In early 1995 I discovered I was pregnant. For someone who hadn't planned on having any children EVER, this was quite a revelation!
My pregnancy began well. I was 23 years old and healthy, why would there be any need to worry? I had the "Triple Test" at 16 weeks and that was the first indication that something wasn't quite right. It was a strange result; the levels for Spina Bifida & Downs Syndrome all came back within normal limits, but the level that measures HCG (pregnancy hormone) came back much higher than expected, and as a result I was referred to the local hospital. I was given scans and they showed that all was well - they looked entirely normal and everything was within normal limits. No one could explain why my HCG level was so high, just assumed that I was producing plenty of good hormones. I had my anomaly scan due at 20 weeks, so would be checked again then.
My anomaly scan at 20 weeks was a big event! It's always a big event for any parent to be....it's nerve wracking; you worry about what will happen if there is something wrong with your baby, but I was looking forward to seeing my baby again, plus I had decided to find out the sex of my baby. As you can see from the scan picture above, all did not appear well BUT because Jacks head size was considered within "normal limits" I was sent home again and told to come back at 28 weeks. I also left with the knowledge that I was carrying a boy and immediately went into town and brought a pack of newborn nappies....that was the first thing and ended up being the only thing I brought before Jacks birth.
At 28 weeks I was made aware of the situation. By that time I had grown huge, and everyone assumed that my dates must have been wrong. It turns out I had developed Polyhydraminos; excess fluid around the baby. I was scanned. The sonographer left the room and returned with a consultant, who didn't say anything to me. He just "ummed" and "aaahed" and the next thing I knew I was sitting in a side room with some woman who was showing me pictures of disabled children, and enforcing how important it was that I had an abortion. To be honest I don't remember much about the conversation. The consultant arrived in the room, sat down in front of me with his clipboard on his lap and told me that Jack's body measurements were all wrong; his head was far too big, he appeared to have fluid on the brain and his brain hadn't formed correctly. His arms were too long, his legs were too short and his toes were joined together. Putting all these facts together, I was told that there was a big chance my baby would be born severely disabled - in fact it was quite possible my baby wouldn't survive to term in my womb or could well die during birth. The room span. I felt detached. My whole being was racked with devastation...but inside me I felt a certain little chap wriggle and kick me...and I knew there was no way I would end his life before he had even got here! The consultant, almost forcefully, insisted I should have an abortion. But as I was adamant that it wasn't a consideration, he decided that I should go to the nearest specialist hospital for a second opinion - which actually turned out to another chorus of "have an abortion or your life will be over". At the hospital I was scanned again using the latest technology. The pre-natal diagnostic specialist shook his head and tutted, switched his machines off, turned to me and said
"If you don't terminate this pregnancy, all that will come out of it is a post mortem result"
By this time, I was getting sick of hearing the same line. No one could say for sure how Jack would be, no one could tell me the degree of how serious Jacks disabilities would be. My little man wriggled once more, booted me under the ribs, and I looked the specialist in the eye and told him firmly to help me off the bed, and that I would not be considering abortion. Whatever happened - happened. Whatever is meant to be - will be.
Back at home, life took a big change. Once the news got out that I was expecting a child who was "not formed right" something very strange happened. People avoided me. People who I had considered to be friends would cross the road when they saw me. My parents were devastated; my Mum made up her own mind that Jack would be fine, almost to the point where she went into denial that Jack had anything wrong with him. My Dad was more of a plain speaking type of chap and told me to think carefully about what I would be dealing with. I remember him saying to me "If you have that baby you will be wiping his arse for the rest of your life". Please don't be offended by that - that was my Dad's way - the only way he felt he could get through to me. He also warned me that Jack's Dad wouldn't stick around (which he was proved right over!). Thinking back there was only one friend who stood by me, he visited when he heard the news, and sat and listened as I told him what the doctors had said. He didn't judge me for carrying on with the pregnancy, and he didn't condemn my son in his own mind either - which a lot of people did. I have to say it was an awful time. I don't think I have ever felt so isolated....devastated....and truly and utterly alone. The thing is, avoiding someone in my state is human nature. We are all guilty of it at some point or another. When my late Nan was diagnosed with Leukaemia in 1994 I avoided her for two weeks! I just didn't know what to say to her - and it took her ringing me up and ordering me to go and see her that put some sense in to me.
Within days I ended up in hospital. I had been having contractions, so was placed on the labour ward. I had one more round of "terminate or else" conversations with the consultants, and after being threatened with legal action by my mother they shut up! All the consultants gathered around my bed and told me they would do everything they could to support my decision. They would stop the labour if they could, and would try and ensure that Jack was kept in my body for as long as possible to give him the best chance. However they enforced that if the pregnancy began to endanger my life (I was huge by 30 weeks) they would be concentrating on saving my life and not my baby's. I agreed to this, and they put me on a drip to stop the contractions and gave me steroids to boost Jacks lungs.
I remained in hospital for the rest of the pregnancy. I had a few trips back and forth to the labour ward to be put back on my favourite drip (not). At 33 weeks I began to go a bit stir crazy and begged to be allowed home on leave. I was allowed home for a weekend - on the condition I didn't get out of bed, and did nothing because there was a massive chance my waters would break. I hastily agreed and I did behave myself.
Since that scan at 28 weeks I had done nothing to prepare for having a baby. I brought nothing - I absolutely insisted that no one else brought anything for the baby...almost as if it would be tempting fate and he would die. There was no nursery by the time Jack was born! In fact the only things I had was a second hand moses basket and a pram hastily borrowed from a friend of a friend until I managed to get my own!
Being in hospital for the few weeks before Jacks birth was actually an amazing experience when I look back on it. Its amazing how friendships are forged on a maternity ward, and I will never forget any of the women I met back then. Given the nature of pregnancy I never knew anyone for that long, but there were a couple of women who kept being re-admitted for bed rest, and one who had a problem with her hips so she was in long term like me. It was July 1995 and the hottest summer we had known for many years....the air was hot and suffocating and the midwives would come round and turn our fans off at night - which was highly annoying! As our ward was directly above labour ward, we would stand by the windows during the hot afternoons, listening to the women directly below us scream and shout and struggle through their labours. Occasionally we would yell encouragement - and would all feel the same rush of joy when we heard silence - followed by the yells of a newborn baby! As we were all starting to climb the walls with bed rest we re-named many staff members for our amusement. One locum doctor who had particularly massive hands (and who also ended up doing a lot of internal examinations on pre-labouring women who had been sent to our ward) was christened "Shovel Hands". He was actually one of the nicest doctors I have ever met - but thankfully I never had to endure a physical examination from him!
On one of those long hot summer nights, Saturday 12th August 1995, Jack decided enough was enough....he wanted out of the cramped conditions of my womb and he made his entrance.....