Up date

Our baby, Christopher, was born 12 weeks early. I wrote the Clock Ticks a month before he was concieved. As you can tell there were many hold ups in our attemps to have him including a miscarridge a 16 weeks. The effects of a late miscarridge on the person having it should never be under-estimated by others arround them. It will probably make them cry for a very long time afterwards.

His birth was normal except that it was so early, it started with the waters breaking at 2.30 in the morning and ended with his birth about 8 hours later.

He was then transfered straight to the special care unit, where he has been ever since. It is important for all babies to have breast milk but this is espesially true for preterms. This means expressing regularly and being tied to a breast pump except for short and well planned outings to get back in time.

So we managed to get a trip to a local baby store and buy his pram, which is really bright and cheerful and extremely versitile. He still needs a matress for his cot and a moses basket for his first 3 months or so at home.

His progress in pictures can be viewed at www.papageorgiou.e7even.com.

He started having a go at suckling on Monday last week and has been getting stronger at it. This is quite impressive as they are not supposed to develope the sucking, breathing and swallowing co-ordination untill they are 34 weeks of gestation and his gestational age was 32 when he had it.

The Clock Ticks

I long to welcome you into my arms
To hold you to my breast
I sob
I wonder where you are
and who you are
and when will you arrive
My life lies barren all about
Fruit trees grow fertile
Hospital tests leave doctors confused
They wonder why you don not come
And Why, when you do
Why you depart so soon
The months move on
My maternal clock tics loud

Photo of me

One life for another?

There it was, hardly there at all
Not much bigger than a tiny ball
And next to me, there she lay
Her relatives would count each day.
While, inside, a new life it grows,
Another is there, who’s life, it goes.
The illness that put me in here
Tests the foetus’ will to stay in there.
And inside her, there grows another,
Of which her life, it tries to smother.
A malignancy within her brain
While there, in uterine, grows the wain.

What makes me cry?

The guilt that I delivered you early
When you should have had twelve weeks more.
The wondering if it was something I did,
Or was my womb too small?
Then I look at your long limbs
And marvel at your weight.
Thinking, how would you have fit
If, perhaps, you had been late?

Leaving you alone in there
While I leave and travel home.
I feel that you should be by my side
Or better still, within.
You should be listening to sounds
Right here with me.
I want to see all your developmental bounds
And have you share with me.

Changing your nappy
For once, that might be pleasant
While others are moaning;
“I really don’t need this present.”
They don’t want to clean up
After all their offspring did.

Breast feeing is such a chore,
While I don’t get that chore at all.
No, for me, it’s the electric pump.
With the noise
The sterilising and all that bumph.
You should be here
To nuzzle and need
For you would do it better
Than any electrical feed.

But you should be still inside,
And sometimes it makes me bitter
Because we missed out
On these three months together.
I had such plans for us,
Sharing my days and nights with you.
And now I can only look on
With tubes and wires breath for you
And you from within are gone.

And what of the bump
That was supposed to grow
So enormous and make me so slow.
No trouble tying shoes for me,
And only a little hard to get up.
And look, its nearly gone – you see.
I know its silly but I miss it so
The maternity clothes hang limp
Like wet washing they drip
Off my more slender frame and slip.

Twelve Weeks early

Your tiny form, strong yet vulnerable
Your wild movements with weak muscle,
Looking so fragile, yet your control
Your full control over my whole
Caused my womb to bid farewell.

I watch you, my eyes adoring.
With tiny hand, tightly gripping
My finger, gauche when comparing.
Beautiful your form, even the bruising
How delightful you are now growing

As with each hour, by comparison
Improvements in your condition
Start to appear for observation.
My love it grows in unison.
You are all my attention.

And who would have imagined it?
Us both here in the special care unit?
Your skin with special lighting lit.
I would never have thought to commit.
This happens to others, doesn’t it?
My womb lies bereft of where you fit.

Maternal Memories

I am told that I will forget,
How it feels right now,
To be a vessel for
Something so important
As another’s total life.
It is said I won’t remember
The feelings and emotion
Total responsibility, not just for me.

That every movement thrills me,
How I’m scared of all I do
And the worries of beliefs
Should I cause a harm to you.
The love which suffuses all thought
Could surely not be lost to me.
How can I possibly forget
How you react to every mood,
Moving to my tone and colour.
Always so intimately part of me
As one, we are two together.
Until, at once, a violent act
Will tare us both asunder.

I can’t believe I can forget
The wonder that I feel
When I feel you move.
The marvel that you choose
The moments when I still
The strange tumbles
Flutterings when I stand
Then motionless, there you lie
As I continue on my way.

The feelings of perfect completeness
That this is the way that things should be
Will surely not fade from remembrance
No, not ever go away.
The moments that I treasure now;
The music that we embrace
Knowing that you hear me now
That you can learn my voice.
Surely these thoughts will never go

Lest I forget, I feel it now
So I write down quickly
As memory begins to fade, Already!
It has been but seven hours
Since you emerged from within
And announced your presence in the world,
And yet the memory fails.