So it's been a few months since my last post. Bubs is sleeping through most of the night but there's an interesting byproduct to all the sleep shinanigans that went on.
I'm a light sleeper. I wake up if a pin is dropped (albeit a really BIG pin dropped right near my head...onto something hollow). It turns out my daughter has inherited this from me which is not neccesarily a good thing. Within 10 minutes of both my wife and I going to bed, my daughter will be awake. More than that she'll call for me. She's able to say Mama, Dada or Daddy, and YaYa (what we call our helper). As I'm a light sleeper I was usually the one to respond to her crying in the night. My wife can usually sleep through it for a few minutes, whereas I'm up like a shot in the dark. So now my daughter associates night time with Daddy time! She's also figured out that if she cries I'll go to her. The moment I get to her she's all smiles, giggles and playful slapping of my face (another thing from her Mother....). The process of getting her back to sleep can take an hour, sometimes more. She'll go down, pretend she's sleeping then pop back up just as I get in to bed. All this may sound terribly cute - awwwwww, she's playing a game with you, she just wants more Daddy time! - but when it's 11pm on a school night I defy anyone to be overly chipper.
I'm now developing the talent of falling asleep at her crib, body slumped over, head hanging over the side, baby playing with my hair. I love my daughter to the moon, but it'd be nice if Dad could go to bed and stay there till morning. Having said that.... I do love to have secret quiet time with her, and it makes me laugh that she can now reach my feet or sometimes even my leg at the end of the bed then pinch it.
I am the Night Watchman. I don't care that I'm tired, I just care that my daughter is happy - always. Alright, bed time for me, or not, depends on her.
Monday 19 September 2011
Wednesday 22 June 2011
Sleep Training - My Arse!
Just a little follow-on from my last post, and taking the lead from my lovely wife and her blog (a link to which can be found on the left of this page), I'd like to declare myself firmly against sleep training. Sleep training can kiss my finely toned arse.
Allowing your baby to sit alone in their cot for any length of time while they scream at the top of their lungs because they think they're alone and because they really are almost completely helpless is heartless and cruel. I know parents will do it with the best of intentions and will feel terrible while doing it, but it's still cruel. It was cruel when my wife and I tried it one night. All I wanted to do was comfort my baby. I knew that if I went in there and comforted her she would be asleep within five to ten minutes. As it was, it took forty five minutes of constant screaming before she fell asleep. Neither my wife nor I felt accomplished or in any way validated. I felt like a shit. I felt like I'd failed as a father.
Given the choice between a slightly easier life, where I don't have to hold my little one until she falls asleep after a week or more where she has 'learned' she can fall asleep by herself, and a life where I may get less sleep or be on my feet for longer, I'll take the less sleep option please. My daughter is my priority, that means unless I'm about to fall unconcious from lack of sleep or back pain, unless my tiredness places her at risk, I'm comforting her and making sure she grows up knowing she is loved by her Mum and Dad, and that she is never, EVER alone.
Thank you. I shall put my pedestal away with my high horse now.
Allowing your baby to sit alone in their cot for any length of time while they scream at the top of their lungs because they think they're alone and because they really are almost completely helpless is heartless and cruel. I know parents will do it with the best of intentions and will feel terrible while doing it, but it's still cruel. It was cruel when my wife and I tried it one night. All I wanted to do was comfort my baby. I knew that if I went in there and comforted her she would be asleep within five to ten minutes. As it was, it took forty five minutes of constant screaming before she fell asleep. Neither my wife nor I felt accomplished or in any way validated. I felt like a shit. I felt like I'd failed as a father.
Given the choice between a slightly easier life, where I don't have to hold my little one until she falls asleep after a week or more where she has 'learned' she can fall asleep by herself, and a life where I may get less sleep or be on my feet for longer, I'll take the less sleep option please. My daughter is my priority, that means unless I'm about to fall unconcious from lack of sleep or back pain, unless my tiredness places her at risk, I'm comforting her and making sure she grows up knowing she is loved by her Mum and Dad, and that she is never, EVER alone.
Thank you. I shall put my pedestal away with my high horse now.
Baby Sleeps
I never thought I'd be one of those people that bitch and moan about how tired the are, and so far I'm still not! But only because I'm too bloody exhausted to do it. It's the one thing everyone tells you about before you have a baby, and it's one of the (many) things you hear people say that makes you want to shout obscenties in return (well I did - perhaps I was just overly tired at the time). Our baby is due soon you'd say, cue smug and all knowing smile:
"Enjoy sleeping while you can!", "Oh, you're in for some rough nights", "You know you'll never sleep through the night again".
Until recently I've been fortunate, Carys has slept very nicely only waking every couple of hours for a feed, and only once a night for any extended period of time. I say until recently because she seems to have unilaterally decided that she quite likes the night time and would very much like to be awake, thank you very much. I had baby sleeps all through the night on Monday. Baby sleeps, much like baby steps are small interims of sleep between bed time and morning. I was awake at 10pm, 11pm, 12am, 2am, 3am and finally 4:30am at which point I went and slept on the sofa because I needed more than an hour of sleep before I had to get up and work, at 6am. (I didn't abandon the baby by the way, my wife stayed with Carys and told me to go sleep on the sofa, which is the same as me deciding to do it). This has continued to happen the past few nights, only she wakes for HOURS not moments now. Which leads me to one important questions that all those people didn't answer while telling me how to enjoy my lack of sleep. What the fuck happened?! The answer is of course, there is no answer, it just happens and you have to roll with it. Tired or not.
