The final countdown

Well here I am finally… It has been more than a month since my last post. Look I never professed to be the world’s most diligent blogger!

Truth be told the past six weeks have passed by in a blur. The week before my precious baby was born was tumultuous to say the least, so much so that the day of his birth arrived quite unceremoniously because we were so distracted by the events of the days leading up to it. I didn’t even pack my hospital bag until 10pm the night before he was born.

But, I am pleased to say that the moment of his arrival into the world was no less momentous than it would have otherwise been. He is my precious angel, our shining light amidst the gloom.

Here’s how it all unfolded:

Monday 14 December

Michael takes his mom to the doctor out of concern over her swollen ankles. He was worried that it might have something to do with her kidneys. She’s also been fading away little by little. She is so thin and seems to have lost all interest in life – everyone writes it off to stress from Michael’s dad’s illness and paraplegia, as well as her own seemingly harmless ailments (chill-blanes and arthritis in her hands). We couldn’t have been more wrong.

At about 17:30 Michael walks in the door looking as if he had seen the Ghost of Christmas past. I was playing “snap” with Cameron in the lounge and when Michael mouthed something inaudible, pointing to his chest, I got up without a clue of what he was about to tell me.

“I think my mom has breast cancer” he says and starts crying. So he tells me that the doctor had decided to run a batch of blood tests to figure out the cause of the swollen ankles and his mom had become hysterical. Michael couldn’t understand what her fuss was all about and on the way home was trying to console her saying that it is just due diligence to find out if her kidneys and liver were working as they should. He proceeds to tell her that she needs to start taking better care of herself and eating properly because everyone is concerned over her dramatic weight-loss and what seems to be a depression.

At home, she breaks down and tells Michael and his dad that she thinks she has an infection in her breasts. She also tells them of a lump she discovered in one breast over a year ago. They call Michael’s cousin Luanne (a physiotherapist) to come over and have a look as Margaret does not want to show Michael or his dad what’s going on under her shirt.

Luanne takes one look and whisks her off to a friend who is a doctor. The friend is dismayed by what she sees and is convinced at first glance that it is breast cancer. She also diagnoses a severe infection of the tissue and nipples and prescribes a brute-force strength antibiotic, painkillers and stress medicine.

Michael goes back to his folks’ house when they get back from the doctor. His mom is beyond hysterical. I stay at home wondering why on earth this is happening to my husband now – not after everything he has already gone through with his dad.

Tuesday 15 December

Luanne and her doctor friend have arranged a batch of tests to be run, including a biopsy, mammogram, needle aspiration, ultrasound and blood tests. Luanne offers to take Margaret for her tests as Michael is closing up the business for the holidays.

I go off to our last gynae appointment on my own. Dr Haacke tells me that my little baby has not yet engaged and is sitting very high. The cord is also round his neck. A c-section is recommended. I am happy with that. I just want him to be brought into the world without hiccup. I would never jeopardise his health or safety by insisting on a normal birth.

I spend the rest of the afternoon with my mom and dad. Michael goes to his dad as company as the await Margaret’s return.

At 18:00 I join him. She arrives home at about the same time. She is bent over and her sister, Anne, is helping her walk. She looks at me through eyes that are swollen almost shut. I am shocked by what I see. She is worn out from all the crying and ravaged by the tests.

We sit down at the kitchen table with cups of tea as Anne explains the events of the day. Margaret is spaced out on painkillers and talks very slowly. The tissue around her breast is so infected and so hard from the cancer that they were unable to perform a mammogram. The anaesthetic also didn’t work as a result and the biopsies were done regardless with Margaret screaming in pain.

The cancer is at an advanced stage – stage four. Margaret admits that she has actually known about the lump for two years.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone” I ask her. “If you had told us sooner and we had gotten it treated sooner, the prognosis would be better”.

“I didn’t want to upset anyone. Peter has been ill and I have had to look after him. Then there’s the business. I haven’t had time to think about this. I have just carried on. I was planning to tell you and get help in the new year after the baby is born” she says.

