As we filed out the door, I remember glancing back, my heart broken at how her body had failed her. But beneath the sagging skin, wasted muscle and frail bones she still had her heart, that pure, giving and thoughtful heart.
She was the person who taught me how to open my heart to others. I was lucky to have had her in my life, to teach me such lessons, and as I lay in my daughter’s bed, finishing my shaky rendition of ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow’, I thought about my nanna Agnes and the bounty she’d given me, how it had brought me to where I was, on the brink of paying it forward and giving the biggest gift I’d ever given in my life. Elsie kicked in my belly and I pulled Keira’s hand down to feel the force of the movement inside me.
Keira’s eyes lit up, her mouth open as she breathed in sharply. ‘Baby JJ,’ she whispered, as if to inform me of something I didn’t know.
‘That is Baby JJ. She’s saying goodnight, Keira.’
My daughter wriggled down under the covers and planted a kiss on my belly before re-emerging, her hair ruffled. ‘I kissed her goodnight.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Keira. Now it’s time for you to go to sleep.’
As I walked to the door, Keira whispered, her voice tiny, ‘Mum, I love you. You’re my best mum ever.’
I stopped in the doorway, shutting my eyes, a tear rolling down my cheek. ‘I love you too, my girl . . . so much.’
Keira’s best mum ever, I thought, closing the door. That’s all I ever wanted to be.
I hoped Nanna Agnes was proud of me.
27
Pack your bags, you’re having someone else’s baby
On Friday 21 November, thirty-eight weeks and two days pregnant, I sat before Dr Wright as he viewed the final growth scan report on his computer. The estimated foetal weight was 2.436 kilograms (five pounds six ounces), and Elsie still measured in the bottom tenth percentile for growth. My fundal height had increased meagrely to thirty-three centimetres – five centimetres less than it should have been – but my blood pressure, weight and Elsie’s heartbeat were great. Elsie was still head down, so Dr Wright booked me in for an induction on Tuesday 25 November; however, he requested that I go to the maternity unit on Sunday morning to have a cardiotocography (CTG) test to make sure that her heart rate was normal.
On the Saturday, Andrew went away with a few mates to see a band in Brisbane, so I spent the day preparing for Tuesday, packing my bag and making sure I had maternity pads, old underwear, pyjamas, snacks and a magazine. It was strange to be packing a bag to prepare for birth but not actually considering what the baby would need. That was up to her fathers, yet I couldn’t help but go over the inventory in my mind as I’d done with my own babies: nappies, booties, singlets, wipes, a beanie, a blanket, a wrap, and a going-home suit. Of course, they’d need bottles too.
I remembered how excited I was on the day I packed in anticipation of Jaxon’s birth, holding up a fluffy white bear suit complete with a hood and sewn-on ears. As it turned out, when Jaxon arrived he was so big we could only just squeeze him into the suit on the morning we went home. Just as Andrew zipped it up, Jaxon’s expression hardened and he soiled himself. That was when I realised I needed more than one nappy. Yes . . . I had packed one nappy for hospital. I planned to use the cloth nappies supplied in hospital, so naturally I assumed I’d only need one to get us from hospital to home; it was only a ten-minute trip.
‘Typical first-time mother you are,’ the midwife had said, chuckling, before walking off in search of another disposable, leaving me standing there holding my big white bear with his dirty nappy. I felt completely idiotic. I had no idea just how much my child was going to go through nappies, how much he would pee and poo. I’d put on a fresh nappy, and within minutes he’d soil it and I’d have to change him. I was shocked; no one told me. There were many things no one had told me about having a newborn.
In the last few weeks I’d had many conversations with the boys, giving them little snippets of information about the hospital, the staff, what to expect from me during the birth, and how Elsie would be handled by the midwives afterwards. I laughed, telling them to take more than one nappy with them to hospital, but I knew that no one could truly prepare them for the birth of their own child.
