Ante Natal Care - Expectations vs Reality
After my last post about PND I wasn't planning on writing another post so soon; and certainly not another serious (ish) one!
I am honestly astounded at how many people have read the blog, and even more so that some have got in touch with me to say that they unfortunately went through the exact same thing. We've shared a few stories, some sad, some funny, and I think we're all just relieved that we aren't alone.
One thing that has come up a few times, which is what I'm going to tell you more about, is the mental health ante natal care that we received prior to having Tommy. I touched on it in the last blog, but as I have been asked quite a lot about it, I thought it easier to write it on here then tell the same account to people a hundred times over!
As with the health visitors, I must start by saying that I know that the woman we encountered does not represent all midwives. We just unfortunately ended up with a bloody awful one.
We didn't know it at the time, but it would appear that our area only has one mental health midwife. That to me doesn't sound great, but I know how stretched the NHS is, so it doesn't come as much of a surprise.
When we fell pregnant with Tommy, one of our main concerns was how this would affect my mental health. I had a history of depression; hysterically manic episodes followed by being depressed and a general pain in the arse to be around. However, when we went for our booking appointment at my doctors, the midwife there (who I think is still the sweetest person I have ever met in my life) told me that given this history, I would be seen by a mental health midwife throughout my pregnancy, as opposed to the community midwives. I asked what that would entail, and basically it meant being seen regularly throughout our pregnancy (much more than if I was with community midwives) assessed for medication, and given treatment wherever appropriate, This sounded great.
We were given an appointment for our 12 week scan, and after this we would meet our midwife. Full of excitement, we headed off to the ante natal unit to see our baby for the first time. I cannot explain how relieved I was when we saw him on screen, his little heart beating away. I couldn't help but cry. There he was, our perfect little baby that we had made, dancing around in my tummy. Everything so far was going as planned.
Following the scan, we were taken into a side room to meet our midwife. I don't want to give her real name, so for the purpose of the blog we'll call her Jane.
Jane introduced herself to Ian and I, and got out her paperwork. She went through a basic questionnaire on my mental health, the ones with generic questions and you give the answers 1-5 based on how shitty you are feeling that day. After the formalities were over with,she explained to us what would happen over the next 6 months. We would be seen by Jane every two weeks, to keep an eye on both me and the baby. We would be taken around the birthing suite, she would go through all the options available to us for the birth, and would be on hand whenever we needed her to answer any questions we had. If available, she would be there for the birth, as she liked being with parents throughout the whole pregnancy all the way to the end.
Ian and I left the hospital confident that whatever the next six months threw at us, we could get through it, as we had the help available at the ante natal clinic.
We had no idea what was to come.
Now as I mentioned in my previous post, during one of my rants about the treatment we received at the ante natal clinic, a friend of mine expressed that I must be the only person that had a problem with the antenatal clinic, as him and his partner had nothing but great things to say about them. Whilst this was great for them, I felt like knocking him out for making me feel like I was the problem here. If you recommend a restaurant to someone, and they go and think the food is crap, do you blame them? NO. So, for the man who thought I was complaining for the sake of it, please read the following VERY CAREFULLY!!
The appointment following our 12 week scan I went to by myself. I didn't mind; I knew Ian had to work, and I had only just managed to get the afternoon off. I gave my name in at the desk, and sat in the waiting area. I waited, and waited, and waited. Everyone in the waiting room was called through until I was left sat on my own 45 minutes after my appointment time. I went to the desk and asked how long it was going to be as I had to get back to work. The lady at the desk asked who I was there to see, so I gave her Jane's name. "You won't be seeing her today, she doesn't work Thursdays." Excuse me? She had made the appointment herself, and she knew she wasn't going to be there?? Great. The lady at the desk asked me if I would like to make another appointment, as she had access to Jane's diary on her computer. I said yes, and an appointment for the fortnight after was made.
Fast forward two weeks, and off I went again to ante natal clinic. Again, I sat and waited to be called through to see Jane. I had less patience this time, and after half an hour went to the desk to ask how long she was going to be. You can imagine my frustration when I was told that she was on annual leave, so I wouldn't be seeing her today. I asked why the hell I wasn't told this when I first arrived, but it was just shrugged off. I was livid. I left the hospital in tears; this woman just didn't care.
