by Naomi Thomas
‘Oh my God!’ I squealed. I was going to be a mum; my life had changed yet again in a split second. The nurse gave me a huge hug and told me that she had never had that happen in a pre-op assessment before. Graham was still sitting in the waiting room, completely oblivious to this news. ‘I’ll send him in,’ the nurse said, reading my mind. I had just seconds to decide how I would break this news to Graham. He was going to be a daddy!
Graham walked into the room and asked me if I was okay. Doing my best to keep a straight face, I held out the pregnancy test in my hand, just as the nurse had done a few moments before. His reaction was much the same as mine, and I’m sure the lady in the cubicle next to us must have thought we were mad. We were both on cloud nine; we had been trying for a baby for just one month and our wildest dreams had come true.
The positive pregnancy test meant that my portacath removal had to be carried out by local anaesthetic, but the surgeon and his team were in such good spirits in the operating theatre when they heard our news. They all crowded around, asking if we had known that I was pregnant and what we would call the baby. Graham and I finally felt as though we were being rewarded for the year of hell that we’d just endured. By October we would have a baby, our very own bundle of joy, here with us.
Or would we? My happiness soon turned to anxiety as I imagined all the things that could go wrong. I’d only just finished chemotherapy and radiotherapy, and surely it would still be travelling round my body. What if it harmed our unborn child?
My pregnancy was confirmed for us a couple of weeks later. We rang our parents to tell them the good news; they were thrilled, although slightly nervous too. Our midwife arranged for us to see a specialist, and for me to be under their care for the duration of the pregnancy. Although we had the baby’s wellbeing hanging over our heads, we had instantly fallen in love with the idea of being parents, and couldn’t help planning things and getting excited about every milestone. To have that taken away would have been devastating.
As my pregnancy progressed I loved seeing my tummy change, and knowing that I was carrying a new life was one of the best feelings in the world. The day before our 12-week scan, though, I noticed I was bleeding during a trip to the toilet. I panicked immediately, and as I lay on the bed in the scan room I was prepared for the worst. All of a sudden the baby’s heartbeat was on the screen, pumping loud and clear for Graham and me to hear. Our baby was fine; its weight, length and heartbeat were all perfect. The sonographer explained that we’d know more at our 20-week scan; that was the most crucial, along with the results of the Downs screening test, but as far as we could tell everything was fine. The relief was immense and we both broke down in tears of joy.
The Downs screening results came back normal, and as we approached the 20-week scan we were beside ourselves with excitement. I was adamant that we were having a boy, although I didn’t care as long as we had a healthy baby.
As I lay down for the scan I was still convinced that our baby was a boy, but the only person who could tell us for certain was currently slopping cold jelly all over my ballooning stomach. The room was silent as he negotiated my bump, searching for the baby’s position. There it was again, the beautiful sound of our baby’s heartbeat. The sonographer asked us what we thought we were having. I immediately piped up with my theory.
‘You’d be right, it’s a boy!’ he confirmed.
So there he was. Our little boy, who was to be named Devon. It was a name that I had fallen in love with about six years previously when the celebrity Nell McAndrew had chosen it for her baby boy. Luckily Graham liked the name too, although his mum’s face said it all when we told her. It suited our son from the moment he was born.
With everything going right in our lives once again, we began to talk about setting a date for the wedding. We knew that we’d have to move quickly, and so went to see some venues. One particular place that struck a chord was a beautiful Italian-inspired hotel in the heart of Birmingham. They were able to offer us a really good deal, and so we set a date for the following August Bank Holiday; finally we could start getting excited about what lay ahead. We knew this meant that our little boy would be with us on our special day – maybe the events of the past few months had happened for a reason.
Not long after the 20-week scan my back began to hurt. The pain was centred around the top of my back where my shoulders met, and I was finding it increasingly difficult to get comfy in a chair or bed. As time passed the pain got worse and worse, and I got in touch with the midwife to see what could be done. She put me on the waiting list for physiotherapy, and thought that the pain was probably caused by the extra weight of the baby that I was carrying around. No matter what I did, nothing eased my back at all. It got to the point where I was spending much of my time in bed and I’d become a Deep Heat addict, spraying it on liberally at every opportunity until I became immune to its effects.
During that time I went to Devon to see my parents for a few days. By this point I was really beginning to struggle and had been given Codeine to take sparingly when needed. Secretly, though, I was taking about four times the recommended dose. I’d reached such a low point that I didn’t care what happened to me, or the baby, as long as the pain went away. My mum booked a session of acupuncture for me. It wasn’t something we were big believers in, but right then I’d have tried standing on my head while doing the Hula if you had told me it would help. It helped for a few days, but soon the intense pain was back.
At around 30 weeks pregnant it was discovered that I had gestational diabetes. My diet was pretty good, so I wasn’t able to control the diabetes through changing what I ate, and the tablets that I was prescribed didn’t seem to help either. The next step would be insulin injections, which I really wasn’t keen on. Luckily, we never got that far as it was discovered Devon was breech; the chances were I’d be having him early. I was so pleased, as I couldn’t cope with the pain in my back any longer. By 34 weeks I was having to stay at home much of the time, and needed to be pushed in a wheelchair when I did manage to get out.
