MY BIRTH STORY- FINALE (p.s: a lot of tears were shed, in the writing of this story)

 22nd Oct 2013

DEAD OR IN TRANCE? 

I opened my eyes and everything was white all through. I looked around curiously and saw no one. Just a blank space surrounded by white. 

What happened? Last thing I remembered was, being surrounded by the whole medical team. I heard the other doctors telling the Consultant Urologist I had surgery experience, and him reassuring me I was in good hands. 

Again I wondered What happened? Then it hit me, the surgery had gone south and the expert urologist, gynaecologist and all the attendant medical team abandoned me in theatre and ran off. So what next, I thought, if things went wrong, does that mean 🤔🤔… oh no!  👀🤯 I AM/WAS DEAD!!. It all began to make sense, I had crossed to the other side which explains the all-white. I woke up to find myself dead. I didn’t know what was next, I couldn’t cry, I was blank and just staring at the whiteness all around me😕.

I don’t know for how long I stared into nothing, when I heard a voice call my name, I didn’t see anyone but recognized the voice as my mums’. Oh no! I didn’t just die, I killed my mum with my death. The shock of my death killed my mum was all I could think of. 

My mum continued to talk to me, but I refused to listen, she said something about the baby, but I didn’t answer her. I wasn’t interested, because we were both dead. Before going into surgery, I had mentally, single handedly willed all my children to different family members, but I had no liver to write it down, or discuss with hubby or anyone at all. And here I was, DEAD. 😢😢

After a while, I heard footsteps and heard my husband’s voice. And immediately, I heard his voice, I knew I wasn’t on the other side. I knew he won’t die along with me, not because he didn’t care, but I knew he would stay strong for everyone. Then I opened my eyes to look at him. Not sure I heard what he or anyone said at the time; but reassured by his voice, and presence; I willed myself into consciousness. I don’t know how long that took me, but I finally woke to the realization, that I was  in my private ward at the hospital and not the other side 😃. (Yes, I can be quite the drama queen, especially in my thoughts.)

PHEW!!! THAT WAS CLOSE 😅

It turns out, the medical team didn’t abandon me, after surgery they had willed me back to my room, and the Urologist actually spoke to me, told me he would be back later but I had no recollection of that. 

I don’t know what injections I was pumped with that had me imagining things, but I remember seeing everything in doubles. I actually remember vividly seeing one particular nurse walk behind herself, I blurted out that she was double as she walked out. 😀🙈😂.  I remember telling 1 of hubby’s colleagues who came visiting at the ward that she had rosy cheeks, think I touched it too. 

HOW DID WE GET HERE?

So, how did we get here? I’d take you back few days. It was 17th of October, I was scheduled for a CS delivery of my last born child. My 3rd CS birth. I got in early as scheduled, said bye to hubby as I was sent off to theatre. Like past surgeries, I was awake mostly with just my lower body numbed with anesthetic. 

I heard all the comments as the gynecologist and his team got to work, opening me and bringing out the baby. Immediately baby was brought out, I asked the nurse that was to clean him, if he was “white” as in very light skinned which she replied in the affirmative. (On 2 different occasions, I had dreamt of exactly how he looked: very fair skinned and tiny, so I was just confirming). After that I slipped back into sleep. 

Surgery went well, or so we thought. Mummy and baby were fine, except Mummy had some pains, seemed like there was blood in the urine/ catheter bag. As soon as I could consume fluids, I was bombarded with it, water to flush my system; and at some point Coca-Cola because of the caffeine to reduce the pain or something I can’t remember. I was placed under closed monitoring. 

OH OH! IT'S BACK TO THE OPERATING THEATRE

Then on Sunday, day 3 post surgery, I stood up, with support to use the restroom/ shower; can’t remember which but I had the worst ever piercing pain shoot through me. I screamed and was put back in bed. Calls were made, medications etc were done and I felt better. I was wheeled in for a scan and I listened to the Sonographer and my gynaecologist discuss, I heard words like fluid, kidney, we have to “go-in” etc.  I knew they were going to take me back into surgery, but all that rang in my head was Kidney & tons of dialysis. Would this be my lot, I kept thinking?

