Raw, you got it

So, almost a year ago a set a goal to write that really raw post that had been burning inside of me - tomorrow my goal (hitherto hidden away) will be exposed and I'll have to answer - did I do it? So it's close to 1am, quite literally the final hour, and here it is. Because I want to have achieved that goal.

This post is about the birth of my son, Harrison, who was born still at 24 weeks gestation. The intent is to expose the reality of birthing a tiny 595gm baby - so that those who endure this as their first labour can understand that that is not normal - that is not what labour is like. Don't be afraid - well be afraid, you will be, but be assured that it doesn't have to be like this. My first labour, a huge term baby was an absolute breeze and I'm lucky I had that experience to draw on.

So, our Harry was interrupted by a clot in the placenta which failed to deliver the pregnancy hormone and the pregnancy began to miscarry. I was away on a conference at the time and ignored some of the signs but there was that deeper consciousness that something was going on. I finally listened and took myself to hospital where I was reassured that everything was fine, fine, fine, until it wasn't. An internal exam exposed that my cervix was fully dilated and the membranes bulging. 

"Your baby is coming now" What.the! We're 23 weeks, what does that mean??

I was quickly; and unceremoniously, dumped upside down to take pressure off my cervix while doctors and midwives scrambled to deliver solutions and contact my husband, a million miles away (or so it felt) in Sydney with our daughter.  

Conversations with doctors, decisions need to be made but I can't rob my husband of his right to be here for them and I can't have him driving upset so we call him to come and drive safely and wait for his arrival; my waters a time bomb the doctors imagine about to explode. 

I'm sat with a gorgeous, sweet doctor who kindly offers me the facts 23 weekers have pretty much no chance of survival. 

To have a chance he needs a ventilated bed which isn't available in Maitland where I am. We would have to go to Newcastle - but my 6 yr old is in the opposite direction. More conversation, this time over the phone, with neonatologists and the chances are grim, we make the incredibly difficult decision to forgo the ventilated bed. Basically we're saying let him go if he comes now. 

But what can we do to prevent this? Assuming cervix failure they offer a stitch and if my waters don't break we're ok - we're in it to the end. Spinal block, vomit on the anesthetist (so sorry) and the stitch is in - yay! 

Day 2 - But not yay, because my waters break. The stitch is now a magnet to every passing infection. The advice is to remove it, but I cannot fathom how to keep him in without it - some delightful midwife had warned me to take a bedpan with me when I visit the loo to catch him "because that's probably where you'll have him", oh god, what I know now.... Anyhoo. I argue on this subject and its agreed we try keeping the stitch in & watching for infection, yay?

Day 3 - looks like an infection, the Big Dipper again. Harry's still kicking like crazy but the signs are bad. A bit of consultation, no not infection, possibly... Up we go again. 

Meanwhile husband is driving up and down the coast with clothes and daughter. Can I say I consider myself infinitely lucky to have my daughter as a focus for all of my decisions - what's good for my baby in gestation (but who's already slightly compromised) then what's best for my 6 year old paramount as its her life that stands to be turned upside down.

Day 4 passes unremarked, lots of walking around the hospital, lots of reading, lots of cheering other babies successfully born - if they can have their success so can I - right?

Day 5 - and baby is nearly 24 weeks, those few days make critical difference in survival rates and also the legal ramifications of resuscitating or not. A ventilated bed with an expert neonatal team becomes available so we ship off to RNS. On arrival, they question my decision over the stitch but agree it's brave and working so far, ultrasounds, blood tests, meetings.

Chief neonatologist enters with a counsellor, "bad news Jessica" (that's my sister, how odd) "the baby has no blood flow, he's brain damaged & we suggest inducing labour now. He'll take one or two breaths then pass away". Down the rollercoaster we go; way, way down. Discussion about funerals, grief, how to tell our daughter.  

Exit that specialist, enter the professor of maternity. "Ok Bec" (right name, good start!), "brave move to date, we're gonna see this to the end, expect to be here a long time." Shocked silence. Counsellor enters - did we hear wrong, we've just been told baby isn't viable & we should give up. Counsellor agrees that's what we were told. In error, apparently. Embarrassed silence, shuffling notes. Poor Jessica. (Not my actual sister, Jessica down the hall who's had the opposite conversation & about to have her dreams shattered). Get me out of here, please. Transferred to Nepean - home at last. 

I silently agree with Harry that it's now or right to the end, the next two weeks come with scarier decisions and yucky numbers about viability.

Day 6 - morning of week 24. It's all over. The rollercoaster has come to a stop. Cord prolapse. It's not pulsing, so neither is Harry. 

Induction. I want it over, I'm done. Stitch is removed - ever noticed there's no lights in delivery room ceilings? They're coming at me with a dolphin torch - overkill - no caverns here! 

Here's the message. This labour is freaking hard - exchange your own favourite swear word there - mentally, you can imagine. But physically! My body isn't ready, hasn't had months to soften. Labour moves along but I know myself so I hurry it a little and when it's time to start delivering it's freaking hard work. He's so tiny, small and insubstantial and no gravity behind him. Every goddamn millimeter is an effort. And I feel like my cervix is being torn in two, I'm being torn in two, so much pain. I've had 8 pound babies & they are easy compared to this, big physical gravity driven bowling balls that should feel like they're breaking you. They don't, this does. So all the hard work, he's through the cervix - that's all you have to do with big babies really, the rest kind of slips out - I ask "what did I have?" The midwife gently tells me he isn't born yet - he's that small he's only through my cervix & now he's (cover your eyes) in my vagina. The feeling is still with me.

I have to do it all again. 

