On Tuesday 16th July 2019 I was admitted into hospital after there were signs that my body wasn’t really coping with the last part of the pregnancy. I had been in phenomenal amounts of pains and I was collapsing five times a day. This was as well as getting auras of seizures, which was strange because in pregnancy, I had barely had any seizures. I sent an email to my consultant and asked what I should do…the very next day I was called in and Samuel and my life changed for the better.
They kept me monitored and my consultant decided that I would need an early caesarean…it was just a case of how long it would be until it happened. At this time, our baby was 34 weeks and 5 days and I was very stressed about her coming early and being very poorly. It was not a decision that I took lightly. Instead I felt very guilty that this was happening at all.
My body had done so well to carry our baby for so long but it became a case of me being looked after too. I was given a steroid injection to try and make her lungs develop more. They sting a lot and you have to have them for two days. I mean I was very lucky, the maternity care unit had been incredible with me. Since 28 weeks, I had to go into the unit two to three times a week to be monitored so they knew me well.
The midwives reassured me that they were acting in my best interest and kept me feeling calm. I was taken up to the ward at Medway Maritime hospital for observation. Whenever I was put on the monitor, the baby would take a long time to meet criteria. Being on a maternity ward, you get to hear the polar opposites news. From the miracle of life to the harsh news that babies have problems. It is then that you realise quite how incredible the doctors and midwives are. At times, they have the best job in the world and often it can be the most challenging too.
My consultant came around on the Wednesday. He was worried about my health and how my body was coping with the last trimester. It was a case of having a balance. He said that he wanted me to have a early caesarean the very next. I was startled and felt a complete failure. I had really wanted to manage to get further but as my consultant explained: the more I fell unconscious, the more damage was being done to the baby. We had to do what was best for both the baby and I.
Once we had agreed to it, the wait was on for Samuel and I. We were in a bay of four ladies and one of them had been on the ward for four weeks. It was so incredibly difficult to hear all their stories, she was going to be having a caesarean at 28 weeks and her baby baby had a serious heart defect. The lady opposite kept having severe seizures. The most terrifying story was that of the lady who had come to visit our bay. She was 26 weeks pregnant and spoke excitedly about her little girl to all the other ladies.
Half an hour later, there was a horrendous sound. A wail that sounded like an injured animal. The yells of a pain that no one can really explain echoed around the ward. Maybe it was just a lady in labour? But somehow it didn’t sound like it. Then the lady came bursting into the bay, screaming ‘She’s gone….she’s gone’. My heart dropped and the room felt icy cold. This was the reality. As soon as I could, both Samuel and I left the bay. It was too much to think about. The wails continued on for the next few hours.
We realised that we really needed to act and do what was right for our baby so we agreed to have the caesarean on the Thursday. I had to psych myself up to be ready. The neonatal doctor had to come around and explain the situation for the baby. When morning came, I started all the medication and had prepared myself for the inevitable but nothing happened. I was waiting for ages and ages.
I asked for something to eat, as I felt sick with hunger and then a junior doctor came round. He couldn’t understand why my consultant had said I needed early intervention. He didn’t understand my chronic illness and tried to suggest that I was causing harm to the baby. Of course it was my fault that my body wasn’t coping, that it wouldn’t get better if I just ‘had the baby’. He went completely against the consultant. Until I could see my consultant again it was cancelled.
Once he had spoken to my consultant, it was arranged that the caesarean would be done on Friday 19th July and this time everything seemed to fall into place. The pre op was done and they realised that they were not going to be able to get my bloods or get a line in. After many attempts, it was decided that I would need a picc line placed into my arm to give them access.
A PICC line goes into your main vein in the upper arm and feeds up it. Once the PICC nurse had set up his machines, it took two attempts to get it in.
As the night drew close, I began to feel quite unwell. I got to the bathroom with Samuel and collapsed. He got me to my bed and I collapsed again. The midwives came running and my blood pressure had dropped considerably. It took them an hour to get it back up and lots of fluids too.
In the morning, Team Aurelia (elective caesareans) came round and said we were second on the list. Soon the ticking clock kept on ticking but finally at 11am we were taken down to theatre and were about to meet our baby. The team had explained what would happen: a neonatal doctor would be ready and a bed on special care would be made available if it was necessary. If baby was ok, then both Samuel and her would be taken to recovery whilst I was stitched up.
Once in theatre, they gave me an epidural. My spinal muscles started twitching and they kept telling me to keep still. I then started to feel faint and was moved onto my side. They had to put another line into me and for some godforsaken reason, they put it into my thumb!
Finally, the consultant who had done a scan on me weeks previous was the surgeon who was going to be delivering our baby. The theatre assistant kept chatting to us and before long we were talking about some of the bad names of the babies she had been in theatre for. Her personal favourite was ‘Zeus’.
Ten minutes passed and before I new it, a baby had been pulled out of me. She cried a bit, which was the biggest relief and she was wrapped in a towel. They put her to my chest as both Samuel and I were in tears of joy. Straight away, the name we had been calling her quietly for ages was said aloud for the first time…
Her name was Felicity Grace Taylor-Bearman.
Seven minutes in she started to struggle with her breathing. The midwife took her away and then the team surrounded her with doctors and midwives. I watched as they huddled around her, but I couldn’t help. I couldn’t hold onto our baby. As Samuel came over to me but I wanted him to be with Felicity. Our baby. The love I felt for little Felicity suddenly was indescribable.
As she was rushed to the Oliver Fisher Unit (SCBU), I knew that she had a fight on her tiny shoulders but she was made of strong stuff.
