I’ve been a woman possessed recently, I’m sure you’ve noticed. I’ve been occupied 24-hours a day torturing myself with my GTBOM experiments for weeks and weeks. It’s all in the name of research though, you should know that, it’s not just my impatience that drives me on, but also a genuine passion for helping out my fellow suffering baby-makers. :-)
I’ve tried everything now. Well pretty much everything (the only one I haven’t actually tried yet, is, (forgive me,) this one.)
I feel now is the time I should document my findings and gather my research in order to draw a conclusion upon my previous experiment. (Do I sound all scientific here? I’m trying . . . ) So white coats and enormous goggles at the ready.
THE CASTOR OIL REPORT
Materials required for Castor Oil Experiment:
100ml Virgin Castor Oil
One willing (if not a little desperate) victim. (Ooops, I meant Candidate)
1:30pm— Massive yummy lunch consumed, (Pasta, Bacon and Cheese Sauce) - in order to line the stomach.
2:00pm—40ml of Virgin Castor Oil mixed with pure Orange Juice downed in one. (Managed entire glass though gagged lots at final mouthful. Tasted similar to Vaseline, not that I have ever actually tasted Vaseline. Tasted similar to how I imagine Vaseline would taste based on the smell . . . Oh you get what I mean.)
2:01pm—Chocolate consumed. (Chocolate in my opinion rarely needs an explanation but in this case I ate a little to take Vaseline taste away.)
6:00pm—Darling husband returns home from work armed with toilet roll.
6:15pm—No symptoms to report other than irregular Braxton Hicks contractions. Am shocked.
6:30pm—Repeat dosage of Castor Oil and OJ. Down in one. This time nearly puke all over the dog. (Very sorry dog)
7:00pm—Lamb, roast potatoes and peas consumed. Very yummy. (Thanks Mum)
7:30pm—No symptoms to report. Am even more shocked.
8:00pm—Braxton Hicks get stronger and a little more regular.
9:00pm—Braxton hicks getting even stronger.
10:00pm—Strong contractions. Am bemused how, after downing almost an entire bottle of strong laxative, I have no sudden urges to visit toilet. Seriously, I apologise if too much info but must be only woman in world to drink laxatives and suffer not even an attack of flactulance. Only wind coming from me is seeping from area formerly housing brain.
11:00pm—Bemusement comes to an end as contractions merge with tummy ache and I find I didn’t get lucky at all. Toilet roll coming in very handy indeed.
11:30pm—Still keeping toilet warm. Can hear Mother and Husband giggling like children. Bastards.
12:00am—Contractions kick in. Ouchy. Phone hospital.
1:00am—Lorelei is carried to friends house, Mummy is put in car with car-seat, notes and labour bag. Excited. Scared. Nervous. Pained.
1:15am—Arrive at Kettering hospital. Shoved onto ward with 5 other women. One woman panting for England. Sounds as though having asthma attack. Can also hear slurping wet sounds of her husbands kisses. Cannot see couple from shitty stained curtains but conclude both are ugly and sweaty and gross. Feel sick. Lots of other women panting and crying too, though none as loudly as first. Lots of scared partners trying to keep composed too. No staff.
1:25am—Still have yet to be greeted. Am feeling very upset.
1:35am—No acknowledgement of my presence at all. Perhaps should begin wailing like greasy woman in corner, however tend to be very quiet in pain and not very good actress.
1:45am—Nobody cares I am here and no one wants to check on me.
1:50am—Go to toilet. Find approx 15 midwives chatting happily, sitting on desks and drinking coffee in reception. Could scream and cry all at once. Am thinking, ‘bollocks, will have baby at home by myself.’ Lots of women do it. Lots of new age hippies and such.
1:52am—Tell Mum and Jay of my plans. Still having contractions, still crying, but starting to doubt am in labour at all. Contractions not as strong as before.
1:55am—Leave shithole known as Maternity Ward and come home. Via MacDonalds. (Micky D's never lets me down - Golden Archers are my saviour.)
2:30am—Am home, first port of call? Bathroom. :-(
2:45am—Finish my 'chat' with toilet, swallow some pain killers and hit the sack.
My verdict? Well it definitely did something because I’ve not suffered tightening’s as painful as that in the entire pregnancy. As for the nasty side effects? (Or should that be ‘bottom’ effects?! Lol) - well that wasn't so bad in the sceme of things, (though that’s easy to say now that bottom is healed and tummy is no longer in knots.)
Mum, who had been staying with us for the past few days in case I popped has admitted defeat and returned home now. Which means I won’t be treated to as many wonderful Clary Sage Massages and reflexology as I was, alas I was becoming quite accustomed to them and therefore have been swanning about (less swanning more waddling actually) like the queen of Sheeba. (Where is Sheeba by the way? Does such a place exist? And whom, might I ask, is the real queen?! Lol)
Will be calling mum back as soon as I get some real action though, (that’s if I ever do) and this time I have been focusing a lot on exactly what I’m going to do when labour does kick off. I’m thinking I’m going to put my foot down and argue a little more for the homebirth that I so want. The hospital just upsets me so much and I know I’m going to have a terrible time of it if I have to go back there. I’m not being pessimistic, I’m just trying to be realistic. And this is a big deal. The birth of a baby is something no Mother ever forgets in a hurry, I’ve gotta make it a positive experience.
So that’s my next mission. To secure my homebirth. And in the meantime . . . (and I hate myself for saying this but I guess . . .) Baby will come when he’s ready.