We got back into my room and the Gynaecologist said he would be back with results and all. My mum asked how it went and I couldn’t face her to tell her I was being scheduled for another surgery. Told her they are yet to review the scan results. I knew she would breakdown. My mum is a very strong, hardworking, tough cookie but deep down she’s an emotional mess. 

I don’t know how or when but eventually it was official that I would be going in for an explorative surgery and a consultant Urologist was called in to work with the team. My mum must have cried her eyes out, and prayed her heart out. I am sure everybody in my family were deep in prayer all through that time. 

I should say there had been multiple people having bad dreams/ sometimes  nightmare regarding me and my pregnancy / delivery; many prayer sessions held, so this was super scary for my mum. 

The urologist, a smallish man, and the gynaecologist, a huge man both spoke to me, explaining what needed to be done.  I was taken into surgery on the 5th day post CS surgery for another surgery. And it was after that surgery that I woke up to the whiteness all around me 😁. 

I ended up spending about 2 weeks in the hospital, for the first time ever, I wasn’t there when my child was being named. Of course there was no naming party, hubby only took him home and together with the cleric and few relatives, the naming rites were done and he was brought back to the hospital. 

The explorative surgery revealed that I had Hematuria caused a bladder injury (0.2% in primary CS, and 0.6% in secondary CS; so there was a bladder repair surgery. 

Anyways, I was discharged after about 2 weeks in hospital, with catheter in me; and I’d go to the hospital for follow ups. The hospital was close home, maybe like 15 minutes outside traffic, so I was happy to be discharged. That didn’t mean I got the all clear. I was recovering from a Uterus surgery, Bladder surgery and healing from what now looks like an upside down T (⊥) scar. 

Upside down T scar (⊥) and a Sneeze 

The CS scar was a bikini line, for all 3 birth surgeries, but the explorative surgery had them reopen the bikini scar and open another opening that went towards my navel giving this inverted T "⊥" shape. 

The pain though managed with painkillers, the discomfort had no cure if you ask me. It was tough and I’d look at my catheter still with signs of blood, we’d take pictures as it got clearer and clearer. The catheter was removed after some 5/7 days and I had to transition to adult diapers. The Urologist nicely explained to me that it’s a slow process to fully regain control of my bladder, I had to “diaper train” to pee. 

It was very painful and difficult to pee, I’d feel sharp pain when the urge comes and I’d be shaking/ vibrating, and in the end the pee would come without my control. I had no say on when or how to pee. 

As if that wasn’t tough to deal with; I had a tiny spot that got infected on the scar site, then one day I sneezed and the intersection of the “inverted T scar” popped open. What! Right? Oh yes it did open. 

Back into Surgery? Never Again

At the hospital, I was told I might need to be taken back into surgery to sew up the opening; to which I replied no way, that never again will I enter the Theatre, or let a surgical blade touch me (don’t judge me) I was done and done with surgery. Plus, the skin on the scar site has been stretched from 1, 2, 3, and 4 surgeries. Isn’t that the reason it popped opened after a sneeze 🤔? I couldn’t imagine where they will get the extra skin to cover it up, if not from other parts of my body; or maybe they would patch it up and I have to worry about the next sneeze. 

Based on my refusal to go in for a suture, I was told recovery process will be slow and long; to which I agreed. And girl, was it slow? It was very slow. The hole became wider and deep too, definitely not a pleasant site to look at.  Unfortunately, I cant share pictures, that would be a little TMI. My earliest picture with baby R (Konkolo) was when he was about a month old.

I made daily trips to the hospital for dressing, except for few odd days where hubby had to assume the resident attendant nurse. 

