Friday was a strange day. Just seven-and-a-half hours before the Deaf Parenting UK Awards - which I'd planned to attend as a nominee - was due to start, along came a leak. "Was that your waters breaking?" Miles asked. "Could be," I said, with some trepidation. Thus followed a flurry of action and a lot of discussion.
It was 2.30am and Miles had been working to a deadline. It was the first time we'd found ourselves in a night-time situation without a plan for Isobel.
Organising emergency care for a child with a disability is much harder than you'd think. It's not just about finding someone to babysit overnight; in Isobel's case, you have to factor in a complex twice-daily medication routine and her need for daily stimulation through rehab at home. We couldn't just ask anyone to do all that for us. On top of that, we were only beginning to familiarise ourselves with our new neighbours, having moved house just last April.
In the end we took Isobel with us to hospital and, in between slow-build contractions every five minutes in the ambulance, I texted for an on-call SLI (sign language interpreter) to come to hospital. Simultaneously, I tried arching my back from the stretcher to alleviate the constant pain. The sensations I was getting resonated with familiarity; it all felt so much like the night before Isobel was born.
"I think he'll be born at six o'clock today," I told Miles. How wrong I was.
Upon arrival I got the SLI to make a round of calls: a couple of family members to take care of Isobel for a few hours, the organisers of the Awards to cancel my attendance, then social services and a care agency that was due to arrange a carer anyway. I hoped to put an emergency plan in action, so Miles wouldn't have to shuttle between hospital and home every day to give Isobel her medication, especially if I went into established labor.
He'd already missed her birth by 40 minutes - it had happened so quickly while he was en route from PGCE studies in London - and neither of us were keen for him to miss this one.
Social services couldn't help. They'd tried to organize a specialist nurse to administer Isobel's medication, but there was some confusion over the booking of a SLI - and by the time that got cleared up the nurse was already on leave until 1st November. The care agency didn't yet know what Isobel's individual needs were - having organised the preliminary meeting just a day or two before - and anyway needed to assess our home for the safety of the carer. So that was no good either. Again, it all came down to family in the end.
My mother took Isobel out for a walk in the buggy. Meanwhile my sister-in-law Andrea came down to volunteer as our driver and babysitter. (Neither of us drive, although Miles is booked for a driving test early next month.) The SLI stuck around until 1.30pm, before changing shifts with a second SLI who then stayed up to 4pm.
We'd been told to expect a doctor at 9am, but no such personnel came until 3.30pm.
As I said before, Friday was a strange day. I was still leaking - at one point I changed my pad three times in 90 minutes - but my contractions were coming and going. An internal examination revealed that there was no dilation.
In contrast to Isobel - who was two days late - the baby wasn't due for another three weeks. Suspicions were that he might come early due to a large size. (Miles was a nine-and-three-quarters pounder at birth, unlike his older sister, who was smaller. Isobel's birthweight was 7lb 14; mine was 7lb 7.) My temperature, pulse and blood pressure were checked at regular intervals, and doctors dithered over whether to send me back. I told Miles, Andrea and my mother to go home with Isobel.
Meanwhile, to my delight, I learnt that I was runner-up in two categories of the Deaf Parenting UK Awards. The judge who collected the framed certificates on my behalf happened to be a friend of mine and Miles, so was able to update the audience on what was happening.
As day turned into night, my contractions returned - along with the back pain - and in a text I asked Andrea to take over Isobel's feeding once she'd finished her meds, so Miles could get the bed ready for her and catch a bus to the hospital for the night.
I felt bad that Miles still hadn't caught up on his sleep and that he was having to rely on slower public transport this time, but no-one else was home to babysit, and Isobel had been up since 3am already so she needed her sleep too. I also booked another on-call SLI, just in case.
By 9pm my contractions had been monitored for three-quarters of a hour, and judging by the huge bruising kicks inside the baby was 'having a party,' according to the duty midwife. I was contracting again every five minutes, and they felt fairly strong. Miles texted to say he was getting the 9.45pm bus, which wouldn't reach the hospital for another 45 minutes. By way of trying to placate the inner anxiety I felt, I grinned at the SLI outwardly.
After a third internal examination, it was concluded that my waters hadn't broken. I was advised to stay overnight on account of my leaking, and see another doctor at 8am the next day. A SLI was booked for the same time. A scan was also suggested. Miles finally got in at 11pm - to my huge relief - and slept on the sofa.
Despite all that, by the end of the night there was no baby.
Saturday at 8am came, and with it so did the SLI, but not the doctor. Thankfully Miles had already pre-loaded Isobel's medicine syringes for his sister before he left home - Andrea was not a nervous person by nature; she had a Phd in biomedical science so that kind of thing didn't faze her - so stuck around while the SLI and I went to find out what was happening.
When a registrar did come, upon learning of my history with Isobel he, too, grew anxious about sending me home. He recommended that I stay in hospital 24 hours, although if I chose to go, that would be entirely up to me. I asked to discuss it with my family first.
Andrea agreed to babysit another night. My mother went on-call should Miles need to be driven to hospital in a hurry. Reassured, he left for home at 4.30pm. Just in case, I also asked a friend to babysit the following night if necessary (she'd kindly offered respite care before, and Andrea had a demanding job to return to).
As I prepare to sleep a second night in hospital, my contractions appear to have settled, while the general health checks have reduced. There is little to no back pain. Isobel has been taken care of, although I am painfully conscious of both how temporary the current arrangement is and how far I now feel from being ready to give birth.
Nevertheless a vaginal swab has been sent off for tests, and I am seeing another doctor tomorrow. The extraordinary level of caution by the midwives and doctors in my care is indicative of how disastrous the events around Isobel's birth were, and bored though I am of my hospital room, at least the little one is right now applying his partying kicks to my ribs.