Incidentally I was tired before this. What no one really mentioned (to me at least) was that even if you have an angelic baby who sleeps for hours at a time during the night and has random bouts of narcolepsy during the day, you'll still feel tired. It's not so much the missed sleep that makes you tired, it's the all work we do during the day that does it. That's what's really tiring, whether you're in an office or are a full time Mum, you'll have so many other things on the go you just feel exhausted. At the end of the day having a baby is tiring, emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually and any other way you can think of. You have to pour your life into theirs because they need you more than you need rest, food, sleep, relaxation, sex, friends, work, you name it. So I'm going to enjoy the baby sleeps while I can, I'll catch up on any missed sleep when Carys is a surly teenager and is embarassed by my slowly decaying existance, not to mention my naff jokes.
"Enjoy sleeping while you can!", "Oh, you're in for some rough nights", "You know you'll never sleep through the night again".
Until recently I've been fortunate, Carys has slept very nicely only waking every couple of hours for a feed, and only once a night for any extended period of time. I say until recently because she seems to have unilaterally decided that she quite likes the night time and would very much like to be awake, thank you very much. I had baby sleeps all through the night on Monday. Baby sleeps, much like baby steps are small interims of sleep between bed time and morning. I was awake at 10pm, 11pm, 12am, 2am, 3am and finally 4:30am at which point I went and slept on the sofa because I needed more than an hour of sleep before I had to get up and work, at 6am. (I didn't abandon the baby by the way, my wife stayed with Carys and told me to go sleep on the sofa, which is the same as me deciding to do it). This has continued to happen the past few nights, only she wakes for HOURS not moments now. Which leads me to one important questions that all those people didn't answer while telling me how to enjoy my lack of sleep. What the fuck happened?! The answer is of course, there is no answer, it just happens and you have to roll with it. Tired or not.
Incidentally I was tired before this. What no one really mentioned (to me at least) was that even if you have an angelic baby who sleeps for hours at a time during the night and has random bouts of narcolepsy during the day, you'll still feel tired. It's not so much the missed sleep that makes you tired, it's the all work we do during the day that does it. That's what's really tiring, whether you're in an office or are a full time Mum, you'll have so many other things on the go you just feel exhausted. At the end of the day having a baby is tiring, emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually and any other way you can think of. You have to pour your life into theirs because they need you more than you need rest, food, sleep, relaxation, sex, friends, work, you name it. So I'm going to enjoy the baby sleeps while I can, I'll catch up on any missed sleep when Carys is a surly teenager and is embarassed by my slowly decaying existance, not to mention my naff jokes.
Monday 16 May 2011
Temporal Parenting
I love sci-fi. I'm a huge geek, I watch Star Trek, Eureka, Stargate and many other science fictiony shows. I'm proud of my geekiness and hope to instill some of it in my daughter. One thing you notice if you wathc enough sci-fi is that no sci-fi series worth it's warp drive would leave out an episode or more dealing with a temporal distortion. The characters are usually accidentally hurled into another time after encountering a distortion in the space-time continuum. God forbid they should meet themselves or the universe could be torn asunder! I know what you're thinking. Exciting stuff!
Now before you slump into a catatonic state there is a reason I mention all of this. As a parent I find myself in an almost permanent temporal paradox. My baby is now 6 months old and all I can think is; "where the hell did the time go?!". I can't help having visions of her as a little girl, going to school, dance class (if she wants), getting older, becoming a teenager, getting a boyfriend, me beating the crap out the boyfriend, then her going to university, doing what we all did at uni, me putting my fingers in my ears and humming when I think of it or overhear her talking about it, her leaving home and having a life of her own. It's terrifying, only because I come to inevitable conclusion that she'll have to stop being a permanent fixture in my home and life. She'll become an independent, self sufficient woman (hopefully) and won't need me nearly as much. I love that I can hold my daughter in my arms and she feels secure enough to fall asleep there. It saddens me slightly, to think that she'll grow and no longer fit in the crook of my arms, that I won't be able to give her that same sense of peace and calm any longer.
It's not all bad though. I do have other, happier thoughts. I imagine how Carys will look as she grows, how she'll sound. What she'll be like as a teenager (awesome, intelligent with plenty of substance, none of this OMG crap.). I imagine her during her graduation, I wonder what she'll want to do. I try to imagine what she'll be like as she hits her 20s but I can't really conceive of that right now. She's still so little. And chubby.
As much as I live in the present with my daughter, every so often I'm catapulted into the future by my mind's very own temporal distortions. Much like the Scotty and his mates, I never know what to expect, all I can hope is that I don't screw things up completely for everyone.
Now before you slump into a catatonic state there is a reason I mention all of this. As a parent I find myself in an almost permanent temporal paradox. My baby is now 6 months old and all I can think is; "where the hell did the time go?!". I can't help having visions of her as a little girl, going to school, dance class (if she wants), getting older, becoming a teenager, getting a boyfriend, me beating the crap out the boyfriend, then her going to university, doing what we all did at uni, me putting my fingers in my ears and humming when I think of it or overhear her talking about it, her leaving home and having a life of her own. It's terrifying, only because I come to inevitable conclusion that she'll have to stop being a permanent fixture in my home and life. She'll become an independent, self sufficient woman (hopefully) and won't need me nearly as much. I love that I can hold my daughter in my arms and she feels secure enough to fall asleep there. It saddens me slightly, to think that she'll grow and no longer fit in the crook of my arms, that I won't be able to give her that same sense of peace and calm any longer.
It's not all bad though. I do have other, happier thoughts. I imagine how Carys will look as she grows, how she'll sound. What she'll be like as a teenager (awesome, intelligent with plenty of substance, none of this OMG crap.). I imagine her during her graduation, I wonder what she'll want to do. I try to imagine what she'll be like as she hits her 20s but I can't really conceive of that right now. She's still so little. And chubby.
