawn and the soft glow of the night light. There were just so many moments where I felt down and unsure, living like a single parent and feeling like the night was going on forever. The dawn always came though and with it: mum, pastries and a hot shower for my aching back. She continues to cluster feed through the night but now that we're home, I'm starting to take it into my stride.
At home now and we continue to marvel at what a character she is. She has such a calm, placid nature, most of the time. At night, she asks for a feed with a little whimpering and will lie quietly once she's acknowledged, waiting patiently until I have myself sorted. Even the nappy changes are quiet and stress free. It's almost a completely different baby however when we try to change her clothes...
Wednesday 7 January 2015
Jingle Belle (Part 2) Due date + 4 - Yup, Still Pregnant!
After going through this post, I've realised that it really needs to be broken down further - such an eventful time of year :D This post is mainly about Christmas with the family and the next should hopefully bring us up to date.
Well, what a Christmas! We agreed this year that since A wanted to spend some time with her sister and I couldn't fly so close to term, we'd take our chances and have separate Christmases this year, with me travelling to spend time with my parents in Devon the day before A flew out to her sister's family in Ireland. My mother was especially excited to have a family Christmas this year, with baby so close to due and this being my sister's last year at home before emigrating; she had gone all out on decorating rooms, shopping for everyone's favourite food and planning meals over the festive week.
It was like the magical Christmases of my childhood - right down to the little foot-and-a-half tree I found in my room, lit up and waiting for me.
I received the call from my consultant the day after I arrived and immediately, the holiday felt ruined. Perhaps it was frustration at everything going down so close to my due date, perhaps it was the fact that it was happening whilst I was getting ready to enjoy a really special Christmas, perhaps it was just hormones; I cried for a solid hour after speaking with her - just contemplating having our baby girl arriving under such circumstances when everything had been going so well! I dragged myself out of the funk I was in that day by holding onto one thought: at 38 weeks, baby was fully developed, presenting head down and I was far enough away to keep them waiting on a potential induction whilst I took matters into my own hands. Long walks. Bouncing. Curries. Here we go! By Christmas, I was starting to feel more relaxed. I had plenty of time before I was expected back for another blood draw and my plan was going to work.
Christmas day started in the usual calm and casual manner our family prefers: a summons to my youngest brother's room to open my stocking with him, a brief gathering at the tree for a couple presents each and then breakfast. I've always had fond memories of gathering as a family for Christmas breakfast. Everyone gets involved setting table with the seasonal cloth and mats whilst the parents are dishing up cooked breakfasts for those who want it, filling bowls of cereal and heating up the pastries. Once my sister and I have finished ferrying things from kitchen to dining room and have coaxed the boys away from their current collective obsession (this year: rubix cubes) we sit to table and enjoy time together. My appetite wasn't brilliant that morning but for baby's sake, I managed a couple pastries with some tea.
After that, it was on and off present opening during the day, a few at a time interspersed with eating, movies, walking the dog and (for me) napping. Right now, I look back on this day and others like it from when I was small and two things stand out: Firstly, how much more fun you can have if you take your time on the day, instead of turning it into one big present opening frenzy before crashing for hours afterwards. I plan to follow through with this kind of structure when baby gets old enough to really get into Christmas; from the little token present the night before Christmas to the not-a-surprise-any-more-but-we'll-pretend last present before bed, including all the traditions I used to enjoy as a girl such as the family breakfast and heading out for a brisk walk before settling down for the evening.
The other thing is how wonderful it feels to be a part of a larger family at Christmas. There were seven of us gathered together on Christmas day (would have been eight, if A had been with us) and I know this was one of the things that made the day so special. It only made me more excited to imagine family Christmases in the future: A and I sitting comfortably together with our morning tea, two, three or -dare I hope?- more children, excitedly tearing into their little stockings, the smell of warm pastries drifting in from the kitchen....
Boxing day is usually a low-key day for us, spent tidying up the small piles of gifts that have accumulated in everyone's preferred corners, putting together anything that needs assembly, reading, talking, checking emails and watching the lunchtime movie. Sometimes extended family will stop by for an hour or so, to exchange gifts and catch up on family gossip. On these occasions, mum will lay out a buffet style lunch of leftover meats, salads, cheese, crackers and dips - the usual affair. The evening usually passes without much fanfare. This year was different. I felt different; tired but restless, hungry but not, wanting to be with people but developing a sudden aversion to the busy social hub that our living room had become. I had started getting backache and my Braxton Hicks contractions were starting to feel a little stronger.
