BIRTH STORIES

"Forever Lost"

If you took less time thinking about
What I did or didn't say and
What I did or didn't do
And spent more time thinking about
WHY I did what I did and
Said what I said
You'd perhaps see the underlying pain
That is deep in my heart.
Do you recall that moment when you first saw your baby?
That timeless moment when a mother meets her baby
And all the emotions envelop you?
Well that pure joy and wonder
You felt for that perfect little being
Was not felt by me.
At a time when I should be overcome with awe and love
All this was replaced with bewilderment, numbness and shock.
The emotions I saw in my husbands' face and eyes,
My family and friends' faces and eyes
Was not reflected in mine.
And that hurt me deeply.
I was angry that they could feel so much more joy than I could.
Can you imagine what that would be like to feel nothing
At a time when you should feel everything?
Those precious moments/minutes/hours/days/weeks
Can never be replaced.
They are forever lost.
So forgive me if the pain of seeing what I missed out on
Prevents me from being the person you want me to be.
Prevents me from doing and saying things that you want me to.
Forgive me when my pain envelopes me and
I shut down to protect myself.
Some things hurt too much to pretend that they don't.
Perhaps our friendship did not turn out as you expected.
Perhaps it was not meant to be.
I'm sorry for being unable to share your excitement and joy
At the birth of your child
My grief is still raw.
So appreciate what you have had -
Because that special time will forever be yours.
For me
It is something that I will never recapture with Sam.
Just as you will never forget how it was for you
That first time you saw and held your baby,
I too will never forget how it was for me.
So hopefully now you will be able to understand abit more
About my responses and reactions.
They say that time heals
So I will go on each day??..waiting
For the pain to lessen
For the grief to ease.

By Ursula - July 2003

"Again - PTSD"

When I was 16 years old, I started a relationship with a man. This relationship continued for 7 years. During that time there was extreme violence and emotional abuse. My soul was whittled down to pretty much a zombie like state. In September 1995 I gave birth to my daughter. During the pregnancy the violence and abuse continued, and certainly after the birth as well. However, life was not about me anymore, it was about my daughter, and the strength to leave came very easily. My daughter was 7 months old when I finally walked out the door for good. I moved into a house with no furniture, crockery, cutlery or appliances - nothing. All I had was my daughter's belongings, my bed and dresser, and our clothes. Due to the generosity of friends and family however we persuaded my daughter's father to give us the washing machine and microwave, and the other things like a fridge, heater, crockery and cutlery were all loaned or given to me.

Life moved on and when my daughter was 2 years old, we made the move to the big city. Life was to take on a whole new level of stress, as we adjusted to city life and I tried to support us. Three years down the track, when my daughter was 5 years old, my current husband and I began our relationship. All of a sudden I started feeling anxious at times. I was terrified that because I had missed the warning signs of abuse before, and had been so controlled before, that this time I had to be extra vigilant to detect any possible warnings. I wasn't sure what exactly I should be looking for.

I mentioned my anxiety and moodiness to my GP, who referred me to a psychologist. I had previously told my GP of the past relationship, as I was also suffering health issues as a result of the abuse. She felt it was time I dealt with the issues from the past.

On my first visit to my psychologist, I was very nervous and "direct" for want of a better word. I explained to her I did not wish sit there and tell her my whole story and every episode of abuse etc? I just wanted to deal with the present anxiety I was feeling. She very gently coaxed information out of me, and asked me a series of questions. Finally she told me I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I was shell shocked - I thought it was something only the Vietnam Vets got. Once she told me the symptoms, I felt like a lightbulb had been turned on in my head. Where for years I thought my personality had changed, I now knew that it was infact symptomatic of a condition called PTSD. Through cognitive therapy I learnt to deal with my PTSD, in fact I believe that because I was now "safe", and by that I mean a loving wonderful husband, I could move on and really focus on myself for once. I believe by the time I was diagnosed I was through the worst of PTSD.