As much as I live in the present with my daughter, every so often I'm catapulted into the future by my mind's very own temporal distortions. Much like the Scotty and his mates, I never know what to expect, all I can hope is that I don't screw things up completely for everyone.
Monday 14 March 2011
Baby Bonding
After Carys was born I was shell shocked. Stressed, tired and more than slightly fed up I was left to my own devices for three hours. Carys was placed in the NICU initially, then moved to the general observation. I was left outside the entrance to NICU as Carys was wheeled through. It was lunchtime so of course the nurses were swapping over. I sat outside the doors for a while, calling my parents, texting friends and trying to comprehend what had just happened to my wife not to mention thinking about my new daughter and how she might be doing. I remember having an enormous knot of tension in my stomach and an awful headache. I decided to do what many sensible people would do, I went for lunch.
A full stomach and many text messages later I was finally allowed in to see Carys. I didn't know what to expect. We're so primed to expect an enormous rush of love and affection. All the movies we see show joyously weeping mothers and fathers united in celebration. All the parenting or pregnancy books I read before the big day spoke of joy, happiness, fulfillment, contentment, and any number of other chipper, loving emotions. I don't remember any of them mentioning negative emotions. When the moment came to finally see my daughter I was excited, tired and nervous. I walked onto the ward, asked where my baby was, took a deep breath and walked in to see her in her little hot pod (incubator, but hot pod sounds so much more fun).
When I saw Carys for the first time I felt nothing. There was no up swell of emotion, I didn't cry. Being the good English boy I am I introduced myself, as my parents had taught me to do. I realise this may sound unbelievable or even heretical to many people, but it's the truth. Before you go stoking the pyres ready for the burning let me explain why I felt the way I did, or at least the best reasons I can come up with now that I've had time to sit and reflect on things.
For nearly nine months my baby was an abstract concept. I couldn't connect with her in the same way my wife did. I think I did as much as I could to bond with Carys. I massaged my wife's belly nearly every night, I felt Carys move, kick and punch. I saw her on the ultrasound and was always, always excited and happy to see her. I read to her from one of my favourite books, Nation by Terry Pratchett, I wanted her to know my voice and hear about a strong, independent young lady. I read about the different stages of pregnancy and how Carys was developing. I liked the comparisons of her developing size to different fruits. Despite knowing she was a blueberry, orange, grapefruit and so on, despite feeling her move about and despite seeing her grow, I just couldn't connect. Pregnancy was a very abstract process for me, and I'm sure it is for many men. The one book written for men that I read repeatedly said it was 'our' pregnancy. The author was just as involved in the pregnancy as his wife. While this is very commendable and new age of him, the word bullshit would always pop into my head whenever I read about 'their' pregnancy. I wasn't the one puking my guts up everyday, I wasn't the one whose back ached or feet killed, I wasn't the one carrying several pounds of extra weight around in front of them. This was Sher's pregnancy. My job was to keep her as happy and comfortable as possible, by keeping Sher comfortable I kept Carys comfortable. My priority was Sher. I couldn't connect with Carys because I spent most of my time worrying about Sher, and ironically, worrying about Carys. Pregnancy was a time of great happiness for us, new experiences and lots of laughs, but for me at least there was always an undercurrent of fear. I could connect with her later, first she had to arrive.
The other reason I couldn't connect was that I was stressed, tired and angry. I had just seen my wife violently cut open, my daughter blue and unresponsive and spent the better part of three hours wondering if my baby was alright. All I had felt for the passed three hours or more was negativity and fear. How could I connect with my baby girl with so much negativity raging inside me? I wanted to love my daughter. I wanted to feel something but it didn't happen. I sat with Carys on my lap for maybe half an hour, until she did a poo. I changed her with the help of a nurse and popped her back in her hot pod. Later on I fed her which was nice. But all the time I was numb and unemotive. I never said anything to my wife. That's not what you do. But I still told the truth, I said Carys was lovely and beautiful and that I was happy, because I was.
Now does all this mean I don't love my daughter? Not for a second. It just took me a while. It was a very organic process that involved lots of cuddles, kisses and dirty diapers. I only had five days of paternity leave, seven if you include the weekend. I spent all of four days with my daughter before having to go back to work. It took time to get to know her. If you ask me now do I love my daughter? Absolutely yes. I can't imagine my life without my daughter. I miss her the moment I walk out the door every morning. By lunchtime I'm ready to be home with her, cuddled up on the sofa. I love every little bit of her, and every moment spent with her. I'm excited at the thought of seeing her grow and experience the world. I can't wait to tell her just how amazing the world around her is. She's the most beautiful baby in the world (known fact). I couldn't have hoped for a more lovely, well tempered daughter. I love her to the moon and on to the ends of the universe. It just took a while.
A full stomach and many text messages later I was finally allowed in to see Carys. I didn't know what to expect. We're so primed to expect an enormous rush of love and affection. All the movies we see show joyously weeping mothers and fathers united in celebration. All the parenting or pregnancy books I read before the big day spoke of joy, happiness, fulfillment, contentment, and any number of other chipper, loving emotions. I don't remember any of them mentioning negative emotions. When the moment came to finally see my daughter I was excited, tired and nervous. I walked onto the ward, asked where my baby was, took a deep breath and walked in to see her in her little hot pod (incubator, but hot pod sounds so much more fun).