As the day went on, I became teary, missing Andrew and feeling an uncontrollable urge to hug my children, wanting them near. I had every expectation that I’d be okay, that what I was about to experience would be nothing more than a routine birth – no complications – but in the back of my mind there was a tiny fragment of worry that something could happen to me. Watching Offspring every week didn’t help, viewing women bleeding out or suffering from blood clots or heart attacks after their babies were born. Justin and I would text each other throughout the show each week, gossiping about the characters and gushing over Nina and how wonderful she was, yet until now I’d never married the heartache on the show with something that could happen in our scenario.
Jon and Justin were due to arrive that night and stay at my mother’s house before booking into a cottage they had leased for a few weeks on a rural property fifteen minutes from town. I took the kids to Mum’s place to have dinner with her and wait for the boys. They texted after dinner to say they were running late, that I shouldn’t wait up for them but take the kids home to bed and get some rest myself. Deflated, I went home. I desperately wanted to see them, but I knew that the next day we were off to the hospital for the CTG and then we had some fun planned with the kids.
That night I lay in bed with Jaxon sleeping beside me, his mouth open, his eyelids twitching. He’d asked if he could sleep with me as Andrew was away, and I had agreed. The truth was I wanted my son near. I didn’t want to be alone. I closed my eyes and thought about tomorrow. Dr Wright had said that if the CTG observations weren’t good, if there were any signs of foetal distress, he’d be called in straight away and I could be off for a C-section that very afternoon. I rubbed my belly, my skin warm and tight – an intimate moment between me and the baby I carried, a moment for just the two of us. My time with her was limited. Within twenty-four or forty-eight hours she could be born into this world. Was I ready to let her go? I rolled over, dismissing the thought. I was ready. I was ready to give Jon and Justin their daughter. She had been my passenger for so long but I was ready to meet her myself, to see Elsie on her way to the life she’d chosen. As I closed my eyes, a single tear rolled down my face, into my hair.
I was ready to let go. I was ready to set her free.
The next morning I met Jon and Justin at Mum’s house. The kids ran inside, yelling the boys’ names, and I heaved myself up the stairs after them, panting, reaching the top and smiling as the boys hugged one child each, picking them up and twirling them around. Mum stood back, a grin on her lips. As she glanced at me and then the belly, I saw the hint of pride in her eyes.
‘Morning,’ I said, waddling over, my legs stiff.
‘Good morning,’ Justin said, hugging me before pulling back to lay his hand on my tummy. ‘It’s finally happening. She’ll be here soon.’
‘She will.’ I squeezed his hands and moved to greet Jon.
As I hugged Jon I noticed the time on the clock that hung in Mum’s lounge room. ‘We’d better be off, Dr Wright said to get the CTG done first thing.’
‘Yep, let’s go.’ Jon checked his pockets for his keys and phone.
‘Thanks for having the kids, Mum. I’ll let you know how it goes and whether we’ll be staying or coming home. My guess is we’ll be coming home.’
Mum and the kids waved us off from the verandah. I stared at my children’s hopeful, innocent faces and felt the sting of tears in my eyes. Both of them had no idea what was about to happen to me, to our family. They didn’t understand how momentous the occasion would be, our lives changing forever.
The car trip was quiet, although we tried to remain upbeat. True to his nature, Justin was adamant that everything would be fine and we’d be returning on Tuesday for an induction. Deep down I felt the s
ame, but I didn’t want to get carried away, cocky, only to have it all come crashing down on top of me.
We walked into the maternity ward. As we went into the birthing unit, my face lit up at the sight of Julie, the midwife who had delivered Jaxon and Keira.
‘Hello!’ Julie grinned with a look that said, I know you from somewhere.
‘It’s Shannon Garner. You delivered my two, Jaxon and Keira.’
‘Oh yes, yes, how are you?’ She glanced down at my belly and then at the boys.
‘I’m good. Pregnant again. But this time I’m a surrogate. This is Jon and Justin, the fathers.’
Julie greeted the boys and I explained that Dr Wright had told us to come down for a CTG. We followed Julie to a consulting room where I slowly positioned myself on a bed, grunting as I lifted my legs, while she took my yellow card, reading the information.
‘SGA baby, hey?’
‘Apparently,’ I said.
‘Right, well, I’ll get the CTG going and we’ll see what it tells us. But you’re feeling good, plenty of movement from bub?’
