Bed, Birth & Beyond

I broke down again. I spent 18 months away from my friends and family. I did this to be with the person I love and he promised it would be different, he promised he would help out more, he promised he would be my emotional support since I would be away from my support network. We moved to a different state, but that may as well have been a different country, or a different planet.

The worst part is, I was a week pregnant when we moved. Facing this new challenge, I had to commit to my partner and this new life we were going to lead. The struggles of living with a spoilt mummas boy, the baby of the family. Let me tell you something, if they promise you they’ll be different, don’t listen because they don’t know how to be different. They have had their whole lives being tended to.

Working 38 hours a week, 3 hours travel time with a high risk pregnancy, and a partner who worked 18 hour days. I broke down often, I cried and pleaded for a change from someone who didn’t know how to provide emotional support when at the end or the day I just wanted to be home, I wanted my mum and dad to just hug me and say every little thing will be okay, instead I got a text message back 4 hours later saying ‘I will be home in a few hours babe.’

I would sit, crying, dying in agony thinking I had made the worst decision of my life. I am having a baby with someone who can’t provide support.

I woke up in blood. So much blood. I was 23 weeks pregnant, this can’t be happening it’s too soon. I called for my partner and he said he couldn’t get out of work, so I drove to the hospital bleeding. I parked a block away the car park was full at the hospital and I walked in. Not one person showed me sympathy, tears rolling down my face holding my pregnant stomach trying to find the maternity ward.

I get greeted with a doctor unapologetically voicing that if the baby comes now they won’t revive due to the foetus not being 26 weeks. Alone, suffering in agony and still bleeding now I’ve been given the worst news a maybe, soon to be mother could get and I’m doing it all alone.

I sat in hospital for 2 days before being released, I had no visitors no flowers and no one who cared about me.

Skip forward to the end or the pregnancy I would have experienced high risk hospital visits like this 2 more times. Alone.

The people that checked up on me the most were the girls from work. They all gushed over me when I attended the office on my first day back. Upper management however required the medical certificate and advised I didn’t have enough leave available to cover my unplanned hospital visit.

A milestone for my isolated pregnancy was reaching 34 weeks, if the pregnancy was to proceed into an early birth, the chance of my child making it out alive and healthy were high.

I woke up and proceeded to get ready for work as usual, I made toast with the jam I liked. I waddled to the car and drove 20 minutes to the Tran station, found a park and proceeded to the train stop. I luckily found a seat near a window and began my one and a half hour train ride to my work.

My favourite part of the train ride was crossing the Sydney harbour bridge, looking out over the water with the northern Sydney city skyline in the short distance and daydreaming about my goals for life.

The train reached three quarters of the bridge when I had a rushing wave feeling crash over me, every part of my skin started to sweat and butterflies ran all over my body. Everything became white in contras.

I walked through the station trying to weave through people holding my pregnant stomach, feeling disconnected from the world, unnoticed and in the way.

Once I made it to work, I advised my manager what happened and she ordered me an Uber to the hospital. I had a contraction. My baby wanted to make his entrance to the world, 6 weeks shy of his due date.

The midwives had successfully stopped my early birth, letting my little baby bake just a little longer.

This would be my final hospital visit before the official birth.

The final weeks saw torrential clashes between the soon to be father of my child and myself. We were pages apart with the complete opposite expectations on how parenthood should play out and what role to take.

In the final two weeks, an announcement was made to express concerns for corona virus and my maternity leave began with more isolation, this time from everything outside that was not essential.

Along with crying, anxiety and sadness, I had snacks and binge watching tv until my due date arrived and I was induced. Possibly the most painful, terrifying and memorable two days of my life.

The father of my child arrived late to the induction, he left the room nearly every hour to have a smoke and nearly missed the official birth due to getting food. Yet he stated he had to be there and my mum couldn’t be because it’s ‘a special moment for us.’

Having a baby does something crazy to you. Everything in the world doesn’t matter the way it used to before. It’s like every New Years resolution rolled into one. An abundance of overwhelming needs to fulfil, complete and improve your life with the actual push and reason to finish what you’ve started.

So I promised myself to always put myself first, I put my foot down and started doing more for myself and my baby. I spoke to the father of my child with respect and decided not to fight anymore. Expressing how I feel in a progressive manner rather than speaking from a place of hurt without accepting he was hurt as well.

We attended couples therapy for 4 sessions and focus on quality of life.

I guess that’s what we all forget to do, focus on health, and happiness.