When I saw Carys for the first time I felt nothing. There was no up swell of emotion, I didn't cry. Being the good English boy I am I introduced myself, as my parents had taught me to do. I realise this may sound unbelievable or even heretical to many people, but it's the truth. Before you go stoking the pyres ready for the burning let me explain why I felt the way I did, or at least the best reasons I can come up with now that I've had time to sit and reflect on things.
For nearly nine months my baby was an abstract concept. I couldn't connect with her in the same way my wife did. I think I did as much as I could to bond with Carys. I massaged my wife's belly nearly every night, I felt Carys move, kick and punch. I saw her on the ultrasound and was always, always excited and happy to see her. I read to her from one of my favourite books, Nation by Terry Pratchett, I wanted her to know my voice and hear about a strong, independent young lady. I read about the different stages of pregnancy and how Carys was developing. I liked the comparisons of her developing size to different fruits. Despite knowing she was a blueberry, orange, grapefruit and so on, despite feeling her move about and despite seeing her grow, I just couldn't connect. Pregnancy was a very abstract process for me, and I'm sure it is for many men. The one book written for men that I read repeatedly said it was 'our' pregnancy. The author was just as involved in the pregnancy as his wife. While this is very commendable and new age of him, the word bullshit would always pop into my head whenever I read about 'their' pregnancy. I wasn't the one puking my guts up everyday, I wasn't the one whose back ached or feet killed, I wasn't the one carrying several pounds of extra weight around in front of them. This was Sher's pregnancy. My job was to keep her as happy and comfortable as possible, by keeping Sher comfortable I kept Carys comfortable. My priority was Sher. I couldn't connect with Carys because I spent most of my time worrying about Sher, and ironically, worrying about Carys. Pregnancy was a time of great happiness for us, new experiences and lots of laughs, but for me at least there was always an undercurrent of fear. I could connect with her later, first she had to arrive.
The other reason I couldn't connect was that I was stressed, tired and angry. I had just seen my wife violently cut open, my daughter blue and unresponsive and spent the better part of three hours wondering if my baby was alright. All I had felt for the passed three hours or more was negativity and fear. How could I connect with my baby girl with so much negativity raging inside me? I wanted to love my daughter. I wanted to feel something but it didn't happen. I sat with Carys on my lap for maybe half an hour, until she did a poo. I changed her with the help of a nurse and popped her back in her hot pod. Later on I fed her which was nice. But all the time I was numb and unemotive. I never said anything to my wife. That's not what you do. But I still told the truth, I said Carys was lovely and beautiful and that I was happy, because I was.
Now does all this mean I don't love my daughter? Not for a second. It just took me a while. It was a very organic process that involved lots of cuddles, kisses and dirty diapers. I only had five days of paternity leave, seven if you include the weekend. I spent all of four days with my daughter before having to go back to work. It took time to get to know her. If you ask me now do I love my daughter? Absolutely yes. I can't imagine my life without my daughter. I miss her the moment I walk out the door every morning. By lunchtime I'm ready to be home with her, cuddled up on the sofa. I love every little bit of her, and every moment spent with her. I'm excited at the thought of seeing her grow and experience the world. I can't wait to tell her just how amazing the world around her is. She's the most beautiful baby in the world (known fact). I couldn't have hoped for a more lovely, well tempered daughter. I love her to the moon and on to the ends of the universe. It just took a while.
Saturday 19 February 2011
Hurry up and wait.
The first time I saw my baby was terrifying. She was blue, covered with insidey juices and not breathing. The nurses pounded on Carys' feet like an Abu Ghraib interrogator. They suctioned out her little nose and mouth before pounding on her feet a little more. Finally, after what was no more than 30 seconds but felt like minutes, Carys gave a wee cry and her little body flushed bright red. It was a very quiet cry but it told everyone she was here.
I remember Sher asking me if everything was alright as they pounded on Carys'. I lied telling her it was fine they were just checking on things. It was awful. All the little thoughts that pop in your head every now and again while you're waiting for B'Day, the little thoughts that say something is going to go wrong seemed as though they were going to come true.
Thankfully they didn't and I now have what I know to be the most beautiful daughter in the world.
Unfortunately this was just one of a series of events that made the day of my daughter's arrival the most stressful and possibly unenjoyable day of my life. That fairytale Hollywood moment where the baby arrives and everyone is crying just didn't happen for me. If anything I wanted to cry out of frustration, anger and because of the God-awful stress headache I had. Many men have quite lovely birth experiences I'm sure. I can only attribute the terribleness of the day to having the birth in a Hong Kong public hospital. Cultural issues also crop up. Then irritate the crap out of you.
We were having a planned C-Section due to medical reasons. It was scheduled for the 17th of November. Maybe. They might decide to push the delivery to 3 days later to allow more time for the baby to develop. At this stage my wife was 38 weeks pregnant. Telling her she might be having the baby on the 17th made her feel like she might punch the doctor in the face. Repeatedly. Due to medical opinion or a sudden strong urge towards self-preservation the delivery was finally confirmed for the 17th.
The 17th rolled around. I turned up early to help in any way I could. We were scheduled for a 10am c-section. As Queen Mary is a public hospital I expected things would start late. 10am came and went, I sat outside the maternity ward waiting. And waiting. Because I'm a man and this is Hong Kong I'm not allowed on the maternity ward unless it's visiting hours. During the tour we had 2 weeks earlier we were told this was a cultural issue, Chinese women weren't comfortable with men being on the ward. At the time of the tour I thought this was fair enough. On the day of the delivery I couldn't care less what anyone was comfortable with, I wanted to be with my wife and our yet to be born baby because I knew she would probably be feeling immeasurably more nervous than I was. And I was bricking it.
