Anonymous: Emergency forceps delivery + moving 2 weeks postpartum

My Story: I went into labour with my son the night my grandmother died. I wasn't scared, just relieved it was finally happening. It wasn't an easy birth - it took 27 hours, a blur of pain, epidural, pain, and eventually an emergency forceps delivery as my heart almost stopped and kidneys started shutting down. Afterwards I didn't feel real, I looked at my son and he didn't seem real. Where was the rush of love that I was supposed to be feeling. All I felt was relief that it was over, not love...not anything.


Of course my partner and my family came to my bedside and cooed over him, asked me what we were going to call him. I just ate my rock hard toast and tepid cup of tea and told them I needed to sleep now. They left us and I didn't know what to do I was so tired. I couldn't move as I had been catheterized and my poor bits were in ruins. I tried feeding him but couldn't do it. Eventually a nurse came and bathed and dressed him for me and gave me some formula to feed him, I felt like a failure. Hospital food came, I ate it with my hands like an animal as I couldn't put him down, I couldn't move....that's how I felt, like an animal in my dirty nightie and my hair a mess, I longed for a shower but couldn't get out of bed.


We spent 3 nights in hospital as my kidneys still weren't working properly. I don't remember much but I was glad when I was finally allowed home, at least I could cry in pain in private when I had to use the bathroom. My mum stayed with me the first night but my partner had had to go home as he was at uni {university} 150 miles away. The house needed packing up as my tenancy ran out in 2 weeks and we were moving into a new place together in the town he was studying in. My baby was beautiful and gradually feelings did start to kick in, he woke every 2-3 hours to feed and though I'd vowed no dummy {pacifier} - this lasted until the 2nd night when I managed to get 4 consecutive hours by sticking it in his mush....heaven. 


Moving house is stressful anyway...Moving with the pp blues is a nightmare. Everything set me off crying, still being unable to breastfeed and having a health visitor jam my baby's head onto my boob repeatedly until we were both inconsolable, missing my nan and feeling guilty that I'd not seen her, breast pumping my poor sore boobs, breaking 3 plates whilst packing, dropping tea bag on floor when aiming for bin and it splattering everywhere, going to bathroom/having shower and it looking like a horror movie scene, anything on the tv showing children harmed in any way...in fact pretty much anything on tv, missing my other half, being unable to get poo stain out of babygrow...the list goes on.

Worst of all though was feeling numb most of the time, so numb I'd still not properly bonded with my baby, in fact we'd not even named him. 


The good news for me at least is that it was fairly temporary. We named him when he was 10 days and moved when he was 15 days old. Sat in the back of the car in the final trip to our new home I looked at him and thought about how amazing he had been to put up with all the chaos of the move with barely a cry, tolerated numerous long car journeys quite happily and suddenly I loved him more than I could ever described to anyone, best feeling in the world, I felt like a mummy at last. 


I would do it all again as now 4 years old and looking all grown up in his school uniform I am hugely proud of my kind, loving generous boy and I'll love him always.

Anonymous | Sheffield, UK


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