Postpartum and morphine

The thing they don’t tell you about the postpartum hormones is this: They suck. Yes, you are overwhelmed with love for you baby but you also feel like absolute crap. So that is to be expected right? You have just had a major operation. You are not at home right away and you can’t even think about your body functioning normally! Your baby has to be lifted to you. You can’t shower on your own and you are desperately trying to work out the whole booby, milk, breastfeeding thing. (Or formula measurements.) But what I have never once heard anybody speak about is the morphine plus hormone cocktail that creates a six-day high before you crash into a big pile of poo! At the time I didn’t realise it, but looking back I was clearly high for six days straight after birth!

I was being wheeled across the ward to see my baby. I was given three ok-ish meals a day. I had my partner taking such good care of me. I was floating around. Oblivious to the fact that our first night on the ward I was the only mum who didn’t have her baby next to her. I heard one crying in the night and thought nothing of it. The next morning, I woke up and put on make-up! Then I took selfies. I sent one to my best friend. First full day of being a mum. I captioned it. I didn’t even have my baby with me. I was delirious and full of adrenaline probably. I had slept for about an hour. Between still having the catheter in and the pain when the medication wore off, I could not rest. That and there was also a man in a chair next to his partner, snoring his head off in the cubicle next to us. I mean, bless him he must have been so tired. But wow he was loud.

I was wheeled across to see Zach and for some reason, the situation had not sunk in. I was seeing the world in front of me, but I wasn’t seeing reality.

Then day six hit and a tsunami of emotions took me down. I was breastfeeding constantly and I mean constantly. I woke up at 7am and picked up my baby. I put him to the breast. He fed on and off until 10am! A minute on and a minute off. For three straight hours. I did not know this at the time (I was told afterwards by a midwife) but when you breastfeed your hormones surge. Prolactin is one, which releases the milk. But to do this, dopamine has to stop. Dopamine is the happy hormone. So momentarily you feel like crap. But if you are feeding constantly, you feel like crap constantly. Then on top of this, oxytocin goes crazy so that you bond. But that feeling can be a bit too much and well the result was a lot of tears. I cried over Zach so much in those first few days he must have thought it was raining. At 10am I managed to put him down in his cot for long enough to have a shower. When I came back a nurse was rocking his cot as he had woken up and “was a hungry chap.” I could have crumbled down into a heap on the ward floor there and then. How could he be hungry? He had just fed for three hours straight. I smiled at the nurse and thanked her. I lifted my screaming baby and held him in my arms trying to comfort him. The wires and infusion lines came too, of course. I put him to my breast. He latched and the after two minutes fell asleep. I put him back in his cot. He screamed, so I fed him. And so on for thirty minutes until I gave up and just let him sleep and feed on my boobs. I was exhausted. On top of all of this Emmanuel had to sort out some food for us and go about buying some nappies and a few other things we needed. He wasn’t there until later on day six. My mum came to help me. But there wasn’t much she could do other than hand me my water bottle and hold Zach whilst I went to the toilet.

Day six also happened to be the day I was told I had a UTI. I was given antibiotics. No wonder I had been feeling awful.

In the afternoon I was told that my beautiful son, who had been feeding all day, had low blood sugars. It didn’t make any sense! I must be doing something wrong? They came to take his blood every hour from around 2pm onwards. This involved pricking his heel and squeezing the blood out onto a thin strip that goes into a small handheld machine. The number pops up. 1.8. it’s too low. Keep feeding him they tell me. Like I am sat there twiddling my thumbs.

By the time Emmanuel got there around 4pm, I was a state. I was crying constantly. Telling anyone that would listen that I had a UTI and that my baby just wasn’t feeding properly. I had no idea what was going on but this felt like torture.

Did I also mention that I had stopped taking the morphine and the dihydrocodeine? That’s right I was going cold turkey. I had been on these meds for five days, every three to four hours. Then I stopped them just like that. On the same day that your hormones take a dip and you ride the lowest low possible. It was a dark day. The morphine and the codeine had been masking some of the hormonal and emotional surges. I am certain that I was feeling a slow build to this day and yet I was numb around it. The second I stopped the numbing agent everything hit me.

I stood by Zach’s cot with Emmanuel and my mum and cried as they told us they needed to take more bloods. I had no privacy to cry. No bed to go and lay down on for five minutes. I just had a noisy ward, an armchair and two very loving supporters who could do nothing for me. It was uncontrollable. Surprisingly, I felt no embarrassment. I didn’t care that everybody was seeing me at my worst.

I slept on the ward again that night. Or laid down and cried. One kind nurse suggested to me to express and she would give him a bottle so I could get a few hours’ sleep. I did. I expressed just enough for one full bottle of 41ml. He guzzled it down so fast it was like he hadn’t been feeding at all in the last 24 hours. I was so confused. He finally settled and slept. I slept and woke after two hours to see the nurse feeding him. I expressed again. We continued the cycle until the morning. I had managed a few hours’ sleep and felt a little better. Zach had a full tummy and his blood sugar was up slightly. He was clearly not getting enough from the breast.

