Birth Trauma

#Matexp – Emotional Wellbeing – what do families really need?

15 June 2015 by Emma Sasaru / #MatExp Actions, About MatExp, Baby Loss, Birth Trauma, Environment and Facilities, Feeding, Postnatal Care, Pregnancy Complications, The #MatExp Journey, Uncategorized / Comments Off

Supporting families – Emotional Wellbeing

#Flamingjune is well under way and there has been so many wonderful conversations taking place on the Matexp facebook group. As part of this months campaign, ACTIONS to improve services have very much been at the forefront with everyone sharing ideas to make sure support given to families is the best it can be.

With this in mind one of the subjects discussed was Emotional Wellbeing. Many shared heartfelt stories, and personal experiences as well as ideas that would have made a difference them and their families.

Matexp asked;

How much do you feel your pregnancy, birth and postnatal care affected your emotional wellbeing?
How do you think we can help prepare women and their partners for the impact that birth and caring for a new baby has on emotional wellbeing ?
What supported or helped you to protect your emotional wellbeing?
What can be done to help health care professionals be able to support families better?

Many commented on how we often under estimate the impact having a new baby has on a family. It was said that ‘adapting from working life to being at home was overwhelming’, ‘that often dads are working long hours and need support too’ and having somewhere to go to talk to others and relax was vital. Emotional support was mentioned as being a “basic need” for families.

One comment noted that ‘real life’ parenting needs to be discussed at antenatal contacts. “We are bombarded with the prefect images of parenthood, I don’t think people are prepared for the realities of parenthood – being totally exhausted but this little person still needs feeding and there is no milk in the fridge so you cant even have a coffee to wake up you”.

Another commented’ ” professionals need to understand the stresses which parents face not just with the birth, but financial, logistical etc”. What suggestions were made that would help? “By looking through the eyes of the patient, and trying to see things from their point of view”. Yes walking in another’s shoes so to speak showing empathy, and understanding helps provide support that protects the emotional wellbeing of families.

Many voiced feeling left alone, isolated and ‘fending for themselves’ after the birth of their babies and how this impacted their emotional wellbeing. Many felt afraid to voice they were struggling with motherhood and kept it to themselves worrying they be dismissed or viewed as ‘failing’.

Others voiced how important good support from health visitors, peer support and support groups was to their emotional wellbeing and not just for mom but dads too. In fact is was mentioned how important it is to ask dads how they are doing too!

Again and again support was mentioned for birth trauma and loss of a baby. Things such as professional counselling to be available as standard and peer support on wards and units. As well as health professionals knowing where to signpost families for support including local charities and national organisations.

One comment read “the single biggest thing would have been to treat us respectfully”. Very sobering.

So what were some of the actions that came out of the discussion to help with emotional wellbeing?

Maternity units to have specially trained staff to care for those that have suffered birth trauma, loss or mental health issues.
To remember that care involves emotional support not just physical.
Peer support for families on wards and in NICU.
Specialist counselling services available as part of post-natal after care and on NICU unit so families do not have to leave their babies.
Antenatal support on ‘real life’ caring for a baby, as well as how to look after their emotional wellbeing.
After birth de-briefs for sharing of experiences both good and bad to help improve care given.
Remember that dads need support too.
Health professionals to be aware of support available to families so they can signpost.
For all staff supporting families to show kindness, compassion and empathy and provide care that is patient-centred meeting individual needs.
Most of all treat families with respect. “letting mums and dads know that being good is good enough – they don’t need to be perfect”.

Emotional wellbeing is important for families, by sharing experiences, listening and working together we can help improve the maternity experience for all.

There is beauty in giving to others

Click here to add more actions

Emma Jane Sasaru

@ESasaruNHS

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Time to Act on Anxiety

4 June 2015 by Helen Calvert / #MatExp Actions, Baby Loss, Birth Trauma / 1 Comment

There have been some fantastic conversations taking place on the MatExp Facebook group, with a new ACTION thread every day to generate discussion. The aim of these discussions is to identify ways that we can ACT to improve maternity experiences. Big, long-term actions that might require system change or a change in culture. And small, immediate actions, that professionals and individuals can take today to improve the maternity experience of those around them.

One of the first topics we looked at was Anxiety, as it had been one of the first issues raised on the MatExp ABC.

