Zero hour
A flood of utter relief and a ripped perineum, helped by a rush of endorphins. If you do not know what a perineum is, then I pray you never find out.
20 minutes after birth
Euphoria and all that. I am distracted by sight, feel, smell of a beautiful salty, messy baby until my legs are hoisted skywards and bright lights are shone on my private parts. Unable to cope with the carnage single-handedly, the midwife calls for the obstetrician who, she claims, is a "devil with a needle". Having endured childbirth you'd think the small matter of being injected in the perineum would be a piece of cake ... ah, but no. Despite the local anaesthetic, Doctor Needlepoint tugs and jabs as if stitching up a mainsail. It would seem silly under the circumstances to make a fuss.
45 minutes
The midwife wants to tell me all about my "tear" and is slightly taken aback that I don't want the details. She takes my husband outside to explain quite how bad it is down there. When she comes back (husband with a "bright smile") she says she should put a catheter in as it might be a "bit sore" to pee. I consume handfuls of painkillers in anticipation of the anaesthetic wearing off.
One hour
Warm, flooding feeling in the bed. I ring the bell in terror assuming I'm haemorrhaging but it's just the catheter bag "malfunctioning". My stomach is still vast, as if another baby is lurking in there. The midwife explains that it takes six weeks for my womb to shrink back to normal size. She prods it regularly over the next few days to see that it is doing this and that I have not retained any of the placenta, and presumably, to rule out any lingering foetuses.
Six hours
Still haven't dared get up. It feels like someone has snuck in and battered my parts with a baseball bat. Fortunately, my baby is a great distraction.
Seven hours
Catheter is removed and I am guided to the bathroom to "get cleaned up". The bed looks like a scene from The Godfather and I look and move like Frankenstein's monster. My legs shake and ache. My head is light. I have the distinct impression that my intestines and colon are going to fall out of my vagina. But, fortunately, I am still euphoric at having produced an actual baby. I daren't sit down in the bath and I watch in dismay as a lot of blood goes everywhere. The nurse rubs me down like I'm a horse, and gives me a pad that would be adequate for one. She also gives me a pair of paper knickers. They have small pink sprigs on them, a nice touch.
Day one
I have to recline, since sitting feels life-threateningly painful. I refuse to look down there and also refuse to let my husband look as I don't want him to retain this image. He thinks I'm mad, as he saw the baby come out. My stomach is still inflated. My shoulders, oddly, ache as if I've carried a piano around for several days. My breasts are producing weird pale liquid called colostrum, that my baby laps up round the clock but other than this they don't feel any different. I have been given "stool softener" pills but apparently may not be able to "go" for quite some time.
Day two
I am still having painful "contractions". This is my womb shrinking and shouldn't persist. Walking out of the hospital is a challenge. I have to stick my bum out and take tiny steps like an ancient tribal dancer. I am dismayed that I look heavily pregnant. I am unable to sit down in the car and have to perch, one cheek on the side of the seat, swearing.
Day three
I now see the need for stool softener and can confirm that it has failed. I am genuinely alarmed by my piles. Can still barely move, let alone sit down. My boobs have inflated to the size and texture of medicine balls; my nipples are bright red and sore. Exhaustion. I keep crying. The pregnancy book explains that this is a normal hormonal day-three thing - my oestrogen and progesterone levels have "dropped precipitously". I cannot see an evolutionary need for this. The authors suggests my husband gets us a nice takeaway. Lots of blood. Oh, and I'm incontinent and fat. Apart from that, motherhood is a breeze.
Day four
My husband finally insists on taking a look at my parts. I am sure he'll never want me again, but right now couldn't care less. He claims - to my astonishment - that they look almost normal. I know he is lying because when I move I can feel the wind whistling up there and things flapping. Also, the midwife told me she put in purple stitches. Love is a wonderful thing.
Week two
Still incontinent. Still fat. Breastfeeding is hell. My baby eats at least once an hour (what happened to "four-hourly schedules"?) My nipples are cracked. I am variously engorged and completely milk-free. And I now have a suspicious red, painful lump on one breast. The midwife says it's a "blocked duct" and I should massage it and steam it. A day later, the whole side of the boob is red and enflamed and feels like someone is sticking hot knives into it. I have a fever. Midwife diagnoses mastitis - an infection of the milk ducts - and prescribes rest (ha), steaming them over a pan of hot water, massage and antibiotics.
Week three
The mastitis takes three days of agony and gradually dissipating fever and four more of low-grade pain to disperse. And I have to keep breastfeeding through the pain. I can now walk, but after any time on my feet I feel, again, that someone has battered my perineum with a hard object.
Week six
My book talks about "easing back into sex". One of the tips is "don't be discouraged by pain". Hello? My hair is falling out and I am two stone overweight. My stretch marks are angry red and my belly looks like a crumpled, partially deflated balloon. I tried to do some pelvic floor exercises but was unable to locate a single responsive muscle. I have also just noticed another red lump on the same breast. Sexy?
Week seven
Another week, another bout of mastitis, course of antibiotics. Fretful baby. I have been told that his elephantine wind problem could be a result of dairy produce in my diet and so have cut it out. He is still farting and writhing. I have had no sleep and am depressed. My health visitor gives me a questionnaire to check whether I have post-natal depression. Apparently not. My depression is, she says, "normal".
Week eight
Life is, at last, looking up. The piles have almost gone. I can now walk for half an hour without pain but my bladder control is dodgy. However, I slept for three consecutive hours two nights in a row and I managed to faintly twitch my pelvic floor yesterday. Still exhausted. Still fat. But my baby smiles now as well as farts. Which somehow makes it all worthwhile. Sort of.
