Two years ago, I was about 45 minutes away from delivering him and very much appreciating the copious quantities of gas and air that I was knocking back with complete abandon.
Before I continue with that, a quick rundown of the day is in order. It began before we went to bed at about 1am. T wouldn't let me wake B up to wish him a happy birthday and so, after seemingly hours of wrapping (by me), we eventually trudged off to bed. Only to get up again, in the blink of an eye (6 or so hours later).
The morning was filled with crumpet eating, coffee drinking, balloon inflating, baking, excitement, encouragement, pleading, and resignation (us); porridge eating, squash drinking, present opening, balloon bashing, present fatigue, present refusal, and box-fetishism (B). He did rather enjoy opening and playing on his balance bike, though.
After his morning nap, we took B off to buy a helmet, and then to a nearby farm shop for lunch (which he refused to eat), and then a play on some diggers in the sand pit. B had a play too.
Later on, there were Skype calls with grandparents (my mum had spent the day with us, but T's parents live too far away), and there was much excitement when CBeebies showed his birthday card.
B went to bed happy, and although we didn't manage to find time to sit down with a birthday cake (though he actually has two waiting for him), he couldn't have enjoyed the day much more without exploding.
And neither could I, either today, or two years ago.
You see, the birth of B was overdue to the tune of about a fortnight and I had to be induced. Without going into too much detail, I was lucky enough that the first 'assistance' that women in the UK tend to be given worked a treat and labour kicked off.
It was mercifully fast, and in between the bits that made me
When I eventually had to stop walking and talking during contractions, I started to use techniques of hyno-birthing that I had learned during the preceding months, and which enabled me to focus. Anyway; short story shorter, B came along in under two hours, and I was lucky enough to have managed with gas and air.
Whilst I am certain that I couldn't have endured a much more intense labour without more intense anaesthesia, I thoroughly believe that my mental state helped me to birth in the way that I did.*
The way in which this related to my experience with T's diabetes is this...
I have found coming to terms with him not being able to simply 'fix' himself, or have others 'fix' him quite difficult. I guess this must be something that many people in a similar situation experience.
Knowing that something like childbirth is natural and has happened to many women before, and will happen to many women again is a great comfort. Knowing that should things progress in an unexpected, or difficult fashion, medical help would (probably - but that's another story) be available, was also instrumental in helping me to feel safe. There is help available for people with diabetes, obviously, and there is help available for complications of diabetes. But since diabetes is not something, like childbirth that is actually expected (after a fashion), I find it a whole lot more scary.
It is late, and I am rambling now. Tomorrow I shall say what I was actually trying to say.
Hopefully.
*I do of course accept that my own memory may have become altered with time, but I did write down much of my experience very soon after the fact so that I could revisit it later if I wanted to be sure of what I thought happened. I do not believe that it is a magic formula that will cure birth complications, nor that any woman should have any less medical help in childbirth than she reasonably believes she requires.
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