“Anxiety” covers a number of areas when we look at maternity experience. Mothers can have existing problems with anxiety, that have already been identified. They could have had anxiety for some time but the experience of having a baby has intensified it (my experience). It could be that they begin to suffer with anxiety postnatally – Emma Jane Sasaru has written here of her experience of perinatal anxiety. Or perhaps their anxiety is focused on giving birth – many mothers are incredibly anxious about what the end of pregnancy has in store for them. Finally, there will be mothers who have experienced birth trauma or baby loss and this can understandably provide a background for anxiety in subsequent pregnancies.

Anxiety UK says of anxiety that it is “something that can persist whether or not the cause is clear to the sufferer”. The organisation lists the symptoms as

Anxiety UK Registered Charity Number (1113403) Established 1970

Certainly, on a personal note, “feeling detached from your environment and the people in it” goes some way to explaining why it took me such a long time to properly “fall in love” with my babies. There was no “rush of love” for me when I gave birth and first held my children, despite my having positive birth experiences both times. “Feeling like wanting to run away / escape from the situation” – many new mums feel like this at times when coping with a newborn baby but it is important to recognise when feeling like this “now and again” has accumulated into something more problematic.

So how can we ACT when anxiety is a factor in maternity experience? Let us first look at how women can help themselves:

Practice HYPNOBIRTHING – a number of people involved in the #MatExp campaign suggested this as a great way to alleviate anxiety in pregnancy and anxiety about birth itself. Pregnancy Coach Suzy Ashworth explains here what hypnobirthing is all about, and how it’s beneficial for all women regardless of the way they plan to give birth.
BE HONEST and try to explain your anxieties to your healthcare professionals. Find out as much as you can about anxiety and ways to manage it.
GET HELP.

Now these actions all assume that the woman in question is aware that she is struggling with anxiety. But this is certainly not always the case. This is where the birth professionals come in. How can they act when anxiety is a factor?

Understand how anxiety can manifest itself. If a women is finding it difficult to talk about something, if she is quiet and refusing to engage with a situation, if she practices avoidance by walking out on a conversation then think “anxiety”.
Give women the opportunity to talk openly about their fears, and really LISTEN.
Offering reassurance can be helpful but it can also be dismissive – being told “don’t worry, that won’t happen” can heighten a woman’s anxiety as she will feel as though her fears are not being taken seriously. Always remember that those fears are REAL to her, however bizarre they may seem to you

What services are available to women in your area who are struggling with anxiety? Are the following available (and do you know how to access them?) or do they need to be put in place?

Hypnobirthing, mindfulness and meditation classes
Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT)
Specialist mental health midwifery teams
Training for midwives and health visitors on recognising anxiety

Where services are available, there are simple ways in which women’s access to them could be improved:

Please check on the mental health of the women you care for throughout their pregnancy and postnatal period, not just at their booking in appointment.
If you offer anxiety support, please make it possible for women to enquire about these services by email, not just by phone. Phone conversations are very difficult for many anxious people, and services only being accessible by initial phone assessment put up a real barrier.

When we look specifically at prenatal anxiety, there are changes to our birth culture that could make a big difference:

Empower women to trust their bodies. Too many women fear that they will not be able to give birth safely – how can we help them to understand how their body works and reacts in labour, and how it can be supported and encouraged to do its job?
Ensure that women understand that they have the control to make their own birth choices. Feeling as though they have no control is a huge factor for anxious people, but encouraging informed choice and putting women at the centre of their birth experience can help to alleviate this.

As with almost every discussion of maternity experience, continuity of care becomes an issue. Where women know their birth professionals and have built up a relationship with them, anxieties are reduced. Whilst continuity of carer is offered in places on the NHS this is far from the norm at this moment in time. If you struggle with anxiety then there are care options available to you to ensure that you have continuity in pregnancy and beyond:

Use an independent midwife. There is a cost involved in engaging the services of these professionals, but it is always worth speaking to them before dismissing the idea on the basis of cost, as there may be ways that the cost can be reduced.
Use a OnetoOne midwife. This is a “free at the point of delivery” service, but unfortunately it is only available in some areas. Find out if they are commissioned near you.
Use a doula. Doulas support women and their families during pregnancy, childbirth and early parenthood. This support is practical and emotional but non-medical in nature. Again, there is a cost involved, but there are ways that this can be reduced so it is worth contacting your nearest doulas to discuss the options open to you.

Lindsey Middlemiss (aka “Newbury Doula”) is having lots of discussions at the moment about the wider provision of doula support for women with high anxiety of at high risk of PND, including women who have experienced baby loss or who have had birth trauma. There is a possibility of some NHS funded pilots and research studies in the future, and the Doula UK Access Fund will likely be changing and expanding its criteria. We eagerly await developments in this regard.

