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Year: 2015

All Actions Big and Small

by / #MatExp Actions, MatExp and Me, The #MatExp Journey / 1 Comment

June is our month of ACTION for the #MatExp campaign! All actions big and small are welcome and very valued.

Actions don’t need to be huge or onerous. They could be something you’re already doing. For example, my action focuses on bereavement support for parents who have lost a baby. It is an extension of my blog, and the work I am already doing as part of Hugo’s Legacy.

Your action could be as straightforward as telling everyone you know about #MatExp, and encouraging them to get involved.

If you’re a health professional, it could be something as simple as making sure you always say #hellomynameis. Or, your action could be doing something differently based on feedback from a woman in one of the #MatExp social media channels.

It doesn’t really matter what your action is. Your action should just be something that is relevant to YOU. It should also be something that feels manageable and achievable.

We all have busy lives. Like with any change, to be sustainable it needs to be part of your life, not in addition to it.

You may have seen some comments from folk saying they want to do more, and that’s brilliant. But please remember that is pressure they are putting on THEMSELVES. We think it would be brilliant if everyone made an action, but there is no pressure from us.

There is also no pressure to do the action during June. #MatExp has already achieved so much, and generated so much activity since its official launch at NHS Change Day in March 2015, we have designated want to maintain the momentum.  Dependent on your chosen action, it might be something you will do every day, or it might be something it is difficult to put into action for some time yet. Throwing a few clichés around, Rome wasn’t built in a day, and remember how you eat an elephant: in small chunks!

#MatExp is a grassroots movement – that is, it’s led by us all. No one is ‘in charge’ as such. That means you don’t need to ask anyone for permission to do an action (caveat: dependent on your action, of course: you might want to get permission from someone in your organisation if your action involves something like moving a ward!).

Do share with the #MatExp community what your actions are, or about the actions you’re thinking of making, though. That’s not just because we’re a nosey bunch: by sharing our thoughts, we can collaborate by contributing different ideas from our own experiences and expertise. By doing that we can help each other out, and potentially make an even greater impact.

We have seen from our discussions on Twitter and in the Facebook group that discussions around actions create all sorts of lightbulb and penny drop moments.

You can:

  • Tweet using the #MatExp hashtag
  • Join or start a conversation in the #MatExp Facebook group
  • If you have a blog, you could write a post about the action you are thinking of making, or have made, and add it to our linky
  • If you don’t have a blog, you can tell us about your existing or proposed action through this contact form
  • You can also share your action by taking an action selfie and sharing it on social media. There is a template you can print out on this page.

Here’s my selfie!

LeighActionselfie

Together we are stronger.

There are no right or wrong answers!

Don’t worry if your action seems ‘too small’. No action can be too small. There are no points to be scored, no prizes to be given – and that’s not just because this campaign is run on zero budget – scores are not what #MatExp is about. Making an action that impacts on even one person is amazing, valued, and very worthwhile.

You may have heard of the starfish story:

starfish-story-websize

We hope that makes sense. If you need any guidance or would like to do some brainstorming or have ideas you’d like to share, please do throw it out to the #MatExp community – on Twitter, Facebook, or by looking at some of the ideas on this site. The principle that underpins #MatExp is identifying and sharing best practice across the nation’s maternity services.

There is no false modesty involved when we say we are making it up as we go along – we really are. And that means YOU can help influence the directions #MatExp takes.

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#MatExp – Lights, Camera, Action!

by / #MatExp Actions, The #MatExp Journey / Comments Off on #MatExp – Lights, Camera, Action!

It was on 12th May that Leigh Kendall and Helen Calvert thought about starting a Facebook group for the #MatExp campaign. JFDI and all that, the group was started two days later. Three weeks in and we’re at 450 members. You’ve got to love this campaign, nothing happens slowly!

Facebook group

The group is administrated by Emma Jane Sasaru, Helen Calvert, Leigh Kendall and Susanne Remic, and is the Facebook outlet for a campaign that has already gained huge momentum on Twitter. Florence Wilcock, the obstetrician at Kingston Hospital who started the campaign, has always wanted it to be focused on ACTION and this theme is central to the group. Each day a member of the admin team starts a thread on a chosen topic with questions/talking points and a request for actions that families and birth professionals can take to improve maternity experience in this area. We ask that actions are S.M.A.R.T. 

SMART (Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Relevant, Time-bound) goal setting concept presented on blackboard with colorful crumpled sticky notes and white chalk handwriting

Florence and Gill Phillips have a Month of Action planned for June, so we had originally hoped to do a blog post at the start of June detailing the actions put forward so far by the Facebook group and asking that people get involved. The snag is there have been so many fabulous actions put forward already on a number of important topics. The topics are being chosen in alphabetical order as a nod towards the #MatExp ABC that provided so much impetus on Twitter, and we are so far only on “H” – already the actions are numerous and thought provoking.

So we have quickly realised that it might be better for each of the admin team members to do individual blog posts on the topics that they have introduced to the group. These posts will start to come through soon, but for now we still wanted to give you a flavour of the suggestions and we hope that you will join us on Facebook or Twitter (or both) to get involved.

ACTION!

The actions that have been suggested on each of the threads can be divided into two categories:

  1. Immediate – just get up and do it actions that anybody can take, here and now. These tend to be small things but they can still have an impact.
  2. Long-term – group actions that require input and buy-in from different places and will probably require campaigns of their own.

Both are very important to the campaign. There are big issues that need to be addressed in maternity care and the NHS Maternity Review is looking at these right now. We are hoping to work with the review panel and to share our ideas with them. But we also need to remember that simple acts of kindness can change the experience of anyone with whom we come into contact. Sharing a piece of information could send someone down a different path. Signposting to a service could make the difference for that individual. No one needs to sit back and wait for a bandwagon to jump on. We can all of us get up and act today.

So what has been suggested so far? Here is a snapshot of some of the topics we have discussed:

A is for Anxiety

Immediate actions –

  • Anxious mums to use hypnotherapy techniques in pregnancy
  • Be honest about your anxieties and find out as much as you can on how to manage them
  • Midwives please ask mums about their mental health throughout their pregnancy, not just on booking in; anxious mums to look into mindfulness techniques

Long-term actions –

  • All health visitors need training in identifying and supporting pre and postnatal anxiety
  • Subsidised doula provision for anxious families
  • Continuity of care for anxious families
  • Refer anxiety sufferers to specialist mental health support

B is for Bereavement

Immediate actions –

  • The most important immediate action can be done by anyone, anywhere, anytime – acknowledge the baby the parents have lost. If you know the baby’s name, use it. If you don’t know the baby’s name, ask. Take the parents’ lead on whether or not they want to talk about their loss. Try not to worry about saying the ‘wrong’ thing. The worst thing you can do is to skirt around the subject, or ignore it completely. To do so insulting and upsetting to bereaved parents.