For about 2 months, I was mostly on my back or reclined a bit with supporting pillow to eat, breastfeed or express milk. Yes, I somehow still breastfed exclusively apart from the days I was
in hospital and completely unavailable. I don’t know how I did it, but I did; I guess the fact that I always lactate excessively it would be painful/ unrealistic of me not to breastfeed. I mostly expressed anyways, and hubby or any of the available grandmas would feed him from the bottle. 

To worsen matters, I developed a massive boil around my groin, an aftermath of the catheter I had on for long or just my system getting dealt with one more pain. The doctor said they could cut it and get rid of the pus, but then again, I was anti sharp blades, so again we took the longer route. I really can’t remember what it was that was done but I remember I was in physical and emotional pain (a tiny scar from the boil remains on me till date. That period remains most trying time of my life, I was tired, mentally drained, and frustrated, I queried why God decided to punish me with all that was going on. 

Thinking back, the only reason I probably didn’t go into post natal depression would have to be having a strong support system. Hubby was there physically emotionally and spiritually, as he reminded me that instead of this being a punishment from God; it could be God actually saved me from something worse. And I couldn’t disagree. 

From the daily hospital trips, to the countless errands he had to run, playing nurse, husband, daddy, buying diapers for Me since, I brought enough diapers for little man via cargo. He was present in every way, even when he had to deal with the ever demanding work of his. I made sure he took pictures of the wound as many times as possible. He also had to deal with reassuring family members that were not with us; at my slightest smile, he’d take pictures of him and send to the family group. Yes it was that important, every smile was calls for  picture. 

Other family members were not left out, my mum, Mum in-law who took over from my mum to take care of me and the baby. My sis in-law who’d show up with one thing or the other or just provide moral support, my siblings separated by distance but never far away at heart, praying and following up on phone. My in-laws, family and friends, the many mummies I have in Lagos; nothing really beats having a strong network of supportive people in your corner and for that I am forever grateful. 

One of my girls checked up on me, towards the end of my recovery process, and she said “pele, you should write a book about your experience.” To Ewere, I didn’t quite write the book, but here I just told my story, well, what I remember as at now, of my story. 

See, just like with my 1st CS surgery, I read all the fine prints on delivery, but never CS, or "Placenta Abruptio" because it wasn't for me,😄 afterall, it happens in only 1% of pregnancies; I also paid no heed to the possible complications of repeat surgery I had read about before, and even signed off on my pre-surgery consent form while in UK. As always, I felt 1%- 6% wasn't me, but I lied. I am the 1%.  

Summary of my birthing experience is the 1% or less than 1% chance, could be you & I; and in my case, I have been the 1% on more than one occasion. If like me, you are one of the 1%, remember you are alone; I hope you look back in years to come with gratitude for standing despite the 1%. 

Also dedicating this write up to my very dear friend Billie, who passed on few days after birthing her 2nd baby due to complications; she would have been a year older on July 3rd. Please say prayers for her, and the beautiful boys she left behind. You are gone but lives on forever in my heart.

    My beautiful baby, Konkolo 

12 years a mum - My birth stories - 2

 

FYI: This is nothing like my last post; this actually was the easiest birthing experience for me.

Pregnancy with R2 wasn’t bad, all my pregnancies are actually fuss free, and cravings free. 

I was out of the country, while pregnant, I was juggling my Msc. Programme in London, came for internship in Nigeria, travelling to & fro Nigeria. I returned back to England, just as I entered my 3rd trimester. I was fine but felt like he zapped my brain juice because I remember getting my dearest Rele, to study for us both, and then do revision with me, at some point, I had to defer submission of my dissertation. Also, I had sciatica, a word I didn’t know till then. I often had this surging pain that shot down my leg; good thing it was nothing meds couldn’t take care of.  https://www.webmd.com/back-pain/guide/sciatica-symptoms#1

A LITTLE HUMOUR

Closer to my delivery, my MIL came to support. Just like my 1st pregnancy where she nicely made sure we took daily walks. The day she arrived, she suggested we should start our daily walk next day; in my head, I am like 🤔 in cold February weather? Okay, sure Mama 😁.