#MatExp “Language” Champion Leigh Kendall has written extensively about support for bereaved parents and I know she will be suggesting further actions during #FlamingJune. Therefore I don’t want to focus too much here on anxiety in those who have experienced loss, but one thing did come out loud and clear from the discussions we had on Facebook:

There is currently no standard care pathway for those who are pregnant following the loss of their baby. They might be labelled “high risk” depending on whether baby loss was a result of pregnancy complications, but their emotional needs are not automatically met.

This is staggering to me.

This has to change.

On a positive note, one member of our community is aware of midwives at her local hospital looking into setting up Rainbow Antenatal Clinics specifically for those who are pregnant following loss. Is this something that you could look into at your hospital? Is this something you already offer?

Another positive that I would like to finish on is the new provision of antenatal appointments from our health visiting teams. Vanessa (aka Frustrated HV) had this to say on the subject, with specific reference to pregnancy following loss:

“I really do hope that the antenatal visiting programme being undertaken by health visitors & the increased communication between midwives & health visitors & GPs will mean that fewer women experience this neglect… Because it has to! A known history of loss in or around pregnancy should now automatically trigger (through midwife reporting) a Universal Plus antenatal health visiting service. Which would mean that you would have support throughout the pregnancy (as well as after) & signposting/referral to more specialist services if needed. No one should still be experiencing this type of trauma. You are correct that lots still needs to be done, but lines of communication are being created & general awareness is improving & I know that with the continued efforts of all the people I have seen in #MatExp & through all the conversations & wisdom shown, we will change things for the better.”

Join the conversation. #MatExp #FlamingJune

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Life after birth trauma

31 May 2015 by Susanne Remic / Birth Trauma / Comments Off

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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My HELLP Syndrome Experience (Part 1)

31 May 2015 by Leigh Kendall / Birth Trauma, Environment and Facilities, Informed Choice, Language, Pregnancy Complications / Comments Off

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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Don’t call me high risk! #MyPositivePregnancy

31 May 2015 by Susanne Remic / Birth Trauma, Informed Choice, Pregnancy Complications / Comments Off

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.

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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Birth trauma and PTSD – Raising awareness

30 May 2015 by Emma Sasaru / Birth Trauma, Continuity of Care, Environment and Facilities, Language, Postnatal Care, Pregnancy Complications / Comments Off

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When people think about post traumatic stress they often think of a soldier, returning from battle traumatised and battered by the ravages of war and the terrible things seen and experienced.

However PTSD doesn’t only affect those affected in the aftermath of war or a terrible natural disaster or violent act. PTSD can also affect someone in circumstances that should be safe, that should be happy, that should be the start of an amazing journey. For some women the birth of their baby can be traumatic and can be a trigger for PTSD that can severely affect their life. It can affect bonding with their baby, relationships with family and friends, doing everyday activities and physical health. So what is birth trauma and PTSD and how can we help and support women that are suffering?

Firstly what is birth trauma?

‘Birth trauma is in the eye of the beholder’ (Cheryl Beck) and this is true. What is traumatic to one woman may not be traumatic to another woman. Each woman’s experience of birth is unique to her and many things can add to a woman feeling her birth was traumatic. For some it maybe that her birth was a truly scary event, she may had been in an emergency situation where her life and that of her baby was at risk. Maybe her labour was very lengthy and very painful. It may be that a woman’s birth had high levels of medical intervention, such as induction, caesarean section, episiotomy, or other medical issues. It may be that a woman gives birth early and her pre-term baby requires care in NICU. Sadly some women have a birth that results in damage or injury to her baby and some lose their babies at birth.

For other women trauma can result from the way she is looked after by the staff responsible for her care both during the birth of her baby but also postnatally. She may feel a loss of control, dignity and privacy. There may have been a lack of information or a woman may feel she wasn’t listened to and her choices not respected or overlooked. She may feel she had medical procedures done without her consent or without proper explanation or that she was left with no choice. Or maybe unkind, cruel words and actions made her feel vulnerable and exposed.

Some women find birth triggers or adds to previous trauma such as rape or domestic abuse.

