Jess’s story
I had a healthy pregnancy until I reached 36 weeks, when a late growth scan found the baby was on the bigger side, yet I was surprised that no monitoring after this was carried out. I went into labour nine days before my due date. I was then repeatedly turned away from the hospital, despite describing increasing levels of pain to the staff.
I was eventually admitted as my blood pressure was high. I was given medication to bring it down as well as gas and air, which did nothing for the excruciating pain I was experiencing. I was beginning to have real qualms about the lack of compassion from staff; they weren’t making an effort to listen to me in any way and I was simply left to my own devices for a substantial amount of time.
The poor communication we initially experienced became a theme, as when I finally got taken through to a room several hours later, we were met with a cold, disengaged midwife who barely spoke and seemed reluctant to engage with me on any level; instead she had quiet conversations with other members of staff who entered the room. Without seeking my consent, during a supposedly routine examination, the midwife broke my waters. This led to dire consequences.
It was months later in a birth debrief we found out that her breaking my waters had caused me to haemorrhage. It was also identified that the machine monitoring my baby’s heartrate showed that he was recovering more slowly every time his heartrate dropped, which continued to happen through my labour – but despite these life-threatening issues and clear signs something was wrong nobody did anything.
After many failed attempts at pushing, it was obvious the baby had moved as my bump was all over to the left-hand side, and a consultant was finally called in to examine me. The consultant was clearly very concerned as more people rushed into the room. I was given an ultrasound scan. This showed the baby had indeed moved and that my pushing had been to no avail.
I was 10cm dilated and starting to feel really panicked, as well as being in a lot of pain. It was at this stage they talked me into having an epidural. It was clear the staff knew something wasn’t right. They were trying to manoeuvre me into all sorts of positions. I felt like I had lost any authority over my own body as I was made to sit up while having contractions and then staff forced me to keep still without any explanation why. I was then made to lie down and again told to push. Staff were shouting at me “push, push, push”, but without any guidance or reassurance. Still nothing – I felt utterly useless at this stage and as though I was somehow doing this all wrong.
After several failed attempts, they hit the emergency button and I was taken to theatre. It was like a horror film. So many people were in the theatre, prodding me, moving me, jabbing me. Three attempts at using the suction cup failed. Then I was given an episiotomy and doctors attempted a forceps delivery to get the baby out. First try – nothing. Second try – nothing. Third try, the head was born. But the body was stuck. It was only now, after 17 hours, that staff recognised shoulder dystocia. Staff had to urgently perform manoeuvres to get the body out. It’s just seven minutes before it’s game over.
Two consultants were roughly pulling at the forceps which were gripped to the baby’s head, one midwife had her hand up me trying to dislodge the shoulder and another midwife was jumping on my stomach, literally jumping. It was completely brutal – where were the fairy lights, the gentle music?! This was nothing short of barbaric.
I lay there, just a vessel having procedures carried out – with no having a clue what was happening. I felt detached as I stared at all these people as they panicked trying to get my baby out. Six long horrendous minutes later, he was born at 2:45am. No sound, no cry, pale and floppy. They held him up so we could see him but then he was whisked across the room. He was completely unresponsive. He had used his four minutes of reserve oxygen so went two minutes without.
Meconium was suctioned from his airway because he had pooed inside me also – increasing the risk of infection. Inflation and ventilation breaths were administered, then CPR. This went on for minutes. No response. The baby then gasped for breath and a breathing tube was inserted 22 minutes after he was born. I had no idea this was happening. There were so many people in the room I couldn’t even see my baby. At 30 minutes he was taken to special care. I was then stitched up and in theatre for a further 1.5 hours after as I had lost so much blood. I looked to the left of me and could see pots of blood everywhere.
My husband thought he was going to lose both of us. Communication was vague during the whole labour with him & Mum barely being told what was happening. My Mum thought I had pre-eclampsia and they weren’t doing anything about my blood pressure continuing to raise apart from giving me a tablet.