Next day, as evening drew close, she said oya let’s take a walk, we both grabbed our jackets, head warmers and gloves and headed out, of course we were welcomed by the cold as we left the building, no biggies, she said walking will warm us up, I didn’t argue. Anyways, we had barely walked 10 minutes, when she said “Wo, otutu eleyi ti poju, eyan o le rin irun irin yi nibi, 😂 (look this cold is unbearable, we can’t be taking random walks in this cold) and asked that we return home. Safe to say, that’s how we cancelled pregnancy walk, because London and Lagos weather are not mates 😂😂. 

Pregnancy was a cruise, so much so I didn’t visit the hospital, aside GP till about my 8^th month, during the check up, I had a 3D scan and it was surreal, I saw R2’s face all so clearly. I saw his face clearly and knew immediately he looked nothing like me (2:0 in favour of hubby)

PS: I am not too familiar with the terms used for medical personnel abroad, so I might use them wrongly.

 My next appointment, I was told I would be having another CS! Oh oh!  The doctor a white man told me, that based on my history, they will not be taking any chances, explaining XYZ, the consent I will be signing etc., he asked that I come prepared the next day for the “elective” section (I was thinking how is it elective, when they told me they can’t take chances of uterine rupture🙄 🤷🏼♀️).

Again, I asked if we could wait a little more. The man nicely told me to hold on, and handed me over to a midwife (dark skinned) to put me through the ropes 😂. I reckon in his mind, he felt, please come and talk to your people, the Jamaican woman was nice enough to explain again; but you see my coconut head still wanted to suffer labour pains; I begged her to let’s wait for another day. Mind you, my EDD was the next day. The woman came to a compromise, she decided to give me a membrane sweep, that if I am lucky enough it helps to trigger labour, cool but if nothing happens overnight, they expect me at the hospital by 8am for my surgery.  Membrane sweep done, I went back home, full of hopes, hoping and hoping; nothing happened 😟.

D-DAY

11th March, I woke up to the realization that again, I will not be experiencing what labour feels like. MIL wanted to come with, but someone had to mind R1 at home, so she stayed back while hubby and I went, to the hospital. Unlike in Nigeria, where hubby had to sign the consent form, I was made to read, understand and confirm clearly all I had been told before, about the risks involved etc. and then sign. 

Hubby was allowed in the operating theatre, though a screen was put around my chest which blocks his view of what’s going on, but there was some mirror like panel over the team that gave him a decent view. 

I was given the regular jab on the spine, and just as they were about proceeding, I started feeling dizzy and felt like I was slipping into oblivion. Luckily I spoke up immediately, and as I didn’t know what was being said, I heard some talk and movements, and next thing I was placed on oxygen, stabilized and they proceeded with it. I was on oxygen throughout the procedure. 

Hubby was right by my side through it all, holding my hand/shoulder, talking to me, giving me updates from the panel and most likely praying silently. 

I heard them say I had a beautiful scar (yay! to Dr. E back in Nigeria & my good skin); I also heard them say “oh he has a beautiful head of hair”, just before they brought R2 out. I don’t remember much again, till I was wheeled to recovery room. 

DELIGHTFUL SHOCK

After about 15 minutes or less in recovery, a lady asked me “care for some toast”? Me 😳🥱wait what? I can eat? Of course I care for some toast. That’s how barely hours after my surgery I ate toast. (Naija Drs. see your mates)

The Jamaican woman I spoke to pre-surgery told me, it’s a good thing they didn’t take a chance on delivery, she said my uterus wall was so thin, they could see the baby’s head before the uterus was cut open, or something along the line 😳.  (Thank God they didn’t listen to me). She also said, P.S I could only have no more than 1 more go at pregnancy. 