Often women who feel traumatised from their birth will feel isolated, other women may not understand why she feels traumatised, after all isn’t childbirth a ‘natural thing’? So a woman can feel guilty and somehow ‘weaker’ than other women for being unable to ‘cope’ with birth . She may feel she should be over the ‘birth’ and often well meaning friends and family will say things such as “at least you are ok and you have a healthy baby”. This only confounds the woman’s feelings and makes her feel more isolated and can damage relationships with partners, family members and friends as a woman feels no one understands and so she withdraws deeper into the trauma. Depending on the nature of the trauma a woman may feel unable to have further medical tests such as smear tests. Sex may also be affected as a woman may fear further pregnancies, or even just the act of physical intimacy itself. Many women who suffer birth trauma may struggle to bond with their baby, others become overly anxious of their babies health and wellbeing and constantly worry about every aspect of caring for their newborn.

For a woman that has lost a baby during birth or whose baby has been injured during birth she may experience overwhelming guilt, she may feel like it is her fault that she somehow failed her baby or that she should somehow have prevented it. She may play over and over again the birth in her head seeking answers or ways she could have changed the outcome.

Feeling like they have no voice, are misunderstood and weak many women will seek to hide their true suffering and ‘carry on’, the weight of trauma bearing down on them crushing hope, light and happiness as they try desperately to cling to normality. Everyday tasks become hard and just coping day to day can feel overwhelming. Their physical health too may suffer, as the effects of trauma ravage them mentally. Lack of sleep, trouble eating and the constant struggle all takes its toll. Flashbacks may take them back to the event reliving moments, even smells and conversations causing great distress and anxiety.

So what is PTSD and how does it differ from postnatal depression?

Often women can be wrongly diagnosed with PND when in reality they have PTSD. While PTSD and PND can overlap as they do have some similar symptoms, they are very different. Its important that a woman receives a correct diagnose so she can have the support, help and therapies she needs. PTSD is the clinical term for a set of normal reactions to a traumatic, scary or bad experience or event. It can occur after a person experiences or witnesses something that was or they perceive to have been life-threatening.

Signs of PTSD include:

Feelings of intense fear, helplessness and/or terror.
The re-experiencing of the event by recurrent intrusive memories, flashbacks and/or nightmares. The individual will usually feel distressed, anxious or panicky when exposed to anything which remind them of the event.
Avoidance of anything that reminds them of the trauma. This can include talking about it, the place where the trauma happened or people that may have been involved in the trauma. (such as hospitals, doctors, healthcare professionals) Even T.V programs or books maybe avoided.
Bad memories and flash backs often result in difficulties with sleeping and concentrating, thus affecting daily activities. Sufferers may also feel angry, irritable and be hyper-vigilant or jumpy, easily startled.
Suffers may suffer panic attacks, depression and anxiety. They may feel detached, alone and have a sense of something bad may happen to them or their loved ones.

It is important to remember that PTSD is beyond the sufferer’s control. It is the mind’s way of trying to make sense of an extremely scary traumatic experience and are not a sign of an individuals ‘weakness’ or inability to cope. The person cannot just ‘get over it’ or ‘pull themselves together’ or ‘move on’. Rather they need help and support to process not only what has happened to them but also the feelings surrounding it.

So what can help a woman who has suffered birth trauma or PTSD?

For partners, family and friends its important to acknowledge what has happened to the women and her feelings surrounding it. Encourage her to talk about her feelings if she is able to. Help her to see you want to try to understand how she is feeling and that you recognise how traumatised she may feel. Reassure her that you are there for her and that you will help in anyway you can. You maybe the only person that she trusts. Encourage, commend show compassion and empathy. Emotional support is invaluable, even if it’s just a listening ear or a hug. Realise that there may be things or activities that she may not yet feel ready to do, be patient and show understanding.

Encourage her to get help, whether it be her GP, health visitor, midwife or a charity such as the Birth Trauma association or Mind. This will not be easy as she may have a fear and distrust of telling anyone how she really feels especially a healthcare professional. Reassure her of your support, maybe offering to attend any appointments with her if she wishes. Asking for help will be hard, and so will the time undergoing any therapies being there for her providing emotional support is so important.

Also, helping with daily activities can mean so much, helping her get much needed rest offering to prepare a meal, or to do some shopping can also be invaluable.

Helping someone with PTSD can be difficult and frustrating.Partners and family can feel lost and confused too. Reading up on PTSD can help you understand it and how it can affect someone that is suffering.

Of course some partners too can feel traumatised and suffer from PTSD after seeing the birth of their baby. It is important they too seek help and support.

What about healthcare professionals?

