Clara
feminine form of the Latin name Clarus, meaning "clear, bright, famous"
Aradhana
from the Sanskrit word meaning "Worship"
Three months ago we were surprised (
Everyone.
She was breech, she wanted to be breech, she liked being breech. And she didn't care what the doctors said or did. We coaxed, prayed, pleaded and went for procedures get her into position.
Really!
The only position she cared for was the one she was in.
"She's not going to turn..." the very capable, senior doctor sighed. "She's big and she won't budge." His caring hands dug deep into my abdomen as he grasped her head in one hand and her hips in the other. "Are you ok?"
REALLY!
I was inclined at about 30 degrees, breathing deep and focusing on a little crack on the ceiling. My nails dug deep in to the mattress over the metal bed. I looked at my bulging belly and at my feet. Yes, at 30 degrees I could SEE my feet!! My face was red, my belly sore and my feet ugly. It didn't matter that I was not ok. I had to avoid a c/s at all cost, and if it cost me a little discomfort, it wasn't a heavy price to pay. "She won't move." he reinforced. "Take a break, we'll do this again in 15 minutes."
NO!
I smiled. And inwardly groaned. Another deep tissue massage. No! "Sure," I quipped "I feel fine" and there was I again, fifteen minutes later, hanging at the same prescribed 30 degrees, breathing deep, all red, avoiding looking at my feet, ignoring the muscle ache and feeling the mattress again. He was more concerned about me this time. His hands manoeuvred the baby while his eyes never left my face. After a while I stopped looking at the crack and just looked at him instead. That was enough distraction, for he seemed in just as much pain as I was in. Wiping his forehead, he pronounced the words I was dreading to hear "She won't turn."
So I just thanked him,
and told him,
how wonderful it was to've met him
and to have him work on me.
And I really meant it!
So finally I had experienced two ECVs. And both had failed. Nevermind! It was time to go home. And rest my aching belly.
Two days later a chill ran down my spine and terrible thoughts of fearful consequences ran in my mind as I felt amniotic fluid leaking periodically. John was due to travel to Nepal that evening. Was I imagining things? Was I stressed? Was it real? I won't tell!
I called him, we rushed to the hospital. I lay down on the back seat of my dad's car. The sky was clear and beautiful, I saw birds soaring, migrating from the north and the sun playing hide and seek with few wispy clouds. What a beautiful day for a baby to be born! I didn't know my baby would be playing hide and seek with me those next few days. At the hospital the doctors thought it was no big deal. "Pv." "Lie down." I began hating those two phrases. And this was just the beginning. I was put under observation for the next day. In a strange cold room. Without my husband. With a baby that was breech. Still breech.
In the cold of that room, I revisited...
August 1
Our cruise on the Moskova. I thought about the beautiful architecture, my family, the lovely feeling of being on water, and the lovely thought that it was Moscow.
and I remembered..
how when we got off the boat, and walked towards the metro station, I felt a strange tugging in my gut. It was La Petite going vertex from breech. A few minutes later, the same strange feeling, back to breech. She stayed that way till the end. At 32 weeks, my regular gyn recommended c/s on november 15. She told me to be prepared. I read all I could, researched all I wanted to and hoped for peace about it. Then I saw ps 71. The Word hit me.
5 For you have been my hope, Sovereign Lord,
my confidence since my youth.
6 From birth I have relied on you;
you brought me forth from my mother’s womb.
I will ever praise you.
my confidence since my youth.
6 From birth I have relied on you;
you brought me forth from my mother’s womb.
I will ever praise you.
I would trust Him who gave me life, who will bring my baby forth from my womb.
As I thought about these things in the lonely room, filled with lonely, labouring women, John sent me the medicines for the night. Seeing my name written in that familiar, loving hand, I couldn't help crying. I felt lonely. Lonely with the little hidden baby. While lonely John fought mosquitoes as he slept in the car that night. All alone.
The next day a lovely doctor called together a group of junior doctors to give them a demonstration on one of the most interesting manual procedures in obstetrics, the External Cephalic version. The subject? Me! I didn't realise it till I lay at the end of that table, almost falling off, hanging on to dear life, staring at four different pairs of eyes and gaping at the lovely doctor on the step-stool bending down over me. Fortunately, I knew what to do!
This time the 'deep tissue massage' didn't hurt one bit, though I felt rather sore after the third try.
Yes.
third.
