13
Daring to dream
BEING PREGNANT WAS a strange combination of feeling wonderful and loving every minute but also having very high levels of anxiety, which at times I struggled to manage. Neither Harry nor I could fully relax. I was fearful of what might happen, whether all would go well and, later on in the pregnancy, of actually giving birth. I know Harry was worried too, especially during the early stages, but we made ourselves slow down and take it one day at a time. It wasn’t until I’d reached twelve weeks, which felt like a huge milestone, that we allowed ourselves to let go a little. Even then we still didn’t feel as if we could breathe easily, not until our baby had arrived safely in the world.
Just getting to the end of each week felt like an eternity, but in some ways it was more difficult for Harry than it was for me, I think. I guess when you’re feeling dreadful during early pregnancy, you at least know that your body is changing and doing things and working. Harry just had to wait it out.
At around six weeks, we were due to have a scan. I could have had blood tests before that, to check that my hCG levels were rising as they should be, but I chose not to. In many ways, I was much more practical and less emotional the second time around. This was partly my way of protecting myself, but it was also because I’d now fallen pregnant twice. Knowing I’d done so made me relax a bit, because I knew it could happen. I was so grateful that the cycle hadn’t failed, and that we had the opportunity to try again, if necessary, with the third embryo that was waiting for us in the freezer. I really thank my lucky stars for that.
Also, by about six weeks, I felt awful. Really tired and as sick as a dog – and never was I happier. Every day that I felt rotten, I celebrated, because it meant that I actually was feeling pregnant. I had the symptoms I should have had and, despite how unwell I felt, that was very reassuring.
The flat we were renting was tiny, and the cooking smells from the kitchen used to really bother me. I remember being under the covers in bed, trying to hide, without success! Even the scent of clean laundry made me feel nauseous.
When I felt like I could eat, I just craved stodge – bread and pasta mainly – and I made the most of it. It was the one time in my life that I didn’t give my body a hard time. I ate little and often, and all the things I usually didn’t want to eat. Having been so healthy while on my fertility nutrition plan, I felt bad for not continuing in that vein but I couldn’t stomach the green smoothies – I just trusted that my body was telling me what it needed.
I also had terrible headaches during the first trimester, really pounding ones. On one occasion, I remember sitting at home watching Wimbledon with a pair of sunglasses on, the fan going full blast, and an ice pack on my head. I was afraid to take even one paracetamol, despite it being safe to do so during pregnancy.
I felt really nervous before our early scan because our last experience had been so terrible and sad. We weren’t expecting to hear the heartbeat – at that stage it wouldn’t have been unusual not to – but at five weeks and four days, we did. As I lay there, with Harry beside me, the sound of Lola’s heart came to us loud and clear. We couldn’t believe it. The thought that I had two beating hearts, mine and hers, totally amazed me. It’s so beautiful to think that Lola knows what my heart sounds like from inside my body! It’s difficult to describe the overwhelming emotion of that moment – the hope of new life, the first time we heard our baby. Harry recorded it on his phone and we listened to it over and over again during those early months.
Despite the reassurance from our early scan and hearing Lola’s heartbeat, getting beyond six weeks and four days was still very much on my mind. That was when my first pregnancy had ended. Despite everything feeling different this time, I knew that this milestone was looming ahead of both of us. On the date itself we were visiting Harry’s grandmother, who still lives in the house she grew up in, a beautiful old mill. We were staying in a cosy room with two single beds, from which we could hear the soothing sound of the water outside.
The night itself was a long one. I was up and down to the loo constantly, checking and checking again that there was no bleeding. I was very, very anxious, and so afraid of what might happen, wondering how we would possibly cope if something did. When morning came and all was still well, I felt as if a huge obstacle was finally behind me.
I continued to take the extra progesterone, the aspirin and the Clexane until sixteen weeks – most women will only take them until twelve weeks – and even then I was really scared to stop. The feeling I got once I did, though, was amazing. I was so excited, thinking, ‘I’m finally doing this by myself! My body is doing this all alone!’ Every day that followed, because I knew my body was doing its job, I felt a real sense of confidence: I was now growing our baby by myself, with no help from anyone or anything. It had been a bit like learning to ride a bike with someone holding on to you at first. Then comes the wonderful moment when they let go and you realize you’re pedalling all by yourself!
Another piece of happy news we received around this time was that Magnus and Marije had fallen pregnant again a month after we did, so our daughters, Lola and Alma, were born just a month apart. Magnus and Marije believe this is the way it was always supposed to be – that I was meant to have the first baby and they were meant to have the second. I don’t know if that’s so, but it’s lovely for all of us that the two girls are so close in age.
On top of that early ultrasound, I had a few more scans during the pregnancy than would be usual, and to some extent they helped to keep my anxiety at bay. It did flare up on occasion though, which I think was partly due to the changes in my hormones, and partly because I was feeling so nervous about giving birth. I also had overwhelming moments of realization that when our baby was born, he or she was going to be completely dependent on us, twenty-four seven.
