The bittersweet decision to cease breastfeeding

I always knew I wanted to breastfeed when I had children and my stubborn desire to do so was the only way I was successful. Breastfeeding with my son had a very difficult start, as I've mentioned in a previous post, and I could easily have switched to formula if it hadn't been for my excessive determination. My success at breastfeeding has been such a positive in what has been a difficult year, heightened when a health visitor (who has the role of breastfeeding specialist),  told her trainees just how impressed she was with me, that it was an extraordinary feat for me to be exclusively breastfeeding after the complications I experienced during the birth.
So the fact that I have breastfed my son for over a year, is something I am immensely proud of.

I am one of the least judgemental people, I do not intend on telling anyone what they should or should not do in any area of their own lives.  I believe every mother can make their own decisions in whether or not they choose to breastfeed, it is a very personal choice that should suit each individual mother. My initial and ongoing experience of breastfeeding was, at times, incredibly stressful and I could go as far as to say a contribution to my postnatal depression, it was definitely a factor involved in my sleepless nights and it was the reason I could not go out socially in the evenings for a very long time.

So if I start from the beginning. My first attempt at nursing my son was when he was literally minutes old. The health professionals had delivered my baby, stitched me up and dealt with the first massive haemorrhage I had. After all that drama they left the room and let us have our first experience as a family of 3 and I decided to take an inexperienced shot at nursing. I had not a clue what I was doing and just placed my son near my boob and hoped he would figure it out. To my amazement he did! I had no way of knowing whether he was getting anything but he seemed to be doing the right action. It was during this feed though that I felt a pressure, not dissimilar to the pressure I had experienced during labour. It was another haemorrhage, enough to take me over the edge, a significant loss of blood that I would require blood transfusions and to drop my blood pressure so low I was on flat bed rest for over 24 hours having my observations taken every 15 minutes.

In hospital I got absolutely no guidance with breastfeeding,  I had no idea if my son was getting the good stuff or not. I was not told in hospital that my experience would be affecting my milk supply. Being on the high dependency unit their focus was me not my newborn. They were even encouraging me to allow them to top him up with formula so I could get some much needed rest. I refused.

A few days at home and I was getting upset because my son was asking to feed ALL the time day and night, he was very frustrated and I was feeling very sore. I very nearly caved, holding a bottle of prepared formula, but I did not give it to him. The Midwives at my 10 day check felt his feeding was excessive and suggested some expert advice. We  went to the breastfeeding clinic and spent 1 hour being hysterical. They were doing their best to help, trying to teach me how to get him to latch properly, explaining he was not feeding because he was not taking long enough sucks but lots of little ones.  On reflection this is probably because I wasn't producing enough for him (which is actually very unusual and something mothers believe is happening when it is not). However shortly after that my milk supply did come in and nursing began to work well.

I gained so much confidence, I picked subtle tops and nursed in public regularly. I only ever had one negative experience in public and even then it was only a look and not a nasty comment. My son, after an initial drop in weight, has gained weight really well. He started on the 75th centile, dropped to the 50th and then gradually worked his way up to the 91st centile!! The health visitors are happy with him.
My son took to breastfeeding so well that he refused milk in any other way. For months and months we tried to get him to take expressed milk and even formula from almost every brand of bottle in existence. We never really succeeded. I missed out on many social events including a friends wedding for this reason. I never got any me time.

Night time and a serious sleep deprivation, regular night feeds, my partner not being able to help with this, and comfort feeding (it took me a fair while to realise the difference). Breastfeeding was one of several factors that led to a "bad sleeper".

Then there was the agony of mastitis. A blocked milk duct. My first experience of this was over the Christmas period. Red, hot, solid, tearfully painful boob, high temperatures and feeling rough, just what I wanted at Christmas time when the GP surgeries are closed. Nursing on that boob (which is encouraged) was excruciating and eventually I had to get an out of hours appointment on a bank holiday, down at the hospital for antibiotics. Fortunately I never got it like that again,  I recognised the signs early, and on 2 future occasions self managed the problem.

When I was diagnosed with PND, I was prescribed antidepressants. This, I was told, had a risk of side effects to my son due to being breastfed. My GP encouraged me to stop breastfeeding. I refused to stop and so I refused to take them initially due to the risks to my little boy. Once my son was feeding less frequently I started on a very small dose but continued to refuse to up my dose as prescribed. My GP clearly felt I needed to up my dose for my recovery but breastfeeding meant that morally I couldn't,  I was putting my son first.

Much of what I have written seems negative and not great for selling the benefits of breastfeeding, plus I have already suggested that my choice contributed to my post natal depression so why did I continue feeding for over a year? Because I LOVED breastfeeding! Despite all the significant hurdles we had to get over, I would not go back and change my decision.  Stopping breastfeeding would have been more of a contributory factor in my PND than continuing. During a year that I was feeling like a failing mother, my success at breastfeeding my son was something I was most proud of. Many mothers with PND report a lack of bond with their baby, this was far from how I felt, breastfeeding gave us the most amazing bond, I loved our closeness,  I loved knowing I was giving him a great start in life in terms of nutrition, immunity and all the other many benefits of nursing. My health visitor confirmed my suspicions and reluctance to stop by citing research that showed depression worsens in those women who cease nursing before they feel ready.
Before I had my son I decided I wanted to aim to breastfeed for 6 months, 1 year later and I now feel ready to switch my son onto cows milk. I knew with my son that this would be challenging based on our bottle experience but we have slowly been introducing cows milk since 10 months under the guidance of my health visitor to ease the transition once I chose to make it. Today is the 4th day that I have not breastfed. It is a bittersweet feeling. I already miss it, especially our bedtime routine and actually having boobs. But I was ready, my decision has not affected my mood, I was able to attend my best friends 30th birthday night out and now I can up my antidepressant medication to the dosage my GP has recommended without any worries that they will affect my son. I can take the next step in my recovery.

Don't take simple things for granted

Just for fun I thought I would compile a list (with contributions from the ither yummy munmies), of all the things in life that, had I known, I would have made to most of or not taken for granted before I had my son. Take note all those of you who plan to have children.