Over the next couple of weeks I spoke to a few mums to be who were under community midwives. They told me where they were up to with their care, and what their midwives were doing for them. We were under a 'specialist' midwife, and had only seen her once!! All these expectant mums had heard their baby's heartbeat, had their bloods done, and generally been looked after. I felt like we had been put to the bottom of the pile, and nobody gave a shit.
I worked up the courage one day to ring Jane, and ask her what the hell was going on. What exactly did having a mental health midwife mean for us if we never saw her? She made an appointment to see me, and there would also be a psychiatrist there to do an assessment to see if I needed any meds during pregnancy. This was a step in the right direction, so I started to feel a little better.
Ian and I arrived at the hospital for the assessment. As far as we were aware, there would be myself, Ian, Jane and the psychiatrist.
Needless to say, Jane didn't bother to turn up. Instead, we were taken into a room where there were 4 complete strangers, one of whom was training so she would be observing. At no point was I made aware of this, nor was I asked if this would be alright. Had I have been asked, I would have got straight in the car and gone home.
The psychiatric assessment was a complete waste of time. I explained my symptoms to her, and that I had been in the grips of a depressive episode for months now, made all the more worse by Jane not doing her fucking job properly. Now I don't know if this woman was being sponsored by ADHD, got paid a tenner every time she said it, or it was just her favourite term that day, but that was the only phrase she was willing to use to describe me. Both Ian and I kept telling her that she was incorrect, and that really wasn't what this was. She was adamant, and arranged for an assessment by the ADHD unit at the hospital.
We left, again, absolutely let down by the whole department.
I had a phone call from the ADHD department at Chorley Hospital. The woman was lovely, and after the assessment explained that I absolutely did not have ADHD, and would refer my case back to the psychiatrist.
Our 20 week scan came around, and again we were told that Jane would be there to see us afterwards and to do my check up, but again she was a no show. I was actually relieved she wasn't there, as I could picture myself scanning her vital organs via her fucking throat.
A few weeks later I received a letter coupled with a phone call to say that I had failed to make the required appointments to see my midwife, and that I needed to see her as soon as possible. I HAD FAILED TO MAKE THE APPOINTMENTS. Which basically meant that someone had looked at my notes and seen that Jane hadn't done one aspect of her job right, but hey, lets put the blame on mum!! Despite wanting to reach down the phone and wrap my hands around the neck of the woman on the other end of the line, I reluctantly made an appointment. This time, Ian came with me. We went and booked in at the desk, and sat in the waiting area. Things got off to a better start when we were shown through to a side room by a lady who said someone would be with us shortly. An hour and a half passed. We had been out several times to ask how much longer it would be, and each time were told 'she's just finishing with another patient, she won't be long'.
Another twenty minutes later, a complete stranger walked in with my notes and sat down. She smiled at me, introduced herself, and asked me to confirm my name and date of birth etc. When I asked who she was, she looked at me with confusion and said that she was the midwife who was doing my check up. I asked if she was a mental health midwife, and she replied that Jane was the mental health midwife. I told her that I was well aware of that, and asked where the hell she was. AGAIN.
It came as no shock whatsoever that she hadn't shown for this appointment either, and this midwife had no idea that we were under the mental health team.
I started to cry. I had had enough, and Ian was getting annoyed. This midwife was lovely, and could not apologise enough. She asked if I would be happy for her to check me over, to which I said yes. I then asked if there was any chance we could hear baby's heartbeat, as we hadn't heard it yet. She seemed genuinely shocked that we hadn't been given the opportunity, and showed me over to the bed. She put the freezing cold jelly on the doppler, and put it on my tummy. Ian and I waited. And waited.
Nothing.
I started to panic, and looked to Ian for reassurance. "It's ok, don't worry" he told me. He wasn't looking panicked, so I relaxed. What seemed like an age passed, and still nothing. I looked at the midwife, who by now was looking very anxious.
Oh God. This was it. The moment I'd been absolutely dreading. We had lost our baby. I started to cry. I looked over to Ian who by now was also looking a little concerned. The midwife excused herself, and went to get a consultant. In my head I was losing it, rapidly. I could picture myself having to arrange my baby's funeral, having to go home and explain to the boys that their baby brother wouldn't be coming home.... All the things that the manic brain of an undertaker who knows most things that can cause a baby's death in utero would tell itself in 15 seconds.
