Huda was born on March 16, at 34 weeks.
The following is the story of her birth.
March 10. I went for another scan and check-up.
The scan showed that Huda's estimated weight was still the same as March 1's which meant that there was no growth between both scans.
After the scan, I was to have her heartbeat monitored on the CTG. I took a nap while Huda's heartbeat was being monitored and at the end of the 30 minutes, the nurse took a look at the reading and asked whether I moved at any point in time. I didn't. I asked if everything was okay and she told me she'd get Dr Wong to talk to me.
Dr A Wong came into the room and told me that the reading wasn't good - there was a dip in her heartbeat for a sustained period of time. She'd have to get me admitted to the labour ward (or the cool and funky name - Delivery Suite) immediately.
I was still calm and composed. Maybe the realisation hadn't sunk in yet. I called my husband, calmed him down and told him that I was admitted to be monitored only, or so it seemed at that time. I was quite sure I would be discharged, still pregnant. The nurse also said that Dr A Wong would arrange for my next appointment. Well, that convinced me that I would leave the hospital in a pregnant state. Besides, I still have 2 more maternity tops that have yet to be worn!
I told my husband to inform my parents because I knew I couldn't keep myself composed for long. I didn't want them to hear me cry and get all worried.
As I was being wheeled to the Delivery Suite, I started crying. Finally the enormity of the situation dawned upon me.
My poor little baby in my womb, in distress.
Two nurses came and wheeled me into Room 9. I changed into the standard labour ward outfit - a white gown tied at the back with absolutely nothing else, not even your wedding ring - and was strapped to the CTG for continuous, around-the-clock monitoring.
The labour ward nurse came and she knew I had been crying. The nice old lady toldthat my baby would be all right. If I cried, she said, the baby would feel it and my CTG reading would be bad.
I'm normally very optimistic, ridiculously so at times. But, if the situation is grave enough for me to worry, I will need some time to cry over it.
My husband rushed into the room minutes later. I really didn't know how he managed to get there so fast.
We had to decide, very quickly, which class ward to put me in. We've had this discussion before. If it were a normal, complication-free delivery, it would be a single-bedder ward. But if Huda had to be admitted to the ICU, it would have to be a C-class ward. Still, we deliberated over it. An MO who happened to be in the room recommended the C ward having looked at Huda's case. Yati, whose son, Dzafir, had to stay at the ICU for 38 days, also recommended the C ward. She said the bill, without subsidies, would have come up to close to $40, 000. I think, I'd rather spend that money on a long holiday. Besides, I had mentally prepared myself for a hospital stay minus all the luxuries, such as my own personal bathroom - which, if you know what a fusspot I can be, is of utmost importance to me. Moreover, in ICU and Special Care, there's no class distinction. Huda'll still receive first-rate care from the doctors and nurses there. Thankfully, there's no class distinction at the labour ward either! I got first class care from the nurses and doctors there!
So, a C-ward it is.
Dr A Wong came in a while later to check on me. The plan was, she told me, to get Huda's heartbeat monitored until Monday when they'd arrange for another scan. After that, they'd send me up to the ward. On Tuesday, my case would be mentioned at a meeting called High Risk Consult - where all the big shot gynaes and paeds will be - and they would decide what's the best course of action to take.
Labour Ward. I have nothing but praises for the nurses and doctors at the Delivery Suite.
Service was excellent. The nurses were very attentive and in between deliveries, they'd pop into my room to make sure I was okay. Doctors do their rounds every 4 hours and they'd answer my questions as best as they could.
A doctor who came in during the 4-hourly rounds said that they would most probably do a C-section once I hit Week 34, which would be the following Thursday. Babies born between Week 34 and Week 36 are considered acceptably premature as their organs are developed. That would be a good 1 and half months before my EDD.
Being a premature baby myself, I was not afraid of having a premie. I simply do not subscribe to the belief that premies will be slower in their development. What I was afraid of was having a baby stuck in the NICU.
Those first few days at the labour ward saw me alternating between tears and motivating myself to be stronger. There were lots of phonecalls to my family (only husbands are allowed to stay at the Labour Ward) and I miss my family soooo much!! It also didn't help that I was worried about Huda. Almost every phonecall ended up with me being in tears. My poor mother was literally sick with worry.
Monday came and I had my scan done. The sonographer told me that it was pointless to estimate the baby's weight as I just had her weight estimated 3 days earlier. She scanned the veins carrying the blood to the placenta and told me to ask my doctor about the results.