Steph x
Domestic? Hardly. Goddess? Of course ;-)
Yesterday, however, I was a bit of both. I’m all preened and plucked and have been pampered to within an inch of my life in preparation for those post-birth photo’s. (My goodness that’s a lot of p’s lol) and I’ve also either undergone a personality transplant unknowingly or have finally been blessed with the good old instinct to nest.
I’ve been waiting for the nesting instinct to kick in for weeks and weeks now, all the while my house was starting to resemble something Kim and Aggie would want to get their marigolds on. On my big pregnant bottom I’d sat, willing myself to attempt the housework, alas I couldn't muster the strength for anything more than a Sky + remote workout.
Well finally a few days ago I had my body possessed by a clean freak and boy have I made up for lost time. Scrubbing, scouring, spraying, cleansing, bleaching . . . You name it we did it. (You see with the nesting instinct also came a bossing instinct which ensured that both Jay and Lori were involved in my cleaning spree.)
Yesterday, on my hands and knee’s, I scrubbed the bathroom floor with bump serving as a drying and polishing aid, (twas quite funny actually, even though I was soaked by the end of it) and I’m feeling so satisfied right now with everything done and dusted. Barry Scott eat ya heart out . . .
My labour bag, now that I’m left with little choice but to have this baby in hospital, is finally all packed with totally undignified yet essential items such as disposable pants and maternity pads. All acting as a cruel reminder of what I’ve got to come. I’m nervous as hell but so want to get this show on the road.
The only way I can describe how I feel right now is to compare it, (very naively) to sky diving, (of course this comparison isn’t likely to be very precise since I am a ‘feet firmly on the ground (in gorgeous shoes) kinda gal’ and have therefore not even come close to jumping outta a plane,) but for the purpose of explanation this is what I’m going with.
The plane is soaring, the door is open, I’m waiting for the final countdown to begin before I take a giant leap. My heart is pounding, I feel sick and dizzy.
Add the false alarms and painfully strong Braxton hicks that I have been getting regularly for days and days now and I feel as though someone is rocking me towards the door of the plane and then yanking me back again. ‘Ready . . . Steady . . . Only joking.’
I’m on pain killers to help ease the tenderness that these practise contractions are causing but they don’t seem to be helping much, because it still hurts so much that at times I feel I could just collapse into a heap and cry a million tears.
It’s got to the point now where I no longer trust my body nor my instincts. My bump will tense until it is as heavy and hard as a boulder. My back will begin to ache under the strain and my breath will be temporarily out of reach and I have little choice but to try to ignore it and hope it’ll either be accompanied by something dramatic like the breaking of my waters or something or will just f- off and leave me in peace.
It’s exhausting and depressing and just plain cruel. And I have officially reached that stage in pregnancy where I could quite literally climb to the rooftops and scream, ‘GET it out!!!’ (Alas do not fear, my previously mentioned ‘feet on the ground’ thing will prevent me from making any risky trips on top of buildings! Lol)
But it’s not just the pain that’s at the root of my impatience. Because I also just cannot wait to meet this little person now. Cannot wait to love and nurture him on the outside. To welcome him into our (now very clean and sparkly) home and cradle him as the newest member of our family.
I have been pregnant for over a year now. In total it has been 59 weeks. It’s been the biggest endurance test ever and such a rollercoaster of a ride. Reaching the halfway mark in one pregnancy before receiving such tragic news that I don’t think any of us will ever truly get over, was by far the most traumatic experience I’ve ever had (and with my track record of dramatic events that is saying something) - Then when we discovered I was expecting again, just 6 short weeks after we had lost our gorgeous baby boy, and we had to live in constant fear that we were about to experience a case of history repeating. Especially when the genetics doctors told me we had just a one-in-four chance of our new baby being born healthy. Well we made it this far, the finishing line is just days away, yet I don’t feel as though I can wait another second.
So I’m going to be a naughty girl this afternoon, I’m going to be a rebel (something's never change.) I have tried every other method in my GTBOM experiment to no avail and I have just one final trick up my sleeve—The Castor Oil.
It’s gotta be dodgy stuff. It’s harder to get hold of than crack. Seriously. It’s kept under lock and key in the pharmacy and pregnant women are absolutely forbidden to purchase it. This fact should not fill me with confidence, it should make me reconsider entirely. So too should all the terrible reviews and horrific stories I’ve read. So too should the comments and experiences and advice from my fellow pregnant ladies. Alas I am, I’m ashamed to admit, just one of those girls who’ll never learn. Or rather shall learn eventually but will always take the most difficult route. I have come to accept this over the years.
Basically I’ve read that castor oil, (which, as mentioned in my previous blog, is a really strong laxative) is meant to encourage contractions by making the intestines, which surround the uterus at this late stage of pregnancy, contract. This in itself is basically supposed to speed things up a little. So you see, In my opinion all I am really doing is giving mother nature and my stubborn body a gentle shove in the right direction.
If I have to suffer contractions at least let them being working towards getting my longed-for bubba into my arms.
Women have been using Castor Oil for decades and decades, though once again there are claims that nobody really knows how successful this method is for kick-starting labour because there hasn’t been enough research undertaken, which just sounds like such a load of bull to me.
I’ve been given advice from some of the girls in the village who have all tried it before. They all recommend eating an enormous meal, (which should be easy peasy for me as my current appetite could rival an elephants!) then mixing the oil with OJ (Apparently the oil really is completely disgusting) - downing it in one before hopping into a lovely warm tub, having a soak and waiting for the effects.
This is pretty much how I’ll be spending my afternoon. I’m nervous but hopeful—dreading the horrible side effects but praying that this will be the one trick in the book that’ll work for my bump and I.
Please don’t tell me off. I’m a big girl and I promise to suffer in silence if it does all go horribly wrong. Either way I’ll keep you posted!
x
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