I tried going onto the ward to see what was happening but was shushed out by the nurses. I was made to feel as welcome as a fart in a spacesuit. You'd think I was some sort of pervert who'd just waltzed in off the street to stare and breath very heavily at the (VERY few) breast feeding mums. I tried going in about three times to check on my wife. Each time I was shushed out. So I would return to sitting outside waiting for Sher. She eventually came out and joined me looking fabulous in a purple surgical gown, hair net and compression socks. We sat and waited together, making very strained small talk. By about 10:20 she was ready to kill someone, especially me. I can't remember what I did but I managed to piss her off. All she really wanted was the baby to be out, but more than that wanted someone, ANYONE to tell her what was going on. She eventually went back inside to wait. At 10:30 a nurse rolled up to Sher's bedside with a wheelchair and told her to hop in. They wheeled her past me and She told me to come along. I grabbed my overly heavy back (packed with laptop, power cord, camera, lenses, Kindle and various other bits and bobs) and ran after them, catching up at the lift. We rode up to the labour ward.
This is it I thought. Only it wasn't. As they wheeled her towards the operating theatre I was told get changed into surgical scubs. I knew I would have to do this, we were told on the tour, what I didn't know was that I would have to do it just a moment or two before my wife was to go in to the theatre. Surely, I thought, I would be given a few minutes. Apparently not. I fumbled about in the changing room. Do I put on the green or the purple scrubs? Where the fuck is the hair net?! Is there a lock on the locker or is that something I had to bring? Do I take my clothes off THEN put on the scrubs? Yes genius! Clothes off, scrubs on. Shoes.... surely there's something... AHA! Shoe covers. Slip them on..... bollocks, clearly designed with Asians in mind. My shoe covers rip as I wedge my obviously freakishly giant size 11s into them. Where do I put the key for the locker.... Bugger it, my wife is waiting.
I ran out of the changing room and down to the corridor outside operating theatre where Sher was waiting, now lying on a gurney. They were about to wheel her into the theatre to administer the epidural. There were about 5 or 6 people in a very small space. I could barely see Sher. I managed to weave in between nurses, give her smooch and tell her I'd see her in a minute. Just before they leave she has to hand over her iPod which she's been clutching throughout our wait upstairs. We had planned for her to listen to relaxing music and hypnosis during the delivery. Again this was something we were told during the tour. Apparently that's not allowed because the iPod could potentially cause an explosion in the theatre. The things you learn eh! I get the iPod and run off to put it in the locker. I run back and am told sit in the corridor and wait. No one had said anything about sitting on my arse in a corridor while they numb Sher from the neck down. It would have been nice to know. Not knowing that this was part of the normal procedure, that they didn't want the husband in the room because they were sticking an obscenely large needle into the wife's spine, made it very difficult to sit and not think of everything that might go wrong.
I was sat in the corridor for about 10 minutes by which time I needed to pee. I know what you're thinking, you should've gone before when you had the chance. Well I did, when I changed into the scrubs about 15 minutes earlier. Only I was hugely nervous and had been sat thinking about everything that could go wrong, before my thoughts inevitably wandered towards my bowels. What if I have to pee during the delivery? Wouldn't it be a pain in the arse if I had to pee right now. Sod's law I'll have to pee and they'll come out to get me. Lovely of them to have me sit right outside the entrance to the Doctors only toilet. I don't need to pee, I can wait, I can hold it, I'm a grown man damn it! Fuck I have to pee. I ran back to the changing room, whizzed, ran back to my seat. 2 minutes tops. What do I find when I get back. A nurse is waiting, "there you are, we've been waiting for you." Sod's law.
I walked in and they've already started the operation. I couldn't see anything because I didn't look. I don't think I'm squeamish but I have no desire to see my wife bleeding profusely or to see her insides, just call me old fashioned. I sat behind Sher's head on a metal stool, her body was screened off from view by a draped piece of material. Sher was literally strapped to the surgical table to prevent any movement. This was something we were warned about by a friend, but not by the hospital, and something that everyone should be prepared for. Sher was on a table, from what I could see, much like the ones they use for executions in the States. It looks like a very sinister Gumby.
On my left are heart rate and O2 monitors, on my right is the anesthetist. This was the second worst part of the day. It was not knowing what was going on, not being able to see what was happening and having absolutely no control over the situation. All I could do was sit and talk with Sher, try to keep her calm and relaxed. Natural conversation was out of the question. All I could see was my wife's body being violently jerked about as the doctors tried to get our baby out. Due to a medical condition the delivery wasn't easy. A specialist had been called in and at one point he told the other doctors to have a good look because they wouldn't see another case like this in 10 years. I remember this moment quite vividly because a doctor on either side of Sher grabbed a small step to stand on so they could see over their colleagues heads and peer into her. I remember 5 white hatted heads suddenly coming together to stare at my wife's insides.
My lasting memory of the delivery, aside from my baby crying quietly, is the beeping of the machines on my left. I couldn't stop looking at them. At one point Sher's heart rate dipped into the 60s, much slower than at any other part of the operation. Her eyes were closed and I really thought she must be hemorrhaging and about to slip into unconsciousness. Just for a second someone had dumped a truck full of ice into my stomach. It turns out Sher had just taken a deep breath and held it for a moment. I blame E.R. and Grey's Anatomy (which my wife cruelly subjects me to) for my hyper sensitiveness in the OR (I got the lingo!). One of the saving graces of the delivery was the anesthetist, a Kiwi born Chinese guy who told us what was happening behind the screen. He kept us calm and chatted away with us. I can't thank him enough for helping us.
