Reading the horrendous birth tales documented in The Birth Trauma Inquiry I had one thought: sure. While many of the stories of medical negligence leading to death and life-long health complications brought me to tears, none of it was surprising.
My daughter was born in a central London hospital almost seven years ago. I can still recall the miserable week I spent on the ward after my emergency cesarean with pin-sharp detail. Our experience was nowhere near as challenging as much of the trauma detailed by some of the 1300 women who provided evidence in the inquiry, but it left its mark.
The midwife and doctor who saved my life spotted the sepsis and rising heart rates of both me and my daughter, but as soon as I was wheeled into the recovery bay the attentive care ended abruptly. As I lay in blood soaked sheets less than an hour after major surgery, my baby (with a cannula attached to her for antibiotics) screamed. A revolving cast of midwives came by to tut at us for her crying. One told me that I had inverted nipples and wouldn’t be able to breastfeed (untrue). As I was taken off to the ward, another shouted “breast is best” at me.
Once installed behind my flimsy green screened bay a “lactation specialist” popped by to help me feed. She clamped my daughter to my chest and told me that if I didn’t continue to breastfeed I’d get breast cancer and my baby leukemia.
I was told if I didn’t continue to breastfeed I’d get breast cancer and my baby leukemia
Later, two more midwives manhandled me onto my side “to get a better position” and emphatically told me that formula would be a disaster. I was left there for hours in agony, unable to move. At this point I’d been awake for 36 hours, I was on liquid morphine, I was exhausted. The next day, a kind midwife smuggled small bottles of formula to me and whispered “it’s your baby, you can feed her how you want” out of earshot of her colleagues.
The nights were the worst, those on the ward were mostly agency staff with an attitude. After I’d finally got their attention, having vomited everywhere at 3am, one quipped as I sat sobbing holding a cardboard bowl, “It can be overwhelming” before leaving me there alone with my crying baby. The weekend was terrifying, with barely one doctor on call for the entire ward. When my cannula came loose, blood pouring out of my arm, I dragged my drip stand along the corridor trying to find help. I waited three days for them to change my bloodied bed socks and sheets. The doctors eventually appeared on a round, noting the 10 per cent drop in my daughter’s weight they told me to give her formula. The lactation specialist made one final visit to remind me about the cancer. When I was eventually discharged I sobbed with happiness.
There still exists something of an omerta on the reality of childbirth — who wants to terrify a pregnant woman? But everyone shares midwife warnings — don’t let them bully you — is a constant whispered refrain to anyone at the nine-month mark. Similarly after the event, war stories are shared with abandon. Among friends who gave birth around the same time as I, negligence and pervasively dismissive attitudes all leading to unnecessary and painful complications were commonplace. My own experiences led me six months later to a psychiatrist's office where I was diagnosed with postnatal depression, having become so anxious and unsure that I could barely leave the house. This was directly linked to my treatment and experience in hospital over that bleak week.
My own experiences led me six months later to a psychiatrist's office where I was diagnosed with postnatal depression
Childbirth is clearly no picnic, even for those fortunate to have straight forward deliveries. But anytime someone I know gives birth the first thing I do is to message asking if they are OK, understanding that they’ve now crossed the Rubicon into a new world where they’re likely battered, bruised and confused.
I can understand that in the life of a maternity ward, new babies and mothers are an underwhelming hourly occurrence, a conveyor belt to be dealt with by overworked and under resourced NHS staff. But women are at their most vulnerable both physically and mentally when giving birth; not to mention the dismal statistics around the treatment of Black women who are four times more likely to die during childbirth, those from Asian backgrounds twice as likely. It’s depressing in some ways that it's taken the trauma of a sitting politician (Theo Clarke) to bring this issue to the forefront — many have been campaigning on these issues for years. But it’s definitely high time that maternity services woke up to the dire state they are in and start listening and centering women’s experience when it comes to maternal care.
No more whispered warnings, please.