By dinner time the next day, I was getting less comfortable as time went on and my mother and sister insisted on taking me to get checked out at our local A&E unit - they in turn sending me to the labour ward for assessment. That evening felt so surreal, sitting with a continuous monitor on baby and the regular beep of the blood pressure cuff taking a reading. I admit, it was a little exciting to think that baby was so close to putting in an appearance (although a part of me already knew that, with the contractions being more uncomfortable than painful and not quite regular, it wasn't actually labour) Once the midwife had discharged me and we had arrived home, mum was still watching me like a hawk. My sister made a point of asking us to come wake her if anything happened during the night and mum recommended she keep clothes by the bed, ready. I tried to remind them that prelabour (which I felt it was) could last for weeks and I was fairly sure nothing would happen that night but still - a part of me was picking up on their excitement. One week before my due date and it looked like everything was about to kick off.
Well, what a Christmas! We agreed this year that since A wanted to spend some time with her sister and I couldn't fly so close to term, we'd take our chances and have separate Christmases this year, with me travelling to spend time with my parents in Devon the day before A flew out to her sister's family in Ireland. My mother was especially excited to have a family Christmas this year, with baby so close to due and this being my sister's last year at home before emigrating; she had gone all out on decorating rooms, shopping for everyone's favourite food and planning meals over the festive week.
It was like the magical Christmases of my childhood - right down to the little foot-and-a-half tree I found in my room, lit up and waiting for me.
I received the call from my consultant the day after I arrived and immediately, the holiday felt ruined. Perhaps it was frustration at everything going down so close to my due date, perhaps it was the fact that it was happening whilst I was getting ready to enjoy a really special Christmas, perhaps it was just hormones; I cried for a solid hour after speaking with her - just contemplating having our baby girl arriving under such circumstances when everything had been going so well! I dragged myself out of the funk I was in that day by holding onto one thought: at 38 weeks, baby was fully developed, presenting head down and I was far enough away to keep them waiting on a potential induction whilst I took matters into my own hands. Long walks. Bouncing. Curries. Here we go! By Christmas, I was starting to feel more relaxed. I had plenty of time before I was expected back for another blood draw and my plan was going to work.
Christmas day started in the usual calm and casual manner our family prefers: a summons to my youngest brother's room to open my stocking with him, a brief gathering at the tree for a couple presents each and then breakfast. I've always had fond memories of gathering as a family for Christmas breakfast. Everyone gets involved setting table with the seasonal cloth and mats whilst the parents are dishing up cooked breakfasts for those who want it, filling bowls of cereal and heating up the pastries. Once my sister and I have finished ferrying things from kitchen to dining room and have coaxed the boys away from their current collective obsession (this year: rubix cubes) we sit to table and enjoy time together. My appetite wasn't brilliant that morning but for baby's sake, I managed a couple pastries with some tea.
After that, it was on and off present opening during the day, a few at a time interspersed with eating, movies, walking the dog and (for me) napping. Right now, I look back on this day and others like it from when I was small and two things stand out: Firstly, how much more fun you can have if you take your time on the day, instead of turning it into one big present opening frenzy before crashing for hours afterwards. I plan to follow through with this kind of structure when baby gets old enough to really get into Christmas; from the little token present the night before Christmas to the not-a-surprise-any-more-but-we'll-pretend last present before bed, including all the traditions I used to enjoy as a girl such as the family breakfast and heading out for a brisk walk before settling down for the evening.
The other thing is how wonderful it feels to be a part of a larger family at Christmas. There were seven of us gathered together on Christmas day (would have been eight, if A had been with us) and I know this was one of the things that made the day so special. It only made me more excited to imagine family Christmases in the future: A and I sitting comfortably together with our morning tea, two, three or -dare I hope?- more children, excitedly tearing into their little stockings, the smell of warm pastries drifting in from the kitchen....
Boxing day is usually a low-key day for us, spent tidying up the small piles of gifts that have accumulated in everyone's preferred corners, putting together anything that needs assembly, reading, talking, checking emails and watching the lunchtime movie. Sometimes extended family will stop by for an hour or so, to exchange gifts and catch up on family gossip. On these occasions, mum will lay out a buffet style lunch of leftover meats, salads, cheese, crackers and dips - the usual affair. The evening usually passes without much fanfare. This year was different. I felt different; tired but restless, hungry but not, wanting to be with people but developing a sudden aversion to the busy social hub that our living room had become. I had started getting backache and my Braxton Hicks contractions were starting to feel a little stronger.