I don’t remember how long I stayed in recovery, before being moved to a ward but I remember MIL came visiting that day, having learnt that I am allowed to eat brought me a hot cooler of my favorite: Indomie. She said, left to her she would have made something else, but she knows how much I love Indomie, she also apologized incase it’s not the way I like it. Bless that gem for me God! 

ANOTHER SHOCK

Unlike in Nigeria, my ward wasn’t private; we were about 4/6 in the spacious ward, which meant family couldn’t stay 24-7. I saw some 2 ladies walking about and I was told they had their surgery the day before. In my head I was like yeah, that can’t be me.

All through the day, the baby (R2) was kept in a crib near me, he wasn’t allowed to sleep on my bed, so I had to use the call button for the staff to hand me the baby. R2 came with quite the large appetite, so this very lovely matronly lady had to make countless trips to my bedside to pick up and dropped. She named him “Hungry Henry” she was quite warm; came night time, her replacement was a young girl who wore her displeasure on her face every time she had to pick or drop him. At some point, I kuku kept R2 beside me and slept off. She complained about me keeping me by the bedside but I couldn’t be bothered. 

NEXT DAY

All was good, but I was told I had to walk to the bathroom and around. I said no way. Never mind that Stakike and Akands (my able support systems) had prepped me and told me all I needed to know about this experience. I thought I was going to die if I walked; but I guess that was the price to pay. “She who ate toast on day of surgery, must walk the next day & be discharged on day 3”. 

Somehow I walked, still don’t know how but I survived, and got discharged the next day. Back home and the health visitor came checking after some days. 

NAMING EVENT

Naming was quite a private affair, 

Imams came did their thing and left; then we had close family, some of my course-mates and hubby’s colleagues come over. Both held in our living room. It was good a simple affair and I enjoyed seeing everyone. That’s me, 100% a people person.

MY GEM

MIL was exceptional as usual. For weeks, she’d bath baby and myself; doing all we could to ensure my scar didn’t get infected. 

HEALTH VISITOR

Bless the UK health system; they were countless health checks from days after the birth to weeks and then periodic home checks on mother and child; and sibling too. I remember the 1st time the health visitor came, she asked R1 to show her his room and went with him to “interview” him to be sure he’s doing well and not being abused in any form. She noted in his report, the environment was conducive and he’s a happy child etc. The periodic visit went on for as long as I can remember before we relocated back to Nigeria. 

Well, that’s about all about the most peaceful, drama and complication-free delivery I ever had. 

As for R3!!!! You will need to grab your popcorn, and drinks; that is the real story to be told; hopefully I don’t get emotional and stop midway writing it. Until then, catch you soon. 

Thank you for reading this far, I look forward to your comments.

12 years a mum - My birth stories -1

Welcome to Neeollas corner, 

Yesterday, as I celebrated 12 years of being a mum (my first son's 12th birthday). I decided to return back to bloging, and it sure feels good to be back here after my hiatus 😊

Many times I wanted to share my birth stories, and then for some reason, I procrastinate or talk myself out of it. 

Some times, I want to do it, because I enjoy writing/ telling my stories, some times, it’s because I feel we all have our various struggles and challenges, and just knowing that we are not alone, sharing our experiences might help others understand themselves, and deal with situations better.  

I am blessed with 3 beautiful boys, who do my head in, as much as they warm my fuzzy heart. Each of their birth stories is different, yet memorable in its own way. 

 PREGNANCY WITH R1- my first-born child. 

This pregnancy was hassle-free, I presented none of the regular pregnancy symptoms apart from my protruding stomach, no sickness, cravings, no increased appetite or reduced energy level, nothing, relatively boring, I used to wish for cravings. Safe to say, everything was just right, until the 39th week. 

The details are fuzzy, but I remember landing in the hospital, got assigned a bed, only for the health team to decide minutes later it was false labour and I was released to go home. 