Wednesday 16 December

I wake up crying my eyes out – although I had hardly slept. I am upset that Margaret is so ill. She is a good, gentle person. She looked after Michael’s gran when she was sick and she has been caring for Michael’s dad throughout his ordeal. She doesn’t deserve this.

I also hate seeing my husband so sad and deflated. As if having his dad in his condition isn’t bad enough!

I am sad that my little boy’s birth on Friday is marred by this terrible revelation. It has become the focus of everyone’s attention – although quiet rightly so I suppose.

But, I am angry with Margaret for not seeking help earlier. I understand her fear of not wanting a breast cancer diagnosis to be confirmed. But, I am still angry. Despite her efforts to keep her secret from us in order to avoid upsetting everyone, it has come out at the worst possible time. My baby is coming in two days and it’s Christmas in a week.

I am devastated that we have been robbed of being able to enjoy his arrival. It has been the most awful year and for us. Our new son’s birth was meant to be a turning point. Now we (well especially Michael) have this to worry about on top of everything else.

My mom insists that we should still go to the braai we have been invited to. We need some distraction. We stop by Margaret and Peter in the morning anyway. Margaret is in bed. She looks so frail. I think the trauma of the pervious day’s tests have worn her out. Looking at her lying there, I don’t think she’ll survive another five minutes. My parents arrive to spend the day with them to keep Peter company and ensure that they eat something decent for lunch.

Thursday 17 December

I wake up crying again. I have hardly slept a wink. It’s been like this for the past few weeks – being unable to sleep through that is. Now it’s made worse because when I wake up at 3am for a toilet trip and I am unable to go back to sleep, my mind is filled with thoughts of what’s happening to our family, how are Margaret and Peter going to take care of themselves, how are we going to cope with the trials of her treatment, how will Michael cope she passes away, why cant the bad stuff just stop and, why cant we just enjoy our baby’s birth without having this cloud hanging over it?

We spend the day with Cameron and then head to my mom’s for dinner. Cameron is sleeping there because we have to be at the hospital at 6am and I don’t want to haul him out of bed before dawn.

I make a promise to myself that I will not think of anything else on Friday other than the arrival of my sweet baby. I will not let his birth happen without notice. I am going to acknowledge and celebrate his arrival and life – even if it is at a time when our family is in turmoil.

After making this pact with myself, I start getting very excited. I pack our bag for hospital and I get such a thrill folding up his tiny little clothes all ready for him and carefully checking that I had everything he would need during our stay in hospital.

Friday 18 December

Not surprisingly, I wake up just after 3:30am but instead of worrying about everything else, I think about the fact that I am meeting my little boy in a few hours. I am truly happy. At 5am, we get up and get ready for the hospital. It is such a different experience to going into labour and Cameron’s birth. The birds are chirping and we take a slow drive to the hospital.

We are on a long list of women giving birth. Dr Haacke has his own patients and is also filling in for another gynae who is on holiday. All in all, there are ten caesars and two inductions scheduled – 12 babies are to be born that day. There is an air of excitement in the maternity ward as 12 anxious moms and dads-to-be settle themselves in their rooms.

We are steered to bed 8A. I hadn’t booked a private room and I was a little concerned about who I might be sharing with. Fortunately, it is a lovely woman having her third son. Her husband has a great sense of humour. I feel relieved.

I am prepped straight away. We are forth on the list but don’t know what time we will go into theatre. I phone my mom to see how Cameron is and to let her know that they needn’t rush down – we’ll phone when baby is born.

I am not expecting what she has to say… Cameron had a terrible fever in the night and was complaining of “sore pipes”. She says she’ll book an appointment with the doctor and let me know as soon as she knew what was wrong with him. I am very upset. Cameron hasn’t been sick for ages. In fact, I cant remember the last time I took him to the doctor with a fever or anything else like that. Isn’t it Murphy’s Law that he’d get sick on the very day that his baby brother is born?

I go through a slump where I am so thirsty and so tired that I don’t know if I’ll make it through the Caesar. I feel completely and utterly drained. I am so happy that I am not giving natural birth – there’s no way I would have made it. I just close my eyes and fall asleep. It couldn’t have been very long but I wake up feeling better. Maybe the drip made me feel better too. I am not sure.