By dinner time the next day, I was getting less comfortable as time went on and my mother and sister insisted on taking me to get checked out at our local A&E unit - they in turn sending me to the labour ward for assessment. That evening felt so surreal, sitting with a continuous monitor on baby and the regular beep of the blood pressure cuff taking a reading. I admit, it was a little exciting to think that baby was so close to putting in an appearance (although a part of me already knew that, with the contractions being more uncomfortable than painful and not quite regular, it wasn't actually labour) Once the midwife had discharged me and we had arrived home, mum was still watching me like a hawk. My sister made a point of asking us to come wake her if anything happened during the night and mum recommended she keep clothes by the bed, ready. I tried to remind them that prelabour (which I felt it was) could last for weeks and I was fairly sure nothing would happen that night but still - a part of me was picking up on their excitement. One week before my due date and it looked like everything was about to kick off.
Monday 5 January 2015
Jingle Belle (Part 1) Due Date + 2
As always happens with us, everything kicked off at the last minute this holiday season. I'm taking two posts to cover everything. This one deals with pre-Christmas and there will be another later today or tomorrow to bring everything up to date.
December started out as pretty uneventful. I took walks to stay limber, worked on getting the flat set up for baby's imminent arrival and kept up with the housework. I even found time to get us ready for Christmas: baking gingerbread, sending out the cards and putting up decorations. We couldn't believe what an easy, healthy pregnancy I was having.
Then the other shoe finally dropped.
The day after our last appointment with the midwife, I called to set up a tour of our first choice birthing centre. The consultant had signed off on the low-risk-only midwife led unit, pending the results of one final test, my maternity notes were filled with printouts of great lab work and normal blood pressure and I was feeling good; healthy, happy and ready to go. At the midwife appointment, the results of the final draw had come in and whilst they were slightly elevated, she had told me they were within a normal range for me and had suggested booking in on the tour ready for the big day.
But at the same time as I was booking in on the tour, the antenatal clinic left a message on my phone. Because the results of the last draw were elevated from their baseline reading, they wanted to repeat the test.
I went on the tour anyway. It was three weeks to my due date and I had every reason to believe it would work out. It had taken a whole week after the results were made available for them to call me and so I figured it was never that urgent. Whilst I was visiting the unit, I spoke to one of the midwives about my history, the monitoring during my pregnancy and the most recent results. She called up my results from the system and said that whilst they were a little elevated, she saw no reason it should cause a problem.
Feeling relieved, I went back to the antenatal clinic a couple days later. The consultant was happy with my health and said that, short of the results turning topsy-turvy, I was good to go. She even wrote in big letters in my notes that I was good to go. We did the draw just before I left and she said she'd marked it as express and would call me with the results later that day.
It actually took four days for her to get back to me with the news that my creatinine levels had risen further. Thirteen days to my due date and the word 'induce' had started creeping into conversation....
December started out as pretty uneventful. I took walks to stay limber, worked on getting the flat set up for baby's imminent arrival and kept up with the housework. I even found time to get us ready for Christmas: baking gingerbread, sending out the cards and putting up decorations. We couldn't believe what an easy, healthy pregnancy I was having.
Then the other shoe finally dropped.
The day after our last appointment with the midwife, I called to set up a tour of our first choice birthing centre. The consultant had signed off on the low-risk-only midwife led unit, pending the results of one final test, my maternity notes were filled with printouts of great lab work and normal blood pressure and I was feeling good; healthy, happy and ready to go. At the midwife appointment, the results of the final draw had come in and whilst they were slightly elevated, she had told me they were within a normal range for me and had suggested booking in on the tour ready for the big day.
But at the same time as I was booking in on the tour, the antenatal clinic left a message on my phone. Because the results of the last draw were elevated from their baseline reading, they wanted to repeat the test.
I went on the tour anyway. It was three weeks to my due date and I had every reason to believe it would work out. It had taken a whole week after the results were made available for them to call me and so I figured it was never that urgent. Whilst I was visiting the unit, I spoke to one of the midwives about my history, the monitoring during my pregnancy and the most recent results. She called up my results from the system and said that whilst they were a little elevated, she saw no reason it should cause a problem.
Feeling relieved, I went back to the antenatal clinic a couple days later. The consultant was happy with my health and said that, short of the results turning topsy-turvy, I was good to go. She even wrote in big letters in my notes that I was good to go. We did the draw just before I left and she said she'd marked it as express and would call me with the results later that day.
It actually took four days for her to get back to me with the news that my creatinine levels had risen further. Thirteen days to my due date and the word 'induce' had started creeping into conversation....
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