I don’t remember Heather’s first words

I always consider the years immediately after the birth of my daughter as ‘The Dark Years’. I have very few memories of that time. I don’t remember Heather’s first words (although highly likely to be Dada) and her first steps. However, to be fair, what is more important Heather is now a well-rounded individual of 32 years and her mother is very proud of her.

I lost a lot of blood during Heather’s birth. After she was born, the midwife failed to find the source of the bleeding, as did the on-call Doctor, so it was finally up to the on-call Consultant. By which time I suspect I was starting to go into shock. However, the consultant found the fat vein (his words) that had been ruptured and managed to stem the flow. I remember him saying quite distinctly ‘Mrs Mitchell you WILL need a blood transfusion’.

I was dispatched to the ward, pushed there on the bed. To this day I am so impressed by those women that give birth and then walk to the maternity wards. I was so exhausted I could not pull myself up the bed to get the carton of juice that was there. Eventually the auxiliary came in to organise breakfast. She helped me up the bed so I could finally get something to drink. Heather was next to me in her little cot and started to cry and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. 

The nurse arrived and was concerned that I had not been to the toilet!! She insisted I went there and then, and she helped me up. I fainted in the toilet. The one and only time, so far, in my life I have ever fainted. I came to with a doctor asking if I had banged my head. I replied that I had only borrowed the wall to lean on.

Next, I remember being counselled by two nurses about receiving a blood transfusion. Basically did I really, really want one? After being told by the consultant a few hours ago that I really, really needed one and not being able to stand up. Honestly? Finally, I was given three units of blood which gave me enough energy to stand up and change Heather’s nappy. Of course, I was attempting to breastfeed Heather at the same time. The fact that I was getting nowhere was because my technique was rubbish.  I had the blisters on my nipples to prove the point! After three days and Heather projectile vomiting during visiting hours, thankfully missing my mother-in-law, I changed to bottle feeding. Imagine how bad I was made to feel when I chose not to breastfeed? The fact that I never produced any milk whatsoever was overlooked.

After a few days I was discharged. I still felt awful, but are you not expected to be tired after having just given birth? But just how tired is tired?

I was backwards and forwards to the Doctor’s surgery during the next year. I was tired and lethargic, my muscles ached, and I had no periods. Every time I was there, I said that I had never felt right since Heather’s Birth. 

Once one of the Doctors asked if I showered or took a bath. When I replied showered, she more or less suggested I was not cleaning myself properly and I should take a bath! 

I was sent to check if I had MS. This terrified me as that last thing I wanted was that kind of diagnosis. However, his first impression was that I did not have MS but he could do further checks if I wanted. I almost ran out of his room.

I was also sent to see a Gynaecologist who said I had the womb of a post-menopausal woman. I don’t remember if anything else came of that.

I went back to work at the end of the summer holidays. I was a department of one introducing new teaching courses (Scotland has just moved to Standard Grades) with a subject (computing) that was in its second year of examinations. I was holding myself together by sheer will power and thinking I was heading towards a nervous breakdown.

I made it to the October holidays. Then I was truly unwell. The doctor initially thought I had pleurisy since I was struggling to breathe, however thankfully another doctor had me admitted to hospital and eventually they diagnosed fluid on the heart. The Doctor pushed my trolley at a run to the theatre where they removed between 500 ad 600 mls of fluid from my heart. I believe you are only supposed to have about 5 or 6 mls. The relief was instantaneous. The doctors let me know that I am very lucky to be alive and to have a fully functioning heart and kidneys.

They then spent a week doing many, many blood test to find out the source of the problem. On average it took them four goes to get blood out of my arm each time. Finally, though, I had a diagnosis. I was not going slowly mad, it had a name. Sheehan’s Syndrome. The relief on so many levels. 

Then the fear of the unknown hit. I left hospital with as much information that you can write on the back on a postage stamp. But the endocrinologist I had then, did listen to me. I was put on a trial of Growth Hormone, definitely tablets, which as we now know did nothing, but he did get it for me.

It took years for the sense of fear to dissipate, to no longer feel ashamed or embarrassed.  I can now talk about it to family and friends.  The existence of the MPS group, where there are people who truly understand is wonderful.