I know this seems obvious, but when you sometimes wonder whether you’re even able to take care of yourself, you question whether you’re strong enough to take care of a tiny little bundle. I worried about whether I’d be able to cope with the responsibility but also felt terribly guilty for even having those thoughts and anxieties in the first place, after all we’d gone through. Having longed to be pregnant, I felt I should be nothing but grateful, and owed it to all the couples who longed to be in our position. I’m sure guilt is a very normal emotion to experience but it’s something I still have to work on – I have to remind myself that it’s OK to have bad days.
I’ve also learned that anxieties and fears never disappear – there will always be another worry. In fact I’m sure this is the lesson I was meant to learn from all this: don’t cross bridges until you come to them. We can’t be in control of everything. Surely when you experience something difficult in your life, there’s always a greater lesson to come from it?
We chose not to find out if we were having a boy or a girl. Every single other thing about the pregnancy had been planned and organized and monitored, so it was the one thing I felt we could leave as a surprise. It was important to both me and Harry that we didn’t know, that some degree of mystery should remain.
As time went on, I grew increasingly terrified of giving birth naturally, of being out of control, and of something happening to the baby or me. I was fine with the idea of pain, but fearful of not knowing what to expect. I became so frightened, an elective Caesarean section began to seem like a good idea. I reasoned that if I had a C-section, everything would be planned and under control. Everyone who needed to be there would be present and nothing unpredictable would happen. I had it all worked out.
When I mentioned the idea to Harry he was – as he always is – very calm and rational. He didn’t put any pressure on me either way. He just said, ‘If that’s what you want, I’ll support you, but why don’t we wait and see how you feel? We don’t need to make any decisions yet.’
Before long I’d talked myself into it. Then, one day, Mum was over for lunch and I told her how nervous I was. Apparently she’d felt a similar fear about giving birth to Rupert, her first baby. She was so scared that she asked to be induced. She’d never told me that before, but it showed me that even though Mum and I are different in many ways, there are clearly things we have in common. ‘But I wouldn’t have done it four times if it had been that bad,’ she said. ‘You’ll be fine, it’s magical.’ Her words comforted me hugely and from that day I felt much more confident about managing my anxieties around a natural birth.
Harry and I also decided that seeing the lovely Hollie de Cruz again would help with my fears. She guided us through a brilliant hypnobirthing course that included visualizations and meditations for pregnancy, labour and birth. It was a lot more practical than I’d expected it to be: Hollie explains exactly what happens physically in your body as you labour and deliver your baby. She also gave us a copy of The Hypnobirthing Book by Katharine Graves, which, along with Hollie’s audios, completely changed the way I thought about birth.
I suppose having done a lot of mindfulness and visualizations throughout my detox and IVF cycles, I soon realized I had all the necessary tools to tap into a calm state of mind and remain there. I started to understand how it was important to keep practising and prepare as best I could for the big day.
The other great thing about hypnobirthing is that it gave Harry a role to play. As well as being the person to read the guided meditations to me during pregnancy, Hollie also asked him to put up positive affirmations about birth around the flat. He chose to stick ‘I am a strong and confident woman’ on the front door, which made us laugh and entertained anyone who came to visit! Hollie also made practical suggestions about what he could do to help during the birth. He packed the hospital bag so that he knew where everything was, he reminded me of the breathing techniques I needed to use, he fuelled me with energy snacks, was my TENS machine hero, and generally my absolute rock.
I may have learned a lot about remaining calm, but pretty much from the start of my pregnancy, baby brain kicked in. I went from being the most organized person in the world to sending me and Harry to the wrong airport! We were on our way to Heathrow to go on holiday when I remembered that actually, we were meant to be flying from Gatwick. Harry kept wondering, ‘Where’s my organized wife gone?’ He even had to take over most of the planning for our house renovations, something I’d have thrown myself into usually, but all I could focus on was the baby!
Me and my baby brain still enjoyed indulging in my interests and hobbies. I carried on playing my violin and it was during a concert that I felt Lola kick for the first time. It took my breath away and the world felt like it stopped for a few seconds. It is such a beautiful moment and, for me, the first time I truly bonded with Lola. To feel her move made it all so real. I didn’t care that we were in the middle of a performance, I wanted to shout out and tell the world I’d just felt my baby kick for the first time. It felt like the start of all the many memories we would share together, just the two of us. The concert I was playing in was a particularly emotional one even before the kick happened – it was at a classical music festival in Hatfield, organized by my brother Guy, and we were performing with the choir from King’s. Also, the conductor was Stephen Cleobury, who had conducted at King’s back when all my brothers were choristers there.
Almost more amazing was the first time that Harry felt Lola kicking. We were watching Take That at The O2 so I couldn’t hear a word he said but I’ll never forget the look on his face when I put his hand on my tummy!
I didn’t really read any pregnancy books – I just wanted to trust my instincts and figure things out for myself. I was also nervous about looking too far ahead. In the last couple of weeks before Lola was due, there was one book I did read, about breastfeeding. Many people had said to me how breastfeeding can be a challenge, so I felt it might be helpful to prepare for that.