‘Yep.’ I placed my hands on my belly, looking up at the ceiling. ‘She’s kicking now.’
I sat for the next twenty minutes with a monitor around my middle clicking a button every time I felt a movement. Julie sat next to me, chatting to the boys about the birth and feeding. She was disappointed that she wasn’t on the roster for Tuesday when I was due to be induced.
‘Bugger. We could’ve made it a hat trick.’ She chuckled, flicking her blonde curly hair behind her ear. ‘You know, this girl can birth babies, I’ve seen it with my own eyes. She’s a good candidate to be a surrogate.’
‘She’s the best surrogate we could’ve asked for, and if she can birth two ten-pound babies with no dramas, then she should pop this little one straight out.’ Justin laughed.
‘I wish it was that easy,’ I said with a grin.
Julie placed her hand on my leg. ‘Shannon, from what I can see everything looks fantastic. Bub’s happy inside your tum, so there’s no need for me to keep you here. I’ll call Dr Wright and let him know all is well.’
‘Thanks, Julie.’
‘All the best for Tuesday, my dear. You’ll do well, I know you will.’ Julie patted my leg again before unstrapping me from the machine.
As she left the room I turned to Jon and Justin, their faces alive with relief and excitement. We were free to carry on for another two days without interference.
The boys’ parents were set to arrive that afternoon at the cottage, so after a lunch of fish and chips with the kids in the park we headed back home, giving Jon and Justin time to check in and get comfortable.
That night Andrew arrived home from Brisbane and we went to Mum’s for dinner, the boys coming along too. Mum made lasagne and we laughed around the table, Keira and Jaxon entertaining us. I was tired, physically and emotionally, yet my spirits were high – I wasn’t being forced to have a C-section.
In a last-ditch attempt to bring on labour early, the day before the scheduled induction I had two appointments with Kim, one at 9 am and the second at 2 pm.
‘This could help, but it might not do anything at all. If she’s not ready to come, she’s just not ready,’ Kim said, swatting a needle into my foot.
‘That’s what’s frustrating. If she’s not ready then why the induction? I don’t want her to be forced out. I hate intervention when it comes to birth. It’s disappointing, but at the end of the day the possibility that there could be something wrong plays on my mind. It’s such a huge responsibility.’
‘The doctor has his reasons. But you must be strong and stick up for yourself too. If you’re not comfortable with something, you have to tell them.’
I lay back, replaying Kim’s words over and over in my mind. I felt as though I had almost lost control of the situation. The most exciting part of pregnancy for me was that unexpected moment when your waters pop or you feel that initial twinge, low in your belly – the first signs.
At the end of my second session with Kim, I stood in the doorway to say goodbye. I knew I’d see her again, but I’d be changed. It wouldn’t be me and Elsie anymore. It’d be just me, perhaps with a different perspective on life and love after birthing someone else’s child.
‘Stay true to yourself, Shannon, and you’ll be fine. You can do this.’
I nodded, my throat clenched. ‘Thanks, Kim, for everything. I’ll keep you posted on the progress.’
Kim sent me off with a chart of the pressure points on the feet I could press to encourage labour and ease contractions, and also some more labour-inducing tea. In my bag I had packed some arnica, for bruising and an essential oil called Labour of Love which could be massaged into the skin during birth or put in the bath.
That afternoon we’d arranged a photo shoot with a local photographer, Lyss. I still hadn’t felt anything, not even a twinge. It was my last afternoon at home before the induction, and I was running out of time. The photo shoot was a timely distraction. I dressed for the shoot in a cream lace tunic; a maternity dress, it fitted well, snug around my bust and belly. Andrew wore shorts and a collared shirt, Jaxon shorts and a white t-shirt, while Keira opted for a green tutu and a cream singlet with gold spangled wings sewn onto the back and a sequin heart on the front.
We were to meet Lyss on dusk at the beach, where we could let the kids run free while she took the photos. Jon and Justin drove to our house, then followed us to the location. When we arrived, Lyss was already there, lifting her camera gear out of the boot of her car.
‘Hello,’ she bellowed across the car park, shaking her fringe out of her eyes.