Its important that any healthcare professional’s when supporting a woman after birth build a relationship built on trust. LISTEN, this is the single most important thing to a woman who is suffering. Listening enables you to truly know what she has been through, how she is feeling and whats important to her and her family. Listening will enable you to know if she is likely to be suffering PTSD or any other perinatal mental health disorder. Listen also to her partner and family, they know her best, if they feel something isn’t right or reach out for your support then be there. Ask for training in order to help you understand the different types of perinatal mental health issues and know the pathways and any local support available to signpost a women to. Be careful of language used and do not minimise her feelings or experience. If you know a woman has had a traumatic birth from postnatal notes etc, ASK, don’t ignore it.

What can a woman who has had birth trauma/PTSD do for herself?

Speak to someone, partner, family, friends, midwife, health visitor, GP. Don’t suffer in silence.
Remember you are not alone, there are others too that have been affected by birth trauma.
Remember you are not to blame.
Look after yourself, make sure you rest and eat a good balanced diet. Do things, activities that help you to relax.
Know your limitations and what you can do both physically and emotionally.
Speak to your hospital about your experience. Some women ask to see their medical notes and discuss exactly what happened to them and why.
Seek help and treatment. There are various treatments for PTSD such as counselling, Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR), cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) and medication.
Find local support groups or support groups on social media (such as birth trauma facebook support page)

Birth trauma is real and so is PTSD, its important that women get the help and support they need to overcome it. The birth of her baby can affect a woman for the rest of her life, it may not be possible to completely prevent birth trauma but what we can do is support women when things do go wrong and make sure that we show them love, compassion, kindness and help even at the darkest times so they believe that it will be possible to bathe in light again. hafiz-quote1

my story of birth trauma

Emma Jane Sasaru

@ESasaruNHS

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What is a ‘Positive’ birth?

30 May 2015 by Emma Sasaru / Birth Trauma, Continuity of Care, Environment and Facilities, Informed Choice, Postnatal Care / Comments Off

The experience of birth will stay with a woman her whole life time

Ask any women her birth story and she will recount it with easy, there is no experience that can compare to bringing a tiny baby into the arms of a loving family. The effects of a birth experience will stay with a woman her whole life , it can effect her subsequent births, her health, her relationships, sometimes for the rest of her life.

So what is a positive birth? What can we do to help women have a positive birth?

As with all things in life choice is very important and this is no different when it comes to birth. Choice is so important for women and should be the foundation of any birth. Women should be aware of their choices and what is available for them. Is there a midwife led unit she can use? Will she be able to have a home birth? What about free birthing? Can she elect to have a cesarean section? These are all things a woman may wish to consider when choosing how to have her baby. Consider how much thought may go into the purchase of a pram. I know couples that have spent months researching and looking at all the different prams available. Shouldn’t we be helping and making sure that just as much thought and research is going into the choices for birth?

What’s also important is accurate evidence based information that will enable a women to make an informed choice. How far from a hospital is she if she chooses a home birth? What are the risks of a cesarean section and the results for future pregnancies? What actually is free birthing? Why has it been recommended to have the baby in a hospital? By good communication and giving accurate information women can be helped to make a informed choice that is right for them and their baby.

So what makes a birth positive?

Think about a day or an event that you enjoyed lately that you view as positive. What made it positive? Maybe it was who was there, or the place you went or what you did. Does a positive event mean that it always goes to plan with everything prefect? No, sometimes even when things don’t go to plan they are still positive. Will everyone have the same view of what is positive and does everyone view the same experiences as positive? Chances are what you find positive someone else wont. So when it comes to birth it is very individual. Every woman has her own view of what a positive birth is.

Picture for a moment a woman, she was desperately looking forward to the birth of her baby, however something went wrong and her beautiful baby was born sleeping. Now she is pregnant again, she is racked with fear, anxiety fills every day as she worries about the safety of her baby. She desires control, needs reassurance of medical staff and the technology they process. For this woman her choice for her birth is a cesarean, her baby delivered, well and alive in a controlled way, at her choosing. As her baby is lifted from her body and she hears the cry of her newborn baby relief, joy and hope fills her heart. This is her positive birth.

Now picture a woman whose previous birth was traumatic an emergency cesarean with much medical interventions. Her recovery was long and feeding was difficult. But this time she wishes to stay at home as long as she can. She wants to trust her body to birth her baby and believe that she can safely bring her little one into the world. She wants calmness and solitude and as little intervention as possible. So she hires a doula that supports her at home till the journey to hospital. Once there in a room thats dark and quiet, with time and the support of her partner she births her baby on all fours into her own hands and she feels at peace. This is her positive birth.