The midwife returned with a consultant and a portable ultrasound scanner. They tried again. After a few moments, our baby appeared onscreen. After what seemed an absolute age, the consultant pointed to baby's heart beating away. He was fine. He had just been 'hiding'. I cannot even begin to explain the relief I felt. Our baby was healthy!! This time I was crying tears of happiness.
A few more weeks passed and we grew closer and closer to our due date. By this stage I had given up chasing appointments with Jane, as there was absolutely no point, but I received a call from the ante natal clinic who said I needed to see her.
With absolutely no expectations whatsoever, Ian and I arrived at the ante natal clinic. I nearly fell off my chair when Jane arrived and called us through to see her. The first thing we asked was could we see the birthing suite? We had heard all about it but never been able to see it. Jane's reaction was "Has nobody taken you up yet?!" It took all the will in the world to not throw a chair at her head.
She took us upstairs to see the birthing suite. Yes, THE STAIRS. "It'll help bring the baby out!" she declared. When I got to the top of the stairs, I was out of breath. Jane asked me if I was taking my iron tablets. Should I be taking them? How would I know I needed them? She said that my blood test results should show if I had a low iron count. Ian hissed at her "You haven't taken any blood from her in six months!!" She quickly ushered us out of the birthing suite (that we hadn't really seen properly) and took us back downstairs. She then took my blood, left the room, and appeared with a complete stranger.
This man, I was told, was a doctor. We were a couple of weeks off giving birth, we under 'specialist care' and this was the first time we were seeing a doctor. You couldn't make this shit up. He and Jane sat and looked at my notes for a few moments, then he declared "Yes, that's fine, you can be discharged". He got up, and left the room. I looked at Jane waiting for an explanation. "Well, we have agreed that you seem fine now, so you can go back to your community midwives".
Excuse me? I SEEM FINE?? I hadn't realised mental health was physically visible? If I had a broken leg was she going to tell me to walk it off? And go back to my community midwife?? I hadn't seen a community midwife since my booking appointment when I was 6 weeks pregnant!! What this woman was being paid for is absolutely beyond me. Ian and I were genuinely lost for words, so we just left.
I have never felt so let down. I thought they really didn't care about us. Here we were, a couple that had been promised so much from someone at the most important time of our lives, and she had monumentally fucked it up for us.
My due date came and went. I went to the community midwife at my doctors surgery. There I was given the date that I would be induced if I didn't go to labour naturally. I could not wait for this baby to get here.
The last straw came the day before I eventually went into labour. Jane called me and asked me if I was wanting pain relief during labour. Was I planning on a natural birth? Did I want gas and air? I asked her why she was asking me all these questions, and should this not have been discussed earlier? The response? "The community midwife hasn't bothered to fill out a birthing plan for you so I'm having to do it now." Give. Me. Strength. She put the phone down.
I looked at my phone. 1:17
One minute seventeen seconds.
That is how long the phone call was. One minute and seventeen seconds over the phone to quickly go through what should be a well thought out birthing plan, so that me and the delivery suite midwives had an idea as to what we wanted to happen, given that we had the choice, just so Jane could tick the box to say she'd done it.
I hated her. I wanted to punch her. I wanted to kill her. How did this woman still have a job??!
Eventually, with absolutely no help from this woman whatsoever, Tommy arrived into the world safely. (I'll cover labour another time!)
I came out of theatre, and for the first few hours, Ian held Tommy as I wasn't able to. When we were taken down onto the ward, Jane appeared, all smiles and happiness for us that our little bundle of joy had finally made an appearance. She told us that she would arrange to come to our house to see me and Tommy in a couple of weeks, and complete an assessment on how I was doing.
Luckily for Jane, Ian had Tommy in his arms, and I was still under the effects from a full epidural and was unable to sit up, let along lunge across the ward and Knock. Her. The. F*ck. Out.
Luckily for me, I had Ian on my side. He told her in no uncertain terms that he didn't want her anywhere near me, and even more so, near our son. She left with a bemused look on her face, and we never saw or heard from her again.
