Over the next day or so, V developed jaundice (apparantly very common) and so was put in an incubator box with a lamp over the top (the Doctor also said that she was complaining so loudly about the various tubes etc., that they decided to put her in the box so that she did not disturb the other patience - hopefully not a sign of things to come given the proposed sleeping arrangements at home).
After spending three days in the ICU, we were told that V could move to the Special Care Unit (one step down) but that due to a lack of space she would have to stay in the ICU ward. When she was eventullay transferred (the next ward along), it certainly was crowded - in the same area as the ICU ward there must of been 14 or so cots - some back to back. It was bedlam - particulaly at feeding time when the noise levels went through the roof.
M was recuperating in a ward on another floor so I shuttled between the two of them (visiting hours for the SBCU were 9am to 8pm). I also developed an unfortunate taste for the reheateable pizza (Hawaian with extra pineapple) that the convenience store at the bottom of the tower (the maternity unit was housed in one of 5 or 6 large towers) sold. M was still on a rice diet so was tormented by the pizza smell until they allowed her back on to proper food.
After the trolley, V and the accompanying nurses had disappeared in to the lift to the Intensive Care Unit, there followed what felt like a very long period of silence (it was during the hospital's visiting hours so the waiting room was empty except for a little old lady who was asleep in the corner) during which I was able to reflect at length about what might lay in wait for me next time the Doctors felt compelled to talk to me. I took the opportunity to phone the family to announce V's arrival.
In the event, after 20/30 minutes of waiting a nurse suggested that I go down to the ICU to talk to the Doctor. After eventually finding the correct ward, I was not sure what I expected when I walked in. Certainly there were plenty of monitors, bleeping consoles and cables attached to the cots containing the 4 infant occupants. However, everything seemed remarkably calm. A nurse saw me come and nodded me over to the cot at the far right hand end of the room, and I have to say I was relieved to see that it was not surrounded by medical personnel.
V was in an open cot with a heater over the top. Clingfilm had been spread over the top and bottom of the cot with a gap in the middle. V. was crying lustily mainly it transpired because of a slight nick from the scapel on the ear on her way out. My feelings, however, were of overwhelming relief and of course pleasure of seeing her for the first time, and having disinfected my hands, I tickled her leg in the gap between the clingfilm (not particulaly well received).
I was asked to turn my phone of when I went into the ward, and so when I eventually came out there were various voicemail messages from V's Mother to announce her safe return to the ward which was also a huge relief and, after some pleading with the Ward Sister ("its outside visiting hours"), I eventually got into see her. Although my memories of my time in the waiting room were not particulaly pleasant it did sound as if I got the best end of the deal particulaly as the anaesthetic had not been quite as effective as had been hoped.
The Hospital was enormous and the ward for expectant and recent Mothers was full to capacity. The dress code (for the patients and their off-spring) was pink - this included any baby boys which led to some embarrassing exchanges with a couple of the new Mothers before I became familiar with the rules . The ward was run along strictly hierarchical lines with the ward manager - you could tell by the triangular neckwarmer (for want of a better word) worn over her uniform rather like the Matrons in the early Carry On films set in 1950's hospitals - ruling the roost. Visiting hours were strictly enforced - an hour at lunch and two hours in the evening.
Apart from its size, the Hospital boosted probably the most expensive carpark on the Island - my various visits over the course of the following week costing approximately three times as much as the cost of the actual treatment that was recieved (although admittedly the hospital fees were incredbily good value for money).
By the Sunday, the decision had been taken to usher V in to the World, and there followed a very nervous couple of hours as her Mother took her place in the queue for the operating theatre. Information was in short supply - I was not allowed to accompany them and was told to look "look out for the next trolley to pass the waiting room" as it would be my daughter. I was told to follow it down to the ICU in the lift. After a considerable wait, a trolley and three nurses came hurtling passed and, as I set off in pursuit, I was curtly informed to stay put as they wanted the Doctor to take a further look at her first.
Having taken all of 3 minutes to create my own place in the world wide web, it has taken at least twice that time to think of a title for the first post (and the same length of time again to type the first sentence).
Hopefully things will speed up otherwise this will be a very short (and infrequently updated) weblog.
The genesis of this weblog is the recent arrival of the latest addition of the family although I had been toying with the idea of creating an on-line journal to allow our family to keep up to speed on what we have been up to. Unfortunately not a great deal has been happening, or at least nothing that would justify keeping a journal on the web. However, with the arrival of V I now have sufficient incentive (if not necessarily the time) to start typing.
V's arrival was a little unexpected, although perhaps not as unexpected as her older brother, A, whose precipitous arrival caught his Father (on holiday some 2,000 miles away) and Mother (also on holiday, and who had a very firm belief that she would be delivering a little girl) very much on the hop. Planning for V's arrival was therefore a little more advanced (her Mother had a least packed an overnight bag for the hospital). However, although we had narrowed the hospital for her delivery down to two potential venues, in the end we were forced to use the University hospital because they had the appropriate facilitites. However, this did not stop us from making the trip up the side of the Peak to one of our potential hospitals of choice through howling gales and pouring rain at the request of M's doctor when her waters broke at 3.30am on the Friday morning - not a pleasant experience although it did offer an interesting contrast - all hushed corridors, oil paintings of benefactors and a "delivery spa" - with the University hospital which was very much more utilitarian.
