Itch, itch, itch. I have had the most maddening desire to jump out of my own itchy skin. The thing is, it’s not just my expanding belly that I want to scratch to death; it’s every inch of me. I’m like a Mexican jumping bean, forever squirming and scratching, and going crazy. The nights are the worst. I just can’t lie still, and poor Nick is being kept awake too. (The face of things to come, I suppose). I’ve tried changing laundry detergent to non-biological, I’ve bought vats of aqueous cream and calamine lotion (yuck) but nothing helps.

Last Friday afternoon Nick was working from home, and I was attempting to clean out my home-office, in preparation for our impending move. I ran across the Bounty Guide to Pregnancy, which I planned to bin and, for some reason, it was opened to a page of pregnancy symptoms. My eye was drawn to ‘itching’ and, suddenly, I went white. It said, ‘severe all-body itching can be a sign of obstetric colestasis, a liver disorder, which can lead to serious health problems for both mother and baby. Suspected to be a leading cause of stillbirth.’ Oh my God, I thought. I have this disease. I immediately showed the page to Nick, who reacted with equal alarm, and I rang my midwife’s pager number.

One of the midwives rang me back, immediately, and told me that although it was very unlikely I had this rare disorder, I should come into the labour ward of the hospital, right away, for some tests. I asked her what the ‘cure’, was and she replied that the only cure was to get the baby out of my uterus, and that, at 34 weeks, if the baby had to be born, it would most likely be just fine. Help! And I don’t even have a Moses basket or a single nappy. My head was swimming, and Nick looked mildly ill. We packed a bag filled with magazines, water, and snacks, and prepared for a possibly long and momentous night ahead.

This was a ‘test run’ for the real thing

I felt like a fraud entering the labour ward, expecting it to be mayhem after reading that Chelsea & Westminster Hospital delivers over 4,000 babies every year (that’s a dozen a day). But it was surprisingly quiet. We were ushered into a labour room, and left alone. The room was dismal and empty, but for one ancient saggy chair, the most uncomfortable ‘bed’ I have ever sat on, and a pillow that could have doubled for a toddler nappy. Ten minutes later a midwife came in and asked some questions. She then hooked me up to a baby monitor and we spent an exhilarating 20 minutes listening to a strong heartbeat, reassured that no matter what might happen, our baby was fine and, so far, there was no damage done. Whew!

Finally, an obstetrician came in, a young woman (and I hate it when accomplished people are younger than I am), and asked me a million questions. She seemed concerned, but not overly so. She ordered a series of blood tests and had a nurse draw the blood from my arm. We were told we’d get most of the test results that evening, and some would take a few days. But the main test, a liver function screen, would strongly indicate whether I had this disease or not, and if that came back clear, it was very likely that everything was fine.

The waiting game

The next two hours seemed like twenty; especially, after we started to hear noises from the labour room next door. They started off as small moans, almost child-like. Within thirty minutes, the moans turned to groans, lasting longer and increasing in volume. Then they became more frequent, and began to sound like an injured animal, terrified and caught in a trap. It was the strangest feeling to hear someone giving birth – her moans sounded so personal and intimate, we felt guilty for being able to hear, as if we were overhearing a couple making love. Sometimes Nick and I resorted to nervous laughter, when she would come out with a really ear-wrenching groan. I cannot describe how unnerving this was. My heart went out to this woman, who was in labour on a fast-moving pain-train, with no turning back. It scared the hell out of me.

The sound of the doctor knocking on the door was a welcome one. She pronounced my liver test to be normal, and said it was very unlikely that there was a real problem, apart from the annoying itch. We made an appointment for a week later, to get the results of the additional blood tests, and they sent us on our way. I never did get to hear the one noise I was hoping to…the first cry of the baby struggling to be born next door. Can’t get those moans out of my head. And I still itch like crazy.

See Josa's pregnancy diary for weeks 32-34.