There’s the old adage that life gets harder as you get older and this year it really lived up to that. This blog post is not meant to be a “poor me” sympathy piece, or a cry for help. There are far worse things going on in the world every day, compared to the year I’ve had so far. No. It’s catharsis. It’s a chance for me to get it out in some way, to share with those who aren’t entirely comfortable asking what happened and to store it somewhere so I can read it years from now and reflect. This is also a culmination. The last 7 years have been a mix of joy, sadness, trauma and endurance.
So let’s just set the scene.
If we could have done things as nature intended our first child would now be 7. As it happened, we fell into the unexplained fertility category, which means using IVF treatment. But first you have to be trying naturally for 2 years before you are considered eligible. After that, you then have to provide blood tests every 6 months for HIV and Hepatitis, and semen specimens. For my wife Megan, Clomid was the first assisted method, a pill which pumps your body full of hormones and chemicals to help the body release more eggs. Side effects are anxiety, mood swings and headaches. This didn’t work, so a dye was put into Megan’s Fallopian tubes to check for blockages.
After another scan, Megan also had a polyp removed from the wall of her uterus, just in case this was causing problems.
Then once the doctor has approved it, the IVF process starts. First off, a 4 hour seminar for all couples about to go on the regime. Then regular blood tests. Daily medication of Gonal F and Bucerelin via self-injection or nasal spray – the spray was always sold out, so Megan regularly dealt with self injection. On average, Megan was self-injecting 2 solutions each night, resulting in bruises around her waist from the needles. This is all so the IVF clinic can effectively control Megan’s menstrual cycle, right down to a 24 hour window when the chance for multiple egg collection is at its highest. This is achieved by regular visits for scans – which is a probe put inside her, to check the follicles are responding. This constant method of monitoring lasts over a week, and once the eggs are a good size, it ends with a trigger injection.
Next its a visit to the clinic for egg and sperm collection. In a room, I have to produce ejaculate into a small pot and leave for collection. This is mixed with the good eggs taken out of Megan, we then have to wait a tense 24 hours to see if any of them fertilised. If they did, we go back to the clinic for embryo transfer back in to Megan. Her bladder needs to be full for this. Embryo’s are fed back into the uterus via a long thin needle. For the next 70 days Megan needs to insert a solution into herself and keep mobile for 10 minutes in order to keep the womb shielded. After a nervous 2 weeks, Megan would take a pregnancy test.
We went through this process 3 times. First time nothing happened, 2nd attempt there was a positive pregnancy test but this ended in miscarriage a week or so later. It’s an endurance test to remain hopeful but at the same time be ready for bad news. Megan knew her medical number by heart. She left full time employment in order to make sure her body wasn’t subjected to the rigours of commuting and work. We couldn’t plan our lives more than 6 months ahead. Being around babies and toddlers was a constant reminder of how people take for granted that simple act of procreation. We were at the mercy of drugs, tests and the clinical, soft spoken atmosphere of a medical waiting room.
And then finally, good news, Megan fell pregnant!
Here is what happened at the birth..
For starters, Megan was 2 weeks late. This meant the birth plan was irrelevant, no water or natural birth, the baby would need to be induced.
On a Friday afternoon, November 16th, 2012 we arrived at Rosie Hospital. Megan had mild contractions, but didn’t really feel them, but baby was fine. Megan had already had 3 attempted sweeps – after number 4, her cervix was paper thin. Megan and I stayed on the ward, advised her to go for walks, we were waiting until 20:00 for an update, then faced a further wait until Midnight when we were moved up to the delivery room. This was followed by more baby heartbeat and contraction monitoring, but in the end at 1 am her waters had to be broken for her (manually by the midwife).
Megan started to get period-like pains, backache and water discharge 20 mins later, by 4 am a drip feed of oxytocin was applied (they had trouble finding a vein!)
By 5am she was vomiting, getting contractions, and using gas & air. This wasn’t enough so she had an Epidural at 8 am. Megan was fully dilated by 10.00, Started pushing at 11. She was instructed to stop pushing as still some remnant of the cervix was left.
They turned up the drip. By 12.45 the cervix had gone, baby’s head was rotating.
She started pushing again but no results. By 15.00 pm the decision was made for forceps delivery, we didn’t get to theatre until 16.30. They attempted Forceps then vontuse which did not work, so Megan was given an emergency c-section. By this point the effort it had all taken and the drugs administered had reduced Megan to a shivering wreck – lying on the operating table and unable to hold Jonah because she was shaking so uncontrollably.
Despite losing nearly 2 litres of blood, no transfusion was given. She was discharged 2 days later with iron pills. Unfortunately these reacted badly with Megan and caused major pain and a black inky discharge. After returning to the Rosie at 3 am, Megan was kept under observation in a private room for the next 18 hours with little or no communication on what the actual problem was. In the end she was evicted from the room and sent home with antibiotics. Days later the muscular stomach pain caused her to resort to tramadol and we slept downstairs mainly for quick access to the kitchen and downstairs loo. This turn of events is a common occurrence, but experiencing something like this will never leave me.