By the time Lola was born, I was nine days overdue. Despite my great efforts to remain calm, my anxiety crept up on me as the due date grew closer. I don’t think I could relax enough to let my body get into the swing of what it needed to do – too much stress can cause labour to slow down or even stall it completely. Either that or Lola was just too comfy where she was and not ready to make an appearance yet. I tried all the tricks, including eating copious amounts of pineapple, drinking endless cups of raspberry leaf tea and bouncing on my birth ball. My favourite was indulging in the most relaxing reflexology, thanks to a lovely local reflexologist called Lulu!
In the end I asked my midwives if I could be induced, because I just wanted to get started. I found both the waiting and anticipation made me feel worse, but the midwives were reluctant, as was Harry – again being the rational one. They all wanted to give me a little longer. Eventually I had a sweep when I was eight days past my due date and sure enough I went into labour that night.
About 3 a.m. I had a show and the contractions started. At first, they were regular and slow, and I could cope fine. Once I’m immersed in a situation, I’m much better. It’s always the anticipation of something that is worse for me. So for the first few hours of labour, I was really in the zone. All the preparation I had done with hypnobirthing kicked in and I even enjoyed it. I felt that I was in control and ready for it.
We left for the hospital at about 4 a.m. – I’d had a little more bleeding than normal with my show so the midwives suggested I come in. By the time we got there the contractions were regular and strong, I was checked over by the doctor and all was well. I had with me my granny’s hankie with lavender oil on it, a playlist of music I loved, and my affirmations dotted throughout the room. Hollie had kindly made my favourite one into an A4 poster – it read ‘all is calm, all is well, I am safe’.
Once labour became quite intense, I couldn’t get comfortable anywhere other than draped over a birthing ball. Harry was on the floor in front of me with the TENS machine, controlling the boost. I found listening to music comforting and on my playlist I had a recording of the piece of music that my brothers Guy and Magnus had performed as I walked up the aisle on our wedding day – ‘Gabriel’s Oboe’– and that version of them playing it came on between contractions.
The piece lasted for the exact period between two strong contractions and although Ali, our midwife, was there, she said nothing. It felt like it was just Harry and me, alone in the world together while the beautiful music filled the room. We locked eyes and didn’t say a word. We just stayed like that for the length of the piece. I know we both had such lovely memories of our wedding day. And I think we both knew that those were our last moments together, just the two of us. It was magical. A chance to communicate silently to each other, ‘We’re in this together.’ I felt so much love.
After that, the contractions went off the scale and I transitioned from this lovely, calm place to questioning if I had the strength to carry on. I remember an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion and a sense of being out of control. It felt like my mind couldn’t keep up. I said, ‘I think I need an epidural.’
Our wonderful midwife, Ali, was our rock that day, and she’ll always be an angel in my eyes. She and I have gone on to become good friends – how can you begin to thank someone enough for delivering the most precious thing to you into the world?
The pushing stage lasted an hour and forty-five minutes, which was really long, although to me it felt like five minutes. I could feel Lola moving down each time I pushed, then back a bit each time I stopped. Eventually, Ali said, ‘We’re going to have to get the consultant in. The baby needs to come out, now.’ With that, I pushed with all my might for the final time, and Lola was born.
Harry and I were in floods of tears. I asked him to tell me whether our baby was a boy or a girl, then I caught sight of the umbilical cord and thought she was a boy. ‘No, she’s a girl!’ Harry cried. ‘She’s a girl!’ You can’t describe the moment when you meet your baby for the first time, something you’ve dreamed about for ever. All of a sudden there they are, in your arms, more precious than anything. We were euphoric.
Moments after Lola was born, echoing something he’d once said when I was at my very lowest and believed I would never have a child, Harry said to me, ‘Izzy, worst case scenario, it’s the three of us.’
I couldn’t believe it. I’d been lucky enough to see Lola as an embryo, I’d seen the flash of light on the monitor as she was put back home all those months earlier, and finally, after nine months, here she was. I know Harry and I will never forget that moment. For a very long time I’d thought this day would never arrive, and that I would never hold my own baby. The weeks, days and hours I had spent miserable and in the darkest places I have ever been suddenly vanished. She was here and every second of the pain and heartache had been worth the wait. I remember looking at Lola just minutes old and thinking, ‘I would wait for ever for you.’
That first night of Lola’s life was so surreal and so wonderful. It was just the three of us, together in our hospital room. Harry was asleep, I was wide awake, and Lola was there beside us, in a clear plastic cot. I felt so sorry for her, lying there in the big, wide world on her own, and I missed her. I began to really feel how separated we were from each other now. All I wanted to do was hold her, but I worried I’d fall asleep and she’d fall. I missed her being inside me and it upset me to think she might be feeling lonely too, that perhaps she missed being inside me and felt odd in her clothes, in a cot, on her own. She slept peacefully but eventually, by 4 a.m., I couldn’t wait any longer for her to wake and need me for the next feed, I just had to hold her. So for the rest of the night she slept on my chest. It’s the closest to heaven I’ve ever been.