On the 20th March, I arrive home, huge and ready to have a baby. My heart is heavy leaving Dexter in Manchester, knowing that he had been admitted on to a hospital ward and I was at home.
My mum was running the house, it was ship-shape and everything was running smoothly, the kids where at home because we had been put on the shielding list because Covid had arrived, locking down the country and locking our lives down for Dexter was what the NHS had ordered us to do. At the time it was unknown how covid affected children, Dexter was placed on the extremely vulnerable list. So I tried to keep the kids entertained. I sat like a beached whale encouraging the children while they exercised under the teachings of Jo wicks.
It was terribly lonely at night, knowing that Jack and Dexter were missing from the family home. I'd gone from being on 24/7 caring duty of Dexter, day and night I would be with him. When he went to bed at nine I would climb into bed with him so he could sleep and now I was in a big house, the children sleeping and I was awake, lying in my bed texting Jack from afar, torturing myself with the pang I had to be with them, but to also be home.
With Lockdown now in full swing, all of my children were home, I set up creative challenges, help me clean the house on a Tuesday, movie nights in the evening, robot making comps, and organised food deliveries and supplies to come to the house, being told that the garden was the furthest we could roam. It was a strange coupled of weeks and then as the days ticked on, mum moved in because it was time to have a baby.
The night before baby was about to arrive, I spoke to Jack and Dexter, Dexter was so, so excited and he was desperate to get home as all he wanted to do was cuddle his new baby brother or sister. I was a little anxious, this was my seventh c section, the first I had done without Jack by my side and the whole arrival was marred with a little sadness. Sadness that our baby wasn't the centre of our world, that the arrival was just something we had to get through as Jack and I were both so focused on keeping Dexter alive, safe and with us. I had felt like this baby was going to be golden, he or she was like the forgotten child, gently cooking within my belly, causing no trouble and being an angel so we could put our energy into the children already alive and with us.
The night before, I lay looking at the tiny crib ready and made up, I was so excited to fill it with the little life who we'd been blessed to nurture. I was so happy I'd got here with little trouble or fuss, as I'd been so frightened by one doctor who said he didn't like people having more than three c-sections. It's all a gamble but I am forever a believer in self-belief and I knew my body was up to the task. I knew that I could grow this baby, love this baby and provide this baby with everything (s)he needed.
As I was waking to get ready to head to the hospital, Jack and Dexter prepared, like every day, to go to The Christie. We spoke briefly, I told Jack to take care of my baby he was with and he told me to do the same. I said I'd be in touch, let him know when I'd go down and he was just so sad. I couldn't jolly him, he was devastated not to be with me, devastated that Dexter was having cancer treatment and so sad he was going to miss the first three weeks of our new babies life.
My dad arrived just before seven to drop me and my mum down to the hospital. Mum had never been my birthing partner before but having had two sections herself and being a woman of strength I knew she would be fine. We had been put on a near-empty ward. Temps were taken and informed mum being my birth partner would be the only person able to visit me while I was in the hospital.
There were two women ahead of me, I was meant to be first on the list but the woman opposite was diabetic and they bumped her in front. it was quick by nine o clock I was padding down to theatre, with my open-backed gown to get fitted with a nerve twinging spinal block. The woman that did it, kept hitting a nerve that was shooting an electric shock down my right side, the pain was irritatingly sharp and I gripped the pillow hard thinking, oh no is this going to go ok?
The team were lovely, the surgeon was a doctor who did my last two sections, with Dexter and Trixie, I felt in good hands and as they tilted me they told me it might take a bit longer. Mum was gowned up, everyone was talking about baby names and mum was soaking in the friendly atmosphere, I think she could have joined the team, everyone was so nice, she had a grip on my hand and I had put her in charge of photos so we could keep jack up to date with what was going on. Tears gently rolled down my face as I thought about Dexter, at this very moment he was in theatre, his head caged to a bed under his personalised mask, a proton beam, nuking my babies face.