I turned 40 back in October 2014, and it was my aim by that age to have a job that I wouldn’t ever have to leave. Unfortunately, by February 2015 I decided this wasn’t to be the case so I started job hunting and by the end of March I had a new role. Even better was that it was based from home and more money, great timing as we had just our 2nd baby (more on this later). However, despite it being the right choice to leave my old job, moving from media sales to vendor sales was a massive reality bat in the face. This isn’t a sales blog, there are waaaayyyyy too many of those you can read online but I will say one thing. Be passionate about what you’re selling, it pays dividends. I know some sales people out there would defend this and say they could sell anything to anyone, but try this in the games industry. I learnt very quickly that we are a passionate, emotive but introvert bunch. It takes a different type of salesperson to build a rapport with people in the games industry and if the higher-ups don’t understand that then you’re already facing a challenge. I’m referencing my old job here, where the outgoing MD lived and breathed the games industry and the new person who took over just didn’t give a shit. Just wanted to see growth. And with the more recent new job – well, it just didn’t suit me enough.
Anyway, I’ve covered my business trials and tribs a bit too much here and I’m guessing you’re wondering why 2015 was so bad if all it featured was moving jobs.
Let’s wind the clock back again..
August 2014, and we find we are pregnant again, this time conceived naturally. We were surprised and couldn’t be happier, but wanted to make sure that we didn’t suffer the long drawn out process of Jonah’s birth again – so in October we asked for a planned c-section. Thankfully this was accepted and we were able to enjoy the next few months knowing it was all booked in for April 10th, 2015. However, Megan’s waters broke on the 18th March. Not knowing what to do next, we visited The Rosie and they confirmed this had definitely happened. However, a c-section at 35 weeks was something they were cautious about – too early for baby’s lungs apparently so they instructed us to wait a week. Not knowing this was very risky, Megan stayed in for 2 nights (supposed to be 1, but no doctor ever arrived to discharge her) and she came home on Friday March 20th with antibiotics to stave off infection and 1 week to wait until the c-section. On Sunday afternoon, she had a “show” and informed the hospital. She was told to keep an eye out for any other signs. By that evening, around 21.30, Megan felt some tightenings around the groin and lower back so decided to call back The Rosie. She was asked to take painkillers. Within 20 minutes of hanging up the phone, Megan was experiencing powerful contractions and we were forced to call 999. I was instructed to get Megan lying down in the middle of the room, legs open and to look for a head. The realisation was a sudden shock to me. Luckily 2 paramedics arrived swiftly, and it was clear the baby was coming soon and no rush to the hospital was possible – not even time for a mid-wife to come out. The mid-wife was called and put on speaker-phone but she was inaudible under Megan’s screams. Luckily Jonah slept through the whole thing. I called my parents and asked them to come over ASAP. 2 more paramedics arrived and after some pushing, changing positions, Polly was born in our front room, violently exiting from Megan and sliding into a paramedics arms, just before 11pm. The paramedic gave her to me, and told Megan she’d had “a bit of a tear”. Far from it, Megan was very badly injured and had just suffered a 3rd perineal degree tear up the front and a 4th degree up the back passage. It was so severe it had ripped her all the way from her uterus to sphincter muscle. I’ll never forget her sat there in our lounge, white as a sheet, feet soaked in blood, surrounded by empty air canisters and covered in blankets. She was taken to Harlow for assessment. A consultant was called in to inspect her. After causing more pain by having to feel around her wound he recommended she be sent to Cambridge to be looked at by specialists. She was taken to Cambridge a few hours later, eventually she had 2 operations – one to stitch her up, the other to reroute her bowel via keyhole surgery and have a stoma bag fitted to enable contamination-free healing inside the back passage.
The consultants hadn’t seen an injury this extreme in over a decade. She stayed at the hospital for a week, on the other side of the hospital from Polly. The events of that evening replay in my mind a lot; what if I’d decided to drive them to the hospital when contractions started? Why was this happening to us? First time round Megan couldn’t even hold Jonah, this time she couldn’t even see Polly and once we were out she wasn’t allowed to lift either of them. I got so emotional that day after Polly’s birth – seeing Megan laid up in a hospital bed, so badly injured and emaciated, but so overwhelmed by the support that I was getting. My sister dropped everything and drove straight from Worcestershire to join me, Megan’s sister-in law stayed all day with me at the hospital too. And my parents. Without them I would have struggled to look after Jonah whilst Megan was in hospital and they always came down for the numerous hospital trips that Megan had to do make whilst I was working.
Sometimes social media can give the wrong impression. I posted a picture of Polly, all wrapped up and a bit bruised when we were at the Harlow hospital in the early hours of her first morning. I said she’d been born in our front room. I think everyone assumed it had been planned, or went without too much stress but this was far from it. We’d suffered one of the most traumatic nights of our lives.
It’s now late 2015. Polly is a healthy baby and thankfully Megan was able to have the bag removed – she wasn’t allowed to lift for a while but we are finally on the road to being a happy, healthy normal family. And I’ve embarked on a new exciting career as a freelance sales manager. It made me realise that when something this drastic happens in your personal life, you actually take stock of everything else. Job, family, friends, commitments – you quickly find out what’s most important.
Having a best mate die is a hard thing to deal with. I’m sure a speak for a lot of people, but when they go as unexpected as Sam did it knocks you for six. I think we are prepared for grandparents or family friends with ailments to depart in a gradual and sad but expected manner – but when someone the same age is suddenly taken away from you, it’s a classic mixture of denial, anger, sadness and grief. I lost Sam in the Paddington train crash, 17 years ago today.
thatwasalex 