1. Sleep!!!!!! You will never know what tiredness is until you are chronically sleep deprived. You may be lucky and have a good sleeper but not everyone is that fortunate. 
2. Peeing in peace
3. Hot meals. Being able to eat your dinner as soon as it is served, not having to feed anyone else first,  being able to eat all the food on "YOUR" plate and eating in peace
4. Casual cooking. I spend an hour each day trying to multitask cooking and entertaining. He suddenly wants more attention than normal. I'm organising dinner with him in my arms, or attached to my leg.  I am taking him to the other side of them room, setting off a toy and running back across the room knowing I have just enough time to safely check the hot contents of the oven before delicate hands appear again.
5. A hot cup of tea. A HOT cup of tea no longer exists. Either you don't have time to drink it whilst it's hot or you have your baby sat on you/nursing meaning you're unable to drink it for fear of them grabbing it.
6. Sitting down for 5 minutes
7. "Popping" to the shop. There is no popping, you can't leave your little one in the car, you have to park up, get the buggy out, bundle up you're bubba just to spend 2 minutes buying some milk and then folding up the buggy, getting their coat off and getting  them strapped in again. Or "nipping" into town doesn't work either,  allow an additional hour for mission in to the nearest baby change for an explosive nappy change and then to a breastfeeding room (if you're lucky enough to have one of those locally) or traipsing around looking for a subtle seat in a cafe but not before you gone and purchased an unneeded beverage because your baby is screaming for a feed even though you gave them a feed just before you left to avoid exactly this.
8. On that note, not having to organise everything around feeds, naps and nappy changes.
9. Being able to walk straight into a shop carefree, without having to battle with opening doors to fit the the buggy through and constantly bumping into rails and dragging merchandise off the shelves with said buggy (although the plus side is using the buggy to carry shopping on).
10. Having to make sure your petrol pump is a 'pay at pump' because you don't feel comfortable leaving your baby in the car whilst you pay but lugging them in to pay is an effort.
11. Social skills, such as keeping quietly to yourself on public transport or in a restaurant.  Babies like to stare at everyone meaning you have to talk to that stranger they are fixated with can sometimes be awkward.
12. Wearing clean clothes. That being anything not covered in sick, snot, food, calpol.
13. Buying and wearing figure flattering clothes, coz man oh man does that jelly belly hang around.
14. Wearing any clothes you want without having to think "can I breastfeed in it".
15. Wearing your hair down. Wearing your hair down is an invitation to your baby to pull chunks of it out with their sticky hand or suck on your hair. Saying that wearing your hair up doesn't completely solve the problem, they'll still find those little bits of hair by your neck to tug and man does that hurt.
16. Wearing your favourite necklace, for the same reasons as above. 
17. Wearing your glasses. Babies are fascinated by beards and glasses. Babies think it's hilarious to grab them off your face at any time or situation, rendering you blind.
18. Enjoying a relaxing bath or shower
19. Being able to snuggle up to your other half and watch a movie. 
20. Space in your house! Babies are small but they come with a ton of stuff. You take your life in your own hands just crossing the living room, with regular cursing when you stand with your bare feet on the most jaged of toys because your floor is totally covered in them. 
21. Making your way through the toy jungle with at best a human lap dog and at worst a sobbing toddler attached to your leg.
22. Being able to put your electricals down where ever you want without risking coming back to a broken screen or your phone being set to Chinese.
23. Being able to own a small, fuel efficient car
24. Just having space in your car boot even if you already own a bigger car.
25. Being able to just nip away for the night without having to pack the whole house up to take with you.
26. Long journeys taking the minimum amount of time to drive because you don't have to schedule breaks for every 2 hours plus the unplanned poo stop.
27. Just owning nice, undestroyed stuff
28. Clean carpets, not covered in milk puke

My partners additions from a man's perspective was:

1. Being able to safely leave electricals and remote controls anywhere.
2. Untidy wiring. Having to sort out all wires so they're hidden from sight because they are so tempting for a bubba.
3. Getting sympathy, because now that I've had a baby he will "never know what true pain is".

How has it been a year?!

Last Wednesday night at 9.30pm I was sat in bed by myself, smiling and crying, remembering the events of exactly a year ago to the minute, the birth of my gorgeous son. How do I have a one year old?! Where has that time gone?

I have spent the last month preparing for his birthday, arranging his party,  wrapping presents, baking a suitably smashable cake and organising a trip for his actual birthday. I was actually quite excited about his birthday and my partner voiced that he was too. However the feeling was bittersweet. I no longer had a baby, he is a toddler now and the day before his birthday was my very first day back at work. My son's first birthday was exciting but also filled me with dread and a tinge of sadness.

Despite a cold, my son had a fantastic party, with lots of important people in his life.  I managed to enjoy the party after the initial stress of setting up,  cooking etc. He was a very fortunate little boy, so many amazing presents from generous friends and family.
His actual birthday was a complete success too. We opened all his amazing gifts whilst all relaxing in our pj's and dressing gowns, then we went to a local interactive farm we hadn't visited before, where my son can stroke the animals which he really enjoyed, had a lovely lunch (we ordered a child's meal for the first time) and made the most of the soft play area. My son had taken his first steps 2 days earlier so we utilised the soft landing space. Then once home we did a cake smash and filled up on pizza. It was a perfect family day together.

My partner went out that evening, as organised, once my son was fast asleep. This gave me alone time to reflect on the amazing year that he has supported me to have with my wonderful little boy and to think back on that traumatic birth. It would have been nice to have jointly reflected but it was also nice to be honest in my own head about what I went through and the last year. And although it has not been an easy year, there has definitely been more good than bad, or at least that's how I will remember it and I can honestly say I would do it all again for my favourite little person. Unconditional love.

The dreaded return to work

Returning to work after maternity leave is a tough time for most parents. It has just been you and your baby for many months and then you have to start being even more organised and you have to leave your child with strangers for hours at a time.

Numerous people told me that I will probably start to feel better once I return to work, that going back to work aided their recovery from PND and that they felt some of their identity reappear from being back in their work environment. I certainly felt this was the case when I completed my 'keeping in touch days' But,  although I am aware it is early days, I am currently feeling worse; more volatile, tense and anxious, since my first day back.

My son attended nursery 4 times before the first "proper" day. 2 very short sessions and 2, what were supposed to be, full days.
I really thought he would enjoy nursery but on his first full day I had to collect him early due to hysteria from refusal to nap ALL day. He went from 5.45am until finally giving in to sleep at 4.30pm. Seeing his totally exhausted face was just heart breaking and meant for a bad evening and awful night. Just when we had cracked sleeping, he took a big step backwards. That was 2 weeks ago, since that day he has slept badly, not one full night and many broken nights. And he has been very hard work to get down for a nap. This has led to worsening sleep deprivation creeping in on my part.
Then the following Tuesday  I drop him off early, on my first day back at work, and he clings to me, really clings.  I say goodbye whilst staff prise him off me. For me this was excruciating, I wanted nothing more than to take him back, give him a hug and take him home to spend the day playing.

