(1 year, 10 months ago)
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I beg to move,
That this House has considered baby loss and safe staffing in maternity care.
I am honoured to begin this important Baby Loss Awareness Week debate about safe staffing in maternity care, which is imperative. I speak today as the co-chair of the all-party parliamentary group on maternity, but also as the mother of three children. I also speak today because of my three very different pregnancy and birthing experiences, which for me highlight the impact of different staffing approaches on pregnant women.
I lost my first baby in the very early weeks of pregnancy, and I was told by a very kindly midwife that sometimes you have to lose a baby to ripen the womb. This made me feel dreadful. I fought very hard not to grieve openly for that loss, because I felt guilty that I should not. Forgive me: I am full of cold and dosed up, so I will get very emotional.
My first experience of birth 30 years ago was, as it is for many first-time mothers, a long and painful labour. I was persuaded to have an epidural; I think the words were, “You need Slick; he’s very good. Call for Slick.” When it is your first baby, you do not know how labour should feel. You think, “It’s worse for me than everybody else, because I am in so much pain.” So I took the epidural. I was then left for long periods without being checked. There were not many staff on the labour ward that night, and I was in a room on my own with my husband. I was told that when I got nearer they would remove the epidural, because I would need to push.
Sadly, but thankfully, it was only when, unbeknown to me, my son was crowning and in distress that the midwife happened to look in for a check. I had to have an emergency episiotomy and an emergency forceps delivery, which resulted in me having a really severe post-partum haemorrhage, and I nearly died. I remember looking at my new baby in the arms of his father and thinking, “They’re safe; I can go now,” and then I blacked out.
My second son was an extremely large baby, at almost 11 lb, but this was not picked up and he basically got stuck—
He was a whopper; he still is a whopper. It caused long-term damage to my pelvis but, worse, he has had to battle his entire life with learning difficulties caused by a lack of oxygen at his birth. He was a floppy, quiet baby, and at 18 months he was diagnosed with, among other things, hypertonia. All his development was delayed, and he did not walk or speak until he was nearly two. I worked with him, and I am so proud that he kept battling on learning how to learn. Today, at 27 years old, he is training to be a nurse. [Hon. Members: “Hear, hear!”]
It was only during my third pregnancy that I experienced continuity of care, which was wonderful. The ability to build a relationship with my midwife, who stayed with me throughout my pregnancy, labour and beyond, was invaluable. I did not have to go through my story with new people all the time and had someone I came to know and trust by my side. I was lucky enough to experience that and wish more women had that chance.
Despite the benefits of continuity of care, I look back on the pregnancy and birth of my daughter with mixed emotions, because there should have been two of them. Very early in that pregnancy I again started to bleed. I bled with my first son and ended up spending a week in hospital, with people saying to me, “Don’t worry, it’s very early on; you’ll have another baby.” I lay still for a week, I did not breathe, and I kept him. But this time I started to bleed again, and I miscarried my daughter’s twin. I did not know how to feel or how to grieve, while having to put all my efforts into sustaining my pregnancy, fearful every day that I would lose the baby I still carried. I was lucky that my beautiful daughter was born safe and healthy, but that loss never goes away. With each milestone, I reflect on how they should be celebrating together. There should be two of them.