All of this, the blood sugar, the pain meds, the breastfeeding, The damn hormones. They all came at once. They all hit me like a flood. I have never in my life felt so powerless to what was happening to me. Day six for me was just as the midwives later told me it would be. The worst day. The classic postpartum ‘everything goes wrong’ day. But for me, I did it whilst on display on a ward with nurses flittering around and doctors telling me different bits of information. I had support but all I wanted that day was to crawl into my own bed and sleep.

I remember one of the male doctors walking past and my nurse quickly asked him what to do for Zach. “She is feeding him too much. It should be every three hours.” He barked at her over his shoulder as he disappeared into his office. The nurse came over to tell me what he had said. So, we tried that and Zach’s blood sugars dropped again. It was the worst advice I was ever given.

It turned out Zach had a tongue tie that nobody did anything about. Because Zach could latch, they all assumed he was fine. This was why he couldn’t get enough milk. His tongue tie wasn’t sorted out until months later. He was too old by then. I expressed and bottle-fed him. Sadly, my breastfeeding journey was a tough one. Maybe I should have just carried on with the morphine for a little longer. 😊

The Birth

As we drew closer to my induction date on the 16th February it was becoming apparent that Zach would not be turning on his own. Despite my attempts to get him to flip around, he remained in a head upwards position. I had a phone consultation with the doctor at St Thomas’ Hospital where I would be for the birth. She talked through the risks of attempting a breech birth. It did not look good. So reluctantly I agreed that if a 3rd ECV attempt didn’t work that I would have a planned C-section. The ECV and was booked for Monday the 17th of February. I was 39 weeks pregnant.

We arrived in hospital on Monday morning, I was so hopeful that he would turn but deep down I think I knew that he wouldn’t. I knew either way that very soon my son would be born. Either we would start an induction today if he turned. Or I would be going to theatre for a C-section if he didn’t.

We tried the last two ECV’s to turn our baby boy around but he wouldn’t budge. As it turned out Little Zach was stuck in position because I have a heart shaped Uterus instead of the regular oval shape. Or at least That is possibly why, He could just have been really comfortable there.

“You tried baby,” Emmanuel said to me as he held my hand. I was sat perched on the edge of the bed still waiting for the salbutamol to go away so that I could stop feeling jittery. We were left alone whilst the midwife arranged a room for us. We would be staying in until the C-section was booked.

We were checked in and given a private room. Then we waited. And waited and waited. It turns out that we would not be having our baby that day. The hospital informed us that they just couldn’t fit us in. So, we went for dinner and came back to the hospital later. The night was an odd one. We both knew what was coming but we were in limbo. Emmanuel had to sleep in the reclining chair next to my hospital bed for the night. We watched Love island and fell asleep early.

The next day I was woken up by the nurses at 7 am and given omeprazole to prevent acid reflux during the C-section. My blood pressure and oxygen saturation levels were taken and we were again left alone to wait. At 8 am the nurses changed shifts and we were visited once more. This time we were told we would be going to theatre today at some point. Today would be my baby’s birthday. I liked the date that it had fallen on which is a weird thing to focus on. But somehow the 19th Feb just wouldn’t have suited him and likewise the 17th. The 18th was a good day for Zach to be born. I liked it. So today was the day, then we waited. And waited and waited. We messaged family and friends and let them know what was going on but truthfully, we were just kind of floating around with no idea.

At around lunchtime, I was given some compression socks to put on and antibacterial wipes to ‘wash; with’. Along with a gown. I got washed up, dressed down and sat on the bed so that Emmanuel could help me with my compression socks. Trust me when I say there is no easy way to put on a pair of compression socks. It took about half an hour to get on just one sock. My feet were so swollen and the socks, of course, were so tight that the task became a hilarious event of pushing and pulling. It didn’t help matters that I hadn’t shaved my legs for months. Added friction.

Finally, with the socks on, we were called to theatre. It was literately a knock on the door and let’s go. We were taken to another room in another ward. This would be the room that I would come to afterwards for recovery. We lugged all of our bags and bits and pieces across. I set up my bottle of water and tablet ready on the table for afterwards. Then we sat taking in the view overlooking the London eye. We took some last photos of the two of us dressed in our gown and Emmanuel in his ‘scrubs’. The knock on the door came and off we went. We walked down the corridor to the theatre. I was holding my gown closed so I didn’t flash anybody my bum.

The theatre was not what I expected. We walked in through two sets of doors to a green coloured room and that was it. There it was right off the main corridor. You could almost stumble into it.

