My little A is 8.
My funny, clever, happy, inspiring, autistic boy is turning 8.
He brings a smile to the face of everyone that meets him. One thing I have never written about, however, is his birth story.
It's been 8 years since that day, a day that left me a little traumatised. I think I'm finally ready to tell it. (Be prepared, it's longer than normal).
I was pre-booked, to be induced. I'd had gestational diabetes (which never went away, but that's another post), little A was getting too big and there were concerns for his well being.
Unfortunately, the labour ward was a little busy, so I didn't end up getting induced for 2 days. I had said from the start he wouldn't come, but no one would listen. My other 2 were big, and were both induced after my due date. There was no way one of my babies was coming out EARLY!?
About half way through the day, with nothing happening, I was offered an epidural, in anticipation of more assistance being required, I said yes because it had really helped me when giving birth to RJ. I know my BP had dropped significantly on that birth, but I didn't think that was serious. So while waiting for it to kick in, I sent Mr. Ojo to move the car (he'd had to park about a mile away from the hospital).
The next thing I remember was a man rousing me by pushing on my chest, apparently I was 'gone'. To this day I'm too scared to really ask what that meant.
At this point I was given an internal, where they discovered that little A's head wasn't even engaged.
He wasn't coming alone.
An emergency Cesarean Section was going to be his best option. It took a few hours to get everything in place, which is all a blur. I was wheeled into the operating theatre at, around, 10pm, where Mr. Ojo was brought in to be with me.
The actual op wasn't what was upsetting, I was just glad that my baby would be brought to me, safely. I can't remember what me and Mr. Ojo talked about, or even if we talked at all.
What I remember was the 2 male surgeons. Once little A, all 10lb 6oz of him, was delivered to me, the stitching up began.
This is where 2 male surgeons decided it was appropriate to try and guess my BMI.
Yes, you read that right. While I was conscious, and under their knife, they decided to discuss my weight, in a very disparaging way.
While I could hear every word.
After all that, I had to be sent to a High Dependency Ward, just me, another patient, and a nurse.
I don't remember much about that night, I was quite poorly and pretty out of it.
I don't remember if I had little A next to me, or not.
I DO remember the nurse seeing if I could stand the next day (I couldn't, I nearly passed out).
It didn't get any better back at the ward.
There were 4 of us on the ward, the other 3 were lovely. To make it better, it was the first time I had milk for one of my babies, so I could actually breast feed! After having no milk for 2 babies, this was like a blessing.
One night we were chatting from our beds, I was feeding little A when my nose started bleeding. One of the other ladies offered to call the nurse, but I'd said it was fine. I've always suffered with them, this was no big problem. Then the woman, on the opposite bed from me, massively hemorrhaged! I pressed my buzzer, to get some help for her.
At this point a midwife charged in, took one look at me, and told me off for calling over a nose bleed, didn't I know they were short staffed?!
All I could do was point at the lady opposite, thankfully she was sorted quickly! I, however, was left speechless and in tears.
I couldn't wait to get out of hospital after that.
It's taken this long to talk about, with anyone other than Mr. Ojo.
So many parts of that birth stayed with me:
The fact that parents are still not listened to, when giving birth. When you've had multiple births, you know your own body.
The fact that someone thinks it's ok to discuss your weight, at such an emotional time. I've been body conscious for as long as I can remember, this set me back SO far.
That hospitals are horribly understaffed, and that I took the brunt of the anger over it.
I often wonder if my choice to stop having children was because 3 was enough (I always wanted loads), or that the whole event was so traumatic, I was scared to go through it again.
Even now I still feel a little numb about it.
Thankfully it hasn't effected my love for my son. I cherish every moment I get to spend with him. He has taught me more about life, acceptance and patience than any teacher I've ever met.
Happy Birthday special boy.
Continue being awesome.