D-DAY

Two days after my false labour, I had just finished a walk with MIL, when I started having the urge to pee like, less than 10 minutes apart. Surely, that wasn’t labour 🤔? I mean aside from the usual Braxton hicks; I had read about 1 too many times. MIL was convinced it was pre-labour; she made some calls and started timing my visits to the toilet. The intervals became shorter and more frequent. 

Not to take chances, MIL insisted we leave for the hospital to avoid Lekki-Ikoyi traffic, and that decision turned to be a good one. Good thing my Mum, already made sure, since I hit month 5, I had a hospital bag permanently in the car, so there was nothing to pack, just to hop in the car. It took almost 2 hours to get to the hospital in Ikoyi, from Lekki Phase 1(those familiar with Lagos, you get the pic).

AT THE HOSPITAL

Right at the hospital entrance, I met my gynecologist, an elderly man, Dr. E stepping out of the hospital. “Asmau!! How are you?” he asked with concern, as he immediately walked back into the hospital with me. 

Turned out, it was his last day at that hospital, he was retiring and had clocked out officially, however, he had to stay back and attend to me. He took me in for a quick check and questioning, and it was then I told him, what I didn’t tell anyone before, I had “spotted” (had blood stains) earlier in the day, but I thought nothing of it; I didn’t want to make a fuss, after the false labour of days before. 

After some minutes of examination, & questioning, I could tell Dr. E was concerned, he called another Dr. for a second opinion, and together it was discovered I had “Placenta Abruptio”. Immediately, I was told I needed to go in for emergency surgery.

I was like, huh😕? He explained that the placenta carrying the baby was separated from the womb, cutting the baby’s support system, happens in about 1% of pregnancies.  

https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/placental-abruption/symptoms-causes/syc-20376458

https://www.webmd.com/baby/what-is-placental-abruption#1

AWAY FROM MY PLAN 

This wasn’t the plan, I thought, I had read everything about pregnancy from Baby Centre, and the book “what to expect when you are expecting”: 

https://www.amazon.com/What-Expect-When-Youre-Expecting-dp-0761189246/dp/0761189246/ref=dp_ob_title_bk

 a loaned gift to me from my colleague & friend. (I am not sure if he stole, or borrowed it from his sister 😊).  Anyway, I read everything about pregnancy, except the last chapter on “CS and when things go wrong”. That wasn’t for me; I had no reason to read about stuff like that (😅😅🙈)

My plan was to go through all the stages of labour I had so much looked forward to, for my water to break and the all-famous labour pain, which I hoped will confirm my pain threshold ( please don't judge me 🙈). You know, all the things I considered the norm. 

PRE-SURGERY 

Forgive my naivety, but I cried and begged Dr. E to chill, I mean wait till tomorrow or something. I cried, not because of any religious belief, or that I thought lesser of CS, but because I was curious about childbirth, I wanted the whole process. I remember Dr. E’s face and words clearly till date: “Asmau, there are 3 things I would not jeopardize here, your life, baby’s life and my career”. He said this as he made calls for the anesthetist and other medical team to prep for surgery. My MIL was informed, Hubby was on his way, calls were being made while I was whining, and crying for being denied my “labour” (as per Queen of Sufferhead). The matron called me aside, short of spanking my silly head; she gave me the pep talk and added I shouldn’t waste time, as they needed to prep me for surgery. 

This was early evening, and when reality dawned on me, I became hungry, and especially thirsty lol. I begged for water but I wasn’t allowed.  Hubby was there as they wheeled me into theatre, who knows what must have gone through his head. I should ask him. Poor Man, he has had quite the experience through all 3-birth histories. 