I was sat on a bed and given a chair to rest my feet on. My blood pressure etc. were all checked before we started and then the procedure was explained to me. I had a cannula inserted into my hand for drugs to be administered. Then a fluid drip was set up. I was given a pillow to lean over and hug onto. The anaesthetist then cleaned and numbed the skin on my back. She pushed between two of my vertebrae with her fingers for a while before finding the correct spot. She then inserted the needle and administered the spinal block. I could feel it, I won’t lie. But it’s not painful it’s more like pressure. Almost straight away my legs went tingly and I felt sick. I was helped to lay down before I lost anymore feeling. Emmanuel was given a chair so that he could sit by my head the whole time. The anaesthetist, Bethany, stood the other side of me. She was amazing. From start to finish I couldn’t have asked for somebody more kind or professional to take care of me. My gown was lifted to be used as a screen and a blanket placed over my lower half – then the part I had been truly dreading and I mean that. The catheter. My legs were moved by the nurses and the catheter inserted. I had no idea about any of it of course but I knew what they were doing as they were talking and telling me as they went. And honestly, that was probably the worst part. It still makes my tummy feel funny just thinking about it.

The anaesthetist used a cold spray to check I was numb all over before anything began. Once she was happy that I couldn’t feel anything anywhere we were ready. I was giving her detailed feedback. “well I know you are there, but it doesn’t feel cold.” I am sure she was used this. I was concentrating so hard in case I could feel anything, but I couldn’t at all. They do explain to you that they take away the pain but not the sensations. So, you will feel the movement. They said it would be like rummaging in a handbag! Nice analogy! There I was, Emmanuel holding my hand, everything numb and ready to go, but the surgeon was nowhere to be found. Bethany stepped up and called to someone to sort this out. She was efficient and assertive. It was just what was needed at the time. Then he entered, in a room full of women a man walked in. He took a moment to introduce himself to me before a proper screen was put up and I could no longer see anything except the blue fabric, Emmanuel and Bethany. The surgeon was concerned by the size of the bed and wanted the side extender removed as he couldn’t reach across. It was what felt like a power play but must have been a genuine concern. The side of the bed was quickly removed. It was time.

My blood pressure started to drop at this point and I began feeling sick so Bethany gave me some drugs to counteract this. I felt better almost right away. I was a bit shaky but this was just the adrenaline in my body, like when you go to the dentist for a filling and afterwards your legs are wobbly. Then it started. Within minutes we heard them saying, we can see the baby’s feet and bum. They all laughed as he pooed on his way out. Then we heard the most beautiful sound I have ever heard in my life. My baby boy cried as he was lifted out of me. Bethany took my phone and snapped loads of pictures for us. Thanks to her I have a picture sequence of the most amazing moment; the birth of my son. His bum being lifted out. His face appearing. His cord being cut. His screaming face and long body stretched out as they lay him across my legs. He was taken aside for a few moments to be checked and wrapped in a blanket before being brought over to me. Because of the poo, he had to go straight to NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) but I had a few brief moments of him placed next to my face. He reached out and grabbed at my face as if he knew who I was and was asking to stay with me. But soon, too soon, he was gone. Emmanuel kissed and hugged me and told me well done before he left with our baby. I was so adamant that he stayed with our son that I am sure I was practically shouting it.  I was alone in a room full of strangers. But the most wonderful strangers. The nurses chatted to me and kept me calm as they started to stitch me back up. I thought I would feel sad because my baby and my partner had both just left, but I felt pretty good. As if I had just done a workout.

As they stitched me back up, the student nurse and Bethany kept up the conversation. “is this your first baby?” “Did you know you were having a boy?” Questions that I would soon get very used to hearing and answering. Safe questions. Normal.

I asked how the stitching up was going. Bethany told me they were nearly done. I asked again “no I mean what layer are they on?” She paused before answering and telling me there were three to go. Fat and two skin. I told her I had watched a YouTube video on how it was done. She laughed and nodded.

The surgeon leaned over the screen and informed me that he had knotted the stitches on the outside and they will likely need cutting off later. The midwives would do this. This is not a normal procedure; stitches are normally all tucked in and would dissolve apparently. I still have no idea why he did this. Perhaps he was trying to start a trend. He said goodbye and disappeared off. The nurses cleaned me up and gave me a painkiller in the form of a suppository. I had no idea and wished they hadn’t have told me. I was leaned onto my side so they could clean the blood off me fully and then move me onto a travelling bed. I joked about being heavy. The five nurses chuckled politely as I am sure they had heard that joke a million times whilst lifting a 5’9 – just given birth so carrying some extra weight – woman across to another bed!

That was it. I thanked everybody as I was wheeled out of the theatre and down the corridor into my room. It was over. I had ‘given birth’ to our son. He was beautiful. That feeling is something I cannot explain. Hearing him cry and seeing his face for the first time. Something inside my heart moved for him.