My husband stayed with our baby, who we’d called Jax, the whole time. I was taken to the recovery ward. I was shaking & my body went into shock but I was told I couldn’t have a drink or any food. The matron of the ward came to see me straight away and put her hand on my leg to stop it from shaking. She was with another consultant who said we’re sorry for what’s happened and it’s all going to be looked into. At this point I had no idea what she meant. I had no idea – where was my baby, was he even alive? Why are you saying this? My Mum had to intervene at this point; she asked them to stop and come back later. I was completely unaware of the severity of what had happened. The hospital staff told me that it was all going to be investigated by another health and safety company who have to investigate births that have transpired in particular ways, and Jax met the criteria – unresponsive, pale & floppy, without oxygen, I learned he had experienced seizures and in order to minimise any potential for brain injury, he urgently required cooling treatment. I couldn’t even take any of this in at that moment.
Shortly after they went, the first midwife I’d had put her head round the curtain, smirked at me and said, “I knew he would be big.” That moment will stay with me forever. If she had known this, why did she let all this happen? She hadn’t done anything for us during the entire time she was on shift apart from break my waters without consent, leading to this terrible chain of events, write notes and repeatedly tell us how she was counting down the minutes until she could go home. I make no apology in describing her behaviour towards us as truly horrible.
I was also frightened to be told that while he was in special care, Jax had a seizure. Although doctors said he recovered from it well, he went on to have another. We were told he had to be transferred to another hospital for cooling treatment. This is where the body temperature is reduced to help prevent any brain damage and further seizures happening. Babies are sedated and placed into an induced coma while the body temperature is reduced for a period of time. They are then gradually warmed up over five days. Staff arrived from King’s in London and Jax had another seizure while they were getting him ready. The cooling treatment was started immediately and they were ready to leave. My husband had to ask if I could see him. At this stage I still hadn’t even seen my baby, let alone held him. I was given 30 seconds to look, but could barely see him as he was wrapped up and covered in wires.
After 12 hours on the recovery ward with other mums and their babies, staff finally fulfilled their promise and I was, at last, given a private room. My heart was ripped out. I’d had this baby, he’s now in a hospital an hour away and I’m left in this room alone.
I couldn’t move, and all I could do was lie there thinking of the worst. What is going to happen to my baby? Instead of updating and reassuring me as to Jax’s condition, staff came to me to say that the nurse at King’s has asked if I was breastfeeding… how was this possible?
There were so many things wrong with this question. And it was the last thing on my mind at this point as my baby was in a coma and on a sugar drip –ß unable to be fed. The pressure I now felt was huge. I already felt helpless enough and now I’d been made to feel like I should somehow be breastfeeding my baby who was an hour away from me. What a failure. I was in the absolute depths of despair.
I asked one of the midwives if I could have some help to start the breastmilk gathering process. The lady was so lovely and I will be forever grateful to her. She helped me and expressed surprise I was even attempting it. Neither of us could believe I managed to get some colostrum given the situation, and that Jax wasn’t even with me to make my milk come in.
I remember the feeling of isolation as I sat there in this room, expressing milk for my husband to take to the other hospital in tubes. They froze the milk until Jax could actually be fed. While I was doing this each day I was in the other hospital, my husband was asked again by one of the nurses if I was expressing. The nurse told him that if I wasn’t, Jax wouldn’t have any milk available at that hospital for when he came off his drip… Again, the communication was so poor; and staff don’t realise how damaging their words can be. To place that pressure on myself and my husband by saying things that felt like veiled threats are completely out of order.
My care was terrible and I felt abandoned and forgotten about. I would ring my buzzer and no one would come. Medication was persistently missed. Over the course of three days I repeatedly asked for my cannula to be taken out, I wasn’t hooked up to anything or receiving IV medication, but all my requests were ignored. When it was finally done it was removed so carelessly that my hand burst open and blood spilled everywhere.