Long-term actions –

  • Clear, concise, sensible, and up-to-date information to be provided to bereaved parents when they leave the hospital after the death of their baby. Parents need reassurance about the emotions they are likely to feel, and a few pointers about how to navigate grief, especially during the raw early weeks. The information also needs to clearly state how the parents can access appropriate support as and when they are ready.
  • Access to counselling support. Too many bereaved parents have had to fight for the counselling and psychological support they need – or have gone without. Some hospitals do offer counselling services: hospitals need to make clear to parents that this is available, and how to access it. Funding issues mean that not every area is able to provide these services, but charities thankfully do exist to fill the gap. Hospital and GP practice staff need to know what support is available locally so they can signpost parents appropriately, or where appropriate make referrals for them. Leaving bereaved parents to source their own support at a time when they are least able to have the tenacity to deal with ‘the system’ is unacceptable.
  • Training in bereavement care for health professionals. Surprisingly, many don’t receive this as standard practice. The vast majority of health professionals are caring individuals, but a lack of appropriate training means many are unsure about how best to deal with bereavement, which may lead them to saying things that are less than helpful to parents. What is said to parents at this sad time stays with them forever, so the importance of this training cannot be underestimated. This training should be extended to all staff involved with maternity/NNUs (including admin, housekeeping et al) to help prevent unnecessary upsets.
  • Debrief/support to care for the needs of maternity, obstetric and NNU staff after the death of a baby. These staff are deeply affected by the loss of a baby in their care.

B is for Birth Trauma (families)

Immediate actions –

  • Use of language when discussing birth trauma with families- lots of women have felt their feelings were dismissed, or that they were being ‘silly’. Women also felt that they had failed. Language in notes also very important.
  • Immediate debrief after a traumatic birth; women felt that they were discharged and sent home without having the chance to talk through events.
  • Communication- tell women and their families what is happening and why.

Long-term actions –

  • Birth trauma support groups for women to access after a traumatic birth.
  • Birth reflections and birth trauma counsellors to be accessed for as long as women and their families need them. Trained counsellors to support, and health visitors to be able to signpost the necessary services too.
  • Better recognition of PTSD following birth trauma and better support for dads too.
  • Emotional support for women in subsequent pregnancies.
  • Ensure that women know how to access appropriate services following birth trauma.

B is for Birth Trauma (midwives)

Immediate actions –

  • Make sure your colleagues know that they don’t have to “cope” – it’s okay to admit that they have been traumatised by a particular birth experience
  • Ask if your Trust has guidelines in place for supporting staff after a difficult birth.

Long-term actions –

  • Stringent debrief sessions put in place for each instrumental birth and any birth that is not straightforward
  • Tackle trauma that accumulates from seeing the same things again and again – e.g. vaginal exams with inadequate consent, instrumental deliveries without compassion, loss of autonomy and consent.

C is for C-sections

Immediate actions –

  • Skin to skin in theatre.
  • Ensure that women are supported in their decision to have a c-section and help them to write a birth plan to feel empowered during surgery. Discussion of gentle c-section options.
  • Help women to find comfortable positions to breastfeed.

Long-term actions –

  • Identify reasons for c-sections and look to see where these can be reduced.
  • Educate women during subsequent pregnancies, ensuring that up to date information is given with regards to VBAC. Ensure access to VBAC clinic is given.
  • Better patient leaflets with more information on what happens during surgery and what recovery is like.
  • Debrief from surgeon on how the c-section went and how subsequent pregnancies are likely to be affected.
  • Better support for women after an emergency c-section.
  • Provide emotional support and/ or counselling after a c-section for women who require it.

C is for Complications

Immediate actions –

  • Communication was a common theme in the responses in this thread. Women – especially those who experienced complications around the time of the birth of their baby – wanted professionals to explain what was happening. Not knowing what was happening, and why, added to these women’s anxiety. Women (and their birth partners) need to be told as much as is appropriate at the time what is happening and why, in simple language.
  • Health professionals need to remember that consent is still vital!
  • Explain everything – as a health professional, certain things that you consider routine may be daunting or scary to a woman in your care. Make sure you explain everything that is happening, and be patient if they need the information to be repeated – it can often be difficult to take things in when you are in a crisis situation.

Long-term actions –

  • Information: there is a lot of difference in the quality and content of information pregnant women receive from hospitals and community midwives. It can create confusion, especially combined with the wealth of information available from charities and the internet. While the internet can’t be controlled of course, it would make sense for hospitals nationwide to have consistent leaflets from a central source, with the ability to personalise information as appropriate.
  • Connected to this point, knowing how much information to tell women about complications is difficult. We want them to know enough so they can recognise symptoms if they appear, but not so much they are stressed and scared. The balance is hard to strike. To compound this, there are women who do not attend antenatal appointments so are unable to receive this information.
  • For A&E staff to be better aware of pregnancy complications, and to consult maternity/obstetrics staff when needed.
  • For women to be proactively contacted when pathology (blood/urine etc) tests come back with warning signs, rather than relying on the woman to remember to phone for results.

C is for Continuity of Care

Immediate actions –

  • Managers to talk to the independent midwives and social enterprise midwives who are knowledgeable in how case-loading can work
  • Look at the Streatham Valley midwifery team in London for a working model
  • If a woman is not receiving continuity of care, please ensure as a birth professional that you read her notes thoroughly and write good notes for the next person she sees.

Long-term actions –

  • We need strong leaders at the helm of Trusts who understand how to lead midwives towards the implementation of continuity of care
  • Join up with the RCM Better Births Campaign
  • We need more midwives
  • Look into personalised budgets where the NHS would allocate women funding to choose the service they want.

D is for Dads (and Partners)

Immediate actions –

  • Birth professionals please keep Dads and Partners informed during the birth
  • If Dads and Partners are not allowed on the ward at specific times please ensure the Bounty rep is not allowed on either
  • Recognise that Dads can suffer birth trauma too.

Long-term actions –

  • Keep families together, find ways to allow Dads and Partners to stay in hospital
  • More paternal leave for fathers of premature babies – 2 weeks at birth and 2 weeks at discharge (the same for sick term babies too).

E is for Emotional Wellbeing

Immediate actions –

  • Kindness, dignity and compassionate patient-centred care.
  • Accurate information to support informed choice for families.
  • Support for traumatic births, families that have a baby on NICU and paediatric wards.
  • Good communication between staff, wards and with parents.
  • Include partners and realise they need support too.

Long-term actions –

  • More support services including peer support groups.
  • Healthcare professionals aware of support services and therapies to signpost families to.
  • Antenatal education to help parents prepare for parenthood and the impact birth has emotionally.
  • Training for midwives and health visitors on all mental health disorders and how to spot/support.
  • Specialist perinatal counselling available nationally.
  • Continuation of care for families especially if previous trauma or mental health disorders.
  • Peer support on NICU units to provide emotional support reduce risks of PTSD.

 

And before we started the ABC we already had a hot topic that grabbed our participants’ interest:

Tongue Tie

Long-term actions –

  • Tongue tie assessment needs to feature in doctor and health visitor training
  • Better postnatal care – need skilled assessment of baby, mother and feeding rather than families being sent home ASAP
  • Tongue tie assessment to become a part of the newborn checks.

 

What would you add? What will you do? What have you already done? Come and join the conversation – and join in the ACTION! #MatExp #FlamingJune

 

Emma, Helen, Leigh & Susanne on behalf of #MatExp.