I was sent back to the labour ward and a doctor came and told me that the problem was in my veins that supply blood to the placenta. There was a high resistance in the veins that resulted in lower blood supply and less nutrients for Huda. Or something along that line.
The possibility of me being warded in the normal ward was slim. The doctors told me, with the CTG reading being what they were, the moment they monitored Huda's heartbeat, I'd find myself at the labour ward again.
So, the next thing to look forward to was Tuesday's meeting. I still harboured hopes of leaving the hospital still pregnant.
Tuesday came but somehow they missed my case! The nurses were apologetic and I milked it for all it was worth! I got
THREE toilet breaks that day. Oh, I forgot to mention that because they wanted me strapped to the CTG all the time, I had to use the bedpan for all my erm, liquid output. I refused to get rid of solid wastes in the bedpan so, normally, they'd allow me one toilet break after many hours of consistent heartbeat.
The doctors were just as apologetic, apologising for their lapse saying that they'd gather the High Risk Consult people on Wednesday to discuss my case. So, Wednesday was the day to look out for.
Somehow, while I was half-asleep on that Tuesday afternoon, a familiar figure stood at the door. It was Farha! She intended to just pass some stuff to me through the nurse but the nurse allowed her in! It was almost surreal. I just could not believe that she was there. She brought lots of books, a Sudoku game, dates, air zamzam and a couple of other stuff.
Wednesday. That was my sixth day in the labour ward. People don't normally stay in the labour ward that long. They stay for 6 hours or 12 hours thereabout. Me? I was a permanent resident of the labour ward.
The HRC people met that day.
The decision was to cut me up the following day, exactly at Week 34, at 8am. Natural delivery - which I was looking forward to - was out of the question as it could be too stressful for Huda.
Doctors came in and out of the room, explaining the procedures to me and getting my signature on various forms.
My mother wanted to see me before I went into the operating theatre. I hoped she could! Rashida dropped a whole lot of magazines and chocolates, a nice balloon and a lovely card at the nurses' station. It was such a sweet gesture!
In the evening, my mother managed to come in with the scrambled egg sandwich that I had been craving for. Dianah made the sandwich. Very sweet, that girl. Both of us cried when we met. Long time no see each other, mah.. But, it was a short visit. Couldn't stay long at the labour ward.
I was allowed a long shower that evening. I cleaned myself thoroughly, knowing full well that after the C-section, I would most probably not shower for a couple of days. I tried hard to conserve my wudhu after the shower and I read the Quran in between prayer times.
Who would have thought that I would see a familiar face among the nurses. Nurli Fadhillah, my Pergas classmate! Miracles of miracles, she's a nurse at the NICU! She saw my name in the list of would-be mothers of ICU babes, or something like that, and came by my room. We had a fun time chatting before she had to go off to start work.
Thursday morning. It was still the wee hours of Thursday morning. When I say wee hours, I really mean small, tiny hours. It was just past midnight. I heard the nurse saying, "It's already Week 34. It's midnight already." I was too groggy to make sense of what she's saying.
At 2am, I was awoken when the room lights were switched on. A doctor was looking at the readings. I asked, "Anything wrong?"
A lot of things wrong, it seemed. Huda's heartbeat kept on dipping and was taking longer and longer to reach the normal rate.
The doctor said I had to have an emergency C-section done right then. I woke my husband who had been spending many restless nights on the sofa beside my bed. Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to call my parents and his.
The good thing about an emergency C-section is, you don't have much time to worry.
I was wheeled, on a bed, to the operating theatre. The anaesthetist explained that general anaesthesia carries more risks than a local one. I opted for a local anaesthesia having done a bit of a research (err.. talking to my sister about her experience counts as research, no?) on the matter.
The C-section. The injection on the spine was administered. It was not as painful as I thought it would be. I was told to crouch on my right in a foetal position. The midwife held me to ensure that I did not thrash about. There were 4 jabs, I think. After the jabs, I felt a series of twinkling sensation running through my legs and they promptly went to sleep.
The surgeons then pressed my stomach and asked if I felt any pain. Nope, not at all.
There was a curtain, of sorts, blocking my view of the entire operation. Without the curtain, there would have been no need for anaesthesia; I would have been knocked out the moment I saw them holding a knife over my tummy.
I did not like being there. I knew I was in good hands but I simply did not like the helplessness I felt throughout the entire operation.
Soon I heard a few short cries. Huda was born! And she cried!! Which means, she has good lungs. Alhamdulillah!
But I did not get to see her. I was already informed about that. She was bundled up and whisked away to the NICU where they would be setting her up with drips and various monitors.