All I wanted was to have my baby, hopefully relieving the pressure in my back. I’d been begging the doctors for a C-section as early as possible. It was eventually decided that Devon would be delivered at 38 weeks by C-section, unless anything changed in the meantime.
One evening, just before our planned birth, Graham and I had decided to go to the cinema; it was one last night out, just the two of us, before Devon changed our lives for ever.
During the film, I found myself fidgeting in my seat. I just couldn’t get comfortable and, as the credits rolled, I went to stand but found I couldn’t. My back felt as though it had completely seized up. I grabbed Graham’s arm in a panic and he knew immediately that something wasn’t right. We waited until the auditorium had emptied and then Graham tried to lift me. The pain was excruciating. I had managed to stand up by now, but was huddled over, unable to straighten up or move my legs to walk.
It took 45 minutes for me to shuffle out of the cinema, with Graham helping me into the car. He drove me straight to the hospital, where I was admitted and told that I would be there until the baby was born. This was not how I imagined spending the week before I became a mum! There was so much to do at home, including prepping the nursery and washing baby clothes, and now Graham had been lumbered with it all as well as keeping me company. I was just thankful that our son would soon be with us, and was hoping that the pain would subside at last. He was still in the breech position, so my C-section was planned for Friday that week; at last, a date!
The night before the C-section Graham said goodbye at 8pm as visiting hours finished. I waved to him as he got into the car. After all that had happened, we were finally at the end of a long and difficult pregnancy, about to become parents!
Chapter Eight
The next morning Graham and I made our way to theatre. As I was wheeled in the song by Simon Webbe, ‘No Worries’, came on the radio. I recall hearing the lyrics, ‘I just know your life’s gonn
a change,’ floating above any other noise in that busy room, and feeling as though the whole thing had been planned. By now, I was feeling really nervous. The doctors and nurses bustled around me, erecting the screen that would shield me from the procedure I was about to endure. The care we received that day was superb, and the staff made us feel as though ours was the first baby to ever be born there – it was lovely.
I couldn’t feel anything and looked towards Graham, waiting for his face to show any signs of something happening. Though under the effects of the epidural, I was sure that I was shaking with fear, excitement and adrenalin. After a few moments, and lots of tugging and pushing down, which felt like someone clambering about on my chest, the doctor announced that our baby had been born. Graham’s face lit up. However, there was no sound to be heard from our new baby son. Weren’t babies meant to cry when they were born? Panic began to wash over me. I looked up at Graham, who was transfixed by what was going on. Just as I began to speak our little boy let out a small cry, like a lamb. I burst into tears of relief and happiness.
Devon Joel Thomas was born on 23 September 2010, weighing 7lb 9½ oz. He was soon wrapped up and brought over to Graham for his first cuddle. Seeing his little face and one tiny hand poking up through the towel was the most amazing moment of my life; I felt complete, and loved him more than anything else in the world.
As I was still numb, all I could do was look at him. I was so desperate for that first cuddle. The nurse took Devon and his daddy over to the weighing station to take his measurements, at which point my son peed all over the nurse, not once, but twice in quick succession. What an entrance!
Half an hour or so later Devon was laid in my arms for the first time. Tears began to flow as I was wheeled into a little side room, and we were left alone together. Within minutes Devon was having his first feed. Breastfeeding meant the world to me, but with all that I’d been through the doctors couldn’t be sure that I would be able to feed. But here I was, and Devon had taken to it right away. I felt as though I could finally do something for my baby all by myself – it was an amazing feeling.
Graham’s dad was our first visitor, bringing with him a small blue teddy bear, Bed Time Bear, which Devon still sleeps with to this day. We placed his first gift at the end of his cot and I lay transfixed, hardly daring to believe that we’d created this new life against all odds.
That night, when Graham left for home, I knew that he was really torn about leaving us. It was going to be very difficult for me to care for a newborn during the night, and it has always annoyed me that new dads are sent home alone after such an incredible day. Devon and I stood at the window and waved his daddy off. What a day! If I had thought that the day’s events had been hard work, then I was in for a shock.
Devon was a very relaxed baby, unlike the newborn across the ward. Every time it cried Devon would begin to scream too, and l didn’t sleep a wink all night. The next morning I told the nursing staff that I wanted to go home, despite being due to remain in hospital for five more days. I was relieved when they agreed to let me go.
After packing everything up, Graham brought in Devon’s new car seat. We strapped our newborn son in and were struck by how tiny and fragile he looked. I was still on crutches, although I could feel that the pain in my back was easing slightly. Graham now had two of us to look after and was going to have his hands full for a while. He rose to the challenge brilliantly, though, and I couldn’t have been prouder of him. That day, Graham drove the slowest I’d ever seen him drive. After all, we were carrying a precious load this time.
Chapter Nine
We’d barely had time to settle in before people began arriving to see the newest member of the family. It was pretty overwhelming, to be honest, especially as I still wasn’t feeling 100 per cent. All I wanted to do was bond with my baby, and for us to get to know each other as a family, but everyone was desperate to meet Devon.