INSIDE THE THEATRE 

Theatre was an experience; I was quite the entertainment for the team. I did a little drama before I took the spinal epidural injection on my back 

(Don’t blame me). I felt the first cut of the surgical blade, it felt just like a razor cut and I told the team exact that, the doctors worried about the efficacy of the given analgesic, but the anesthetist insisted I had the right dose, & convinced them I was numbed from the waist down when I couldn’t lift my legs.

I remember drifting on and off in between, passing side commentaries that made the team laugh, my sense of humor was on fleek , I felt the tug as they brought out the baby,  and I remember the nurse bringing R1 to me, just before taking him away for washing. I told the Gynecologist to hurry up with what he was doing, so I could leave the operating theatre (please don’t ask, where I was rushing to )

 

Lord be praised, all was fine, I was wheeled out a couple of hours later, saw hubby, everyone and slept off like a baby 😌

THE MORNING AFTER

The next day, at some point,  I felt my legs were cold or something, I asked hubby to massage them, and after what felt like an eternity, I complained that he didn’t give me a massage as requested and then everybody was like 😱ah! he has been massaging me for a long time, his hands were still on my legs. Apparently, my legs were still numb from the effects of the anesthetic. The doctor was asked and he assured us that all was well and it would wear off. 

 

FAMILY LOVE

By midday, I had a full house, including my mum from out of town. She definitely traveled at crack of dawn. For the next few days, it was interesting to see everyone, my family, in-laws, and colleagues. My father-in-law also traveled to Lagos and spent time in the hospital with us, throughout; I felt loved and was surrounded by love. Lots of activity in my hospital room, sometimes the nurses and doctors had to beg some to excuse them. My room was filled with food and fruits, none of which I could eat. Being a foodie, that for me, was torture. Hubby meanwhile, was hustling hospital, home, errands, and work all through; All the free time hubby had while I was pregnant and without craving, he made up for in plenty hospital visits and post CS care. I am totally pro Paternity leave. 

FEEDING 

Watching people eat, and drink when I couldn’t even drink water was tough. I was very thirsty and despite my pleas, it wasn’t until Dr. E gave the okay, it was evening time (24hours post-surgery) and I can swear they served me no more than 20mls of diluted juice. I probably gave the nurse a stinky eye as she handed it to me. By the 2nd or 3rd day post-surgery, I was introduced to pap and light meal, normally proper food isn’t introduced until you fart. Let’s not bother about the details. 

COUGHING

Your right of passage post-surgery isn’t complete without THE COUGH, coughing at this point is so hard, it is very painful and feels like your intestines are going to pop out. In actual fact, there’s a little chance the suture can rupture (I found that out years later). My mum, having had a CS herself, taught me to place a pillow or apply some sort of pressure on the CS site and gently cough or just clear my throat the Nigerian way. (Only an actual demonstration with sounds can do justice to it). These painful bouts of cough interestingly happen post-surgery, kind of a side effect of the meds. 

FIRST WALK

On the 4th day post-CS, the nurse told me to stand up and walk, all I had done before then was sat up, with support for eating or breastfeeding. I screamed at 1st attempt, I was convinced I couldn’t stand, but the nurse made sure she pulled me up and made me take a stroll outside my room. It was refreshing to walk around and see others aside from my family and the team attending to me. I got back to the room to face yet another hurdle, sitting back down was harder, and I told the nurse I didn’t want to sit again 😀. Yes, I guess I am a drama queen, I kept walking around till I could no more and somehow I landed back on my bed. I practiced standing and sitting for some time till I was able to walk and was discharged to go home. 

NAMING CEREMONY

Typical of Muslims, we had a naming event on the 8th day of birth, this was on a Monday, which meant only close relatives, and friends were in attendance with the clerics. It was a full house considering all the family that came. Once the child was named, and prayers were said, I was back to my room nursing, resting, receiving visitors and gifts in cash and baby items. Between my mum and MIL, and the many grandmas in attendance, they fed me like a frog, from Amala to all sorts. Family members got to bond as well, some only seeing after a long time. There was a lot to eat and drink.