A couple of weeks after I had given birth, I received a letter from a doctor and a prescription for iron tablets as my blood results had shown an iron deficiency. This was from a blood sample that Jane had taken nearly SIX WEEKS AGO. I wasn't even surprised.
By this point I was in the grips of severe ante natal depression, and I managed to work up the courage to ring Jane and ask her what was going on with my psychiatric assessment. The response? "Oh, the psychiatrist left a week or so after she saw you to start another job in London, and we haven't found a someone to fill her position yet, did I not mention that to you?"
It was at this point I started Googling how long I'd get for manslaughter, and could I get off with diminished responsibility.......
I am sharing our experience with you because from the last post it would appear that we weren't alone. Which, in some way is comforting to know, as we weren't being victimised. This woman is just shit at her job. But at the same time, I kind of wish we had been the only ones, because I would not have wished that treatment on anyone.
The contrast between her and the midwives who helped bring our beautiful baby boy into the world could not be greater. The men and women on the birthing suite, delivery ward and theatre all went above and beyond what was expected of them so that we could have our little boy with us safely. I'm crying now thinking about the whole event and how scary it was that something could have happened to Tommy, and also me when we came out of theatre after I contracted sepsis. Every single member of staff could not have done any more for us, and I will never be able to express my gratitude to them. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
One final thought..... I made a right song and dance about my birthing plan. I wanted a nice, calm, gas and air water birth; a relaxing way to bring my second child into the world. I didn't want to 'give in' and have an epidural. I managed to give birth to Alf with just gas and air, I could do it again! What a fool. What the hell did I know.
What actually happened was active labour for 15 hours with Tommy facing the wrong way, Foo Fighters blasting in the background, me realising that it was over 10 years since I last did this, and THE HELL WAS I THINKING. I was screaming for every painkiller known to man begging Ian to make it all stop PLEASE MAKE IT STOP. I was then whisked into theatre as Tommy was getting distressed.
It wasn't til after the epidural wore off that I was thankful for it; although I hadn't 'felt' my baby come into the world, I sure as hell glad that I hadn't felt them literally TEAR ME A NEW ONE the size of the Grand Canyon.
To all the (good) midwives, doctors, nursing staff, theatre staff, and the inventor of the epidural and of course, as always, Tena Lady..... THANK YOU XXX
I am honestly astounded at how many people have read the blog, and even more so that some have got in touch with me to say that they unfortunately went through the exact same thing. We've shared a few stories, some sad, some funny, and I think we're all just relieved that we aren't alone.
One thing that has come up a few times, which is what I'm going to tell you more about, is the mental health ante natal care that we received prior to having Tommy. I touched on it in the last blog, but as I have been asked quite a lot about it, I thought it easier to write it on here then tell the same account to people a hundred times over!
As with the health visitors, I must start by saying that I know that the woman we encountered does not represent all midwives. We just unfortunately ended up with a bloody awful one.
We didn't know it at the time, but it would appear that our area only has one mental health midwife. That to me doesn't sound great, but I know how stretched the NHS is, so it doesn't come as much of a surprise.
When we fell pregnant with Tommy, one of our main concerns was how this would affect my mental health. I had a history of depression; hysterically manic episodes followed by being depressed and a general pain in the arse to be around. However, when we went for our booking appointment at my doctors, the midwife there (who I think is still the sweetest person I have ever met in my life) told me that given this history, I would be seen by a mental health midwife throughout my pregnancy, as opposed to the community midwives. I asked what that would entail, and basically it meant being seen regularly throughout our pregnancy (much more than if I was with community midwives) assessed for medication, and given treatment wherever appropriate, This sounded great.
We were given an appointment for our 12 week scan, and after this we would meet our midwife. Full of excitement, we headed off to the ante natal unit to see our baby for the first time. I cannot explain how relieved I was when we saw him on screen, his little heart beating away. I couldn't help but cry. There he was, our perfect little baby that we had made, dancing around in my tummy. Everything so far was going as planned.
Following the scan, we were taken into a side room to meet our midwife. I don't want to give her real name, so for the purpose of the blog we'll call her Jane.