Once they started closing Sher up I was asked to leave. I was told our baby would be in the NICU for observation and Sher would be in recovery for several hours. All fine with me. I was happy to get out and really eager/curious to meet my baby. I changed and came out to see my baby. Here's the where the number 1 worst part of the day happened. It's the source of almost all my negative feelings towards the day and the hospital. I was, once again, shushed out of the labour ward because I'm a man and my wife was no longer giving birth. I immediately went upstairs to the NICU so I could see my baby. I pressed the buzzer and asked to come in. They asked me for the mother's name, I told them. They responded by saying "sorry, your baby not yet here" and buzzed off. I went back down to the labour ward trying not to panic and trying not to hurt someone. I was angry.
I had to wait for a doctor or orderly to go inside the labour ward before I could get in. It was 5 minutes before I finally got in. Immediately I was set upon by a nurse telling me to wait outside, I wasn't allowed in there. I asked where my baby was and was again told she would be taken upstairs, the doctors were checking her over. I was shushed out of the ward and stood glaring through the tinted windows. I waited. And waited. And waited. No baby. No nurse to tell me where baby was. Given that I had just seen my baby being delivered blue and unresponsive I think you can imagine what I began to think. You can't get onto the labour ward without a security pass so I had no way of going inside to ask what was happening. After 10 minutes of waiting and glaring through the window a nurse came out and told me my baby was breast feeding as we had requested. Would it have killed her to tell me that sooner? How much energy would it have taken, how much thought or presence of mind might it have taken?
It was another half hour before they finally wheeled my baby out in an incubator. I rode up in the lift and was about to walk into the NICU with her when I was told.... wait for it.... I couldn't! They were changing shifts, I would have to wait 3, count them, 3 hours before I could be with my baby. I do wonder if the doctors and nurses have actually read up on bonding between parents and children. I had seen my daughter for a total of 3 minutes and now I was going to have to wait 3 hours. All I wanted was to sit with her and make sure she was alright, but I couldn't.
I've never felt so helpless or angry in my life. Everything I thought the birth would was wrong. From the first moment the birth, for me at least, was filled with stress, anxiety and anger. When I finally did get to spend time with my daughter those feelings were still very much there and I believe they contributed to my feeling very little else when I first met my daughter.
Now this is a very long posting. A bit of a vent for me as I haven't been able to with anyone up until now. What I want anyone who reads this to take away from my experience is that your expectations may not be met. You're in a working hospital which caters to thousands of people everyday. The medical care my wife and baby received was of the highest level. I can't fault them for that. What made the delivery day, and the day's following it so stressful was the inexcusable lack of communication. No one told you anything unless you asked or in most cases got in the way and caused a bit of a ruckus. You are left in an information vacuum. Every negative association I have with that day, EVERYTHING, can be attributed to poor communication. Had I just been told somethings I wouldn't have had to sit and worry. I wouldn't have thought my baby was dead and being frantically resuscitated by the doctors, I wouldn't have thought there was some sort of mistake and my baby had been lost in the system.
I'm a patient, level headed person, had someone given me a moment of their time and few words of information I wouldn't have had to get in the way of the nurses doing their jobs, I wouldn't have had to be an asshole. I would have been able to sit and wait patiently for hours on end waiting for the most important meeting in my life.
I remember Sher asking me if everything was alright as they pounded on Carys'. I lied telling her it was fine they were just checking on things. It was awful. All the little thoughts that pop in your head every now and again while you're waiting for B'Day, the little thoughts that say something is going to go wrong seemed as though they were going to come true.
Thankfully they didn't and I now have what I know to be the most beautiful daughter in the world.
Unfortunately this was just one of a series of events that made the day of my daughter's arrival the most stressful and possibly unenjoyable day of my life. That fairytale Hollywood moment where the baby arrives and everyone is crying just didn't happen for me. If anything I wanted to cry out of frustration, anger and because of the God-awful stress headache I had. Many men have quite lovely birth experiences I'm sure. I can only attribute the terribleness of the day to having the birth in a Hong Kong public hospital. Cultural issues also crop up. Then irritate the crap out of you.
We were having a planned C-Section due to medical reasons. It was scheduled for the 17th of November. Maybe. They might decide to push the delivery to 3 days later to allow more time for the baby to develop. At this stage my wife was 38 weeks pregnant. Telling her she might be having the baby on the 17th made her feel like she might punch the doctor in the face. Repeatedly. Due to medical opinion or a sudden strong urge towards self-preservation the delivery was finally confirmed for the 17th.
The 17th rolled around. I turned up early to help in any way I could. We were scheduled for a 10am c-section. As Queen Mary is a public hospital I expected things would start late. 10am came and went, I sat outside the maternity ward waiting. And waiting. Because I'm a man and this is Hong Kong I'm not allowed on the maternity ward unless it's visiting hours. During the tour we had 2 weeks earlier we were told this was a cultural issue, Chinese women weren't comfortable with men being on the ward. At the time of the tour I thought this was fair enough. On the day of the delivery I couldn't care less what anyone was comfortable with, I wanted to be with my wife and our yet to be born baby because I knew she would probably be feeling immeasurably more nervous than I was. And I was bricking it.
I tried going onto the ward to see what was happening but was shushed out by the nurses. I was made to feel as welcome as a fart in a spacesuit. You'd think I was some sort of pervert who'd just waltzed in off the street to stare and breath very heavily at the (VERY few) breast feeding mums. I tried going in about three times to check on my wife. Each time I was shushed out. So I would return to sitting outside waiting for Sher. She eventually came out and joined me looking fabulous in a purple surgical gown, hair net and compression socks. We sat and waited together, making very strained small talk. By about 10:20 she was ready to kill someone, especially me. I can't remember what I did but I managed to piss her off. All she really wanted was the baby to be out, but more than that wanted someone, ANYONE to tell her what was going on. She eventually went back inside to wait. At 10:30 a nurse rolled up to Sher's bedside with a wheelchair and told her to hop in. They wheeled her past me and She told me to come along. I grabbed my overly heavy back (packed with laptop, power cord, camera, lenses, Kindle and various other bits and bobs) and ran after them, catching up at the lift. We rode up to the labour ward.