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The #MatExp month of ACTION begins today. Why women everywhere need the Maternity Review Team to engage!

by / About MatExp, Continuity of Care, Informed Choice, Language, Maternity Review, The #MatExp Journey, Uncategorized / Comments Off on The #MatExp month of ACTION begins today. Why women everywhere need the Maternity Review Team to engage!

June is not going to be dull…! For me personally, this is a big week – I am looking forward to speaking at the NHS Confederation Annual Conference on Wednesday. The session I am involved in, chaired by Dr. Mark Newbold, is about urgent care of older people. The emphasis of my contribution is around prevention, holistic approaches and joined-up systems, ensuring that life is not over-medicalised – the simple things that make life worth living.


Mum, known on Twitter as @Gills_Mum, is extremely interested in my talk and threatening to write a blog of her own…

Preparing my presentation brings home yet again the parallels and key themes across all areas of my work. Hardly surprisingly really as we are all people; aspirations, hopes and fears and the desire to have control over our own lives do not suddenly change just because we get older.

FlamingJuneToday starts the month with a bang.

Our #MatExp campaign, to improve the maternity experience of women everywhere, goes up a gear.

For anyone who has been twiddling their thumbs and wondering what to do with themselves since the end of the #MatExp alphabet (yes, we know who you are!), you will be delighted to know that June is a month of action!

#MatExp #FlamingJune – we are just waiting for the weather to catch up … although perhaps it is just as well it is a bit cool outside or the energy burning in this remarkable grassroots campaign might just start some forest fires!

Sheena Byrom is an extraordinary woman. As her action for June, she is posting blogs from individuals who have information to offer to the new team set up to conduct a national review of maternity services in England, led by Baroness Julia Cumberlege. We all feel passionately that this new review team needs to engage with the action-focused, inclusive work of what has now become an unstoppable social movement for positive change.

And so it is a huge honour that Sheena invited Florence Wilcock and me, as the initiators of the #MatExp campaign, to write the opening blog and tell everyone what has been happening and why is it so important for these links to be made.

Sheena is publishing our blog today on her site. But for ease you can also read it below. We are all working together in a very strong collaboration and taking the view that the more different channels we can use to spread the word and involve more and more people, the better!

OUR GUEST BLOG FOR SHEENA BYROM IS REPRODUCED BELOW…

We would like to kick off Sheena’s June blogging series with a strong call for the Maternity Review Team to engage with our fabulous #MatExp grassroots community. We need to build on all the amazing work that has been happening over recent months through this passionate, inclusive group.

So what is #MatExp and how did it come about?

A lot has been written about this already – for example, Florence’s ‘in my shoes blog’.

Florence and Gill made this short video when, due to the phenomenal grassroots energy it had inspired, #MatExp was included as a major campaign in NHS Change Day, 2015.

300- 2 Graphic record from our #MatExp Whose Shoes? workshop, held at Kingston Hospital. New Possibilities are the graphic artists.[/caption]

Inevitably the themes are similar between the different sessions but with a strong local emphasis and most importantly local ownership, energy and leadership.

On Gill’s original blog there are LOADS of scrolling photos at this point showing #MatExp #Whose Shoes workshops and the wider campaign in action – take a look!

It would be easy for the NHS Change Day campaigns to lose momentum after the big day itself, (11 March). #MatExp has done the opposite, continuing to build and bring in new people and actions. #MatExp #now has 110 million Twitter impressions. We have just finished the ‘#MatExp daily alphabet’, a brilliantly simple idea to get people posting each day key issues related to the relevant letter of the alphabet.

This has directly led into the month of action starting today, 1 June!

Helen Calvert set up and ran a survey of health care professionals. She had 150 responses within about 10 days and analysed and reported the results – an extraordinary contribution.

We have a vibrant Facebook group (please apply to join – initiated by fab Helen Calvert @heartmummy) and the brand new website (LAUNCHED TODAY! – huge thanks in particular to Leigh Kendall @leighakendall) set up by the #MatExp team of mums who are incredibly focused, working long hours – all as volunteers. We are all absolutely determined to keep working together to improve maternity experience for women everywhere.

Gill Phillips and Florence Wilcock

There will be LOADS of ideas to help you…
So please get involved.

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Ways in which my c-sections make me amazing

by / Pregnancy Complications / Comments Off on Ways in which my c-sections make me amazing

I’ve had 4 c-sections (2 emergency, 1 elective and 1 planned due to medical reasons) and time and again I find myself making excuses, or defending myself when the topic of birth comes up. I’ve also spoken to many women who feel they failed, or did not give birth because they had a c-section. I’ve come to the point now where I want to celebrate the way that my babies came into the world, and show other women that they did NOT take the easy way out. A c-section is not the easy option and there is no need to feel ashamed either.

If you’ve had a c-section, I hope you know that you are amazing.

I’ve had four c-sections. And until now, I have always been- if not ashamed- a little defensive over them.

But baby was in distress, so the section saved my life.

My son WOULD have died without a section.

It was the easiest decision for me after two traumatic failed labours and emergency sections.

The doctors said it was the safest and only way my baby could be delivered alive.

Ways in which my c-sections make me amazing~ Ghostwritermummy.co.uk

I’ve always been a little anxious when meeting new mums and the conversation turns to the birth. I’ve always assumed that there was something wrong with my body. Something wrong with me. I failed. I didn’t do what I was supposed to do.

But I’m tired of defending myself. I’m tired of feeling like I never really gave birth. So what if my baby came out on the operating table? I might not have given birth in the conventional way, but I gave life just the same. Who cares how the babies arrived?

Ok, so I care. I do. I really care. I care about the fact that my very first experience of childbirth was terrifying. I was ignored and laughed at. I was dismissed. I was given drugs and injections and Ways in which my c-sections make me amazing~ Ghostwritermummy.co.ukexaminations that did not help me. My baby was taken from my body not just once, but for a second time too. I was left in pain. I was taken to the brink of death and my baby almost died. I was sent to sleep while surgical hands reached inside to find my blue baby and bring him out into the world. I was not there. And I care about that. I care so much.

And because I care, I want to make it clear that those first two birth experiences make me amazing. I laboured for hours each time. Alone. Without the support of a midwife to hold my hand. Without the knowledge that I was a strong, capable woman. Without power. I laboured despite myself, for hours, with no pain relief. And just when I thought I could take no more, I was taken for major surgery. The mask over my face and the knife to skin just moments later.

And if you know what it is like to labour so intensely, with the sole purpose of bringing your baby into the world, only to realise that you will need to see that happen in an operating theatre… then you will know that I am amazing.

And if you know what it is like to labour so intensely a second time, with the desperate need to bring your baby into the world otherwise he might die, only for the world to go black and to wake up with a baby by your side… then you will know that I am amazing.

Ways in which my c-sections make me amazing~ Ghostwritermummy.co.uk

And if you know what it’s like to move your battered body a few inches across the bed, to gingerly ‘swing’ your legs around so that your feet brush the floor, to step lightly onto the ground for the first time since ‘it’ happened… then you will know that I am amazing.

To stand in the hospital shower weeping in pain each time the water jets strike the cannula in your battered hand; cursing that cannula because you didn’t want to be there, in that shower, in pain, not again. To wince in pain with each step you take. To choose to spend the night sitting up in a chair rather than to lie down in a bed because it is slightly less painful to do so. To need a cushion so that you can laugh. To still hold on to the belief that your body might make it next time.