Jane introduced herself to Ian and I, and got out her paperwork. She went through a basic questionnaire on my mental health, the ones with generic questions and you give the answers 1-5 based on how shitty you are feeling that day. After the formalities were over with,she explained to us what would happen over the next 6 months. We would be seen by Jane every two weeks, to keep an eye on both me and the baby. We would be taken around the birthing suite, she would go through all the options available to us for the birth, and would be on hand whenever we needed her to answer any questions we had. If available, she would be there for the birth, as she liked being with parents throughout the whole pregnancy all the way to the end.
Ian and I left the hospital confident that whatever the next six months threw at us, we could get through it, as we had the help available at the ante natal clinic.
We had no idea what was to come.
Now as I mentioned in my previous post, during one of my rants about the treatment we received at the ante natal clinic, a friend of mine expressed that I must be the only person that had a problem with the antenatal clinic, as him and his partner had nothing but great things to say about them. Whilst this was great for them, I felt like knocking him out for making me feel like I was the problem here. If you recommend a restaurant to someone, and they go and think the food is crap, do you blame them? NO. So, for the man who thought I was complaining for the sake of it, please read the following VERY CAREFULLY!!
The appointment following our 12 week scan I went to by myself. I didn't mind; I knew Ian had to work, and I had only just managed to get the afternoon off. I gave my name in at the desk, and sat in the waiting area. I waited, and waited, and waited. Everyone in the waiting room was called through until I was left sat on my own 45 minutes after my appointment time. I went to the desk and asked how long it was going to be as I had to get back to work. The lady at the desk asked who I was there to see, so I gave her Jane's name. "You won't be seeing her today, she doesn't work Thursdays." Excuse me? She had made the appointment herself, and she knew she wasn't going to be there?? Great. The lady at the desk asked me if I would like to make another appointment, as she had access to Jane's diary on her computer. I said yes, and an appointment for the fortnight after was made.
Fast forward two weeks, and off I went again to ante natal clinic. Again, I sat and waited to be called through to see Jane. I had less patience this time, and after half an hour went to the desk to ask how long she was going to be. You can imagine my frustration when I was told that she was on annual leave, so I wouldn't be seeing her today. I asked why the hell I wasn't told this when I first arrived, but it was just shrugged off. I was livid. I left the hospital in tears; this woman just didn't care.
Over the next couple of weeks I spoke to a few mums to be who were under community midwives. They told me where they were up to with their care, and what their midwives were doing for them. We were under a 'specialist' midwife, and had only seen her once!! All these expectant mums had heard their baby's heartbeat, had their bloods done, and generally been looked after. I felt like we had been put to the bottom of the pile, and nobody gave a shit.
I worked up the courage one day to ring Jane, and ask her what the hell was going on. What exactly did having a mental health midwife mean for us if we never saw her? She made an appointment to see me, and there would also be a psychiatrist there to do an assessment to see if I needed any meds during pregnancy. This was a step in the right direction, so I started to feel a little better.
Ian and I arrived at the hospital for the assessment. As far as we were aware, there would be myself, Ian, Jane and the psychiatrist.
Needless to say, Jane didn't bother to turn up. Instead, we were taken into a room where there were 4 complete strangers, one of whom was training so she would be observing. At no point was I made aware of this, nor was I asked if this would be alright. Had I have been asked, I would have got straight in the car and gone home.
The psychiatric assessment was a complete waste of time. I explained my symptoms to her, and that I had been in the grips of a depressive episode for months now, made all the more worse by Jane not doing her fucking job properly. Now I don't know if this woman was being sponsored by ADHD, got paid a tenner every time she said it, or it was just her favourite term that day, but that was the only phrase she was willing to use to describe me. Both Ian and I kept telling her that she was incorrect, and that really wasn't what this was. She was adamant, and arranged for an assessment by the ADHD unit at the hospital.
We left, again, absolutely let down by the whole department.
I had a phone call from the ADHD department at Chorley Hospital. The woman was lovely, and after the assessment explained that I absolutely did not have ADHD, and would refer my case back to the psychiatrist.
Our 20 week scan came around, and again we were told that Jane would be there to see us afterwards and to do my check up, but again she was a no show. I was actually relieved she wasn't there, as I could picture myself scanning her vital organs via her fucking throat.
