After what seemed like a lifetime, but was really only a couple of hours, we heard that a free theatre was imminent and an anaesthetist came through to talk to me about the options of either a spinal or general anaesthetic. In my anxious state neither was particularly appealing, but I decided the spinal was the least worst option and he talked me through what was involved. All of a sudden things started moving quickly and before I knew it I was being wheeled into theatre leaving my husband behind changing into scrubs. For some reason which I’m still not clear on, he could only come in once I’d had the spinal.
I have been lucky enough to have had a pretty healthy life so far and this was my first time in an operating theatre and first spinal. This meant however I had no frame of reference and no awareness of how this was going to go. After being instructed to sit very still and having some agonisingly cold gel on my back, the spinal was inserted and I was laid back on the bed. I had assumed I would feel literally nothing, so I wasn’t prepared for the tingly pins-and-needles feeling over my body and the weirdness of not having control over my legs and lower body.
If I had more feeling in my body at that point, I’m pretty sure I would have been shaking from anxiety. I just remember my husband gripping my hand and the new midwife on the day shift telling me “it’s ok to not be ok”. After what seemed like ages the procedure was over successfully and I was wheeled out of theatre to the recovery ward, where I was put in a side room for monitoring until the spinal wore off.
Up until this point we had been in the delivery suite for 24 hours, but had not actually seen or heard any signs of other babies being born, as the first room we had been in had been near the side entrance and we had been taken straight there. From our side room in recovery we could however hear the sound of crying babies from the next room, which made me determined to get out of there at the earliest opportunity. This was also heightened by our less-than-friendly midwife (probably just in comparison to the ones we had up to then) who got off to a bad start by calling me the wrong name (!) and then kept on changing her mind about how long I would need to stay in recovery.
Henry had been brought into the room as well and was waiting for us when we arrived. I asked my husband to pass him to me and held him again while I waited to regain feeling in my legs. We also took some more photos. At some point as I moved Henry I saw a small amount of blood come out his nose. This made me strangely afraid to move or hold him too much in case I damaged him, and also made me realise just how limited our time with him would be. After a while we put him back in his cold cot where he was safe and comfy.
Eventually it was nearly 2pm which was the time the midwife had explained I needed to be monitored until. I seemed to have regained feeling and movement in my legs, although I was still hooked up to the monitor, a drip and had a catheter in. We just wanted to get out of the cramped and hot room, although at least there was a lull in the crying babies. The midwife came to check on us and then said that we could go “after a couple more hours”. After she left the room I had a bit of a mini-breakdown and pulled off the blood pressure cuff and sats monitor and sat up to prove I could move (I drew the line at removing my own catheter though!). We buzzed the midwife and someone new appeared who was just starting her shift. After realising how determined I was to move, she removed the catheter and arranged to transfer us up to the bereavement suite.