This is it I thought. Only it wasn't. As they wheeled her towards the operating theatre I was told get changed into surgical scubs. I knew I would have to do this, we were told on the tour, what I didn't know was that I would have to do it just a moment or two before my wife was to go in to the theatre. Surely, I thought, I would be given a few minutes. Apparently not. I fumbled about in the changing room. Do I put on the green or the purple scrubs? Where the fuck is the hair net?! Is there a lock on the locker or is that something I had to bring? Do I take my clothes off THEN put on the scrubs? Yes genius! Clothes off, scrubs on. Shoes.... surely there's something... AHA! Shoe covers. Slip them on..... bollocks, clearly designed with Asians in mind. My shoe covers rip as I wedge my obviously freakishly giant size 11s into them. Where do I put the key for the locker.... Bugger it, my wife is waiting.
I ran out of the changing room and down to the corridor outside operating theatre where Sher was waiting, now lying on a gurney. They were about to wheel her into the theatre to administer the epidural. There were about 5 or 6 people in a very small space. I could barely see Sher. I managed to weave in between nurses, give her smooch and tell her I'd see her in a minute. Just before they leave she has to hand over her iPod which she's been clutching throughout our wait upstairs. We had planned for her to listen to relaxing music and hypnosis during the delivery. Again this was something we were told during the tour. Apparently that's not allowed because the iPod could potentially cause an explosion in the theatre. The things you learn eh! I get the iPod and run off to put it in the locker. I run back and am told sit in the corridor and wait. No one had said anything about sitting on my arse in a corridor while they numb Sher from the neck down. It would have been nice to know. Not knowing that this was part of the normal procedure, that they didn't want the husband in the room because they were sticking an obscenely large needle into the wife's spine, made it very difficult to sit and not think of everything that might go wrong.
I was sat in the corridor for about 10 minutes by which time I needed to pee. I know what you're thinking, you should've gone before when you had the chance. Well I did, when I changed into the scrubs about 15 minutes earlier. Only I was hugely nervous and had been sat thinking about everything that could go wrong, before my thoughts inevitably wandered towards my bowels. What if I have to pee during the delivery? Wouldn't it be a pain in the arse if I had to pee right now. Sod's law I'll have to pee and they'll come out to get me. Lovely of them to have me sit right outside the entrance to the Doctors only toilet. I don't need to pee, I can wait, I can hold it, I'm a grown man damn it! Fuck I have to pee. I ran back to the changing room, whizzed, ran back to my seat. 2 minutes tops. What do I find when I get back. A nurse is waiting, "there you are, we've been waiting for you." Sod's law.
I walked in and they've already started the operation. I couldn't see anything because I didn't look. I don't think I'm squeamish but I have no desire to see my wife bleeding profusely or to see her insides, just call me old fashioned. I sat behind Sher's head on a metal stool, her body was screened off from view by a draped piece of material. Sher was literally strapped to the surgical table to prevent any movement. This was something we were warned about by a friend, but not by the hospital, and something that everyone should be prepared for. Sher was on a table, from what I could see, much like the ones they use for executions in the States. It looks like a very sinister Gumby.
On my left are heart rate and O2 monitors, on my right is the anesthetist. This was the second worst part of the day. It was not knowing what was going on, not being able to see what was happening and having absolutely no control over the situation. All I could do was sit and talk with Sher, try to keep her calm and relaxed. Natural conversation was out of the question. All I could see was my wife's body being violently jerked about as the doctors tried to get our baby out. Due to a medical condition the delivery wasn't easy. A specialist had been called in and at one point he told the other doctors to have a good look because they wouldn't see another case like this in 10 years. I remember this moment quite vividly because a doctor on either side of Sher grabbed a small step to stand on so they could see over their colleagues heads and peer into her. I remember 5 white hatted heads suddenly coming together to stare at my wife's insides.
My lasting memory of the delivery, aside from my baby crying quietly, is the beeping of the machines on my left. I couldn't stop looking at them. At one point Sher's heart rate dipped into the 60s, much slower than at any other part of the operation. Her eyes were closed and I really thought she must be hemorrhaging and about to slip into unconsciousness. Just for a second someone had dumped a truck full of ice into my stomach. It turns out Sher had just taken a deep breath and held it for a moment. I blame E.R. and Grey's Anatomy (which my wife cruelly subjects me to) for my hyper sensitiveness in the OR (I got the lingo!). One of the saving graces of the delivery was the anesthetist, a Kiwi born Chinese guy who told us what was happening behind the screen. He kept us calm and chatted away with us. I can't thank him enough for helping us.
Once they started closing Sher up I was asked to leave. I was told our baby would be in the NICU for observation and Sher would be in recovery for several hours. All fine with me. I was happy to get out and really eager/curious to meet my baby. I changed and came out to see my baby. Here's the where the number 1 worst part of the day happened. It's the source of almost all my negative feelings towards the day and the hospital. I was, once again, shushed out of the labour ward because I'm a man and my wife was no longer giving birth. I immediately went upstairs to the NICU so I could see my baby. I pressed the buzzer and asked to come in. They asked me for the mother's name, I told them. They responded by saying "sorry, your baby not yet here" and buzzed off. I went back down to the labour ward trying not to panic and trying not to hurt someone. I was angry.