If you know what that is like, you will know that I am amazing.

 

 

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Life after birth trauma

by / Birth Trauma / Comments Off on Life after birth trauma

My son was born in 2009 via emergency section while I was under GA. His birth affected so much and I suffered with PTSD and anxiety as a result. But life goes on, and this is what it’s like sometimes.

At first it is raw and oh so ugly. There are dreams when you sleep and dreams when you are awake. There are night sweats and flashbacks and anxiety attacks and panics. There are feelings of suffocation and of desperation. There are days when you cannot cope alone and the sound of your baby’s crying just cannot continue any more. There are days where you want to hide, to stay hidden and at the same time want someone to find you.

And then time moves on.

And then it is like all of that, only less intense. Like all feelings, emotions and responses have been sucked dry. Like the earth around you has breathed it’s last breath for you. Like it is time to move on. And your first thought when you wake is not how crushingly sad you feel or how prickly your skin feels or how desperately you want a different existence. That comes later. When it’s quiet. When your thoughts are whispers and your mind is still.

And then time moves on again and life picks up new interests for its enjoyment. Your memories of what happened are scooped into balls that get pushed to the bottom of the pile. What is important? Life. And it moves on, so you have too I suppose. But life after birth trauma is not so simple.

It creeps up on you. It waits around corners for happy moments to destroy. It is selfish. It is dressed in white when it should be in black; it should be clear for all to see. But it’s not. It is a marker. A point in your life where the world took a breath and did not dare to breathe out again. Where silence echoed and emptiness tried to suck you in. And you climb back; of course you do. But that climb changed you. And you won’t know by looking at me. You won’t remember.

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The Importance of Balanced Messages When Talking About Birth

by / Environment and Facilities, Language / Comments Off on The Importance of Balanced Messages When Talking About Birth

This post was prompted by a Twitter discussion about helpful and unhelpful vocabulary in healthcare communication.

The discussion stemmed from a Guardian article bearing the headline “Should pregnant women be encouraged to shun labour wards?”.

The words used in the headline falls into the ‘unhelpful’ category. The article actually includes the experiences of three people: one an advocate for home birth; a mum who chose to give birth in a hospital; and a dad whose wife chose a home birth for their fourth child – there were complications and he advocates choice. In short, the article really says “different women choose different places to give birth for different reasons”.

Articles such as this are all as a result of new NICE guidelines that suggest 45% of births are more suitable for midwife-led care or home birth. Difficulties with healthcare communication and such headlines can arise when words such as ‘are’ and ‘is’ are used. Yes, the guidelines are based on evidence, but when you say ‘are’ and ‘is’, people tend to interpret that as a blanket fact. ‘Could be’ is better than ‘are’ because each woman is an individual, with her own individual needs.

Some commentators are concerned the guidelines could remove choice, rather than giving more, worrying that ‘encouraging’ women to give birth at home is a euphemism for ‘forcing’ them to do so.

This example demonstrates that whenever a new guideline on any health matter is released, it will be met with a healthy dose of cognitive dissonance – people interpreting the news based on their own experiences, expectations, hopes and fears.

Cognitive dissonance happens even if you have evidence for your new guidance coming out of your ears. As an NHS communications manager, countless hours of my life have been spent translating NHS guidance on a range of matters – cancer screening, vaccinations and healthy lifestyles to name just a few – into something that the public can understand, relate to – and hopefully act on.

When writing a press release on a health matter, or a patient information leaflet great caution has to be taken to not over-generalise, raise unrealistic expectations, or be misinterpreted by the media (although with the best will in the world the latter is not always possible).

I understand that years of scare stories about all forms of birth have led to a crippling fear of birth. Balance is what is needed. When talking about home birth or midwife-led care being a safe or a safer (than hospital) option for a certain group of women, we should be careful to emphasise those options are not safe or safer than a hospital birth for every woman. A lack of that emphasis could have the unintended consequence of making women who have to give birth in hospital, or need to have interventions for whatever reason feel less of a woman, or to have failed, or to feel guilty.

Surely none of us want that.

20140320_161723

I know a couple of women who have given birth by Caesarean section, both emergency and elective. They said they have had comments from women who have delivered their babies naturally such as women who have had C-sections ‘haven’t really given birth’. What a horrible thing to say! I had an emergency C-section myself, and while I have little doubt pushing a baby out of your vagina hurts (a lot, probably), having your stomach muscles cut open is far from an easy option.

Yes, we need to stop fear of birth. Yes, we need to promote birth as a normal life event. But we should be careful to not encourage or perpetuate bitchiness and competition between women as another unintended consequence of these messages.

This is the kind of statement about birth that I would love to read:

“Individual women have individual needs when giving birth. Many women are able to give birth at home, but because of issues with the current system not all who want to choose a home birth get it. Hospital can be a stressful place to give birth, which can lead to some women having interventions that are unnecessary. That’s why we’d like to give more women, in joint discussion with them, the option to give birth at home if they are considered to be low-risk. However, the needs of mums and babies are paramount, and as birth is not always straightforward there may be mums who need to give birth in hospital, with or without intervention.

“Our ultimate aim is for every woman’s experience of birth to be positive. We will do that by empowering women to be able to voice their opinions, have as many options as possible, and strive to remove fear and guilt by saying there is no right way or place to give birth.”

I know my fantasy statement above is what the guidelines are trying to achieve – this statement from NICE sort of says the same thing.

The trouble is, some people will be literal and translate the key point into ‘they’re saying home birth is safer, that means hospital birth must be dangerous’. This isn’t helped by headlines such as this one from The Mirror: “Mums-to-be warned: ‘Have your baby at home, it’s safer’”.

Many people are too busy to delve in to the facts behind the story (or just can’t be bothered to look). That results in a perception that the guidelines are saying something like:

“Home is the safest place to have your baby! Good luck to you if you have to give birth in hospital. They’re scary places, staffed by evil obstetricians whose greatest pleasure comes from inflicting pain by doing things to you that you don’t need.”

Ergo, more fear is created by stigmatising hospital birth. We don’t want such a vicious circle. So, balance. When talking about birth, think about helpful and unhelpful words, how they might be interpreted and their consequences.

We also need a greater emphasis on patient feedback, so services know what to focus on. Happily, more hospitals throughout the NHS are doing this.

As well as listening to negative experiences so services can improved, we need also need to promote the positive experiences – fear not, there are plenty of them, wherever the mum gives birth, and however the baby comes out.

 

Note: I called the statement a ‘fantasy’ for sake of the avoidance of doubt that it’s not an official statement.

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My HELLP Syndrome Experience (Part 1)

by / Birth Trauma, Environment and Facilities, Informed Choice, Language, Pregnancy Complications / Comments Off on My HELLP Syndrome Experience (Part 1)

One night when I was 23 weeks’ pregnant, I woke up with a pain in my chest.

“Heartburn,” I thought.

It was uncomfortable, I felt constantly full. Normal heartburn medicine did nothing.

I was putting on a lot of weight. Normal for pregnancy, I thought.

I was becoming breathless. Related to the weight gain, I thought.

I was very emotional. Normal pregnancy hormones.