Just after 9am, they wheel me through to the theatre – it was happening… I was going to meet my baby boy. Michael is walking behind the bed as two nurses push me. He has the biggest smile on his face. I will never forget it. He is just looking at me and I am looking at him. We are both smiling. NOTHING ELSE matters at that moment. Not his dad’s paraplegia, not his mom’s cancer, not the business, not Cameron’s fever.

Dr Haacke’s assistant and the anaesthetist speak to us about what is going to happen. Shortly after that we see a baby being wheeled passed, next his mommy… Then it is our turn.

They wheel me into the theatre. There is music playing. Dr Haacke turns to say hello. I can hear the smile in his voice. The spinal is done – far less painful than the epidural was with Cameron. They pinch and prod and ask if my legs have gone numb yet. I cant feel my legs but I can still feel needle-like pricks in my pelvic area. I tell Dr Haacke so. He says, “well I am glad that’s all you can feel because if you knew and could actually feel what I had just done to you, you would be screaming in pain. The spinal is working because you would be feeling much more than that.”

I have to admit that while I did not feel any pain, the strange tugging feeling I could feel was pretty scary. I cant describe how it feels. I guess it’s just how you’d expect to feel if someone was scooping out your insides and digging around in your belly! I was a bit anxious and started to cry – just a little.

Michael is fixated on what Dr Haacke is doing. He musters a “you’re doing well” every now and then. It’s all up the anaesthetist to console me. He is wonderful. He cradles my head in his hands and strokes my hair and tells me bit by bit what I am feeling. It soothes me and makes me feel so much better. So the crying is short-lived.

Within minutes the big tug happens and Nicholas is born. The clock says 09:55am. Dr Haacke exclaims: “he’s no shrimp”, so I know he must be a fair size!

I cant believe it when they say he is out because the big tug felt no bigger than the tugs I had been feeling before that. Then I hear him cry. What a beautiful sound! At that moment I think to myself, how could anyone ever live their life without hearing that sound – a baby’s first cry?

Then they give him to me. I am all strapped up of course so he is placed on my chest – all wrapped up. He feels so warm. I am elated.

Michael leaves with him as he is taken to the ward. I close my eyes while I am stitched up. I feel so relaxed. After that I was wheeled to recovery where a nurse sits with me for half an hour talking to me, asking me questions and taking my blood pressure. All I want to do is sleep until I can go to my new baby and properly see what he looks like. I also want to phone my mom to see if Cameron is ok. It is the longest wait.

As soon as I get back to my room, I phone my mom. Cameron has a throat infection and has been put on antibiotics. The doctor feels confident that it is not contagious and that it is safe for him to visit his new brother. They are on the way!

I finally get to hold my baby properly about half an hour after being wheeled back to my room. My mom, dad and Cameron are already there. He is warm, wrapped up and perfect. I cant stop staring at him. I loved him instantly that I can tell you.

My mom tells me that when they looked into the nursery and she asked Cameron which baby he thought was his brother, he pointed to Nicholas!

There were so many things that distracted me from the pregnancy. It flew by so fast. It was nothing like the arduous waiting I remember of my pregnancy with Cameron. It was like Nicholas had made his way into my life without me really noticing. Now he is here. He is my little boy. He and his brother are everything to me.

As it turned out, Cameron took a turn for the worse despite being on antibiotics and Michael and I took the decision not to let him come back to the hospital in case he passed it onto Nicholas – that’s all we needed. What this meant is that Michael couldn’t languish around at the hospital like he did when Cameron was born. He had our big boy to look after.

On the Monday (21 December) he took Cameron back to the doctor because his fever had rocketed in the night. He was prescribed more antibiotics and had to go back daily for an injection. I came out of hospital that day. I was desperate to see Cameron but we decided that it would be safer to have him stay with my mom until he was better.

It broke my heart to come home and not have him here. I couldn’t believe that he was so sick and I couldn’t even look after him. He had a few more fever spikes which upset me terribly because I wasn’t with him. I also felt awful that my mom was having to deal with it. He came home on 23 December once we were sure he was better. I am enormously happy to have them all home.