Suddenly I was pulled from my thoughts, breathtaking pressure and tugging and within less than five minutes at 9:24 am Quill Cassius Constantine-Tatchell arrived. His voice was cool and gentle, barely a bleating he scrunched up his face. They gave him a good rub and he shouted to let us know he had arrived. Another boy, to join our gang. My fifth son, pink, perfect and tiny.
By the time we had come out of the theatre, covid rules in the hospital had changed. Mum was allowed to come to recovery with my but then, she was no longer able to visit me on the ward, three days, just me, myself and Quil.
At 6lb 110z Quill Cassius was diddy, his name a homage to Dexter. As I was wheeled back to recovery, the first set of parents cooed over their new baby girl. Mum held Quill while I itched and shivered from the anaesthetic, unable to feel anything but the itch on the top half of my body. Mum was in love with Quill and she kept saying how she saw so much of my mother in laws mother in him, and still to this day I think she's right, he's got a Kenyon look about him.
With the itch medicated and Quill cleaned, weighed and dressed. We face-timed Jack and bombarded him with the cute first moments of his extraordinary life, a lockdown baby born in 2020 with his mother and Nanny Tatchell, while his father longed to hear of his safe arrival from yonder.
Jack was thrilled, the relief that I had survived the surgery and the new shiny eyes of his baby boy, filled his heart, he was thrilled. I told him that he should be the one to announce him to the world, informing the children, our family and all our friends of his safe arrival, it was the most I could give him, with him being so far away.
We had agreed that we wouldn't share photos of Quill until Jack and Dexter had laid eyes on him, this was the right decision and yet I was desperate to hit my social media channels and show him to the world.
Dexter was still in a magic sleep. Within minutes my phone was pinging as the baby news spread, and just like that it was time for me and Quill to head to the ward and Mum to go home, I was envious of her being cocooned in the children's excitement to have a little brother, I was going to enjoy having Quill to myself but I didn't want to be alone with my thoughts.
The end of the maternity ward I had been put on was quiet, there was only one other lady in the room with me, she'd had her baby a couple of days before and her baby was crying and cluster feeding, ravenous for her new milk that had come in. Quill how ever sniffled and snuffled, he was quiet and calm and barely made a noise. He was just like our other babies and as I struggled to tug my weighted legs and pull myself up I would lean over into the plastic crib, just to check he was breathing.
All of the midwives on the ward knew my story, they knew about Dexter and they knew there was a possibility I would be fragile. But I was only tearful and emotional when they would ask me of Dexter's journey, thinking of him being in Manchester while I was trapped in a maternity ward so far from him, made everything feel so much worse. Dexter was awake, about three in the afternoon he face timed and cooed over his new brother, loving that he'd got his wish, so pleased it wasn't another sister who he moans on the regular about.
I was in high spirits and the first night wasn't too bad, I texted Jack and friends throughout the night, Mum doesn't really sleep so no matter the time she would keep me company and text chat throughout the early hours.
Dexter was focussed on getting home, his skin was burnt red, still not as bad as expected but internally he was burnt to a crisp, he was now struggling to swallow, his eyelids were breaking down and his eyes were dry and sore. He was having regular feeds through his Peg because eating was too painful and now the weight had fallen off his bones.
The change in Dexter was becoming noticeable by the time we were being sent home. Three days late and I was ready to get back to my home comforts. The midwives had been lovely to me, this was the first of seven births where everyone had been nice to me, no judgement or rudeness just kindness, I wonder if its because my friend who was a midwife had told them all to take care of me?
Life was resuming for me but back in Manchester the treatment was continuing and it was getting more brutal and harder for him to bounce back from. On occasions, I would face time, he was so tired he could barely engage, he would try to talk to me about the baby but the treatment was taking its toll and we still had sixteen days to go. We were all missing each other dreadfully, every member of the family felt it, but at least we had the joy of Quill to get us through.
I truly believe he was sent to us at this time to give Dexter something good to focus on in the last days of treatment, all he would talk about was the new baby, he was a therapy baby for us all, sent to bring a calming influence, days full of cuddles and love when we needed them so much.
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