Baby’s first time at the hospital (not counting when they, you know, arrived)

We’ve had two little incidents involving a trip to the hospital with Sophie.  The first one wasn’t that little, but it was so long ago and we’ve come so far since that it seems to have shrunk in my mind to just a little bump in the road, yet it was an awful, emotional few days that really made me doubt myself as a mother. Luckily, thanks to my husband I’m constantly reminded that a) I can do this, b) I’m not alone, and c) Remus Lupin was right: chocolate helps.  But anyway, I think I’ll cover that when I do “The Birth Story” blog post.  Everyone loves a birth post.  I know I do.

This time was fretful, and, like most good hospital visits, was a bit out of the blue.  Sophie’s temperature had been up and down for a while and she was just not herself, screaming, writhing, throwing herself around on the floor one minute, then babbles and giggles the next.  And repeat.  (She of course pulled out her best “aren’t I so bloody cute and not at all poorly” repertoire in the doctor’s office) We’d had almost no sleep as as soon as she had gone to sleep, she was up. And up for good.  One call to 111 later and we were told we’d need to take her along to Urgent Care (to be fair there isn’t much else that can be done at 6am on a Saturday morning) at Russells Hall, so we bundled the little one into the car and set off on the best drive to the hospital (considering the circumstances) I’ve ever had! The lack of traffic definitely took the edge off.  Don’t get me started on the second drive there on Sunday evening, stuck behind the slowest learner driver I’ve ever had the pleasure to be stuck behind.  All the way there.

One other benefit of an early morning hospital visit is the lack of other patients.  I had just managed to get Sophie out of her car seat and they were already calling her in to be seen, but quite the opposite on Sunday night, where we were told we could be waiting up to 4 hours (what what WHAT?) but luckily were only there for about an hour and 40 minutes, which still, when you’re trying to keep a tired, poorly, grumpy baby from screaming the place down is a loooong time.  I’m very grateful for the doctors and nurses and everyone else working there though, who were all very friendly, approachable and reassuring.  Can’t imagine not having someone there 24 hours a day to run to in a panic with a poorly baby and say “please help!”.

Thankfully, the diagnosis of a sore throat and a bit of an upset tummy was fixed with rehydration solution, paracetamol, cuddles, and time.  She is now back to her normal self, with the huge exception of breastfeeding.  On the night before we first took her to Urgent Care she had a feed, then instead of a short break and then a second feed, she twisted her head away and simply went to sleep on my chest.  That was the last time I breastfed her, 17 days ago.  I’ve been reassured by many that it’s just a nursing strike, that she’ll resume feeding when she’s better, but so far she has outright refused to come near me, and although she has stopped having an absolute meltdown if I try and offer it, she still refuses and pulls away.  I wasn’t expecting our breastfeeding journey to end this way but every day that passes makes me think that this is it.  Deferring the finer details to yet another post, I’ll be covering breastfeeding at a later date, because if you know me at all, you know I have a lot to say!

So if you find yourselves faced with a sudden trip to the hospital, breathe, stay calm, throw some snacks and a drink into your bag, something to entertain the baby, something to entertain the husband (they’ve got their phones, they’re fine as they are really) and some change for the car park!!

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