Operation over. I was moved to a resting area for 30 minutes or so. I asked for my husband but was told that the area I was in was part of the Operating Theatre so he wasn't allowed there.
Then, I was moved to the Post-Operative Ward or something like that. Along the way, my husband showed me pictures of Huda which he took. All I could remember was how happy my husband looked. Alhamdulillah.
I was tired and groggy and even if they had brought me to Afghanistan and back, nothing much would have registered in my mind. I could barely talk. Having been used to using my stomach muscles to project my voice, I found that I could only whisper after the operation. It was too much of a strain to talk.
The nurses at the ward were wonderful. Without batting an eyelid, they cleaned me up thoroughly. They did
everything for me. I think giving birth by C-section makes you lose all sense of privacy.
About 9am, Thursday. It was time for me to be moved to the
*sound effect: cackles of thunder* C ward. By then, I had already gained some sensation and I could feel the sharp pain where the cut was made. I had to move to the bed on wheels. My left leg refused to cooperate and I had to ask the nurses to lift it up to the other bed while I slowly moved the other parts of my body. It wasn't an easy task at all.
I was wheeled to the ward and had to make yet another move from the bed-with-wheels to the hospital bed. Torture, that was.
And thus began my stay at the ward. The nurse, very subtly, shooed my husband away and told him to come back at noon.
Still tired, I slept and slept. I was on liquid diet that first day. Not that it mattered because I had no appetite anyway.
Road to Recovery. It's a slow process, the recovery from a C-section. I was afraid of moving. I fear (silly as it may seem) that the stitches would rupture and I'd see my intestines hanging out. I still have that fear to this day, actually; I have neither coughed nor sneezed since.
On that Thursday, all I did was lie down in bed. The only time the bed was raised to prop me up was when my sister, Jiji - to whom I'm deeply indebted for all that she had done for me throughout my pregnancy and my long stay at the labour ward and the early days of my motherhood - told me that I had to start expressing my milk and that it could only be done if I sat up. That was a great motivation in making me take my first few moves after the operation.
Friday. That day, the catheter was removed which meant that I had no choice but to go to the washroom should the urge arose.
A lactation consultant also came by and told me that I had to sit up if I were to breastfeed. I knew then that the time had come for me to sit up and get moving. With great difficulty, I raised the hospital bed. Ouh. The pain I felt around the incision area! I thought my stomach would be split into two. The lactation consultant helped to prop me up using pillows. Like I said earlier, giving birth takes away all sense of privacy. So does seeing a lactation consultant. She massaged my, erm, tiny little bumps this way and that, very much like how my favourite Roti Prata Mama kneads his dough.
Alhamdulillah. All praises be to Allah. Like what Marion told me before, God somehow compensates us who have small babies with a good milk supply. Amin.
My first step. When my husband came, I told him I needed to start walking. Well, it wasn't really walking. More like standing, taking one tiny step and sitting on the chair beside the bed. Alhamdulillah. I managed it without much difficulty.
I expressed some more milk but all I got was just 3 - 4 ml. I was a bit disappointed but as I managed to express almost 30ml the first time round, I figured that my milk just needed a bit more time getting made.
My first real test was coming soon. I needed to pee. The husband was away, performing his Friday prayers and the nurses did not respond to me pressing the button. The urgency was great and there was no more catheter. So, I stood up, gained my balance, clutched my stomach and hobbled and shuffled all the way to the common toilet.
Aiyoh! I felt so relieved and it was such a great achievement on my part. I was so darn proud of myself. (Not just for being able to walk that 10 metres or so to the toilet on my own, but also because I could use the common loo without hovering.)
I wanna see my Huda. The husband came back a while later and as I could already move about, I requested to see Huda at the NICU. It was about 3pm. He got a wheelchair for me and wheeled me to the NICU. Unfortunately, they have strict visiting hours and I wasn't allowed to see Huda. We begged with the nurses. We told the nurse that I had not seen my baby at all. To no avail. She did suggest that we come back at about 10 to 6. I was sobbing away as we left the NICU.
At 5.45pm, 15 minutes before visiting hours, we were already there but once again, we were denied entry. 6pm, they said. I really could not handle it! I was sobbing non-stop. I felt like they had robbed me of a chance to see my baby! How could they? The baby's mine. I wanna see her!
My husband tried to comfort me but well, there was no comforting me. I felt so rejected!
The hands of the clock slowed to a crawl and it eventually reached 12 and 6. It's time to see my baby!
When I saw her, the floodgates opened. I just could not stop crying. Tears of joy, relief, a tinge of sadness and all emotions rolled into one.
My baby Huda.