To my relief he did well at nursery that first full day 8-5. He eventually napped, albeit after much drama and tears. I on the other hand had, had a very long and boring day at work and could not wait to collect my little boy.

We returned on Friday for day 2 of work. We saw a repeat of the traumatic clinging and crying on my departure but he quickly settled apparently. My partner and I the day before, had had the horrendous experience of our sons 12 month vaccinations (he was a trooper and cried not one tear despite 4 injections). Anyway this had led to a fever over night. His temperature was back at normal by the morning so I handed that over to the nursery and went off to work. Just 2 hours later I receive a telephone call, informing me that his temperature was up at 38.5 and I needed to drive over to give him some calpol. 'Sorry I have to give him calpol?!' We asked about this policy on our visit and we're informed that the staff could give calpol. So my first booked in patient since my return, had to be rearranged just so I could drive to the nursery to give him calpol. I had decided I would stay there to check his temperature was settling,  only to be asked to leave him. So I headed back to work, more worried about my son than I was before. Half an hour later I get another call from the nursery,  his temperature hasn't lowered so I needed to collect him. Day 2 at work and just 2.5 hours in I am taking annual leave and reorganising 2 patients. Nothing about that day reassured me that my decision to return to work at this stage, was a good one. I am more anxious than before about being apart from my boy, I foresee future, stressful, childcare issues and I have again begun doubting my readiness to work.

After a weekend of reflection I continue to feel the same. In fact, I am worse, as my son sounds like he may have a chest infection and all I can think is, if he is put on antibiotics he probably won't be allowed to go to nursery again. Additionally my Great  Nan is quite unwell and my morbid brain is anticipating a funeral coming up. How am I going to justify this further time off?!

I have had my worst day in a while. An evening of melt downs. I need to take a deep breath and try to destress.  I have a well timed talking therapy session tomorrow, hopefully that will allow me some head space.

One week remaining

One week left off work. One week until my baby turns one.
This week is going to create a big mix of emotions for me. I feel I need to pour out my thoughts on this post to help me make sense of my concerns because at the current time I am feeling overwhelmed and bewildered.

I fear the thought of returning to work.  I genuinely enjoyed my 'KIT days'; socialising with the team, using my brain, having a little bit of time being me, but I don't feel ready, will I ever feel ready? My brain is still mush, I continue to feel incapable of juggling everything and my most significant concern, I have spent every hour of every day with my son for the last year and suddenly I won't see my favourite little man 3 days of the week.

I am dreaming frequently at the moment, when I am managing sleep, and my most recent dream was all about going back to work. However, instead of being back at my Physio job, it was back to Waitrose (where I worked over a decade ago). The people were the same yet everything had changed and I had no idea what I was doing.

I have been thinking that I have 2 days this week, my last work free week, without anything planned (a rare couple of days just the 2 of us) and I was determined that they would be used exactly as I want them to be. These 2 days are precious mummy and son days. The plan was to spend them doing some of our favourite activities together. First off, Monday morning was swimming. We've not been for ages!
But part of me was afraid that something or someone would ruin our days together, demand time out of our precious few hours. I have not been myself for too much of our irreplaceable year together, but I will look back at this year with many fond and invaluable memories of the fun we have had with each other. It is not like these are the last 2 days together ever, but I have really been building up their importance in my head. I wished for them to be 2 of the best days, I wanted them to be perfect.

Then Monday morning arrives and after a bad night, my son has a heavy cold. My fear a reality, my luck as ever. Our swimming session has to be postponed. It appears at least one of our two days together will be mummy nursing her poorly, clingy bubba back to health. It would be a lie to say that I am not hugely disappointed that today will not be the special, memorable day I wanted. However we were literally just doing some supported walking together, at my sons routine request, and whilst we were walking he looked up at me and smiled the biggest smile. I realised that we don't have to be doing something remarkably different to normal, he is content doing something distinctly ordinary, he is just happy being with me. Consequently I am staying positive, instead I can spend the day having plenty of snuggly, albeit snotty, cuddles. Plus better to get the cold over with before his birthday.

On that note, the momentous 1st birthday milestone, that is causing me further perfectionist anxiety. He will only ever have his 1st birthday once,  he is unlikely to remember it, but I want the photos and videos to truly reflect how his party and his birthday were unforgettably special!
Where has this year gone? It has flown by in a blur of highs and lows, my gorgeous, cheerful son being the only constant. The speed at which the year has gone scares me. My son has become such an amazing little dude and he deserves an extra special day. For his birthday I have instructed myself that I too will enjoy his birthday celebrations, so for 5 minutes every hour I will take a step back and fully appreciate the event, observe him enjoying his moment.
For Bubbas 1st birthday I have have decided to put together a box of letters etc. for my son to open on his 18th birthday. I have been writing a letter, wondering what kind of man my son will be in 17 years and thinking if those 17 years pass by as quickly as this year has, he will be reading the letter in the blink of an eye. A very scary thought. Again I have chosen to be strict on myself, 17 years away is exactly that, 17 years into the future. I need to stop worrying how quickly the future is coming, that is completely out of my control, I need to appreciate the here and now, savour every second of my almost one year old however the present offers itself. It seems the more fun we have, the faster the time passes by. If that is so then surely quicker equals more favorable quality time and I would not want it any other way.

Before re-reading and altering this post multiple times it was all over the place, it was very reflective of where I think my head is at. But my summery of all these thoughts is that this last week off is going to be emotional and clearly my perfectionist nature is significantly adding to my anxiety but despite my chaotic, jumbled concerns, I am able to take the time to reflect to control and organise my thoughts and feelings. I'm determined to make the most of every second and not let any PND negativity interfere with my valuable mummy/son time.

A shared challenge

In my desire to completely overcome post natal depression, I have been proactively finding ways to help myself. After searching on google I discovered PANDAS. PANDAS Foundation is a Pre and Post natal depression advice and support charity. They have various ways in which they can help women and men experiencing perinatal depression and those around them. Whilst browsing the options I discovered that they run support groups in some areas, and I was pleased to see that my local town was one of them. I promptly emailed the lady who runs my local group and received a friendly welcoming reply. The next group was the following Tuesday.

Tuesday came and my son and I headed to the children's centre that was hosting the support group. I hadn't built the trip up too much in my head, I knew that would not be wise, so as I was walking towards the main doors I started feeling nervous. I had no idea what to expect, but something similar to how psychotherapy groups are portrayed in films was my sudden unforseen concern; everyone sat looking stony-faced, on chairs in a circle, all watching me walk in. Instantaneous anxiety. The reality was quite the opposite. I walked through the doors, timidly asking 'Is this the PND group?' But to my relief I was warmly welcomed in and instantly invited to help myself to a hot drink and biscuit, if desired, before I joined everyone else. Chocolate chip cookies and a cup of tea is always a good start!

