16/10/2020
I apologise for the length of my story but I cannot shorten it any more.
I gave birth in August 2020. Our little boy was conceived after the one and only shot at IVF we could afford. We had been trying for three years.
My husband was able to attend our 12 week scan but none afterwards. His exclusion was tough on both of us but we both agreed as it was for the protection of our baby we would just have to deal with it.
Due to gestational diabetes, I was told I would be induced early, which terrified me as it would mean at least a couple of days in hospital alone. Our one hope as my due date approached was that the restrictions would be eased enough to allow my husband to be with me. By my scheduled induction date, partners were allowed to come in to the hospital for limited evening hours as well as during active labour. We tried to convince ourselves this would be enough and we should consider ourselves lucky to even have that.
I arrived to the hospital on the morning of my induction, terrified but trying to be positive. I had been told not to worry about being alone, that the medical staff were a huge support to labouring mothers during these times and that they would help me through this process. My husband left me to the hospital doors, tears streaming down both our faces. I was admitted to my ward by a business like but warm midwife, the induction process was started pretty quickly and so I was tentatively positive, thinking that maybe I would be OK.
Unfortunately my experience went downhill from there. The induction failed as did subsequent efforts by the hospital staff to break my waters. On day two a male student doctor examined me quite roughly and tried to break my waters again. Whether he was just inexperienced or just didn’t care, he was unsuccessful and it was excruciating. He made me feel as if was my fault.
The lovely midwife that admitted me comforted me afterwards and told me she was sorry for the way he handled me.
My waters were eventually broken the next morning, day three. After all the unsuccessful procedures I had already been through, I was in a lot of pain and needed gas to get through it. Once they broke, the doctor told me I would be moved to the labour room within a couple of hours and to call my husband to get to the hospital by 10am. I was happy that I would finally have support and was looking forward to meeting my baby.
10am came and went. My husband sat patiently outside the hospital waiting for me to call him. My contractions had started and I was sure it wouldn’t be long. A new team of midwives took over in the ward who seemed unaware of how long I had been admitted for and how many procedures it had taken to get my labour going. When I enquired at 2pm as to when I would be moved to the labour ward, I was told my turn would come. The midwife coldly told me to get on with it. My husband had been sat outside for four hours at this stage. I was in too much pain to walk. I lay in my bed crying and trying to communicate with my husband through the pain. The midwife just closed my curtain.
At 5pm, after my husband sitting outside for more than seven hours, I was told I was being moved to a labour room. Due to high temperature/heart rate my baby boy was born by emergency section that evening.
My time on the post natal ward was even worse than I ever could have expected. I tried to breastfeed my son in the hours after his birth but the effects of the drugs from the surgery made it impossible. I was left alone holding him while I was nodding off, I remember desperately trying to stay awake so that I didn’t drop him.
Early the next morning, his blood sugar was checked and was so dangerously low that he was whisked to the NICU. He was understandably bottle fed, ending all hope I had of breastfeeding. I tried desperately to express colostrum for him but no staff were available to assist me.
As soon as I was lucid enough the next morning I asked could I visit my baby. A midwife advised me to wait and be brought by wheelchair as I was only just 12 hours after surgery, she asked a medical student to bring me. This student was unimpressed at having been asked to do this, told me to walk, that it would do me good and it wasn’t her job to es**rt me, it should have been a porter. When the head NICU doctor saw that I was walking she was horrified and insisted I be brought back to the ward by wheelchair.
Thankfully my baby was returned to me that evening. From then onwards I struggled with trying to care for my baby while still dealing with the physical effects of the emergency section. There was little to no help available from the midwives. They were rushed off their feet trying to take care of the ward while dangerously understaffed.
My mental health deteriorated quickly. My baby wouldn’t settle on the ward and would cry when he wasn’t being held. I had to try to wait for visiting hours for my husband to come before I could visit the bathroom. My disposable underwear and maternity pads would be absolutely saturated by this stage but it was that or let my baby cry. I got so little sleep that I ended up hysterically crying one night. A midwife took my baby for an hour and told me to get some sleep but I could still hear him crying. I lay on my bed sobbing. I felt I had failed my baby.
When I finally got home, my husband was so shocked at how mentally broken I was, that it triggered an anxiety attack for him.
I will never have another child. Even if I could conceive naturally, I wouldn’t after my experience in the hospital. I understand limiting visitors but my husband was not a ‘visitor’, he was my support system and without him, I crumbled. He deserved to be there to experience his only child being born and he deserved more than to have his wife return from the hospital as a shell of the woman that went in.