It was great! Great because baby was forced to turn around turned! The joy was rather short-lived when the lovely doctor uttered the dreaded word, pv. (If you're not a doctor or a nurse, don't bother searching up the definition!) None of the doctors present could then tell if she was still breech or cephalic! I was finally sent to a room, a beautiful room overlooking the beautiful chapel and steeple of Christ Church. Ps 71 came alive again...
21 You shall increase my greatness,
And comfort me on every side.
And comfort me on every side.
I was 'home'! That evening I went into pre-labour. The contractions were always three minutes apart, not closer, not further apart. Just constant. Three hours into pre-labour, they ceased. The same the next day. That morning after breakfast I had that same funny feeling in the gut again. I abandoned breakfast and hung upside-down from the hospital bed. I did wiggly hip movements. In short I traded rest for ridiculous exercises! I don't know if the exercises tired me more than the labour, or if it was the other way around. Either case it didn't matter, she was up again. Talk about perseverance!
November 14
The wonderful evening of november 14, my labor progressed to closer together than the regular three minutes and I joyfully announced to the nurse in charge to call my consultant. I was taken to the labour room and given a bed to rest. The doctor in-charge passed by and glanced at me saying "breech case". She later came to me and asked me if I'd like another ECV.
Really?!
I could only cry!
11 pm, midnight.. the contractions went on, I kept breathing, singing and talking. I had decided not to moan, blow or pant unless I was going into labour. To control the discomfort I chose to sing 'Saviour, He can move the mountains...'
November 15
1 am I rested a little. 2 am tears started streaming down my face. I talked and laughed with a nurse over how she thought I was a medical student. All the while tears streaming down my face. The nurse suggested ARM. I couldn't take the constant contractions any more and agreed to her decision. Up the table I went again, hanging on to dear life. I missed the lovely doctor with gentle hands. Here I was staring at a lady beyond the bulging belly who had no idea who I was or what number baby this was of mine. I was a one-word-case for her. Breech.
I couldn't restrain my frustration any longer. I screamed at her. Worst than any screaming I've ever done before! I was sent to get the test antibiotic and drip before making it to the epidural table. I don't know how many times I threw my body off the stretcher onto a table and clambered back on again. Finally at the epidural table I could take it no more.
No more!
Didn't I tell you to give me an epidural five hours ago? - I yelled at the poor, innocent fellow wanting to help me.
I'm not supposed to be pushing!! I screamed at the senior doctor that came to see what all the fuss was about.
Don't just stand there staring at me! DO something!! - The nurses weren't spared either!
Meanwhile outside the labour room, my unsuspecting husband was given a Consent for Caesarian form which he disputed. The doctors were in consortium outside the epidural room discussing further action on the uncooperative patient.
"Can you please try sitting again? I need to give you the epidural." NO! I've tried. I won't anymore.
"Your baby is big" I've heard that before!
"You don't have much amniotic fluid left!" Who asked you to do the ARM?
"Your baby is still high up!" I can see THAT!
"You're only 2 cm dilated!" Who cares?!
"We'll need to do a c/s" Call my consultant. NOW!
I was obviously in the mood for debate and argument!
The doctors stayed outside calling my consultant while I screamed (and insulted) inside. The nurses giggled (I know, the cheek!) I bellowed some more till I could feel the baby wanting to come! Sudden fear overtook me for a few seconds. What if something happens? She is breech after all.
He is my rock
I will hide under Him
Till the storm has passed
He will shelter me.
I wanted to sing 'She's coming!'
I screamed
SOMETHING is coming!
They all came running inside the room the size of my kitchen.
One of them got to the end of the table.
The other allowed me to wring his hand.
The third was shocked!
I pushed and stopped.
It seemed like a long time before I asked them, "WHAT do I do now?"
The third looked up and said "Push once more"
The second allowed me to wring his hand some more.
The first was very grim.
And very dirty by now.
I could feel the baby being born.
Breech.
She didn't cry.
I delivered the placenta.
There was no trash can in the epidural room (I never wanted to deliver over a trash can anyway!)
A nurse took the baby.
Another got the trash.
So ironic!
My mind was racing.
She hasn't cried.
Why hasn't she cried?
Why is my baby not crying?
But all I could ask was...
Isn't it a girl?
Shhh...
That's what I got. My mind kept racing...
Has she cried yet?
Has she seen a doctor yet?
Where's the paediatrician?
I asked again...
Tell me it's a girl.
I want a girl.
Shhh...
After ages they brought my baby to me. Drenched. Pink. Chubby. Wrinkly. With vernix.
Lovely.
Clara.
My little Clara.
The 'breech' foot!