It was all comfortably informal, no circle as I envisaged, instead a choice of chairs or floor. The floor was set up with a floor mat and toys so I opted for the floor with my son, in doing so joining another mummy and her 6 month old.
I was the last to arrive so we all briefly introduced ourselves. There was 2 ladies who were involved in running the session, 3 mummies and 2 babies.

I learnt that the group is there for us to meet one another and besides that, the time is for us to use as we wish. We chose to spend the hour and a half discussing our experiences of pre or post natal depression (in my case whilst constantly chasing my little one around the room). Honestly, I started off feeling apprehensive and I don't believe I was the only one, the other mummies also appeared shy but as soon as the ice was broken the atmosphere was so relaxed, it felt natural talking about anything (even my feelings!) with these women because they were so understanding.  We shared ideas and advice we have learnt along the way including techniques for helping our partners to empathise with our feelings, the various baby groups available locally that we have tried out and general wellbeing tips. The 90 minutes went past so quickly. We agreed we would all return for the next meeting in 2 weeks time to continue our conflab.

On reflection of the morning, what stood out to me the most was that we are mums with different upbringings, all confronting depression, and therefore we can empathise with each other but most striking was the different symptoms we were experiencing. Our pre/post natal depression was showing itself in different ways, for some it is anxiety, low confidence, fatigue for others anger, guilt and frustration. It is an individual experience but a shared challenge. Our most common characteristic was our desire to fully recover and be us again.

Unfortunately for me, my group runs every other Tuesday, this means I can attend the next session but then I'm back to work on Tuesdays. Such a shame because I feel I would benefit from the support. It is such a valuable, free service and I would recommend the group to anyone going through post natal depression.

PANDAS website link
Finding your local PANDAS support group

A surprising amount of normality

6 weeks into my Sertraline prescription and after my first talking therapy session, I could feel that I was starting to return to my old self.

Lets start with some background to my personality.
Since a nipper I have been non-stop active, fun loving, consciencous,  caring and happy, but I have had some dips in my mood in the past, none of which required any kind of intervention though.
I've always been shy, when I was a youngster I was ridiculously timid. I recall a parents evening at the start of secondary school when my history teacher begged me, in front of my parents, to speak more in class.  I am fairly certain that is an unusual request for a teacher to make.
I have never had much self confidence and I have always set my standards too high, never been satisfied with my own personal achievements. An example being my GCSE results day. I got 6 A's, 5 B's and a C. I was absolutely mortified by my C. Rather than being proud of my A's and B's, I was heartbroken by my C in Spanish. There is nothing bad about getting a C I'd like to add but I had worked so hard and to me I had failed myself. My Spanish ended up getting re-marked and was upped to a B but by then I had experienced total disappointment.

I know I should be proud of my achievements, I worked so very hard to get to where I am. I think the school systems are partly to blame  (I "failed" my 11+ when it was expected I would pass, and then passed my 12+, I went off a grammar school where I was made to feel anything lower than a B wasn't good enough only to get a C in Spanish when I had been predicted an A, then at A level I got BBCD and was the only person out of all my friends not to get into university that year. I spent a year at home, whilst everyone else enjoyed uni life, and resat my exams) but my opinions on school assessment is another topic entirely. The point is, I set my standards high even at a young age and achieving didn't come easily to me. It wasnt until I was a sucessfully qualified 22 year old Physiotherapist, working with so many different people, patients and colleagues, from so many different backgrounds, and I was able to see that I was making a positive difference in their lives, that my self esteem began to improve. And over the 7 years since qualifying, I gradually became a much stronger person.

So back to the main point of this post. I didn't have a masses of confidence before I had post natal depression but the confidence I did have, had been built up over years of work , and so this monster had taken what confidence I had. I have had 11 months of feeling almost reclusive, with most conversation being no more complex than 'I think it's snack time' or 'have you done a poo? ' So I pleasantly surprised myself on a work course in London last week.

I have never been fazed when it comes to travelling so the trip alone to London did not daunt me one bit,  but once in London my apprehensive, polite, introvert self took over again. It was rush hour and I missed the first 2 tubes for the sole reason that, unlike everyone else in Baker Street station, I didn't confidently and forcefully push my way onto a train that had not a single inch of space left on it, and I was left behind each time.

Eventually making it to London Bridge and into my course room, something unusual yet distantly familiar happened, I found myself chatting to the other strangers in the room, mostly health professionals, all with a neurological interest. I immediately saw some of that bygone confidence and my true identity making a reappearance. It wasn't until that point that I realised how long it's been since I saw this person and quite how much I've missed them!
The day continued in this way. We had to do a role play type task, my idea of a nightmare, but at the end of the task, the course leader asked for some feedback and to my astonishment I was the first person in the group to volunteer my opinion and to top it off, I got a laugh from the group! My history teacher would have been so proud.
Don't get me wrong, it wasn't a total transformation from the PND me to the old me, I had my moments, like when I couldn't figure out how the hot water jug worked and eventually, timidly and in embarrassment asked someone to help me. But the old me was definitely reminding me every so often that they are still there and to me this brought hope and a monumental, positive step in my recovery.

I got home from London and received big cuddles from my son, it had been a long day away from him, the longest so far, and I had really missed him but I had also enjoyed my day. I had used my grey matter, been involved in intellectual conversation with actual adults and it had allowed me to rediscover my own identity. Today I was me and not just E's mummy.

As I write this I'm watching my little boy, who is 3 weeks from his first birthday, pulling himself up to stand and waving at me and I finally feel proud of myself. It's been a tough journey these last 11 months, with big highs and lows but my son is a handsome, well behaved, albeit cheeky,  intelligent little man and I played a massive role in that, I am truly seeing that now. Returning to work in 3 weeks time will be tough but stricking the right balance between being me and being E's mummy, I feel, will bring me back to that cheerful, confident person I was a year ago. Normality.

An unexpected "bad" day

I had been taking antidepressants for over 5 weeks and I was definitely noticing the positive effect they were having. I reflected that it had been a few weeks since I last spontaneously burst into tears over something trivial, or since I had felt exasperated at my son for acting like the 11 month old that he is and I generally felt stronger in myself. So when I woke that Sunday morning with a gloomy, familiar feeling of hopelessness, I got worried.

