Finally, I reached full term last Sunday (37 weeks). My last bub was born at 37+4 after my waters broke at 37+2 so I was madly preparing for a potential early labour after finishing up work 2 days prior. Having had a bad case of painful shingles over the Christmas period which saw me unable to even have the air from a fan touch my skin without pain while a record breaking heat wave raged for days on end, I had done precious little to prepare for bubs arrival. Luckily I didn’t have too much to do having been given a huge about of baby clothes and other bits and pieces, which I was really appreciative of. One advantage of being an older mother is that you know lots of other people who know for sure they aren’t having any more kids and are more than willing to give things away to you.
So luckily I was finally prepared and not surprised when labour seemed to threaten to start early in the week (Mon/Tues) with a lot of cramping, back pain and a few scattered contractions, but it never actually went anywhere. In fact it stopped altogether, even my long term semi-regular Braxton Hicks tightenings disappeared. I spent the next few days waiting impatiently and distractedly in front of the air conditioner with hospital bag packed, but nothing more. Zip. Nada. Zilch. Zero. The idea of starting another binge watching series on Netflix made me want to cry. I’d go to the supermarket just to be able to walk more than a few metres at a time somewhere where there was air conditioning
So despite thinking I would never need it, I ended up going to a scan that was rebooked from when I had shingles, i.e. it was supposed to be three weeks ago at 34 weeks but was now at 37+4. And it’s a guy sonographer. Well, more accurately if you are familiar with Aussie lingo, it’s a bloke.
The guy started off with a lecture: fibroids don’t excite him, after a certain age every other woman has one, it’s not a big deal. Women come in and it’s “my fibroid this and my fibroid that”, but honestly, the chances he’ll even be able to see it at this late stage are so slim he’s already called the supervisor to come in to have a chat to me about it, ok? Just for a second opinion, to make me feel better, when he can’t find it.
I shrugged. I had actually called my doctor earlier and asked if I REALLY had to go, I didn’t want to. She made me go.
So he starts the scan, with his slightly patronising but well meaning voice still going he shows me the baby’s head, explaining that despite being full term she’s not even engaged yet, I’ve got ages to go. Then there’s a pause, followed by an exclamation “Wow, would you look at the size of that! You know how I said fibroids don’t excite me? Well that’s a fibroid that excites me! No wonder it’s not engaged, how’s the baby’s head ever going to get past that? … [Pulls himself up] …But I mean that’s a question for your doctor… [ Doesn’t last long] …Seriously though, that’s like the alarm going off in this room and both of us trying to get out that little door with the Incredible Hulk standing in the way. You know what I’m saying?”
Yep, loud and clear. Cheers mate.
So there you go. I’m booked in for a c-section after all.