A disconcerting and eventful few days
NS February 7th, 2008
After a thoroughly enjoyable weekend in which I had some lovely food, spent time with my hubby, took TNC to the pool for a swim and saw a film by myself on Saturday afternoon (Juno, which I will review in an upcoming post), I should’ve been ready to face the week ahead with enthusiasm and freshness. Instead, a raging case of ‘the Mondays’ and pregnancy hormones, plus a large dash of financial stress and health worries, joined forces to make me an angry, weepy mess. As I struggled to eat my Cheerios without choking on them, I knew it was going to be a bad day. Sitting before me on the screen was a bank statement that would make anyone shudder — only four days after payday and things were already dire. After all the bills haf been processed, the overdraft had been paid and the first week’s groceries had been bought, we were already down to the bare minimum to live on. Ouch.
I couldn’t help but feel guilty and dreaded telling TNH that which he can’t stand to hear: we’re broke again. Already. As much as I know that our financial troubles are not solely my fault, I automatically blame myself and then get angry that I’m doing that. Why should I feel guilty for having children and being at home to raise them? Why is my self-worth wrapped up entirely in how much I earn or how advanced or prestigious my career is? Why does the government bend over backwards to help women who want or have to go back to work but do nothing for those who prefer to stay at home while their children are young? Even worse, why do they ignore the thousands of women who would like to go back to work but can’t afford to? Childcare, work clothes, travel, lunches out…once you add it all up it’s more than I would earn at any office job that I’m qualified for.
I recently looked into putting TNC into daycare for two afternoons a week, a measly 10 hours split over two different days, and that was going to cost half as much as our mortgage payment. For her to be in care full time, five days a week, would be more than our mortgage payment and council tax bill combined. It’s astounding.
When people ask how stay-at-home mums (SAHMs) afford to not work, I want to shout “Many of us don’t! We’re barely scraping by! How in the world do you manage to work outside the home and earn anything more than a pittance?” Seriously, I want to know. If you only earn, say, £1,500 a month after taxes but childcare costs are £1,200 and your travel is £130 and your food and clothing expenses equal roughly £70 per month, is that extra £100 a month worth it? For me, that extra £100 would just be eaten up by a car payment anyway, as I’d have to have a car if I was going to be dropping off and picking up TNC every day and ferrying her around to here, there and everywhere. Once you add in insurance for the car, tax discs, MOTs, petrol and maintenance, I’d actually be losing money each month. With the added bonus of being so tired from working and commuting each day that something usually suffers — the housework, your marriage, your relationship with your kids…Oy vey.
So there I was, choking on those Cheerios and feeling pretty hopeless when I remembered that I was supposed to call the doctor to try to get an appointment. I’d been having a bit of bleeding and cramping, which can be normal in early pregnancy, but it had been going on for a week and so I thought I should have it checked out. I phoned the antenatal clinic at the hospital and they told me to come in for an early scan to make sure all was okay with The Noble Fetus. I had two choices: try to get an appontment with my GP for the following day, wait for her to send a referral letter to the antenatal clinic and then wait for a scan appointment (all of which could take days), or just go to A&E and get it done immediately. With all the other stress I was feeling that morning, I went for option B.
My mother-in-law came over to watch TNC while I headed off to the emergency room. I felt a bit silly for being so worried when everything was probably fine but I could not endure another three or four days of not knowing for sure. I waited for an hour and then was taken back to triage. A nurse there told me that if I was miscarrying there was nothing they could do about it and I could just stand up right then and the baby could just fall out (lovely and supportive imagery, no?) so when she asked if I wanted a scan, I said yes with no hesitation.
I was led to a different ward where I waited for another hour, watching other women with their partners sit nervously in the waiting area. There was only one other woman there unaccompanied, like me, but she didn’t meet my eyes. She looked quite distraught and kept her gaze to the floor and her fingers clenched round the hard plastic edges of her seat. We were the only ones who didn’t look as if we’d come in from work (both of us wearing jeans and plain tops) and I noticed that she didn’t wear a wedding ring. I wondered if she was single and pregnant for the first time, feeing frightened and alone, or if, like me, she had other kid(s) at home to worry about and look after and was here to get checked out as quickly as possible so she could either breathe a sigh of relief and get on with things or trudge back home with a heavy heart, and still get on with things because she must.