From the moment I woke something felt wrong, I could tell instantly that today was going to be my worst day for a few weeks. I felt overwhelming fatigue before I had even started my day. It was the weekend so my partner was at home with me, this only added to my confusion, 'I have help today and yet I am already feeling down.' Unintentionally every thought, feeling and remark was obstructive and negative. It proceeded to be a mundane day but when my partner said he was going to pop into town, I began to panic. I became tearful. My partner could tell I wasn't feeling as upbeat as I had been, he asked me if I wanted to join him in town. 'No thanks' I replied. I wanted him to say he would take our son with him and give me a break but he then reminded me that my mood is worsened if I stay shut up in the house all day, plus he offered to do the driving so I agreed to join him.

Once in town I expected to feel better, I didn't. I slowly dawdled around the town centre pushing my son in his pram, whilst my partner did what he needed to. I didn't go onto any shops,  I just didn't feel like it, I couldn't be bothered. Eventually I just stood outside Clarks shoe shop and waited for him to ring me. This was all too worryingly familiar. Once we were reunited and on our way home I just burst into tears. 'I thought I was doing better... maybe I do need to up my antidepressant dose... what if my body has acclimatised to the medication?' My partner replied,  you're just having a bad day, we all have them.

Once I was home I genuinely felt better for having had some fresh air but deep inside me, my anxiety that this step backwards would continue was worsening.

Then that evening whilst cooking our dinner I picked up the baking tray,  fresh out the oven, with no oven gloves on. It didn't really hurt as much as I expected but I swore out loud in instant embarrassment and turned towards my partner. He could tell I was uninjured and he began to laugh. Under normal circumstances I would have laughed with him, instead I just broke down. 'Why did I just do that? How stupid am I?! That's it, I've completely lost my mind, just when I thought my judgement and intellect were returning to normal!'

I went to bed early, my mind too preoccupied to switch off and fall asleep. A bad nights sleep followed.

When the following day arrived however, I felt great again, so much more positive! Just a blip I cheerfully told myself. Yet when my health visitor came to visit later that day for our first talking therapy session, she asked me how I was getting on and, without mentioning all the good days I've had recently,  I went straight to dwelling on the previous day. My health visitor did a good job of bringing me back to my more optimistic self and reinforced the positive changes that I have felt. Contrary to my GP, she didn't feel I needed to up my antidepressant dose at this point in time, partly because I am strongly against the idea but also partly because of positive improvements in my general mood and my proactive approach to self help. Finally my health visitor reassured me completely, 'I expect some lower days, it is perfectly normal'.

There are lots of life changes coming up in the next month or so and my emotional state could go either one of two ways during that time, but I'm more prepared to face the most difficult days now and will tell myself with confidence that these are going to happen, and to remain strong. I remind myself that I'm doing well!

Pleasantly overwhelmed by love and support

I wrote my 'Postnatal depression' post over a week ago and it took me that long to find the courage to share it with my partner and mother.  They both read the post and encouraged me to share my blog with my Facebook friends. So I did, last night, and that was a massive step for me.

Within minutes of sharing my blog, friends from all areas of my life started commenting. I nervously clicked to read the first comment and whilst I was reading, more comments appeared and my phone started bleeping next to me.
All the comments I have received are full of acknowledgement, understanding, positivity, support and love. Numerous people surprised as I 'hid it well', several shared their own experience of depression, postnatal depression and anxiety with me and many felt that my blog could help many other women in my position, which I really hope it does.

Thank you so much for all the support I have received so far, it really does mean a great deal to me and will definitely contribute to my recovery. It has inspired me to continue blogging my ongoing experience with postnatal depression.

Link to my Postnatal depression post

Getting my stubborn monkey to sleep (life saving advice included)

My son has been a bad sleeper since he was born, giving me 1 or 2 hours a night for a very long time. I am sure part of the reason is errors I made as a newborn but I got no advice about what I was doing when he was a newborn.
For the first 6 weeks of his life I never once slept in my room with my partner, but spent my time downstairs trying to get him to sleep in his moses basket whilst I was on the sofa.

At 16 weeks we put him into his own room because we were out of options.  In his own room he did sleep a little better, getting maybe 3 or 4 hours of disrupted sleep a night but still not ideal.
This chronic lack of sleep, in my opinion, was a major contributer to my postnatal depression.

At 10 months old, my health visitors got involved and with their help, my son now sleeps through the night. I am wanting to share the advice I was given in case it helps any other mums. But do be aware that the advice was taylored to us to correct what we were doing wrong. There may be something additional that has to change for others. Also bare in mind that my son was 10 months old so again some of this advice may not be given for younger babies.

• Make sure he's full each meal. I was advised no baby food which I was already doing except for breakfast he was having 10 month+ porridge. He should be eating cereals like weetabix. Also giving him a little cows milk with his afternoon snack.
• Put him down to bed awake, not almost asleep awake like I was, but very awake. I was encouraged to give him his bedtime feed and then brush his teeth and read him a story afterwards. Definitely not allow him to fall asleep whilst feeding.
• Put him to bed in a quiet, darkish room (I had been putting his cot mobile on).
• Leave the room but to continue to make noise upstairs (flushing the toilet, having a shower etc) so that he can hear that we are still around. (I had avoided making any noise because everything was waking him).
• When he wakes up during the night, do not feed him. He was associating going to sleep with a feed. I had to send my partner in when he woke initially because he could smell the milk on me making the process harder.

After I had implemented the above advice, which improved his sleep a little,  I was then advised to do the following:

• After putting him to bed, if he starts crying, a real cry not a sleepy cry, then I was told I had to leave him for 5 minutes,  then go in and place my hand on him for 15 seconds (not pick him up and not speak), then walk out the room again and repeat until he is asleep.
• Repeat this if he wakes up during the night.

I was not keen on doing this last bit of advice but I was so sleep deprived and it was affecting my health. Plus the nursery nurse who gave the advice was very confident it would be sucessful. I was out of options and decided to try it that night. It was tough. We repeated for 45 minutes until he fell asleep. He slept through the night!! The following night he cried for 30 minutes and we followed the advice to a T. Again he slept through! Such a difference to go from waking 5/6 times a night to sleeping through! This started over 3 weeks ago and apart from one wake up that was obviously teething related he has slept through every night. Plus since that second night, he hasn't cried at all at bedtime. He lies there chatting but quickly goes to sleep. We are both finally getting some much needed sleep.  I'm a new woman.

Starting on antidepressants

When my GP diagnosed me with Postnatal Depression her first recommendation was that I start on an antidepressant, Sertraline was her antidepressant of choice. At the time she did not give me any other treatment options. In her words, she felt I needed to be 'more stable' before I would respond well to any other input.