I Googled my symptoms. Preeclampsia was a possibility. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I thought, “I am only 23 weeks’ pregnant.”

This went on for six days. Getting progressively worse.

The heartburn became painful. I was unable to sleep. I got up in the night to drink milk. I don’t like drinking milk. I even resorted to taking paracetamol, having resisted any drugs in my pregnancy until then.

Day seven brought a routine midwife appointment. High blood pressure. Ridiculously high. Surely the machine must be broken, I have low blood pressure. Three pluses of protein in my urine. I had to go straight to hospital for further checks.

I knew the protein was a symptom of preeclampsia, but I was not worried because I was only 24 weeks pregnant. I thought it was a problem only in later pregnancy. I thought I would be bored in hospital. Lots of waiting around. I had forgotten my Kindle.

How wrong I was.

Arriving at Bedford Hospital, more urine given, blood taken.

A consultant comes to see me. I have preeclampsia and something called HELLP syndrome. Everything else is irrelevant because they say I will have to deliver my baby that night. I am seriously ill, and the only cure is to deliver the baby.

It is early, far too early.

I am distraught. So is Martin. We cannot believe it.

An injection is put in to my thigh. It hurts. But it is a steroid, to help my baby’s lungs develop. It is the first of two such injections.

I am taken to a room that doubles as an operating theatre. I have to remove all my clothes and put on a gown. I am advised to remove my rings, because sooner or later my whole body will swell and they would have to be cut off.

A catheter is inserted. I do not understand at that time the concern for my kidneys. I am sure someone must have told me, but I do not remember. It takes me several weeks to figure out the connection.

I must have a cannula so they can give me magnesium sulphate to protect my and my unborn baby’s brain from potential seizures. A doctor tries, then the consultant. Anaesthetists are called. They try, one arm each. So many attempts, but the cannulas do not flush through. I am able to count 20 puncture marks when the bruises appear later that week. Martin leaves the room because he cannot bear to see me in such pain.

Mercifully, they give up and insert a central line. I lie perfectly still, a plastic sheet over my head as they insert a line into my jugular. It is stitched into place. It is difficult to move my head.

They start the magnesium sulphate through the line in my neck. All of a sudden I am on fire. My skin is burning. I throw up.

A radiographer comes to take an x-ray of my chest, to make sure the central line is in the right place, not poking into a lung. A lead apron is placed over my belly to protect the baby. I am asked if I am happy having an x-ray because I am pregnant. “Of course I am not bloody happy about it,” I reply. But what choice do I have? A punctured lung not do me or my baby any good.

Me in Bedford Hospital. You can see the central line in my neck, and how big I was becoming (besides me being 24 weeks' pregnant).

I am told I my baby will have to be born that night. There will be no time to induce me, so a Caesarean section it is. An epidural is out of the question because my platelet levels are too low. A general anaesthetic it will have to be. My baby is too small to be cared for in that hospital so will be immediately transferred elsewhere, with me following when stable enough.

Platelets are what enable the blood to clot. An epidural could cause bleeding in my spine and leave me paralysed. I do not want to be paralysed, but nor do I want my baby to be sent away from me, with the chance that I will never meet him.

Two neonatologists come to see me. This hospital is equipped to care for babies from 34 weeks. My baby is far too early. I can see the fear and uncertainty in their eyes. They say there is a 50/50 chance whether our baby will be born alive. If alive, he is likely to suffer a short, painful life because of brain bleeds and bowel problems. They ask us if we would want them to attempt resuscitation. We do not hesitate to say we want our much-wanted baby to be given every chance. We are terrified.

This is Monday night. Martin sleeps on a reclining chair next to me. Except neither of us sleep. We both sob, mourning the baby we have not yet met.

I am given hourly checks on my reflexes. I am not allowed to eat, with the possibility of a general anaesthetic soon. I am allowed only enough water to swallow more medication. I am attached to a blood pressure machine and a sensor on my finger to monitor my heart rate.

Morning arrives. My baby is still in my belly. Relief! I am feeling much better. I am allowed to eat, but my fluid intake is still strictly monitored. My mum arrives, having set off early that morning and driven all the way from Devon.

The doctors are puzzled. My condition has stabilised, and some things have even improved. I am special. The kind of special that no one wants to be. I am still not going anywhere though. I am forbidden from getting out of bed. They are waiting for me to be stable enough to be transported to a bigger, specialist hospital. Wherever has a spare bed.

A student midwife is posted next to my bed all day. I am glad, I have someone to chat to. I do not realise at that time that she is there not for my entertainment, but in case I suddenly have a seizure, or otherwise suddenly deteriorate.

The midwives consult the procedure for the care of women with preeclampsia, it is something they see so rarely. They are kind and different ones pop in to see me to see how I am getting on.

A friend visits. While she was there, she tells me months later, the consultant arrives. He tells me I am seriously ill and that they are very worried about me. “Oh ok!” I apparently cheerfully reply. My friend is terrified. I remember her visiting, but I do not remember this conversation.

I am completely, blissfully, away with the fairies.

That night Martin returns home to sleep. There are more hourly checks. Some people turn on the wrong light switch, turning on the dazzling theatre lights. The infusion machine seems to be programmed to occlude and alarm every time I drop off to sleep. I am exhausted.

Wednesday morning arrives. I am allowed to get out of bed for the first time since Monday evening. I waddle to the shower to sort of get clean – I am told to try to not get my central line wet.

A bed has been found for me at St George’s Hospital, in south London. Liverpool was next on the list. I am happy with south London. In fact, I don’t really care. An ambulance has been called to take me there. Two midwives will accompany me. What an overreaction, I think, I feel much better than I did on Monday. Martin is unable to come in the ambulance, not enough room, so he follows by train.

We speed down the M1, blue lights and sirens blaring. Zoom through central London. The ambulance is uncomfortable, lying on a stretcher.

I arrive at St George’s. Taken to another private room. The midwives and paramedics wish me well and depart. My history is taken by more doctors. They say I will be moving to another room, one with more monitoring capacity, but first they need to move the woman currently in there out: I need it more. The severity of my illness still doesn’t dawn on me.

I am taken in a wheelchair for Doppler scan. It is a busy waiting room. People stare at me in my bottom-baring gown, central line, catheter, and generally looking a mess.

Martin and I are excited at seeing our baby on the screen. We are told our baby is growth-restricted, but I am mesmerised. The sonographer apologises, she would like to explain more but it is a rush, it is the end of the day, and she needs to get the results to the consultants. We are given an appointment for another scan in a week’s time. Hope.

I wait in the corridor for a porter to take me back to the ward. My heartburn is getting worse. I feel so sick. The pain is awful. I just want someone to take the pain away. Back on the ward, I do not know what to do myself. The pain! I stand by the bed. I start to shake uncontrollably. I am given medication, the pain goes away. I feel so much better.

That night I sleep so well. Martin is on a mattress on the floor next to me. I have my hourly checks. The baby’s heartbeat is strong. Everything feels ok. I will wait in this bed for a few weeks, let my baby get bigger and stronger before he has to be born. I will be bored out of my mind, but that will be ok.

I do not have time to be bored.