After day five, I asked to be discharged as they weren’t doing anything for me. I was told I needed to wait for results as they thought I had an infection. This was total news to me, I had no idea as no-one had communicated anything about my care to or with me. So this delayed me getting to Jax for another day. The test results came back and I thankfully didn’t have an infection, so I left the next day. Day six. I was promised a transfer to King’s hospital to recover there so I could at least be wheeled to ICU to see Jax. This never happened.
After five days in intensive care having cooling treatment, Jax was then warmed up and opened his eyes, and he was so poorly he couldn’t even be cuddled. He also had severe lacerations on his face, head and neck from the forceps, as well as blisters on his head. King’s had asked our permission to take photos of his cuts and marks on his head.
The forceps had caused two large dents on his face which years later; he still has to this day, along with a scar on his nose. Even now people ask what he has done to his face and this brings it all flooding back.
We were allowed to hold him after six days. Even this magical moment of holding our baby for the first time felt somehow tainted by the poor attitude from staff. The midwife was changing the sheets of his incubator, and asked us, “Do you want to hold him?” as though we were somehow doing her a favour and getting him out of her way. Not the fact that this was our son who we haven’t even met properly yet. This whole time had been spent staring through an incubator, holding his hand. Feeling hopeless, helpless and frightened.
During this time Jax had 11 different medications, MRI scans, a lumbar puncture and numerous tests on his brain. After 10 days, we were allowed to take him home. No advice given, no guidance if he were to have a seizure again. No aftercare plan. No consideration to what we’d been though or the potential impact it might have had on our mental health. We were absolutely petrified.
Jax had also been diagnosed with Erb’s Palsy – nerve damage down his right shoulder and arm due to being stuck. The aftercare he received was minimal. A few physio sessions and that was it. The whole experience had left me so traumatised, I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression and prescribed Sertraline after going to the doctors just three weeks after we got home. This was the extent of the mental health support we received. We were not offered any further help, there was nothing for my husband who had gone through this trauma too, knowing he almost lost both of us. We were told to get private counselling if we needed to… which we couldn’t afford.
Not long after being home Jax developed chronic reflux which was terrible. He also wouldn’t settle or stay asleep. We sought help from an osteopath who noted all the things Jax still struggled with, making it so hard for him to just be a newborn baby and do the simple things like eat and sleep. His nervous system was manic and his cranial system was “buzzy” whereas a newborn’s should be calm. This was due to the trauma he suffered to his head.
His stomach and diaphragm were tight and not stretched out like it should have been. This was due to him not taking his first breath himself and all the intervention that took place. We wanted to do anything we could to help our son, so we took Jax to this osteopath once a week for over six months, until Covid meant they had to close. This cost a small fortune, we couldn’t afford to pay for therapy for ourselves, but, like any parent. we would move heaven and earth to make sure our son had the very best possible care.
During these months we were contacted by the company tasked with investigating the way the NHS had handled Jax’s birth. They were going to produce a report on exactly what had happened, why, and what could have been done differently in order to ensure this didn’t happen again.
But it still happened to us. And no investigation could take that pain away.
Phone calls, emails and even a home visit, going through everything we could remember. We were recorded talking about the birth and asked questions relating to the birth. It was awful and incredibly retraumatising, being forced to relive it all and recount every detail we could remember. Added pressure that we really did not need at this time, and there was no psychological support implemented or offered during this process. We were, once again, just being told what we needed to do.
Months later we received the report. We have grave concerns that it states that almost everything that happened was in line with the NHS guidelines…. I won’t comment on that part any further only to say that it is truly worrying.
The days were long and the nights even longer; we tried everything to help with the reflux. Feeding became a marathon and again I felt a failure. Some days I wouldn’t want to leave the house. In line with my experience of labour, we were turned away from the hospital twice until the paediatrician eventually prescribed Omeprazole for Jax. He was on this medication for six months until weaning.
The whole journey was a nightmare and this will always stay with us. We will never get over this or fully recover. Jax is and always was a fighter. He is now five years old and thriving, and whilst we are forever grateful for our little boy, his birth and the postnatal care we received will always leave a scar on my heart and a lifelong impact on my mental wellbeing.