I was very reluctant to start on antidepressants, in fact I went against her professional recommendation initially and didn't take them. This was not just my own selfish reluctance, I was also aware that it can pass into the breastmilk. It was my GPs opinion that the risks outweighed the benefits to my bubba  (minimal risk of side effects to my baby verses a mum who was coping better). But she did also encourage me to cease breastfeeding. I went home and read some online research and still wasn't reassured.

4 weeks later when I met with my new health visitor I explained why I hadn't started on the Sertraline and how I wanted some other treatment options. She listened. It was explained to me that I was starting on a very low dose (50mg) and that the risks to my little man really were small especially as he only has two feeds a day from me now. She also disagreed that I should cease breastfeeding, and cited some research that concluded mood is lowered further in mothers who stop breastfeeding but are not ready to, but she wanted further treatment alongside the medication if I agreed to take it. She suggested Talking Therapy and input from their team to improve my son's sleep.

So I started taking 50mg of Sertraline (that was 5 weeks ago). I read all the possible side effects and I expected the first couple of weeks to be unpleasant but I barely noticed a difference. I felt slightly foggy and a marginally more sleepy for the first week and my appetite reduced a little but otherwise I was well. These minimal effect cleared after a week.

After 3 or so weeks I noticed that I was nowhere near as tearful as I had been and I was not taking absolutely everything to heart anymore. The medication was having a positive effect and, more importantly to me, didn't seem to be having any negative effects on my son. I was, however, also getting more sleep as the nursery nurses input had resulted in my son sleeping through the night. So my mood improvements were likely due to both these factors.

4 weeks into antidepressant treatment I had a review with my GP. She was pleased with my improvements and felt I was more positive. She still felt my confidence was down and that I would benefit from upping my Sertraline dose to 100mg. Again, she was unable to guarantee no side effects to my son. Again I have declined to follow her advice. I explained my trepidation and I compromised. My son is almost 11 months and I've always said that I want to breastfeed for 1 year. Over the next month I will begin to wean my bubba into cows milk and once he is fully weaned, if I still need to, I will up my dose.

I have some big changes happening over the coming month including returning to work, and I feel this may be a helpful step with regards to my well being. So we agreed to review how I was managing in 6 weeks time. So I will blog again in a few weeks to update.

Postnatal depression

I spent a long time convincing my partner that we were ready to have a baby, I've wanted to be a mummy for years. In December 2014, after over 8 years together and 3 in our own home, we both finally agreed it was the right time. So when the test was positive in March 2015 I was elated. I knew that having a baby was hard work and I wasn't going into it unprepared. Everything was ready for bubs arrival in November 2015.

I wasn't worried about the birth, I figured it would hurt a fair bit but pain doesn't worry me and I hadn't got a strict birthing plan. However I wasn't anticipating I would lose enough blood to require two units of blood transfused and three nights on the maternity high dependency unit. It was a dramatic shock to the system that left me anaemic and feeling totally drained for months. Additionally though having haemorrhaged caused delays in getting my milk supply so breastfeeding was challenging especially with a very hungry baby and that in turn resulted in some unattractive hysterical moments on my part. But that was the "baby blues". Fortunately for me I had my partner at home for a fortnight and then my mum came to help for a fortnight too.

In my exhausted state I quickly learnt that I had a baby that didn't want to sleep.  From mid November until Christmas I never once slept in my bed, I was down on the sofa trying to get him to sleep all night and day. This lack of sleep was taking its toll. But that's all it was to me, 'a lack of sleep', causing me to spend hours during the night crying. Or having to wake my partner up at a horrendous hour on a work night saying 'take him before I have a total meltdown'.

Don't get me wrong, despite his refusal to sleep,  I love my son with all my heart. I would want to cry as soon as he woke me up but as soon as I saw his little face, his smile,  heard his giggle, my heart would melt.  I felt so grateful to have him in my life. We did baby groups together, baby massage was a fave. We made sure we went to weighings every fortnight. We did everything together, went everywhere together, my little monkey refused to take a bottle so we couldn't spend any time apart even if we had wanted to. But I didn't want to, I had many offers of help, I think being a bit of a perfectionist,  I didn't want anyone else doing my job. It was all consuming and exhausting though.

At 16 weeks I put him in his own room and he started to sleep for short periods, without needing to be in my arms!  It was a miracle but I was still only getting 2/3 hours of broken sleep in a twenty four hour period. It was more than I had been getting. However, I was finding that every time he woke me up I would spend a very long time getting back to sleep. 'This constant lack of sleep had obviously made me an insomniac'. I would then get myself incredibly worked up, counting down the minutes until he was likely to wake again, stressing that I didn't get to sleep soon he'd be up again and I'd be going through the whole process again before I even got 30 seconds of sleep. When I did sleep I suffered recurring nightmares, one was dropping my son onto gravel and the other involved terrorists firing guns outside my house.
This was my battle repeatedly every night.

Then when I wasn't awake in bed, I was awake downstairs looking at my untidy, not clean enough house. Getting angry that I'm such a useless stay at home mum. My house is such a mess, what must people think. I'm on maternity leave and I can do nothing more than feed, change and play with my son. I also lost the ability to find the right words, my partner was getting frustrated by how long it took me to get a sentence out. I felt stupid, my memory was poor. 'My house is a mess, I'm a total mess'. Additionally I found no matter how early my son woke me, we still couldn't get out if the house for hours.  As the months past I could only think 'how am I going to manage back at work.  Cooking, cleaning,  raising my son and working,  if I can't even manage the first 3 things with all this work free time'. And how on earth am I going to get my son to nursery and myself to work by 8.30!!! As it got nearer to returning to work this became an increasing anxiety.

I stopped going out as much, it was too much of an effort. And going out presented all sorts if problems, like having to make myself look reasonable, finding places to subtly breastfeed and finding some clothing that hid my awful, hideous jelly belly. Going out also added all sorts of anxieties like having to park my car 'where is there to park?! Will it be easy to park?! 'What if I mess up my parking and it embarrassingly takes several attempts?!' If any of these concerns became reality then I would burst into tears. I even feared going into my back garden to clean out my rabbits hutch and leaving my son in his play pen. One morning I was panicking whilst I was out there, that he might be suffocating on his V cushion, even though he's a strong lad and could easily roll and sit up. It was a completely irrational anxiety. I literally had no confidence and it was all too stressful.