Thursday morning, a contingent of consultants arrive. They ask me how I feel. I say I feel really good: I have finally had some decent sleep, and the pain has gone. They say I am not ok – my baby will have to be born that morning. For real, this time.

I sob and sob. It is too early, far too early. We were going to have more time. I am given an examination to see if I can deliver naturally, but my cervix is locked shut. A Caesarean it is. Martin holds one hand, a kind doctor another. Both try to reassure me. I ask whether my baby will be born alive. They cannot say. They tell me how ill I am, apparently. I do not remember.

Anaesthetists arrive to explain what will happen. I listen but I do not hear, I am too distressed, and anyway I do not care. A consultant explains the risks of the section: bowel and bladder rupture, the chance of no more babies. I do not care, do whatever you like to me, make sure my baby is ok.

I am wheeled down to theatre. I feel like the worst mother ever: knowing my baby is likely to die so my life can be saved. A strange calm comes over me. I accept that I am unlikely to meet my baby. We will get a dog, and go on a holiday when I am better. Martin and I kiss and cuddle. He is not allowed in theatre with me. I tell him our baby is going to be called Hugo. I liked that name, but we had not been able to agree on a name for our unborn son.

One anaesthetist gives me a fluid to drink to stop my stomach acid rising. I am told to down it in one, like a shot. They are both so kind. But this isn’t going to be a good time. They need to put more needles and lines in me. I am given a sedative so they can do that. That is the last thing I remember.

Hugo is born at 11.20am, weighing just 420 grams. He is ventilated and whisked off to the neonatal unit. Martin is there when I wake up. He tells me Hugo is alive. I give the biggest smile. I do not remember this conversation, nor do I remember him holding my hand while I am wheeled all the way to intensive care, the other end of the hospital.

Hugo on the day he was born

I remember the nurse saying my name, trying to get me to wake up. I have more wires. One in my wrist marked ‘arterial’ to measure my blood pressure. A drain coming out of my tummy. Oxygen prongs up my nose. More magnesium sulphate being pumped in to me.

I just want to know about my baby. I want to see him, to be with him. I am told that day is impossible. I need to rest. There is still danger even after the baby is born. I lost two pints of blood during the section. I am swollen everywhere. I cannot grip anything with my hands. My mum feeds me fruit yogurt, I cannot use a spoon.

A consultant visits to see how I am getting on. Tells me “Sorry we had to do that to you, your organs were about to fail.” “Oh, that’s ok!” I brightly reply. Oh, blissful morphine had taken me even further away with the fairies .

A midwife arrives to express some of my colostrum for Hugo. Precious protection for my little boy. One thing I can do for him.

I feel totally helpless. There are so many beeps and alarms on this ward. I cannot move.

In intensive care

Martin says how amazing Hugo is, a beaming smile. I have photos of him. Precious photos. I want to see him myself. I cannot wait to be with my baby.

Friday morning arrives. I am told I can leave intensive care, and return to maternity high dependency. I will be taken to see Hugo on the way. I cannot wait.

Time ticks away on that Friday. For the previous day and night I had my own dedicated nurse, and now I share her with another patient. They take up most of her time.

I feel alone, helpless, and want to see my baby more than anything else in this world. Why do they not understand?

I ask, so many times. Nurses make calls. A problem with the bed I need. I do not care, I want to see my baby. My baby needs his mummy, I need my baby. No one takes me. No one does anything about it.

By the end of the afternoon I ask the nurse caring for the patient next to me (bizarrely, my nurse’s other patient is at the other end of the ward) if she knows when I will be taken to meet Hugo. I do not remember her exact words, but they were to the effect of “Pipe down, there are other patients much sicker than you on this ward.”

I am so upset. I am in a hospital a long way from home. I do not even know what this hospital looks like. My body has not been my own this week. I need care, compassion, understanding.

Eventually, at around 8.30pm they decide they will take me in a wheelchair to meet Hugo. At last! It is a delicate operation, I am swollen like a Michelin man, I have wires going into me and going out of me. I am not able to move alone, and have not mobilised since the C section. The curtains around my bed are drawn to preserve my modesty.

Some of my beautiful bruises.

Suddenly Martin’s head appears in a gap between the curtains. I am not to worry, he says, but I need to come quickly. I can read the look on his face: there is much to worry about. I make him tell me: Hugo’s blood pressure is declining, and nothing they are doing is working. They are worried they are losing him.

I shriek. Shout at the nurses with their faffing. They are trying to be gentle with me, I know, but I am unspeakably furious at them for the time they have taken to take me to see Hugo. I am terrified he will die before I get there.

The nurse wheels me along the corridor. People get out of the effing way! Don’t they know my baby is dying? The wheelchairs are as bad as supermarket trolleys, she wheels me into obstacles. The pain shoots up in to my stomach wound. Martin takes over.

Cheeky Hugo, kicking away and grabbing his wires.

We get to the neonatal unit. Hugo’s nurse and consultant introduce themselves. They had been frantic, but the little monster’s blood pressure corrected itself the moment I arrived.

Little Hugo Boss knew exactly how to get what he wanted. His mummy.

I shrieked again when I saw him. So small, so red.

The consultant told me to open the porthole, touch him, get my mummy germs on him. I didn’t want to, I thought I would break him, but I did, I reached in with my hand and my son gripped my finger. It was the most amazing moment ever.

So began the most beautiful and the most terrible 33 and a bit days of my life. Hugo lived for 35 days, but I missed a day and a half of it.

A cuddle with Mummy

That was Friday February 21 2014. Ten months ago to the day. There are many parts of the story I do not remember, but the terror of that wheelchair journey and the ecstasy of finally meeting my son are two moments that are etched in my memory forever.

I made a formal complaint: the written reply felt flippant to me, that they did not fully understand the gravity of the situation, the potential implication of their inaction. I met with representatives of the ward a couple of months later and read them the riot act. They will never forget me, nor Hugo. No other mother should experience that. Having HELLP syndrome and everything else that went with it was bad enough. That was unavoidable. My life was saved, Hugo given the best chance. I am grateful for every moment I had with Hugo.

Hugo, Martin and me

But what happened on that ward that day was entirely avoidable.

I have felt a compulsion to write this today. I don’t know why: perhaps I just need to get it out of my head, in a raw, visceral way.

I know I am lucky to be here. The ‘heartburn’ and pain under my ribs was my liver in serious trouble. My kidneys weren’t doing well either. My blood pressure was far too high and my platelet level far too low.

Here I sit, 10 months later. Physically sound, thanks to the actions of the wonderful maternity, obstetric, anaesthetic and pathology teams of two hospitals.

Emotionally, I am still trying to process it. Pregnancy is supposed to be a natural event. I know bad things can happen during pregnancy: babies lost, babies tragically born sleeping. But the placenta turning your body against you? The placenta sending toxins around your body, shutting down your organs. I know now it is not my fault, but it does not prevent me feeling guilty.

HELLP. What a crappy acronym.

There is nothing helpful about it.

It is a difficult thing to get your head around.

Proud Mummy alert: what a beautiful boy!

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Don’t call me high risk! #MyPositivePregnancy

by / Birth Trauma, Informed Choice, Pregnancy Complications / Comments Off on Don’t call me high risk! #MyPositivePregnancy

This post was written during my 4th pregnancy, my journey towards a VBA3C. Throughout this pregnancy I was fit and healthy yet classed as high risk due to having had three previous c-sections. 

