The Aftermath

The rest of the day was spent nursing the new born, feeding, changing etc. As well as the obligatory phone calls to family of course. Then it was a rush to pick up the other two Godzookies, feed them, bath them and get them in bed. The Saturday saw Grandma Zilla visit from the Lakes. Luckily there is a coach trip to the Trafford Centre on certain Saturdays, and this coincided nicely. She became the first person to see the new arrival, which was great, as in the past she’s had to wait up to a week before getting a chance to cuddle her latest grandchild. Mrs Zilla’s parents visited on the Saturday night, so they didn’t lag too far behind in getting to hold the new addition. I was busy cleaning the house on Sunday, as Mrs Zilla was hopeful of being discharged on the Monday, when she phoned me to say she was able to come home as soon as I could pick her up. Cue frantic herding of children and preparation of child car seats. By 2.30pm we were all back at home, with me still all really baffled by the suddenness of it all. Apparently the ward doctor had come in and asked Mrs Zilla if she wanted to go home. Not being a fan of hospitals she had readily agreed and rung me. I suspect that they were short of beds and saw her as an easy option to move out. All started well enough, I ran round like a lunatic keeping all the normal routines going, ensuring that Mrs Z got plenty of rest. By the Tuesday she was sick of being inside though, and I suspect she had ulterior motives of showing off the new baby, when she said she wanted to come to school to collect Godzooky 1. Everyone cooed and aahed over him, and we were both the proud parents, along with a very excitable Godzooky 1 who told anyone within earshot that his new baby brother was the cutest. On the way back to the car though Mrs Z complained of a tightness in her chest, which we both put down to her overdoing the walking. As the week wore on though Mrs Z kept feeling this tightness whenever she moved about anywhere. She failed to mention it to the community midwife though, until Friday when I was in work collect some papers. My phone went and it was Mrs Z saying that she had to be taken to hospital straight away and would I meet her there. It was suspected that she had a blood clot. She hadn’t received a couple of shots that she should have apparently, and this increased the risk of a clot. An ECG test showed that she was fine, but a blood test revealed that there was a n increased risk of a clot. The medical experts conferred, and decided that only a CT scan with dye would reveal the truth. Unfortunately this was by now 6pm on Friday evening and the scan department was shut for the weekend. It would be Monday at the earliest before she could have a scan. There was no way they were letting her go home, so she was admitted and treatment for a clot begun, just in case. The weekend was spent flitting between home, the hospital and work, trying to meet deadlines for payments at work, visitors hours in the hospital and the children’s normal daily routines. I didn’t get much sleep for those days. Monday came and went without a scan, but finally on Tuesday Mrs Z got her appointment. The clot was found and the treatment determined. Mrs Z has to inject herself daily for almost two months to thin the clot and prevent any more developing. It was a worrying time but at least nothing too bad happened. It was more of an inconvenience, but the consequences of what could have happened without treatment doesn’t bear thinking about.