It took me a long while to realise that those "baby blues" were going on much longer than they should be. So being a health professional I used my knowledge to try and overcome these episodes of low mood. I knew exercise can be very effective so I walked, I walked every day, I walked everywhere (no parking required). I also started doing #100happydays on Facebook. I really felt it was working, it got me out every day (for the sole reason that I didn't want my life to look dull to all my Facebook friends so I organised something to do everyday that I could then post later). I got some negative comments from "friends" regarding having to see a post and probably a photo of my son on their news feed every day. Despite that, I completed the 100 days and I genuinely enjoyed getting out. I want to make it clear that I have had many great days and incredibly enjoyable moments since my son was born. 

After my #100happydays ended I stopped going out as often. I was getting more emotional again, the fear of going out returned. I went into McDonald's with my partner on two occasions, the lack of pram space and struggling to find a table, whilst my partner purchased our food, ended with my becoming publicly hysterical and eating my eat in McDonald's off a tray sat on a wall in the cold whilst sobbing uncontrollably onto my partners shoulder. 

Why was I feeling like this?! 'I have the most gorgeous, well behaved,  healthy little boy in the world.  I have a supportive partner and family, I have no reason to be feeling so down in the dumps. Many people would do anything to be in my situation. Apart from a chronic lack of sleep, my situation is perfect. My son is perfect and I love him so much'.  He still cheers me up and makes me laugh regularly. 

At 9 months old my son fell whilst I was getting him out of his highchair and landed head first on the solid kitchen floor. I had to take him to A&E. I was officially the WORST mum in the world. I felt unbelievable guilt and was so angry with myself. I felt I deserved something horrible for causing this pain to my son. I started getting the awful feeling that my son would not be in my life forever and that filled me with excessive fear. Then my trepidation heightened when a week later we were back in A&E as he had a raging temperature and was severely projectile vomiting and going drowsy. It was so upsetting and stressful, I was thinking the worst. It turned out to be a horrible viral tonsillitis but it could have been so much worse. The virus caused over a week of diarrhoea which was truly exhausting for both of us. I was back and forth to the GP to make sure that after all the sickness and diarrhoea he wasn't getting dehydrated. But all this, in some ways, was a blessing in disguise. The GP we saw picked up on my low mood and after seeing us the 2nd time, requested I return on my own. She made me see that all these feelings I've had for over 9 months are not normal. She diagnosed me with Postnatal Depression.

I was started on antidepressants and my GP re-referred me to the health visitors who have since organised "talking therapy" to go alongside the medication and the nursery nurse to improve my son's sleep.

At 10 and half months old he's finally gone from waking 5 or 6 times a night to sleeping through!!! Sleep combined with antidepressants, talking and a few work related days have made me feel almost myself. I've spent Wednesdays with my mum for a little while now and more recently my partner, mother, mother in law and my sister have all been looking after my little one to allow me some time to go to work, clean the house, attend netball training or just rest which has been a great help. I shouldn't have refused their offers of help before now. It's still early days, I have some difficult days still, and for fear of causing an awkward, gloomy conversation, I've told very few people I have postnatal depression but I am getting there.

Why didn't I ask for help? Why didn't I tell anyone how I was feeling? Why did I make out I was doing well this whole time? Why was I trying to do it all? Why am I embarrassed by my diagnosis?
Because that's me, I never ask for help, I needed someone else to tell me how I was feeling wasn't "normal".  Admitting that I was not coping or accepting offers of help from my family made me feel like I was failing as a mother.

I am one of a number of people who go through their own experience of postnatal depression (10% of all new mums). As I go through my therapy, I aim to keep a blog record of my participation in treatment, continue documenting my own personal journey with postnatal depression.

Some links that may be of interest.

I had a black dog, his name was depression

Pre and postnatal depression advice and support PANDAS

Local free counselling

How to help your partner when she has PND

NHS Postnatal Depression

High functioning postpartum depression

Pregnancy signs, symptoms and cravings

One of the things I really wanted to know about and continuously Googled when I was trying for a baby was whether I was having any very early symptoms of pregnancy. Some people report signs within a few days of the egg being fertilised.

E's mummy:
So I didn't get any signs I was pregnant really early on, the first sign I was pregnant was a positive pregnancy test the date my period was due.
The month before I was pregnant, I had convinced myself I was pregnant because I was having signs that others seem to have had in the very early days; extreme fatigue, bloating and sleeplessness (in fact I was an insomniac for a couple of weeks), but it turned out I was coming down with Shingles!!!

At 5 weeks I had a couple of days of diarrhoea (sorry tmi) which embarrassingly coincided with guests staying at our house.

By 6 weeks of pregnancy I was sick, i mean really sick. Constant nausea and vomiting morning, noon and night. I didn't want to eat or drink and when I did I was sick. Just sips of water made me sick. I would walk into my kitchen, smell the sealed hummus in the fridge and run out to vomit. The sickness was fairly horrendous and I dropped 1.5 stone to just 7.5 stone. Midwives couldn't get my blood at 12 weeks due to dehydration. Fortunately it was completely gone by 14 weeks.

I started to show a bump pretty early, signs of a bump in photos of me (we took one every week from 5 weeks)  from 12 weeks.

In terms of cravings, I never sent my partner out in the middle of the night but I did fancy anything with apple in it... Apple pie, apple crumble, apple turnovers... Plus my savoury tooth became a sweet tooth throughout my pregnancy and continues now whilst I'm breastfeeding.

After my sickness stopped I felt amazing!  I felt more well than I had for years! I usually get quite bad eczema but that completely cleared and my skin was fantastic.  It didn't remain that way after the pregnancy finished though. I had many people tell me that pregnancy suited me!

Excess bleeding wasn't part of my "birthing plan" - my birth experience

I was one of those people who chose to go into labour without having researched people's experiences. I knew it would hurt, I learnt about the different pain relief options available to me at my antenatal classes, I didn't want to know about the complications that could occur. I'm a health professional and so I know things can go wrong but I just didn't want to think too much about that. Being a natural worrier, googling 'labour complications' would have been foolish. I was heading towards labour with the 'whatever will be, will be' mind set.

I didn't create much of a "birthing plan". I'd initially said I wanted to labour on my local midwife led unit but that option was quickly taken off the table when I was put under consultant care 30 weeks into my pregnancy due to having Polyhydramnios (excess amniotic fluid) and a large baby. So my only preferences were to stay on my feet as long as possible and not to have an epidural. My partner had these 2 things drummed into his head. I wanted a natural delivery but knew if the Dr's were suggesting anything to the contrary, it was for good reason.

So this is how it actually went:

At 4 am I woke up as I did pretty much hourly at the end if my pregnancy, feeling uncomfortable in bed and needed to change my position. However I really couldn't get comfortable, so thinking nothing of it, I headed downstairs because the chances of me getting back to sleep were minimal now.  I popped on a box set and snuggled on the sofa.