Then there’s the woman that is terrified of birth, of hospitals and doctors. Abused as a child she has trouble trusting people. Yet tears are streaming down her face as she holds her newborn baby, with her is a midwife she trusts and she feels safe in the beautiful room of her local midwife lead unit. Around her are her things that bring her comfort and peace. Her favourite song is playing as the warm waters of birth pool lap around her soothing her tired body. This is her positive birth.

A positive birth will be different for every woman, what matters is what birth means to her. It’s important that a woman’s choice is supported and her wishes understood and as far as possible she is able to have the birth she wishes.

Of course sometimes things don’t go as planned and the birth a woman wants and has planned may not happen. However we can still make sure that it is positive. How?

Firstly communication. Always should a woman know what is happening and why. Explaining what is happening gives the woman confidence and builds trust with those who are caring for her. Understanding the things happening too her will easy anxiety and lessen fear. Don’t forget communication means listening too!

Secondly choice. No matter what is happening the woman still should be given choices. Allowing a woman to have choice even in difficult situations means we give control back to her and her birth.

Thirdly, dignity, respect and compassion feed positivity. Always should a woman feel that she has been treated with dignity by everyone around her. Small things like asking before doing checks and saying please and thank you go a long way. A woman should never be judged or labeled. Respect should be shown her and her choices and her concerns and fears. It maybe that her choices are difficult for us to understand but still they are hers and we must respect them. Never should a woman be spoken to unkindly or her needs ignored.

What about Compassion?

‘Compassion is the emotion that one feels in response to the suffering of others that motivates a desire to help. Compassion is really the act of going out of your way to help physical, spiritual, or emotional hurts or pains of another’

Compassion should move those who support a woman in birth to go out of their way to help her. She is someone’s wife, sister, daughter, she has her own story, feelings, needs, fears, concerns. Care should be individual for each woman taking into account her personality, her background, her current situation. This may sound like an impossible task but is it? Ask yourself if it was you what would you want? More importantly as we said at the outset if the way a woman births stays with her her whole life time then we must do everything we can to make her birth positive. so that she looks back on it and remembers that those around her did everything they could to make her feel loved. images (15)

Emma Jane Sasaru

@ESasaruNHS

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Why the wonderful #matexp has given me hope

29 May 2015 by Emma Sasaru / About MatExp, Birth Trauma, Informed Choice, MatExp and Me, The #MatExp Journey / Comments Off

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Imagine, a consultant, a midwife, a doula, a support worker, a commissioner, a campaigner and a mother all coming together to help support and improve maternity services for all women and their families.

Wonderful you may say, but will this really ever happen you may wonder? The answer is yes!

#MatExp is a wonderful grassroots campaign using the Whose Shoes?^® approach to help identify and help improve our national maternity services. By means of workshops in local hospitals users of maternity services are brought together with others to join conversations about their experiences of maternity care and share what really made a difference to them personally and their experience and talk about ways that care can be improved. These workshops enable health care professionals (in and beyond the NHS) and local communities to listen and work in partnership with women and their families to find ways to improve local and national maternity services. Anyone can take part whether your a maternity service user, partner, community group or NHS staff, from chief executive to volunteer all are welcome to attend and share. Also on twitter using the hashtag #Matexp there are many amazing people sharing personal stories, experiences, achievements and ways they are actively trying to improve care both in there local hospitals but nationally too.

I personally have been involved in a #Matexp campaign for NHS change day. It was action 5 – ‘life with a new baby’ as breastfeeding champion along with the lovely Helen Calvert. Personally for me #Matexp has been really wonderful and something im proud to be part of. After suffering poor care with my first birth and subsequent birth trauma and PTSD, #Matexp has given me hope.

Hope that things can change.

Hope that women will be the centre of maternity care.

Hope that the culture of birth and our maternity services will improve.

Hope that the voices of women will finally be heard.

As part of #Matexp I have made contact with some amazing people such a Flo, Gill, Rachel and Helen as well as fantastic midwives such as Jenny and mothers such as Leigh. All are doing amazing things to improve services for women often after personal experiences. Knowing that there are so many people who genuinely want to work to improve services and make care better and who truly value women has helped me heal and also restored my belief in maternity care. It has given me the opportunity to to tell my story and then feel part of improving things to make care given better for others something I am so passionate about. It has also given me confidence to be bold and change things in my own job and NHS trust as I feel supported by some amazing people. Seeing their successes has spurred me on and helped me believe that we can all make a difference.

