At 7.24pm on Friday 18th March, our entire world was flipped on its axis
with the much anticipated arrival of Baby Sunshine. Our daughter,
Sophia Molly Byles was born ten days prior to her official due date in a
slightly more rapid and dramatic fashion than we were expecting. But
despite a somewhat distressing entry into the world, as soon as I laid
eyes on her I knew that everything was OK. From her tiny button nose
down to her dinky little toes, she was healthy, thriving, and in my
eyes, absolutely perfect.
The climactic story of Sophia's birth actually began several days
beforehand, on Tuesday 15th, when I woke suddenly in the middle of the
night with mild but noticeable contractions. Excitedly, I began to
measure the length of time in between each one, and calculated an
average of 1-2 hours. This indicated that we still had a long way to go
and with nothing more that I could do at this point other than sit and
wait it out, I gradually coaxed myself back to sleep.
The
next day, much to my dismay, I awoke to find that signs of any
contractions had completely disappeared. I knew that this was not
unusual in the very early stages of labour, which can sometimes
accelerate and decelerate again for days or even weeks, but I couldn't
help but be disappointed - I was just dying to meet our little girl! In
order to distract myself, I headed out for a coffee with my friend Donna
and tried hard to get on with everyday life until the contractions
returned.
On Thursday 17th we had an appointment with
the Head of Obs & Gynae at Al Ahli Hospital where we had decided to
deliver. Having described my symptoms from earlier in the week to him,
he asked whether I'd mind him doing an internal examination to find out
whether I was beginning to dilate, to which I agreed. I was delighted
when he told me I was 1.5 cm, and that our little girl would soon be on
her way! Mr Sunshine and I headed to Spice Market at the W Hotel for
lunch to celebrate.
The 24 hours that proceeded can
only be described as a bit of a blur. Visiting the ladies in the W after
lunch, I noticed that I was bleeding. At first I put it down to the
vigorous internal exam, and tried to put it out of my mind. Visits from
more friends the next day helped to distract me, but I couldn't ignore
the fact that the flow was growing steadily heavier. It was around 4pm
when they left and as I shut the front door behind them, I felt a sudden
gush of blood and rushed to the toilet. Feeling sick to my stomach, I
called Mr Sunshine. I couldn't ignore this any more; it was time to go
and get this checked out.
Luckily, Mr S was already on
his way home from work and when he stepped in the front door he
immediately turned around again to accompany me to the hospital. Now,
for all of the shortcomings of my little adopted country, one thing I
can say with confidence about Qatar is that the standard of healthcare
in an emergency is incomparable. I've witnessed it once before when Mr S
required surgery on his back. Naïvely though, I never imagined that
either of us would ever be seeing the inside of an operating theatre
again while we were here.
The nurse noted my symptoms and
I was immediately whisked from the emergency room up to the delivery
suite on the maternity ward. Despite protesting that I didn't want any
more internal examinations as I was convinced this was the cause of the
bleeding, I eventually conceded when they explained that it was the only
way to truly find out what was going on. Two more internal exams and a
CTG later and one of the senior Consultants was flashing a form in my
face, saying I had five minutes to call whoever I wanted before agreeing
to sign my consent to an emergency C Section. Two nurses were busy
attempting to take the nail polish off my toenails, and Mr Sunshine was
called outside by another doctor to discuss the cost of the operation and
to be told that he wouldn't be able to join me in surgery as it's not
allowed here. Left alone with my mind racing, I shakily tried my mum's
number, and then my brother's. Both went to voicemail. In desperation, I
then called the Obstetrician I had been visiting since week 15 of my
pregnancy, Professor Badr. "You must trust the doctors there," he said,
"Unfortunately I can't come out but if they have examined you and say
you require it then go with it. You'll be OK".
So that
was that. I signed the form, waved goodbye to my husband who gave me one
of his reassuring smiles and told me that he would see me soon, and I
was wheeled into surgery.
It's difficult to describe
what went through my mind during the 45 minutes that I was on the table
for. Time seemed to speed up and slow down at the same time. I was aware
of every sensation, every voice, every movement and every feeling, as
if every ounce of my being was being magnified under some kind of
microscope. Over the past 8 months I had read and researched so much
about the labour process, and had planned Sophia's birth in minute
detail, perfecting a comprehensive birth plan which detailed the natural
labour that I wished to go through: no drugs and no interventions. And
yet here I was experiencing the birth of my daughter in a very different
way from how I'd imagined it all that time. And I didn't care. All of
this went out of the window the second that the doctor said that my
daughter was in danger. All I cared about now was that she was delivered
safely.
I had been given an epidural to see me through
the operation, which meant that even though there was no pain, I was
still awake and could still feel the sensation of the surgeons cutting
into me. It also meant that I felt the moment that they pulled her out
of me. At this point, I held my breath, desperately willing her to cry
out so that I knew that everything was OK. As soon as it came, I felt my
whole body relax. She was here, and she was alive. I vaguely remember
someone pressing her warm little cheek onto mine for a second before she
was taken away and everything went black.
I woke up a
little later in the recovery room, and tried to make sense of what had
just happened. I had arrived at the hospital at 5.15pm that afternoon,
not knowing what to expect, and by 7.25pm our daughter had been
delivered. And I didn't even know what she looked like yet! Luckily it
wasn't long until I heard Mr Sunshine's voice outside, and then he was
with me and the nurse was placing Sophia on my chest and I think I was
crying. I held her close while Mr S told me that he had bumped into the
nurse as she wheeled Sophia out of surgery and had insisted on doing
skin to skin with her on his bare chest in my hospital room while they
waited for me to be stitched up. One small but important item on our
birth plan had been ticked off. At this point in the day, it made all
the difference and right then at that moment I couldn't have loved my
husband any more.
We spent four days in hospital as I
slowly recovered from the surgery enough to be able to get out of bed
and move about. Mr S stayed with us the whole time, sleeping on the
bench-come-bed by the window of our private room. I was so grateful for
his support. All the time we were there, I felt as though I fell in love
with our little girl a bit more every time I looked at her. I felt so
lucky, and I really hate this word, but am going to use it
anyway...blessed. The doctor came in to see us the morning after she was
born to tell me that I had been having a placental abruption -
basically Sophia's lifeline was coming away from the wall of my womb -
and if we had left the C Section any later it could have been fatal for
either one of us. Ever since this had started I didn't care about my
fate all that much, but the fact that Sophia was OK was everything to
me. In actual fact, she was more than OK. Her APGAR scores were 9 and
then 10. Her eye sight and hearing were perfect. At 6 pounds 11 ounces,
her weight was excellent, and the paedeotrician was happy with her
development and reflexes. After worrying throughout my entire pregnancy
about whether she would be healthy, I could finally rest easy.
On 22nd March, 2016, having received the all clear from my doctor, we
finally got to take our baby home. It was one of the most exciting
moments of my life. After all of the drama, pain and struggle, we were
able to leave the sterile and unfriendly environment of the hospital
behind and head home to begin family life for real. I was so proud of
myself, and of us for getting through the past few days, on the other
side of the world from our main support network and family. But most of
all I was proud of Sophia. Becoming her mummy was undoubtedly the best
thing that has ever happened to me, and I will be forever thankful to
the doctors that acted swiftly enough to bring our daughter safely into
this world.
Daddy and I love you Baby Sunshine. Here's to many years of fun ahead.