That’s about all I remember about that day. Life continued with the support of the 2 grandmas till my mum had to leave back for work. We had a proper naming ceremony hosting for our actual friends, the weekend after and it was nice and fun, and young 😉, it was a relaxed indoor and outdoor affair. I still had a bandage attached to my tummy, but I didn’t mind moving around saying hello to mine and hubby’s friends and colleagues. I didn’t have to return to my room, I had expressed more than enough milk to last the day. I still look at some of the pictures from that day with nostalgia, seeing how much has changed of the people in the pictures. Some we are barely in touch with, and some have become family. 

OH NO!!!

Life returned to normal, or so I thought until I started noticing swelling and pain along the CS site, it got worse and we went back to the hospital. The wound site had been infected (oh oh!). What caused it? I don’t know, but the suspicion was the cotton wool I use for cleaning the site daily was not sterile. Who knew there was such a thing as sterile cotton wool? Well, that at the time was the worst time of my life, the pain was so much, I would walk hunched over, I was convinced in my mind, there was no way I would ever walk straight again, I would go to the hospital now and then for dressing, which included having the pus-filled CS site drained using a syringe. The pain, you bet is unimaginable. For someone that hates taking drugs, I took loads and loads of them, this was made easier with the help of faithful morsels of Amala or Eba in which I would wrap the pills, massage in draw soup for easy swallowing. 

THE GOOD STUFF

For some reason, I manage to do exclusive breastfeeding through it. I couldn’t avoid it if I wanted, I was producing more milk than my son could take, and often I poured them away with guilt. I could express 4 bottles at a go, and once that’s done, I would sleep like a baby, knowing no one will wake me to feed the little man. Before he is done finishing, I have expressed yet another batch. My MIL could never wrap her head around it, considering I ate mostly noodles and swallow because I had pills to take, and not the pap they recommend.  

FUNNY THING HAPPENED

One of my colleagues came visiting, and on noticing how very light-skinned R1 was, said: “Eniola, your son is Oyinbo oh, are you sure, he is for your husband” 😱😳my chest right! It was the funniest, most ridiculous thing to say, considering she said it right there in front of my MIL, mum, and other visitors. Good thing, there was no cause for doubt, good thing R1 came out looking a whiter version of his dad with his trademark “W” hairline. After she left, both mums abused her, saying “O go oro” - she was tactless. I don’t know if this counts, but she is not Yoruba. If she ever gets to read this: Hey Babes, you called that on yourself, next time ask me quietly or just say nothing lol. 

ABOUT R1 

I love every bit about parenting this little man, he was such a beautiful baby, still a cutie at 12years, he is quite a smarty-pants too, he learnt to wink at around 5 months, because I winked at him a lot, I remember the minders at the crèche nearly having a fit the 1st time they saw him wink, they thought something was wrong lol. We had the adventure, but this is about his birth and not about him.

Sorry, if this is not quite the read, you were expecting, but that’s the thing with non-fiction, it is what it is. It is my experience, one of my 3 birth stories. 

Sometimes, we have our expectations of life, and then life says, not quite my darling, this will be totally different from the norm. 

Now, when I hear there’s a 1% chance of something happening, I take it to mean, don’t knock it off, sometimes that 1% can be you or I. 

Also, I’ll say, there are no norms, only what we know of, or are used to. All childbirths are normal, all experiences are valid, if we all tell our stories, perhaps we will know that we are experiences are more “norm”, than we think they are. 

I hope you enjoyed reading this; if you would like to read about my other 2 birth stories, let me know so I can get writing. 

And if you don’t, well I will still write them, maybe just not right away. 

My favourites at the time: 

https://www.whattoexpect.com/

https://www.babycenter.com/

Thought to share some of the tons of pictures I harrassed someone to take 😁; kindly leave your comments or feedback on here, would love to have your thoughts, also; it will hopefully give me some ginger to keep up this page. Thank you.