A few weeks later I received a letter coupled with a phone call to say that I had failed to make the required appointments to see my midwife, and that I needed to see her as soon as possible. I HAD FAILED TO MAKE THE APPOINTMENTS. Which basically meant that someone had looked at my notes and seen that Jane hadn't done one aspect of her job right, but hey, lets put the blame on mum!! Despite wanting to reach down the phone and wrap my hands around the neck of the woman on the other end of the line, I reluctantly made an appointment. This time, Ian came with me. We went and booked in at the desk, and sat in the waiting area. Things got off to a better start when we were shown through to a side room by a lady who said someone would be with us shortly. An hour and a half passed. We had been out several times to ask how much longer it would be, and each time were told 'she's just finishing with another patient, she won't be long'.
Another twenty minutes later, a complete stranger walked in with my notes and sat down. She smiled at me, introduced herself, and asked me to confirm my name and date of birth etc. When I asked who she was, she looked at me with confusion and said that she was the midwife who was doing my check up. I asked if she was a mental health midwife, and she replied that Jane was the mental health midwife. I told her that I was well aware of that, and asked where the hell she was. AGAIN.
It came as no shock whatsoever that she hadn't shown for this appointment either, and this midwife had no idea that we were under the mental health team.
I started to cry. I had had enough, and Ian was getting annoyed. This midwife was lovely, and could not apologise enough. She asked if I would be happy for her to check me over, to which I said yes. I then asked if there was any chance we could hear baby's heartbeat, as we hadn't heard it yet. She seemed genuinely shocked that we hadn't been given the opportunity, and showed me over to the bed. She put the freezing cold jelly on the doppler, and put it on my tummy. Ian and I waited. And waited.
Nothing.
I started to panic, and looked to Ian for reassurance. "It's ok, don't worry" he told me. He wasn't looking panicked, so I relaxed. What seemed like an age passed, and still nothing. I looked at the midwife, who by now was looking very anxious.
Oh God. This was it. The moment I'd been absolutely dreading. We had lost our baby. I started to cry. I looked over to Ian who by now was also looking a little concerned. The midwife excused herself, and went to get a consultant. In my head I was losing it, rapidly. I could picture myself having to arrange my baby's funeral, having to go home and explain to the boys that their baby brother wouldn't be coming home.... All the things that the manic brain of an undertaker who knows most things that can cause a baby's death in utero would tell itself in 15 seconds.
The midwife returned with a consultant and a portable ultrasound scanner. They tried again. After a few moments, our baby appeared onscreen. After what seemed an absolute age, the consultant pointed to baby's heart beating away. He was fine. He had just been 'hiding'. I cannot even begin to explain the relief I felt. Our baby was healthy!! This time I was crying tears of happiness.
A few more weeks passed and we grew closer and closer to our due date. By this stage I had given up chasing appointments with Jane, as there was absolutely no point, but I received a call from the ante natal clinic who said I needed to see her.
With absolutely no expectations whatsoever, Ian and I arrived at the ante natal clinic. I nearly fell off my chair when Jane arrived and called us through to see her. The first thing we asked was could we see the birthing suite? We had heard all about it but never been able to see it. Jane's reaction was "Has nobody taken you up yet?!" It took all the will in the world to not throw a chair at her head.
She took us upstairs to see the birthing suite. Yes, THE STAIRS. "It'll help bring the baby out!" she declared. When I got to the top of the stairs, I was out of breath. Jane asked me if I was taking my iron tablets. Should I be taking them? How would I know I needed them? She said that my blood test results should show if I had a low iron count. Ian hissed at her "You haven't taken any blood from her in six months!!" She quickly ushered us out of the birthing suite (that we hadn't really seen properly) and took us back downstairs. She then took my blood, left the room, and appeared with a complete stranger.
This man, I was told, was a doctor. We were a couple of weeks off giving birth, we under 'specialist care' and this was the first time we were seeing a doctor. You couldn't make this shit up. He and Jane sat and looked at my notes for a few moments, then he declared "Yes, that's fine, you can be discharged". He got up, and left the room. I looked at Jane waiting for an explanation. "Well, we have agreed that you seem fine now, so you can go back to your community midwives".
Excuse me? I SEEM FINE?? I hadn't realised mental health was physically visible? If I had a broken leg was she going to tell me to walk it off? And go back to my community midwife?? I hadn't seen a community midwife since my booking appointment when I was 6 weeks pregnant!! What this woman was being paid for is absolutely beyond me. Ian and I were genuinely lost for words, so we just left.
