Recovery after giving Birth
To recap then. I am out of Theatre ( great show ) and I’ve been in the recovery area for fifteen minutes and Deb has just been wheeled in. We pick up the story as we ( okay she ), recovers from giving birth.
Enjoying the Recovery Channel
The recovery room frankly is a bit boring and essentially a life preservation department for your partner post birth. Suffice to say I was well stoked holding Gampy for a full fifteen mins in La la la land but that was rudely interrupted by the midwives and the missus. If only the crap arse film with the same name had been. hurumph.
For the duration Obs were taken every five minutes. This means blood pressure, breathing, heart rate, whinging about how tired she was etc. This then extended to fifteen minutes and then every half an hour. Loads of bits hanging out of her but she was okay. They take their work seriously here and it’s reassuring to see. The whinging is ongoing.
Skin to skin as I said before is uber important and for the most part Gamp was on Deb, all wrapped with her cool and groovy hat on. Essentially looking like some yogurt covered meerkat with a beanie about her bonce. There was an attempt at feeding, she got weighed, they checked her over and one of the lovely midwives volunteered to see it through to the end. Even though she was well over her knock off time. Nice touch as she had built rapport with us. Go NHS love!
The Honeymoon Suite
Once squared away the concierge appeared to let us know our room was ready. We were transferred ( wheeled ) to our new short term home. It’s not the Ritz. It’s not even Travel Lodge but for the record it was cleaner and more inviting than the swamp that is the one in Bath. That is truly shocking. Anyway, it had all you needed. Bed, chair, side cabinet and a very spacious loo.
Which by the way, had hand rails and bars all around it, just in case you wanted to indulge in some bizarre ‘Loo Olympics Parkour’. Now the only issue with that is after a C Section, you are going nowhere. No siree Bob, you are staying put.
The only tinkling you will be doing is via the catheter that was attached in the Operating Theatre. I am paying you sufficient credit as an intelligent reader, to work out what had to happen when the other end indulged in action as well. The medical team consider you getting up and about after monster surgery, somewhat counterproductive and are keen to keep your organs and bowels firmly in place. So be prepared to get horizontal. Though not in the fun way that got you here in the first place.*
I’m sure there must have been some thorough feeding at this stage but for the life of me I can’t recall it and my notes don’t reflect it. So putting that to one side, referring to my earlier post, I went home a happy new Daddy. Strictly speaking then, we are still on Day 1.
Room with a view – Of Wronguns
Whoever the architect or room allocator is at St Marys, they have a very sick sense of humour. No doubt on AirBNB or an Estate Agents website, the view would be described as “Scenic rolling countryside, peppered with buildings of Island heritage, boasting famous names and residents.”
What famous names you may ask? The Krays, Garry Glitter, The Richardson Brothers, Ian Brady and Peter Sutcliffe to name but a few. Yes the room we were in, boasted a gorgeous view in the form of the local nicks! For those not savvy with HM Prisons on the Isle of Wight, it used to come in three flavours.
Parkhurst was for category A offenders so some really nasty people and down from that was Albany and Camp Hill. Pride fans don’t rejoice just yet, Camp Hill was far from what its name suggested, so don’t be sucked in. Though you probably wouldn’t have found it hard to get….nevermind. Whatever your direction, all three weren’t enjoyable places but they did have their differences. Not so now.
Stirring the Porridge
The Prison Service shut Camp Hill in 2013 but rumour has it that perversely, they couldn’t get out of some of their utility obligations and so it’s still burning the midnight oil but with no one in it. Personally I think it would be a good place to house those that find themselves homeless, whilst they get back on their feet.
Or perhaps it could be utilised by the NHS for use as they seem fit. Need more beds? Okay, not ideal but there is room at the Inn and it could be put to good use. Of course, that would be useful and sensible and we know that Governments don’t do that.
So gone are the traditional lags of yesteryear and not one mile as the drone fly’s, ( carrying a drugs package presumably ) from Maternity, pushing out a stretch in the land of stripey sun, are some 1100 residents. In an interview with the Isle of Wight Beacon, Governor of the prisons, Dougie Graham stated that “Albany and Parkhurst now hold mainly sex offenders.”
One bowl hot, one bowl cold
In May of 2018 though, the Isle of Wight County Press discovered that “Almost a third of prisoners released from HMP Isle of Wight last year, remained on the Island”. Such contradictory nonce sense rightly raised concerns and the locals didn’t wish them to be ‘in their gang’, if you get my drift.
In his Beacon interview, Dougie states “In a way I can understand why people living on the Isle of Wight think prisoners are released into the community here, but that is simply not the case.”
Now then now then, what do we have here? Two articles battling with themselves. Someone is barking up the wrong Yewtree but do we know who it is yet? Sadly not but the plot thickens further when head office waded in.
With the County Press report, the Ministry of Justice declined to comment on the nature of the offences of the nine individuals released into the Islands community. Of course that posed further questions that have remained unanswered. This may seem a little off topic my reading friend but we are talking the health and well being of little uns.
Perhaps an eager beaver investigative journo may pick up on the irregularities and seek clarification from the appropriate sources, reporting back to the Daddy Dore Blog with their findings.
Regardless, enjoy the view….
Day two on Planet Earth
The phone rang at home, the call from Deb caught me unawares as she sounded like Barry White and rougher than a baboons arse that had been brushed with sandpaper. Clearly knackered, she sounded husky and distressed. I was putting down my thoughts in the style of a complaint about the drip issue but had to put that on hold and hot foot it to St Marys.
Chaps, remember what I said in my third post? You are the gatekeeper and admin guru. It is your job to let family and friends know that all is okay and your new born is fine and well.
This includes ( but is not limited to ) texts, emails, whattsapps, printing and delivering photos to parents, sorting clothes for your partner, charging your camera, charging your phone, charging your partners phone, providing additional foody favourites and eating said foody favourites when your partner sleeps.
They did the carrying, you do the humping and dumping. Crack on.
Its not quite as action packed as you are led to believe
Having being an extra in ITVs Ultimate Force, in which incidentally, my car got more screen time than I did, today was like being on a set. Ross Kemp wasn’t lurking around but it was very start stop, start stop. You would imagine that it’s amazing with so much going on but Deb was so f*ckled, she desperately needed to sleep.
Equally after being pulled from her human sleeping bag where she had been snug as a bug for nine months, Gamp was much the same. This means my friend, your arse is going to be polishing the chair for some time.
In the medical maelstrom that is maternity, there is alot of ‘hurry up and wait’, with there being only so much you can do to pass your time. Yes it’s cool to soak up the love and amazement of the moment but, it can get laborious. Pack a good book and remember to stretch.
I found myself sat hanging around between what were the filming equivalent of light and camera set ups, with bugger all to do for ages. Then the silence is shattered, the pace ramps up again, it’s all hands to the pump.
The Breast Pump…..
And that dear reader is where we leave it for this week. I was going to indulge in another couple of items but at the time of writing last night, some great news came my way and Family Duty beckons. :)
I try my hand at breast massage but the midwife suggested after ten minutes, that I carry it out on my wife and not her. Plus ‘Top of the Poppers’. A useful insight into the world’s worst item of baby clothing as I learn to dress and change a farting, squeaking haggis.
* If a gag is worth using once, its worth using twice. See my second post