More importantly #Matexp has given me hope. Hope that one day we will provide a maternity experience that is individualised, respectful, gives dignity and allows for informed choice. That puts a woman, her baby, her family and their needs first. It will mean birth experiences that do not result in trauma but that even under difficult circumstances will make a woman feel loved, protected and supported. Yes I have hope, because finally not only has my voice been heard but the voices of women everywhere will be heard, no matter who they are, what they do, or what choices they made. Why is this so important, because your birth experience stays with with you the good and the bad, it can have a profound effect on you as a family as you start on your journey as parents. All women, babies and families are special and deserving of the best maternity care possible. So join in, get involved and share your stories and your ideas. There’s exciting times a head in #Matexp and together we can make a difference.
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Emma Jane Sasaru

@ESasaruNHS

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#MatExp at 36+2 – dangerously understaffed

29 May 2015 by Helen Calvert / Birth Trauma, Environment and Facilities, Postnatal Care / Comments Off

One final blog post in this initial round of #MatExp feedback from my Facebook group. Once again, this story is told in the mum’s own words….

“I had a very straightforward pregnancy and was expecting to to go overdue (I was born 14 days late).

My waters broke at 36 + 2 with absolutely no warning, I’d had some indigestion earlier in the day but that had gone by the evening and I was out for dinner with my partner, his Grandad and his Grandad’s friends. We live in Manchester and the meal was in Wakefield, my waters going was very obvious and completely mortifying but luckily I was wearing black jeans and restaurant floor was pretty dark. We called Pinderfields Hospital (a couple of miles from the restaurant) who said to come in as my waters had gone before 37 weeks. I got to the hospital at about 9.30pm and I was hooked up to a monitor for 2 hours which confirmed that the baby’s heartbeat was fine. They were clearly very busy but at about midnight I was examined and they also confirmed that I was not in labour, I wasn’t having any pain at this stage. They said that because I was early I would have to be induced within 24 hours if it didn’t happen naturally or I could go back to Manchester where they have a different policy and they’d let me go to 37 weeks (not sure this was true). They said they couldn’t advise us to move to Manchester but they didn’t think it would be a problem. I felt pretty confident as I wasn’t having any contractions and I’d been reassured by the monitoring. I was also worried about the baby being small and so I was keen to go to 37 weeks if possible. All my notes, stuff for hospital etc was all in Manchester.

St Mary's Hospital, Manchester — St Mary’s Hospital, Manchester

We decided to leave and waited 2 hours for a discharge letter (during this time we drove to a nearby garage for water and haribo) eventually they said they’d call St Mary’s instead and we left, the journey only took about 40 minutes and we got to St. Mary’s at 3.30am. I’d started to feel pains in the car and by the time we arrived at St Mary’s these were 3-4 mins apart. They weren’t strong and seemed quite bearable but I had no idea whether they were ‘proper’ contractions. I told them this when we arrived and they were quite dismissive, they said someone would talk to me about pain relief after a doctor had seen me and I couldn’t do anything before seeing a doctor as I was now high risk.

I was then told to wait in a small, hot triage room and my partner was sent home (an hour round trip) for my notes. Over the next three hours nurses came in periodically (never the same one twice) and I was put on a monitor for a while. I asked if I could moved to a room with a pool (as in my vague birth plan) but we were told we couldn’t have one, then I asked for a normal bath or shower but I was told I couldn’t have anything until a doctor had seen me. It felt like I was left for a really, really long time. I didn’t have anything practical with me (other than my kindle) and was still in my jeans and boots. Contractions were getting more frequent, I kept sending my partner out to see if someone could come and either no one was there or they told him no one was free, a nurse eventually gave me two paracetamol.

Finally, three hours after we arrived I told him that he had to make someone come, I still didn’t know whether I was properly in labour and I wasn’t sure I would be able to cope with the pain. I felt like I needed the loo but it was a huge effort to make it down the corridor to the patient toilets. I was starting to think that I was in labour, but if not I definitely wanted all the pain relief available! I’d had about 20 minutes of quite serious pain and I had heard stories of people being in labour for days. Finally, at about 7 am a doctor arrived to examine me and told me I was fully dilated (which was a huge relief) and then it all happened really fast.