40 minutes later I decided to make some breakfast, reached up for a cereal bowl and had to lean on the kitchen top due to back pain. It quickly eased and again I thought nothing if it. It wasn't until about 35 minutes after that that it happened again, when I was just sat in my snuggled position, box set on,  colouring in my adult colouring book that I realised this back pain was the start of something terrifying but insanely exciting. I was in labour!!!

So as a side note, I was totally thrown by the fact that all my contractions were happening in my back. I thought that my contractions would be like an extreme version of my period pain cramps which have always been in my lowered abdomen, so when I kept getting these back pains every 30 minutes I did eventually ring my mum for clarification. My mother sounded cool as a cucumber on the telephone and confirmed that I was indeed in labour, but apparently as soon as she was off the phone, it hit her that her first grandchild was on its way. She had to go to work so she contacted my sister waking her and hysterically informing her she needed to get her arse over to my house ASAP.  

Anyway back to my labour pains. I was monitoring them on an app I'd downloaded. Sent my partner off to work. Got my breathing control going really early on, and paced with a hot water bottle on my back with each contraction. My sister was fab company. I let the labour ward know at about 8.30, so everything was going well. At roughly 11 I went to the toilet and passed some blood. I had, had 'the show' the day before but this was different. The midwife on the labour ward agreed an assessment was required so by 11.05 my sister and I were heading to the labour ward.

Once I'd waddled into hospital,  the maternity unit was so busy that the assessment room was full so I was put straight into a labour room which, I was told, was temporary because I would probably be sent home. However 10 hours later I was giving birth to my son in that very room.

I was put on all the monitors and my bubba was doing well so then I awaited my assessment... 4 hours later I was still in that room waiting. My contractions remained in my back, coming more frequently and with more strength each time. I was still pacing and continued my breathing control as per my "birthing plan". I no longer had a hot, hot water bottle and I had not seen a health care professional for hours. I had been in labour for 11 hours with no pain relief at all. 
My hind waters went around that time and annoyingly it resulted in my contractions lessening for a little while. It felt like I was going backwards but fortunately this was only short lived, within an hour they were back up to strength and didn't I know it. I was vomiting yet still no assessment or health care professional contact. My sister went out to talk to the staff requesting they come and do an assessment and offer some pain relief, I was keen to start on gas and air to continue to utilise my breathing control. I remained on my feet. No one came at my sisters request. More time passed. Then I perched on the edge of the bed, despite knowing that sitting worsened the pain of my contractions and I fainted forward off the bed. Thankfully by then my partner had arrived and he caught me. That was the end of the 'remaining on my feet' part of my "birthing plan". And FYI contractions are so much worse when lying! At that point my sister went out to talk to the staff for the umpteenth time and this time she kicked arse. After 13 hours since labour began and 5 hours since my arrival at the hospital, I was finally assessed. In the words of my midwife 'you are 7 cm,  what a trooper'. I'm quite proud that I had reached 7 cm with no pain relief, breathing control alone.

I was finally offered some pain relief! In fact I argued that I just wanted gas and air and they were trying to push an epidural. My partner did the only job I had assigned him, and he did it perfectly, he stood by me and refused an epidural. I tried gas and air but it just got on my nerves (even more so when my partner started using it)! I think I was too far in for the gas and air to be effective, I wish I had started on it sooner. So I opted for Pethadine and I would recommend it to anyone. It allowed me to sleep between contractions,  recoup a bit of energy.  My one bit of advice, use the loo before the injection, don't decide you need it as soon as the drug is administered because you'll probably need to be carried back from the bathroom!

At 9 pm I had that well known profound need to push. I was disappointed I couldn't push in a 4 point position but I would have fainted. I completed my labour lying on my side. I got into a good pattern with my breathing. Yes it was painful but reaching down to touch his head as he was crowning was truly amazing,  feeling him slide out with that final push was incredible and then holding my naked son in his first seconds of outside world life beats any feeling you will ever have. It was immensely overwhelming and the happiest moment of my life. It is true what they say, every second of agony is worth it.

My little chunky monkey had caused a little trauma so the midwife was stitching me up and that's when my labour started to become more dramatic. Initially all was calm, my bubba was naked and staring into his daddy's eyes. I was successfully benefiting from gas and air for the first time and then my midwife noticed a blood clot, so she cleared it and many more clots followed. The next thing I knew we had the doctors, Midwives,  the head midwife... flocking into the room and I knew something was up. I had delivered a complete placenta so that wasn't the cause of the bleeding. It turns out that the concerns of my large size during pregnancy was the cause. My Polyhydramnios had caused my uterus to over stretch, once it had done the job of getting my bubba into the world, it didn't fancy doing any more work. As a result it wasn't contracting back down resulting in hemorrhaging. The clots were cleared and my uterus was finally contracting down after some painful manipulation from the doctors but to clear the clots, Midwives had had to reach in and scoop out. This meant I began swelling and the stitching couldn't be completed, additionally my blood pressure had gone up possibly due to the trauma.  I was given blood pressure lowering medication and left to enjoy my son. Our first family moments alone. Perfect.
I took my son and put him on my boob allowing him to figure out what to do because I was totally clueless! He seemed to be doing the right thing and I was feeling some abdominal cramps as can often happen when feeding early on but worryingly I started feeling a sensation like I had during labour, a pressure on my bottom, then a warm feeling and I knew I was bleeding.  I pushed the call bell and in walked a midwife I hadn't met, she took one look and hit the emergency bell.  In rushed a mass of health professionals and the scooping and manipulation began again.  

In total I had lost 1.5l of blood. The blood loss resulted in a big drop in blood pressure, exacerbated by the blood pressure lowering drugs I had been given previously. I was moved onto the high dependency unit. The bonus being my own room with my bubba and my partner could stay as long as he liked to help me out. The negatives,  I was limited to flat bed rest, needing help to look after my son because I couldn't even sit up to tend to my son.  I had 2 cannulas in with saline being pushed through one and 2 units of blood being transfused through the other. I spent 2 nights on the high dependency unit and 1 night on the ward before the magic moment of being discharged home.

It all sounds terrifying and was very worrying but more so to my partner as it wasn't until I look back that I realise how traumatic it was. I had my son safely in my arms so the gravity of the situation didn't hit me at that point. But I would like to point out that this situation is not too common and the health professionals around me were amazing and have the expertise to manage this situation very well. Plus if needed I'd do it all again for my gorgeous boy.