I was still unable to get around without crutches, even though the pain had eased a little. This meant that I couldn’t stand to rock my son, or push his pram – the few things I had been dreaming about doing my whole life.
Although nothing prepares you for having your own child we were soon starting to get into a routine of feeds and nappy changes. I’d worked with children since the age of 19 and so certainly wasn’t a novice, but I questioned everything that I was doing for Devon. I just wanted the best for him, and could never have prepared myself for the love and protectiveness I felt for this new little person. Even though my pregnancy had been horrendous, having Devon in my arms made it all worthwhile.
During this time we were told Devon had a problem with his hips. As his hip joints had failed to form properly he would need to wear a harness for the first 12 weeks of his life to give them a chance to grow and develop. This meant that his little legs would be spread akimbo so that he couldn’t move them. Graham was devastated at the thought of him not being perfect, but I was just so thankful there was a good chance of correcting the problem. My chemotherapy and radiotherapy had not affected him in any way.
One afternoon, just six days after Devon’s birth, we had gone into town to get some shopping. October was approaching and the weather had turned a little chilly. By the time we got home I was feeling horrendous and, no matter how close I sat to our electric fire, I just couldn’t get warm. I decided to go upstairs and have a sleep to see if I could shake off the shivery feeling. When I finally got to the top of the stairs, taking one step at a time and supporting myself with the crutches, I began to shake violently. An uncontrollable wave flooded over me, and I shouted at Graham to come quickly. He shot to my side and was terrified to see that my lips had gone blue. He helped me to lie down on the bed, leaning my crutches against the wall.
Graham checked me over and said that he thought I had a temperature. He decided that if I was no better after an hour we would head to hospital. But I had no desire to go back there. Filled with determination, I decided I was feeling well enough to get up again just half an hour later. As I leaned forward to sit up, an electric shock rippled down my back and into my right leg; it was perhaps the worst pain I had ever felt in my life. I screamed in agony. The more I tensed or moved, the stronger the shocks came. By now Graham was by my side, but he was powerless to stop the pain. With his help I shuffled to the edge of the bed and lifted myself up on the crutches to see if being off my spine relieved the pressure at all. It didn’t; the shocks kept coming thick and fast, and by now I was screaming blue murder.
Graham grabbed the phone and called for the doctor, who said he would get to us as soon as he could, but had still not appeared half an hour later. In the meantime I had tried to sit down, only to discover that my body would no longer bend in the right places; it was as if my brain wasn’t telling my body what to do. I stood, near crippled, on my crutches and sobbed. A second phone call to the doctor revealed that he had been held up and wouldn’t be with us at any point soon. I was furious – I knew my body and this was so much more than back pain.
With Graham now crying, Devon screaming, and me sobbing my heart out, the decision was made to call 999, and we were relieved to know that help would soon be on its way. Half an hour later, though, the ambulance still wasn’t with us. We were all so distressed, and I begged Graham to call 999 again. An hour had passed by the time the ambulance arrived. I was relieved that we finally had medical professionals to help, but was also distressed that we’d been left so long. Why was no one taking my pain seriously?
The paramedics offered me some gas and air to ease the pain, which didn’t work. They then decided to administer morphine to see if my muscles would relax enough for the spasms to stop, but after the maximum dose they could give me I still felt no better, the disabling feeling as strong as ever. At this point the ambulance driver gave me my options; there was no doubt about it, I was going to hospital. The only way I was going to get there was if the fire brigade was called to come and assist, or if the air ambulance was summoned and winched me out of th
e bedroom window. I still couldn’t move my legs, sit, or lie down, so I didn’t care who came as long as they were quick. Although they weren’t legally obliged to attend for a back problem, the fire brigade agreed to come. Within minutes we heard the fire engine coming and saw the reflection of its blue lights on the houses around us.
Our poor neighbours must have wondered what the hell was going on. We’d just brought home a new baby and now here we were, with an ambulance and a fire engine pulled up outside. At least six firemen came dashing into the house and I instantly felt more relaxed, and not just because I was now surrounded by handsome men in uniform! I could tell they meant business and were going to help me. They discussed putting me on a spinal board but, as they started tipping the board, my body rippled with pain and I yelped out. The firemen then decided that they would carry me downstairs, one step at a time, as rigidly as they could. It took three men to hold me straight and with each step a small shock went through me. The morphine had finally taken the edge off the pain, but I was far from comfortable. I will always be in debt to those firemen. Their professionalism at a time when I needed it most will never be forgotten.
I was put in the ambulance and hooked up to monitors as we began the eight-mile journey to Kings Mill Hospital, where Devon had been born just six days before. I was facing yet another stay in hospital, this time without my baby. I was distraught.
Chapter Ten
When we arrived at the hospital I felt very alone and scared. Graham was following on behind as he had to pack a bag for me and sort out Devon. By this time it was very late at night, but the A&E Department seemed really busy, with patients lying on beds all over the place. I wondered where Graham was and when I would get some answers as to why I was in so much pain. No one seemed at all concerned by my presence, and by now I was so dozy that I just didn’t feel like fighting with anyone.