I was rushed round to the birthing suite where there were two midwives, they hooked me up to gas and air but then said I couldn’t have it as I had to push. I was flat on my back and in quite an uncomfortable position, I felt like it was too late to move and no one asked if I wanted to, even though I was staring at a ‘natural birth positions’ poster all the way through. The pushing was quite painful but much easier to cope with as I knew it would be nearly over. I heard a loud pop and (I think) I cracked a rib. That was the most painful bit. The pushing stage was very short and in 15 minutes the baby was out. I had a second degree tear but didn’t feel it at all at the time. As I was pushing the midwife told me that I was going to tear which I didn’t find particularly helpful.

They put the baby straight on me and it was amazing, I felt much less tearful than I had expected as I think I was in shock. After about 5 minutes we looked and saw that she was a girl (we didn’t know beforehand). To our relief, she was obviously not tiny even though she was early and when she was weighed we were told that she was 7lb 5oz. I think I had an injection and the placenta was out very soon afterwards, I wasn’t paying much attention. The next few hours were brilliant but then I did start to get sore, they were still waiting for a doctor to sew me up and in the end it wasn’t done until 4 hours after the birth. I had gas and air while the local anaesthetic was going in.

The stiches felt fine until the local anaesthetic wore off and then the pain was unbelievable, far worse than any part of the labour, I fainted and then lost a lot of blood. I was given paracetamol (again) without being examined and told, quite patronisingly, that I could expect it to hurt for a while. I tried to explain that it was too much pain to cope with but probably wasn’t very coherent. At this point my partner had baby (with no real clue what to do) and was trying to get someone to help as I kept fainting. I didn’t want to take her as I was so shaky I was worried I’d fall off the bed. Eventually, after a couple of hours a midwife looked at my stitches and said that there was a haematoma the size of her fist (nice) which was pushing out all the stitches. They said this would have to be drained and my stitches redone but by that time I didn’t care, I was just so happy that they were going to do something about the pain. I was told that I could have an epidural (finally!) for the procedure. I was supposed to be waiting for a slot in theatre but another midwife came in to borrow some equipment and noticed that I had lost a lot more blood. She went to get someone who was looking after me and then they said I would have to have a general anaesthetic because of the blood loss. I was rushed round to theatre where I was knocked out. They sorted out the stitches and gave me a blood transfusion.

I came round a few hours later and spent the first night on the high dependancy unit. This was (comparatively) brilliant as I had my own room and a nurse there most of the time. I had drips in both hands and my ribs and stitches were very, very painful so it was fantastic to have someone help lift my daughter out of the cot. Unfortunately after that we were taken to the ward and that was just awful.

My little girl hadn’t been able to breastfeed as she had a tongue tie, this was recognised straight away but we didn’t see the same midwife twice and they kept saying that she might manage it anyway. Because she was early she was being cup fed formula as they were monitoring something (possibly blood sugar) and my milk hadn’t come in. I ended up staying in for 5 nights trying to establish feeding but baby just wasn’t interested and when she did latch on she couldn’t suck. We were told she had to be either breastfeeding successfully or bottle feeding, we couldn’t go home cup feeding. I was so exhausted after 4 nights on the ward that we just decided to bottle feed her to get out of hospital.

The time in hospital seems like such a blur as I was just so tired, my partner, mum etc all helped as much as they could during the day but I was still left alone from 8pm until 10am every night with almost no support. Sometimes there was a midwife around to help during the night but often not and with painful ribs/stitches I did feel like I needed help. Baby didn’t settle unless she was on me (which I knew was totally normal) and I fell asleep like that several times. Being back home was amazing, I was finally able to sleep for more than 20 minutes and I was able to enjoy my baby.

The midwives that looked after me were all lovely but they were dangerously understaffed, I rarely saw the same one twice and I think this caused problems afterwards, I had to explain about Anna’s tongue tie every time someone tried to help with feeding and almost everyone mentioned that residual pain relief from labour was probably causing her feeding problems without bothering to look and see that I hadn’t had any.

Being on the ward with no support was dangerous, I would never have fallen asleep with my baby on me in such a precarious position at home because I could have had her in the bed with me and I would have had support, or someone to take her so I could nap for 20 minutes. 14 hours is too long to have to look after a newborn with no help and in unfamiliar surroundings. Allowing partners to stay overnight would have changed the whole experience for me, even having a shorter period with no partners/visitors (e.g 12-6am) would have been so much better, 6 hours is manageable.

I’m very aware that I was incredibly lucky to have an ‘easy’ birth (and my daughter is heathy and wonderful) but I’m still so angry about how I was treated, I think a lot if the fear and difficulty I had was purely due to the treatment in hospital and not the birth process at all – so unnecessary.”

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