A light breeze was blowing as we stepped out of the car. We all greeted Lyss, Keira fluffing out her tutu and shaking her wings.
‘I remember you, little miss,’ Lyss said, crouching down to Keira’s height. She was referring to a family photo shoot we’d done a couple of years back, Keira a cheeky eighteen-month-old then.
As the boys approached, Lyss patted Keira’s head and stood up. ‘So this is Jon and Justin. This is amazing, guys, I feel very blessed to be able to do this shoot for you.’
We followed Lyss down a wooden boardwalk then over sand and smooth pebbles to the beach. The horizon was awash with pink and orange pastel light. Waves crashed onto the pebbled shoreline and withered leaves from the pandanus palms lay scattered across the beach among nests of seaweed, dried from the heat of the day. We stood amid the stunning scene, salty air in our lungs, the sound of waves lapping against the shore. A flock of galahs flew overhead, squawking, dipping down with the breeze.
Lyss stepped around us, holding her camera as though it was an extension of her own body. She positioned us together, snapping shots of us laughing as a family – the Garners and the boys. She shot a series of pictures of me with Jon and Justin, their hands on my belly, their eyes alight with hope and excitement.
Then, leaving Andrew and the boys to play with the kids, Lyss asked me to walk out into the ocean, up to my ankles, gaze out to sea and contemplate the next twenty-four hours of my life as the water lapped my legs, my feet massaged by the pebbles below. She stood back, angling the camera, photographing my hands on my belly, on Elsie, my eyes searching the horizon, deep in thought as I prepared for the next day in my life.
With a crooked stick she found on the beach, Lyss then wrote Elsie in the sand, and we all stood behind the name, my family and the boys, each of us beaming at the thought of the future, Lyss capturing the moment forever.
After the photo shoot I walked alongside Lyss back to the car while Andrew, Jon and Justin chased the kids down the beach. I told her about the planned induction.
‘I had the same thing with my daughter,’ she said. ‘You know you don’t have to do anything you don’t agree with.’
‘I know I don’t, but my situation’s difficult, it’s not my child.’
She paused. ‘Yes, that’s true. But the best thing I can tell you is to buy time. After they used the prostaglandin ge
l on me to induce labour, I’d get up and walk around the hospital. They told me to be back in twenty minutes and I’d take two hours. I wasn’t going to be forced into labour. I wanted it to happen naturally. I remember sitting on a fit ball, bouncing up and down like some madwoman to try to open my cervix. I didn’t want the oxytocin.’
‘Oh, Lyss, I feel the same way. I’m so glad I had the opportunity to talk with you. I’m going to stick up for myself if I feel there’s too much intervention.’ I swallowed, wondering if in the heat of the moment I’d stay true to my words.
‘Good. You go, girl.’ Lyss fist-pumped the air.
At the car, I turned to her. ‘Thank you for your advice. You have no idea how much you’ve eased my mind. I feel like I can do this now.’
‘Oh, you can. Just stick to your guns. Ask them to turn off the oxytocin for a while. Heck, it’s your body! It’s your birth.’
After Lyss drove off, I arranged to meet the boys out the front of my house at seven thirty the next morning – the day of induction.
‘Get a good night’s rest,’ I said, waving as they walked to their car. Tomorrow would be the start of something special in their lives, and if my nerves were any indication of what the boys were feeling, rest might not come easy.
‘Goodnight, Shannon. We’ll see you in the morning,’ Jon said, opening his car door. ‘I hope you can sleep.’
As we drove home, I thought about what Lyss had said. Even if it wasn’t my child, it was my birth. I had every right to have the experience I wanted for myself and for baby Elsie. I considered the fact that I might have to become demanding, something that didn’t come easily to me.
Later that night, once the kids were in bed, I stood by my mini suitcase inspecting the contents. I had nuts, coconut water, bananas, apples, my Labour of Love oil, arnica, my acupressure points chart from Kim, maternity pads, toiletries and clothes. I needed nothing else but courage. I zipped up the suitcase and left it by the door, secretly hoping that I’d go into labour overnight and not need the induction at all.
Labour of Love Page 25
