One Mum’s Story: Sarina and Alexandra
Sarina, Alexandra and Mal
The House of Highs and Lows
When I reflect on my hospital stay after giving birth to my first child, I still have mixed feelings about this life changing experience. If you were to ask most new parents they would probably agree with me and say each day goes by in a blur of disbelief, panic, exhilaration, awe, tears, laughter and complete exhaustion. The parenting literature and websites tell it like it is but for me there were some memorable moments that will stay with me forever.
I have never experienced anything quite so bizarre as listening to my husband discuss the most boring topic in history, golfing techniques, with my Obstetrician as he performs an emergency cesarean on me. Drugged to the hilt with absolutely no feeling in the bottom half of my body I listen half heartedly to bits and pieces of this ridiculous conversation and let the rest float over me like waves. My husband, who doesn’t even play golf, is babbling on about the right swing and giving advice like he is a pro. Looking up and deep into his eyes I notice he is as terrified as me and then I hear his signature nervous cackle. I smile to myself and get on with my deep breathing, chanting in my head ‘please let her be alright’ over and over.
All of a sudden I feel tugging in my belly and our daughter is introduced to the world with the words, "here she comes" and then we witness the miracle of our first child being lifted out from inside me and held in the air. I’m met with two puffy slits for eyes, hair in curly wet clumps, a big, red beautiful moon face and a strong set of lungs. Then as quickly as she arrives she is whisked away from us.
Craning my neck in the direction of where she is taken to the other side of the room for tests I silently will them to say she is ok and to hurry and bring her back to me. As my husband walks over to her I hear more nervous cackle followed by pure joy in his voice as he speaks to her for the first time. Minutes later he comes back to me and describes how she looks and says she’s ok and that she is gorgeous.
After what seems like forever they bring her back to me and place her on my chest. Silent tears slide down my face as I drink in her beauty with my eyes and touch her cheeks and nose and mouth with my fingers. Smothering her in kisses, I float through the air in ecstasy. I can feel my husband standing behind me and he leans forward and kisses me and I sense his heart is melting as he watches his wife and child together for the first time.
Next thing I know, I’m on a trolley hurtling down one white corridor after another plunging head first through perspex doors towards recovery. All I can do to stop myself from throwing up is to stare at my toes which are painted a vile fluorescent pink. I think I’m stuck with this colour for weeks and I curse myself for another complete lapse of taste at the pedicurist, chalking it up once again to my insane pregnant state.
Back in recovery they make me wait a whole hour before I can see my baby again - it is torture! Frustrated I feel this almost carnal need to be with my baby so to take my mind off it I concentrate on my shocking pink toe nails and wriggle around trying to get the life back in my legs after the epidural. Groggy and feeling left out picturing my family and husband crowded around our new baby I make the decision to stare down the male nurse who is monitoring my recovery. He does a great job of ignoring me, totally oblivious to my impatience and desperation.
After an hour he looks at me like he has just discovered I’m lying in front of him and notices I’m shaking uncontrollably. Offering me a blanket and placing them over my legs he can’t help but comment on my shocking pink toe nail polish. "Wow that is what you call pink"! I manage a snort and ask "so can we pleeeease go now"? Finally we get back to the maternity ward and to my room and I see my family and baby again which is wonderful.
For me, breast feeding in the first two weeks felt like someone was hammering nails into my nipples. The midwives stand over you and shove your breast into the baby’s tiny beak like mouth and over your aching shoulders they instruct you on how it is supposed to be done. In my drugged-up, sleep deprived state none of it made any sense whatsoever. I am usually quite a self-conscious person but this went out the window with no choice but to curl up my toes, deep breathe and scream on the inside "oh my God the pain"’!
Another vivid memory is being woken in the dark from an exhausted sleep every two hours and given pain relief. Shortly afterwards my precious baby is handed to me to drink once again from the milk bar that is my breast and I think to myself I only fed 5 seconds ago, she can’t be hungry again!
One particular night my husband and I were doing tag teams rocking her in our arms, looks of complete terror on our faces because we had no idea what we were doing. We tried numerous times to get her to stop crying both thinking to ourselves my God is our baby waking up the whole ward?
Miraculously
after an hour she stopped and we felt such a sense of pride and happiness. We did a cheesy high five to each other in the dark grinning uncontrollably, so proud of our obviously skilled parenting. My husband carefully placed her back in the crib like handling fine china and sank back into bed. The relief was short lived as two minutes later up she started again!
I also remember padding through the maternity ward in my pink slippers and dressing gown, with babe in arms. Sensing other people’s visitors watching me and smiling, bursting with pride that I produced this tiny scrunched up baby. I stroll into the kitchen and expertly holding her with one arm I pour myself a cup of tea and make some toast thinking to myself I’m a natural look I can do it with one hand, this feels so good!
Watching our family and close friends visit and hold her for the first time, lost in their own thoughts. I watch those who have their own children remembering how it was for them and those who don’t in complete awe. My mother quietly creeping into the room every day bearing gifts of beautiful baby night gowns, chocolate and peppermint tea. A big smile on her face as she reaches down into the crib, lifting her first grandchild into her arms. Then my sister arrives one day with her new boyfriend in tow and offers her niece to him like a present. She carefully watches his reaction to new life and happily notes his confidence and tenderness with the baby.
It was most peculiar being woken every morning at 7am by my Obstetrician who would arrive for his daily check up and golf update! He would stroll in all fresh and suited up and we would be startled out of our light sleep having only just dozed off after the 4am feed. The buttons on my PJ top would be open to the waist, milk engorged boobs hanging down like cows udders! My husband, frozen like a deer in headlights, eyes wide and blinking, scratching his head and wondering where the hell he was let alone who on earth is this short man in our bedroom crapping on about golf! Both men oblivious to my open PJ top, my matted messy hair and the dark circles taking up residency under my eyes. In my husband’s case because he is dog tired and the obstetrician because he has seen it all before.
Finally the last day and I had that sick feeling in my stomach like when you are at school and it is the last day of the summer holidays. Feeding in the big arm chair I watched my husband hurriedly packing up our stuff as the ward sister peered down on us through the glasses perched on the end of her nose. We had slept in and had a short time to pack up and remember the ten million things she was telling us to do when we got home, while I thought to myself I am never going to remember any of this.
As I gingerly carried out our brand new baby into the cold wintry day I felt like a different person. I waited for my husband to pull up; the wind picked up so I pulled the wrap tighter around her small body and stroked her face, her eyes firmly closed and her nose turning pink in the wind. We nervously strapped her into the car seat and I felt like I had just emerged from a warm, safe cocoon. The cars were noisy and going too fast and it was so bright. I longingly turned back to the hospital and felt like I wanted to run back in and kidnap the nice midwife with the spiky brown hair. Shaking my head I said to myself, ok stop it, this is ridiculous, everyone does it. Turning back around I looked at my husband with a nervous smile and we drove forward towards our brand new life.
Sarina Brunott
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