The scan was done and I saw the tiny flickering heartbeat of my impending offspring there on the screen. Like snow on a weather radar, the spots of white moved over the black screen like winter wind gusts and then settled into one mass. My eyes focused and squinted. The thumping of my heart matched the speed at which I watched the onscreen heart gleam and glimmer and dart like silverfish. All was okay and relief washed over me. Home again, now.
That evening I took TNC out for a quick walk shortly before her bedtime and meandered to a playground we visit frequently. As I passed the playground I noticed a car sitting stationery in the road, lights on and engine running, with no one inside. I assumed the driver had quickly run into one of the houses opposite and thought nothing much of it. But a couple minutes later, when I passed back by again on my way home, the car was still there. I had a strange feeling and got nearer for a closer look.
Inside, a woman lay unconscious with her feet on the drivers seat, her belly exposed and facing me on the passenger side, and her upper body and head in the backseat. I could see by the way her belly was rising and falling that she was breathing but wondered why the heck somoene would stop here for an impromptu nap, car still running. I made sure TNC was okay and applied the brake on her pushchair before I investigated further. A few knocks on the window resulted in nothing. Sleeping Stranger had still not awoken. I peered into the backseat to try to see her face and was startled to be met with the sight of an infant in a carseat. No more than a few weeks old, the baby also appeared to be breathing but asleep. I wondered if I had stumbled into some surreal reenactment of Sleeping Beauty or entered a Twilight Zone of sorts.
I opened the car door and shouted ‘Hello! Can you hear me? Wake up!” but again got no response. I realised something was wrong, this was more than just a nap. I pulled out my mobile and dialed the emergency services. I was told to flag down the ambulance when I saw it approaching and so I did. The whole time I waited (all of about three minutes) I kept a vigilant eye on the baby and Sleeping Stranger’s belly, to make sure it kept rising and falling with life. I ran through CPR procedures in my head in case there was no rise after the fall. TNC started to cry so I picked her up and held her on my hip. She shouted ‘Baby!’ when she saw the tiny pink bundle through the window. ‘Yes, my dear, baby. Poor sweet baby,’ I breathed into her ear.
The EMT who arrived first went straight over the driver’s side and opened the door. He shook Sleeping Stranger slightly while checking her pulse and helping her to sit up. I couldn’t hear what they were sayinig but she looked confused and weary. Her eyes were red and unfocused, her hair sticking up where she’d slumped. She had short auburn locks and looked to be in her early-to-mid 30s. She didn’t automatically swivel around to check her baby until the EMT made reference to her and then her mother’s eyes went wide as she turned around and touched the car seat, almost in disbelief. She was drunk.
The police arrived and took the baby from the car, safe in a female officer’s arms. The Sleeping Stranger still looked dazed and out of it. I wondered if maybe she’d taken some medication and then had one or two drinks, resulting in a bad reaction, or if perhaps she had postpartum depression and had had one of those days where the world seems to stop and nothing else matters but escaping. I wondered if she’d spend time in jail, who would come for the baby, what would happen to them. But I will never know as after the police took my name and number and thanked me for phoning them, I was sent on my way. I walked home a bit shellshocked, weary from the emotions of the day.
The next day, Tuesday, was mine and TNH’s eighth wedding anniversary. We had a nice (albeit inexpensive — a bonus!) meal out and then came home to relieve the babysitter (my friend) and look at our wedding album in bed, as per tradition. I looked at my husband and my heart swelled with love and appreciation. Eight years of marriage and still we grow stronger. Earlier that morning he had surprised me by waking up early and getting TNC downstairs without disturbing me, giving me an extra 45 minutes or so in bed. I woke with a start at 7.30 and quickly got dressed as I knew he would be leaving any minute for work. As I started down the stairs I was shouted at to get back into bed or risk life and limb. Confused, I complied. A few minutes later music drifted into the bedroom as I lay there, “Wild Horses” by the Rolling Stones. Our song. Tears sprang to my eyes immediately (quite a common occurence these days) and then there he was, with breakfast on a tray, a card in his hand and smile on his face. He’d even gotten decaffeinated Colombian cofffee for me. The man knows me so well. That alone got him three gold stars in the Book of Things I Won’t Soon Forget.
And that, as laid out in this extraordinarly long post, is why I haven’t been around much the last few days and what’s been happening with me. Hey, what can I say? Brevity is not my strong suit. But I’m glad to be back and hope to keep updating more frequently now that the madness is subsiding. I have so many blogs to catch up on that I’ll probably be wading knee-deep in RSS feeds for the rest of the evening. I’d better get started then…