Don’t call me high risk.

Don’t take heed of the warnings that spew out into the papers at an alarming rate. A VBAC is not a disease, or a dirty word. A woman who has had a c section is not ‘risky business’. I am a woman who wants to give birth to her baby. To feel her baby. To be awake to see her baby take the first breath, open their eyes onto this world and feel their skin against mine. I am a woman who wants to be one of the first people to hold her baby. I am a woman who wants to sit up and hold her baby. To feed her baby with arms that feel the life within. I am a woman who wants to tell the world her baby’s name; not discover it for herself when she wakes.

Don’t call me high risk. Don’t greet my intentions with raised eyebrows and furrowed smiles. Don’t assume that my intentions will not be ‘allowed’. Don’t deny me the chance to be normal for once.

Don'r call me high risk_ my positive pregnancy~ Ghostwritermummy.co.uk

This weekend I came across this article by Milli Hill (@millihill) and I found myself nodding along to almost every word.

When my body screamed out to me that my son was on his way, the ‘High Risk’ label echoed the cry and we called the hospital straight away, as we’d been told. We went straight in, as we were told. We never questioned a thing and we never assumed that we were anything but high risk. The fact that I was labelled as High Risk left me in no doubt- what I was doing was scary. I wanted no part of it. But in actual fact, lots of women have a VBAC, and the fact that we didn’t should not be held against me.

This time, I am a woman striving for a VBA3C. And supposedly higher risk than ever before. And yet I feel more positive this time than I ever have. Whether it is age, experience, or having come to a point of peace with what has gone before, I do not know. But I do not feel scared. I do not feel High Risk. I feel like a woman who passes a mirror and catches sight of her swollen body and smiles, stops to capture the moment; when once I would have collapsed inside.

I feel like a woman with a life growing inside. I feel special. I feel on the edge of something wonderful. I feel strong. Strong enough to question decisions that are made for me. Strong enough to face the fear that I know will come as the weeks pass by. Strong enough to cast aside my label and just be a woman giving birth. For once.

That is my positive pregnancy. It’s taken four attempts to get here and I’m going to hold on to it.

To find out more about #MyPositivePregnancy, #TeamMama and Mama Academy,please click here. You can also read about the Made to Measure campaign here  and if you have a moment, please sign the petition urging all UK trusts to help save 1000 babies by adopting The Perinatal Institute’s GAP programme.

 

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IUGR: our journey so far

by / Pregnancy Complications / Comments Off on IUGR: our journey so far

The following post was written on Ghostwritermummy when I was 32 weeks pregnant. Elsie was born at 37 weeks and you can read about her birth, and more about our IUGR journey here.

IUGR

IntraUtarine Growth Restriction.

A baby that is not growing as it should be.

Not just small.

Not just on the last percentile.

Not just the bottom of the average, as some babies must be.

A baby that is not thriving where it should be.

A baby that is deemed to be better out than in.

A baby at risk.

A high risk pregnancy.

An IUGR baby~ ghostwritermummy.co.uk

When I was born, I was SGA. Small for Gestational Age. The doctors sent my mum for an x-ray as they were convinced she had her dates all wrong. I was born one week later, smaller than I should have been. My eldest was SGA. My third baby was SGA. These facts put me at risk for another SGA baby, or for an IUGR baby. For the record, SGA does not mean IUGR, but IUGR babies are all SGA. Still with me?

At my booking in scan, my consultant booked three growth scans for us and gave us a personalised growth chart. No more plotting my baby on the national average. This baby was to be measured according to what is normal for me. This was reassuring, but we were convinced that the growth scans were unnecessary. We’d had them with all three previously, one for each, and were told each time that baby was well. On the smaller side, but healthy and thriving and gaining weight well. We decided that we’d attend the first growth scan, but we’d probably request for the others to be cancelled. The biggest thing was that we wanted a VBAC. So we wanted to do what the doctors seemed to think was important. But if, as we were sure would happen, the doctors agreed that baby was growing well, we felt subsequent growth scans were pretty pointless.

So the first growth scan arrived at just over 29 weeks and from that point onwards everything changed.

IUGR had been mentioned in previous pregnancies, but always dismissed. This time though, we were told that baby might not be ok after all. There was no question that follow up scans would be necessary. Four weekly appointments were changed to two weekly, with a view to reaching 34 weeks gestation. Considering our first two were both born post 40 weeks, the idea of an early baby was a huge shock to us. We’d honestly assumed we’d be told all was ok, that baby was small but perfectly fine. Not so.

The second growth scan was devastating in many ways. It was found that baby was still small, and that blood flow from the cord was reduced. Baby was not receiving enough oxygen. Baby was starving inside of me. Not thriving. Not just small. Not just at the bottom of the percentiles. Not just SGA.

Appointments were amended again, this time to weekly and we were sent home with even more questions than before. We’re still unsure what it all means, and the only thing that is super clear now is that there will be no VBAC. There may be an early baby. There may be special care. There may be health issues later in life. There are so many may bes. There are no certainties.

During all of this, the one thing that has been drilled into me is to monitor baby’s movements closely.

iugr baby_ monitoring_ movements~ ghostwritermummy.co.uk

I have never ever felt concern over this before. Three previous pregnancies and I had always felt confident that baby was well and kicking as it should be. This pregnancy has always been different though, even before we knew anything was wrong. Movements were late; later than previous pregnancies. Movements were scarce for a long time. We put this down to the position of the placenta, and we’re still told that the fact that it’s anterior could be the reason why movements are still not as noticeable as they are supposed to be. Following the second growth scan, I was put onto the monitor and everything seemed fine.

The next scan did not measure growth. Instead the fluid around baby and the flow from the cord was scrutinised, and all found to be within normal parameters. Hooray! Good news, at last. Although the doctors were careful to advise me that weekly scans were still necessary, and that baby was still small. It was also made clear that the results from the scan were normal today and may not be the same next time. Again, I was put on to the monitor to check baby’s movements and although they were definitely reduced from the last time, they were still sufficient enough for me to be allowed home. No decelerations and totally normal readings all round.

And so here we are. Days away from another scan, where I will be 33 weeks and 5 days pregnant. Potentially days away from delivery. The magical 34 week mark. And so many questions.

Is baby really IUGR? Or just SGA? Is 34 weeks really a suitable gestation for delivery? With each week that passes now, the risk of stillbirth increases, and yet there are risks associated with premature birth if they take baby too early. It is still hard for doctors to accurately diagnose and in many cases this can only be done once baby is here. If the birth day is at 34 weeks and baby is not IUGR, the chances of a fast recovery and minimal issues are great. If baby is IUGR, more help will be necessary. So many ifs!

We wait, and yet the waiting is excruciating. People keep saying that the longer they leave it, the more weeks that baby stays in, is better. But there will come a point where that is no longer true. There will come a point where baby is not moving as it should and they will decide to deliver. And I am so scared that they won’t make that decision at the right time.

