A midwife rang up from UCH at 9am and asked me if I was coming in for my caesarean today. I said that I had already had one, after I had been transferred from their hospital in the middle of the night, and that all that excitment was enough. I lay in bed for a bit as Neil had to go on a a milk run to the NICU as Jasmine was running low on breast milk. Neil was out for a while as he did some shopping on the way back.
In the meantime, a midwife from the Whittington came to visit me, but a lot of her advice was tactless and irritating, especially when she said that she had never seen bruising like it in her life and she had been a midwife a long time (thanks). She moaned about how she had had to come round and not phone me because I hadn’t left a telephone number with Homerton hospital. Then having shown her a picture of Jasmine (at that point I only had two pictures), she drew on one when she was explaining (incorrectly) what all the lines were. She then left me a telephone number that didn’t work and wrote on the back of my hospital discharge form which we need to register Jasmine’s birth. She left me upset pondering on the reasons why she could she not bring her own paper and not write on things which don’t belong to her.
After lunch we got a taxi to GOSH. Later in the evening we got ‘the chat’ from the consultant about how Jasmine could die and we should be prepared for that. Lung trouble alone could kill her without all of her kidney problems and that she was very lucky to be alive.
We got a taxi home, exhausted.