Holy Jesus.

And he's no longer in contact with the muscles in and around my uterus, the muscles you use to deliver. "Think lower" she says "keep pushing" what on earth does she mean I'm pushing like crazy - but I get it. I think lower. Holy Jesus.

That's pretty much it. That's enough. Most physically painful & mentally painful thing I've ever done. And if this is all you know, you have a right to expect a better labour, a veritably pain free labour by comparison, if you can work up the courage to try again. 

Infection was there too - hidden away, he was sick & perishing. But I had to try.  I'm proud of the active decisions I made. I'm proud I endured that pain, a badge of honour I can never wear. I am strong, a winner. A woman.

AHA!

I had an epiphany, a huge "Aha" moment, my god I've been an idiot! Not anymore.

A person I valued, trusted and liked, someone I thought of as close (notice the past tense) made a tiny, insidious, passing comment about a photo of me from some shenanigans last weekend.

Whats pivotal about this was she was wrong. So very blatantly wrong.

And in that one moment she opened up the great black cavern inside her and I could see very clearly that inside her was jealousy and negativity, insecurity and nastiness. Just a momentary glimpse is all it took.

She SHOULD be jealous of me, I am out there doing things, I am making progress, I am winning hearts and minds and I am making a difference. Guess what - I'm even having fun and making other gorgeous friends along the way. Meanwhile she's sitting on the lounge making herself sick with regrets and laziness and still - still - whinging about stuff that she won't bother changing. She is doing nothing appreciable at all. Not me.

Its not the first time this has happened to me, but boy was this an eye-opener. I had been trusting, valuing and appreciating this person who ( with the value of 20/20 hindsight) has been slowly undermining me.

I know why she does it, doesn't make it right.

Hope she finds her peace, it won't be at my expense any more x

You can do it, yes you can!

I will preface this post with some raw honesty. I have never, never ever, believed in myself.

Never.

I have never been one of those people who say "If I say I'm going to do it, I will",  I've never even understood those people. Or "If I want it I will have it / him / that"... frankly I find people with that level of  self belief intimidating. Impressive and intimidating and certainly not me.

More to the point I would have seriously doubted I was good enough for any thing worth being that determined about, which is crazy really, if I think about it dispassionately; I am above average intelligence, above average passion and commitment,  above average effort, my life is reasonably comfortable and privileged, I am honest and loyal and kind but be it a background of being taught to be humble and not prideful, or if it's pride itself that blocks me - I am not a major self promoter, and I struggle to believe in me.

And it is amazing how this plays out and how you can turn it around. Because I am turning it around. Maybe slowly, but I am.

Here's where it starts.

Over the last two years I have done a lot of soul searching, growing, acheiving and mostly losing weight. A lot of weight. And I can tell you how I've done it - and I have done it all by myself, so I should be proud. I can also tell you how I gained the weight, but thats less of a conversation for here and more of one over a cup of coffee. Or vodka.

I'll tell you one thing I have learnt about weight loss, every single dietition, doctor, personal trainer etc will ttell you its 80% food and 20% exercise, and they are dead right, but it's also 100% head. 100% determination and will. You have to be in the right frame of mind - I say it has to "click" - or none of it works. So that's 80% food, 20% exercise and 100% head. Remember this.

Back to the point, I have also improved my fitness out of sight, walking every day and now running. And here's where the head stuff starts.

I still have some goals to hit and walking every day, even increasing the distance and intensity are not getting me there. I would also like to be one of those people who "runs", or at least can "run".

A couple of months ago I heard about #C25K, google it, it's an exceptional program in my mind. Such a simple philosophy and it works.

So anyway, I heard about it, had friends doing it, thought I maybe, could, ought to (see that lack of self belief coming in) be able to do it if they can. I mean I've been walking 3-9 k's every day for 2 years, surely I'm ahead of the pack? So I downloaded the app for my iphone (free app - no excuses!) and I started it and failed miserably. 

The idea is it's built in stages designed to increase your capacity and literally get you from the "Couch"  to running 5 kilometres in 9 weeks (C 2 5K). Week one is a 5 minute warm up followed by intervals of running and walking, and a cool down. So, initially it's 60 second run, 60 second walk; 60 second run, 60 second walk, rinse and repeat as they say.

I could not get past 45 seconds before I am completely breathless. I came up with all manner of excuses as to why I couldnt do it - my shoes weren't great (bought new shoes, they weren't much better), I saw a physio & he checked my feet & knees (issue wasn't the shoes); he explained I am not breathing properly so now I have something to focus on - I get back out there and I still can't do it. I'm still not getting past 45 seconds, and I'm only doing this twice before I give up and walk the rest of the route.

But it's all in my head because I can do it.

I met a wonderful personal trainer, she actually has a running group who are following the C25K program - she's perfect! And she convinces me to give it another go.

Our very first outing I do the program. Thats it. Done. Week one day one accomplished. I am still keeling over at the 45 second mark but I don't give up. And I do the full set of runs, I complete the damn lot. And I'm up to 90 seconds now.

So, was it pride again - not wanting to fail in front of someone - was it the encouragement? I don't know what it was and I don't really care, the point is I could have done it myself but my head wasn't right.

It takes getting your head right. Every damn thing takes getting your head right. And if you're head is right you can do every damn thing! You can!

And now I'm charging through the program, I'm not yet running 5 k's but I will, you can bet on it.

You know what else, the days I step out of my comfort zone - nothing to do with exercise, just days I make myself do something scary, or something I have been dreading - those are the days I lose weight, lose weight and gain me. And it's a brilliant spiral! So go on, give it a shot - you can do it.