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The #MatExp Lithotomy Challenge

by / MatExp and Me, The #MatExp Journey / 1 Comment

#FabObs Florence Wilcock ensured that her roles as obstetrician and mother blurred a bit more (and took many of her colleagues by surprise) when she did something truly wonderful in terms of making people think, really think about the experience of the women they are caring for. She walked in their shoes, which on this occasion involved taking off her shoes…

 

It is brilliant that Flo has taken the time and trouble to reflect in such detail and share the learning…

Lithotomy challenge graphic

Florence Wilcock writes: For NHS change day I wanted something that made a statement that said “#MatExp has arrived, take notice, we are improving maternity experience, get involved!” I couldn’t quite think of the right action until I saw a twitter exchange with Damian Roland back in December and watched a video where he described his spinal board challenge from NHS Change day, 2014. I had a light bulb moment thinking what would be the maternity equivalent? Lithotomy!

Lithotomy is when we put a woman’s legs up in stirrup; sometimes this can be essential for an assisted birth with forceps or ventouse (suction cup) or if stitching is required. But sometimes we use lithotomy position for normal birth or when stitches are minimal.
Changing times - castor oil2In our #MatExp Whose Shoes? workshops, my favourite card is one based on Gill Phillips’ Mum (now aged 93) being made to take castor oil, despite telling the midwife it would make her sick. And it did. The card asks what is common practice now that will similarly seem wrong or odd in the future: the unanimous answer given at Kingston was lithotomy.

I started to think about whether we use lithotomy more than we should and wondered what does it feel like? Although I have two daughters, they were both born by emergency Caesarean so I do not have personal experience of lithotomy although I know some of my midwifery and consultant colleagues already do. It seemed the perfect challenge. I chose to do try it for one hour as that is a quite realistic time that a woman might be in that position, sometimes it can be less, but sometimes it can be far longer.

I decided to wear a hospital gown and some running shorts as it didn’t feel quite right to do it in normal clothes. The first thing I learnt was that the hospital gown was stiff and itchy, I couldn’t get it to do up properly without assistance and when I had finally tied it I sat down to discover it felt as if I was being strangled by the neck line so had to loosen it off immediately. I adjusted the back of the bed but found it quite hard to swivel round & reach the buttons to do so. We put on a fetal heart monitor which just felt like a normal waistband, a blood pressure cuff and stuck an IV line on my arm. We also used a doll to give me a bump. I know not all women will have all these attachments but many will. During this time Tom, who was going to follow me with the challenge, commented that I looked anxious from my body language before I had even begun and it was true I felt quite apprehensive with all these people running around being aware I was about to be totally in their power as it were.

Flo 1We were finally ready for ‘legs up’! The first thing I discovered with a slight shock was that the stirrups were very cold which I hadn’t expected at all. The other observation was that the people started adjusting my legs without asking me. I thought one leg was going to fall off as the stirrup wasn’t tightly fixed enough and I was in a slightly twisted position which I asked them to adjust. Once that was done I felt reasonably comfortable and relaxed. They took my blood pressure with an automated cuff which was surprisingly painful. I decided to have a breech baby and we took a few photos.

Twenty five minutes in we decided it was time to take the bottom of the bed off which we would do for an assisted birth. I felt immediately more precariously positioned and vulnerable like I might fall off of the bed. The midwives put my legs higher and the bed much higher off the ground which was the right position for delivery without causing them back problems. This felt quite odd to be high up in the air or as one midwife put it ‘face to vagina’ so that she could see what she was doing at eye level! I definitely could not have got down from there unaided especially not when contracting and in pain. A midwife walked into the room with the door & curtain open and I realised I could see all the way down the corridor which meant everyone in the corridor could potentially see me. Obviously this was a simulation but it did emphasise to me even more the importance of closing the door & curtain behind you to maintain privacy.

A series of people then came to talk to me. Our chief executive Kate Grimes popped in for a chat and asked if I was willing for a film crew to come in to which I agreed.  By this point my bottom (sacrum) was getting pretty sore & I had neck ache. I was feeling fairly uncomfortable. My abdomen felt quite compressed and I thought if I was a woman in labour having to push it would probably make me feel quite nauseous.

I was prepared to be filmed and photographed but it was interesting that a number of people walked in and out to look without talking to me. Helen and the presenter introduced themselves to me but the camera man did not and did a series of sound checks over me and proceeded to film without even speaking to me. I am sure it was an oversight but it gave me an amazing sense of being dehumanised and re-emphasised the importance of #hellomynameis.

Flo - Helen & camera crewIn the middle of this Kate Greenstock, our MSLC co-chair arrived. Kate is a doula and came straight to me and asked if I would like a foot massage. Although I thought I was fine, as soon as she asked me I realised actually that I wasn’t fine and here was a person who wasn’t laughing or making a spectacle of me but who actually cared about how I felt. That isn’t to say all the wonderful midwives didn’t but at that moment I felt like Kate and I understood one another and that this was tough and she was ‘on my side’ as it were here to support me.

She gave me a foot massage which was immediately relaxing. I have always understood the importance of support in labour but felt that women could get that from our wonderful midwives and struggled to understand why they wanted a doula too. This experience gave me some inkling of why in some situations a midwife might be focusing on other things and a doula might be able to focus on how the woman is feeling and that alone.

My hour challenge was ticking by and for a short time after the film crew the room emptied out and I was left almost alone. I felt slightly abandoned after such a crowd before and realised if the midwives didn’t come back I was rather stranded in an undignified position. It is not unusual after an assisted delivery for many people to come in and then gradually disappear leaving me as the obstetrician to suture on my own, the midwife popping in and out to get things so in a way this behaviour seemed quite apt.

The midwives returned with a nice plastic baby so that I could have #skintoskin and then my hour was up. The end of the bed was put back in place with the bed rocking as they pushed the parts together and then finally they brought my legs down and it was over.

So what was the impact of me undertaking the lithotomy challenge?

My action has certainly got others thinking and talking. I started tweeting about it in the weeks before change day and challenged a few colleagues.  I’m greatly indebted to Professor Jim Thornton who was the first to accept and kicked off a whole week ahead of NHS Change Day.

I know of at least twelve others who have undertaken the challenge and five more who have promised to. The challenges are spread across 10 organisations so I am hoping for a ripple of conversations as a result. Even those that say ‘no’ learn something from asking themselves the question.
An obvious action as a result is for staff to think about trying to avoid lithotomy altogether. There are a multitude of options for positions and care in labour that we can employ. The Better Births initiative is an ideal example of a resource any midwife can access. Environment is also all important: birthing pools, stools, mats, balls are something tangible people can change. Antenatal education and preparation, both NHS and with our partners in the community, is also vital.

For us obstetricians there are certainly situations in which lithotomy is invaluable and necessary however this challenge has definitely made me think about the consequences of the length of time and how to keep it to a minimum as the position became much more uncomfortable after half an hour. Sometime in the pressure of work, helpful midwives get women ready for us in position before we enter the room and I had not given much thought to the impact of additional time or someone new entering the room when you are already in this position. The careful use of sheets or drapes to minimise exposure was also a topic for discussion.

In conclusion my hope with my challenge is that in each Trust conversations will happen that change practice and via networks and social media good practice will spread. I hope it will have the ‘butterfly effect’ where one small change in one place will result in large differences later.

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