I had to wait for a doctor or orderly to go inside the labour ward before I could get in. It was 5 minutes before I finally got in. Immediately I was set upon by a nurse telling me to wait outside, I wasn't allowed in there. I asked where my baby was and was again told she would be taken upstairs, the doctors were checking her over. I was shushed out of the ward and stood glaring through the tinted windows. I waited. And waited. And waited. No baby. No nurse to tell me where baby was. Given that I had just seen my baby being delivered blue and unresponsive I think you can imagine what I began to think. You can't get onto the labour ward without a security pass so I had no way of going inside to ask what was happening. After 10 minutes of waiting and glaring through the window a nurse came out and told me my baby was breast feeding as we had requested. Would it have killed her to tell me that sooner? How much energy would it have taken, how much thought or presence of mind might it have taken?
It was another half hour before they finally wheeled my baby out in an incubator. I rode up in the lift and was about to walk into the NICU with her when I was told.... wait for it.... I couldn't! They were changing shifts, I would have to wait 3, count them, 3 hours before I could be with my baby. I do wonder if the doctors and nurses have actually read up on bonding between parents and children. I had seen my daughter for a total of 3 minutes and now I was going to have to wait 3 hours. All I wanted was to sit with her and make sure she was alright, but I couldn't.
I've never felt so helpless or angry in my life. Everything I thought the birth would was wrong. From the first moment the birth, for me at least, was filled with stress, anxiety and anger. When I finally did get to spend time with my daughter those feelings were still very much there and I believe they contributed to my feeling very little else when I first met my daughter.
Now this is a very long posting. A bit of a vent for me as I haven't been able to with anyone up until now. What I want anyone who reads this to take away from my experience is that your expectations may not be met. You're in a working hospital which caters to thousands of people everyday. The medical care my wife and baby received was of the highest level. I can't fault them for that. What made the delivery day, and the day's following it so stressful was the inexcusable lack of communication. No one told you anything unless you asked or in most cases got in the way and caused a bit of a ruckus. You are left in an information vacuum. Every negative association I have with that day, EVERYTHING, can be attributed to poor communication. Had I just been told somethings I wouldn't have had to sit and worry. I wouldn't have thought my baby was dead and being frantically resuscitated by the doctors, I wouldn't have thought there was some sort of mistake and my baby had been lost in the system.
I'm a patient, level headed person, had someone given me a moment of their time and few words of information I wouldn't have had to get in the way of the nurses doing their jobs, I wouldn't have had to be an asshole. I would have been able to sit and wait patiently for hours on end waiting for the most important meeting in my life.
Wednesday 2 February 2011
Read this... or don't
I'm a baby daddy and have been for 11 weeks now. I change diapers, I feed little bubs, I burp and change her. I'm as involved as I can be without breasts or a moob. For those who don't know what this is, it's a fake man-boob used by some men to feed a baby in a more 'natural' way. My wife threatens to buy me one every now and again.
The trouble is it took me a few weeks to get to the stage where I can say I unconditionally love my daughter and will do anything for her. I had to get past a stage of anxiety and feeling totally alien in my own home, adjusting to a totally new life. I'll give you a run down of how my life as a papa started. I'll tell you things that people just don't tell you because it might put you off being a parent (as if you somehow have a choice about being a parent once you're partner is pregnant). There seem to be an extraordinary number of taboo things that you just mustn't say to someone when they're expecting a baby. These are things that, generally speaking, aren't in any of the millions of books about pregnancy and parenting.
The thing is these are all things that I wanted to know, they are things that make me feel as though I'm normal and going through normal parenting feelings and anxieties. So I'm going to say some of these things in the hope that you read this and pass it on to someone, hopefully an expectant dad because there is a so little out there for expectant dad's to read, so they have a little more info for fatherhood. Parents to be need to know that as well as being a wonderous, emotional and exciting experience, parenting can also be incredibly shitty too. You're fed so much positive crap when your partner is pregnant that when you're left alone at home covered in baby barf, desperately clinging to a screaming, wiggling demon child you can't help but think that either you're a terrible father or someone lied to you. Big time.
You should also tell whoever you send this to that they don't have to read this at all. God knows the one thing people expecting a child hate more than morning sickness or doctor's bills is well meaning advice from others.
The trouble is it took me a few weeks to get to the stage where I can say I unconditionally love my daughter and will do anything for her. I had to get past a stage of anxiety and feeling totally alien in my own home, adjusting to a totally new life. I'll give you a run down of how my life as a papa started. I'll tell you things that people just don't tell you because it might put you off being a parent (as if you somehow have a choice about being a parent once you're partner is pregnant). There seem to be an extraordinary number of taboo things that you just mustn't say to someone when they're expecting a baby. These are things that, generally speaking, aren't in any of the millions of books about pregnancy and parenting.
The thing is these are all things that I wanted to know, they are things that make me feel as though I'm normal and going through normal parenting feelings and anxieties. So I'm going to say some of these things in the hope that you read this and pass it on to someone, hopefully an expectant dad because there is a so little out there for expectant dad's to read, so they have a little more info for fatherhood. Parents to be need to know that as well as being a wonderous, emotional and exciting experience, parenting can also be incredibly shitty too. You're fed so much positive crap when your partner is pregnant that when you're left alone at home covered in baby barf, desperately clinging to a screaming, wiggling demon child you can't help but think that either you're a terrible father or someone lied to you. Big time.
You should also tell whoever you send this to that they don't have to read this at all. God knows the one thing people expecting a child hate more than morning sickness or doctor's bills is well meaning advice from others.
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