I have never felt so let down. I thought they really didn't care about us. Here we were, a couple that had been promised so much from someone at the most important time of our lives, and she had monumentally fucked it up for us.
My due date came and went. I went to the community midwife at my doctors surgery. There I was given the date that I would be induced if I didn't go to labour naturally. I could not wait for this baby to get here.
The last straw came the day before I eventually went into labour. Jane called me and asked me if I was wanting pain relief during labour. Was I planning on a natural birth? Did I want gas and air? I asked her why she was asking me all these questions, and should this not have been discussed earlier? The response? "The community midwife hasn't bothered to fill out a birthing plan for you so I'm having to do it now." Give. Me. Strength. She put the phone down.
I looked at my phone. 1:17
One minute seventeen seconds.
That is how long the phone call was. One minute and seventeen seconds over the phone to quickly go through what should be a well thought out birthing plan, so that me and the delivery suite midwives had an idea as to what we wanted to happen, given that we had the choice, just so Jane could tick the box to say she'd done it.
I hated her. I wanted to punch her. I wanted to kill her. How did this woman still have a job??!
Eventually, with absolutely no help from this woman whatsoever, Tommy arrived into the world safely. (I'll cover labour another time!)
I came out of theatre, and for the first few hours, Ian held Tommy as I wasn't able to. When we were taken down onto the ward, Jane appeared, all smiles and happiness for us that our little bundle of joy had finally made an appearance. She told us that she would arrange to come to our house to see me and Tommy in a couple of weeks, and complete an assessment on how I was doing.
Luckily for Jane, Ian had Tommy in his arms, and I was still under the effects from a full epidural and was unable to sit up, let along lunge across the ward and Knock. Her. The. F*ck. Out.
Luckily for me, I had Ian on my side. He told her in no uncertain terms that he didn't want her anywhere near me, and even more so, near our son. She left with a bemused look on her face, and we never saw or heard from her again.
A couple of weeks after I had given birth, I received a letter from a doctor and a prescription for iron tablets as my blood results had shown an iron deficiency. This was from a blood sample that Jane had taken nearly SIX WEEKS AGO. I wasn't even surprised.
By this point I was in the grips of severe ante natal depression, and I managed to work up the courage to ring Jane and ask her what was going on with my psychiatric assessment. The response? "Oh, the psychiatrist left a week or so after she saw you to start another job in London, and we haven't found a someone to fill her position yet, did I not mention that to you?"
It was at this point I started Googling how long I'd get for manslaughter, and could I get off with diminished responsibility.......
I am sharing our experience with you because from the last post it would appear that we weren't alone. Which, in some way is comforting to know, as we weren't being victimised. This woman is just shit at her job. But at the same time, I kind of wish we had been the only ones, because I would not have wished that treatment on anyone.
The contrast between her and the midwives who helped bring our beautiful baby boy into the world could not be greater. The men and women on the birthing suite, delivery ward and theatre all went above and beyond what was expected of them so that we could have our little boy with us safely. I'm crying now thinking about the whole event and how scary it was that something could have happened to Tommy, and also me when we came out of theatre after I contracted sepsis. Every single member of staff could not have done any more for us, and I will never be able to express my gratitude to them. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
One final thought..... I made a right song and dance about my birthing plan. I wanted a nice, calm, gas and air water birth; a relaxing way to bring my second child into the world. I didn't want to 'give in' and have an epidural. I managed to give birth to Alf with just gas and air, I could do it again! What a fool. What the hell did I know.
What actually happened was active labour for 15 hours with Tommy facing the wrong way, Foo Fighters blasting in the background, me realising that it was over 10 years since I last did this, and THE HELL WAS I THINKING. I was screaming for every painkiller known to man begging Ian to make it all stop PLEASE MAKE IT STOP. I was then whisked into theatre as Tommy was getting distressed.
It wasn't til after the epidural wore off that I was thankful for it; although I hadn't 'felt' my baby come into the world, I sure as hell glad that I hadn't felt them literally TEAR ME A NEW ONE the size of the Grand Canyon.
To all the (good) midwives, doctors, nursing staff, theatre staff, and the inventor of the epidural and of course, as always, Tena Lady..... THANK YOU XXX
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