Several years later my husband and I lost two babies (both prebirth). The second baby we lost on the due date of the first baby - which seemed to increase the grief tenfold. During this time we were going through a court case with my ex partner regarding my now 7 year old daughter. This of course was extremely painful, not only as a mother trying to protect her child, but as an abused women now having to relive a part of my life I thought I was over. The PTSD returned, along with all the nightmares etc. I remember clearly one day, that I felt I had regressed so far back, that the feeling of being all alone again in that horrible house was all too real.

During this time my uncle passed away. I found his death extremely upsetting as I was very close to him and adored him. It was a huge shock.

During all of this I successfully fell pregnant again. However along with it came the 24hr nausea and vomiting, daily fainting etc.. Then I started pre-laboring, and from then point on we were preparing ourselves for a premature baby. Whilst in my 28th week of pregnancy, I awoke one morning in a pool of blood. We arranged to meet my midwife at hospital, whereby I was then transferred to another hospital by ambulance. Once there, after a series of scans they diagnosed vasa previa. Vasa previa is a rare condition, affecting only few pregnancies. We had never heard of vasa previa, and the medical team I was under, due to the rarity of the condition, also were at first indecisive about my care and what needed to be done. The mortality rates for this type of pregnancy are very high. We were terrified. All of the new information resulted in my admittance to hospital until the birth of the baby. This turned out to be two long months. The hospital was not exactly "comfortable" and the conditions were at times nothing short of depressing. Due to my condition, there was often a lot of panic amongst the nursing staff when I would haemorrhage. This repeated haemorrhaging went on, and each time I was terrified, until the appropriate tests were taken and we were assured the baby was OK. After a large haemorrhage one night, I was rushed into theatre for an emergency c-section. Initially we started off with a spinal block, however all of a sudden I started reacting. I was fully awake during this time, and I truly felt I was dying. I could not breathe - it was horrible. Due to the rush to get the baby out, no-one actually stopped to tell me whether it was the baby's blood I was loosing (part of the vasa previa condition), or my own.

They immediately put me under general anaesthetic and delivered my daughter. She was rushed to NICU, where she spent the next three days. However considering her prematurity she was in a very stable and pleasing state.

The whole experience felt extremely artificial. When I awoke, I was told I had given birth to a girl, and was then handed a photograph. My baby was no where to be seen, and the whole thing was almost unbelievable - I wasn't sure if I was awake or dreaming.

Later on I was taken down in NICU in my bed to see my daughter - and at the risk of sounding callous, the could have handed me any child. I felt no bond with this baby, and didn't even think she looked anything like either my husband or myself. For the next three days she stayed in NICU, and I stayed four floors up in my hospital room. I would visit as often as I could, but due to my c-section, this turned out to be only once or twice on a good day. All I had with me was my photo of a baby the hospital were telling me was mine.

As I started to try and get my baby breastfeeding the flashbacks were starting to happen again. Yet this time they seemed more intense and more real and would sometimes cause a physical jolt in me. I wasn't sure at the time whether my PTSD was returning, or whether the painkillers I was on were playing funny games with me. As time went on I knew it was my PTSD. It seemed to be ever present again, although my coping skills this time were in force and the impact of the return of PTSD was not overwhelming, although it was upsetting. How wrong I was.

Four days later I finally left the hospital. I was struggling incredibly. During the time in hospital I had lived in a heightened state of alert, where if I even spotted a speck of blood, felt unwell or anything, I rang the emergency bell and then the big drama would ensue.

However I was home now. My baby had finally arrived and she was alive and healthy, I was finally OK - we had made it. And yet I felt nothing. I was finally eating nice food, I was able to do as I please, however I could not come off that heightened state of alertness. I could not come to grips with the fact that I could now drive again, I could sleep in the same bed as my husband again, I could kiss my seven year old daughter good night again - it all seemed so surreal, and I couldn't understand why I was struggling to come to terms with it, when it should have all been wonderful.

Five short weeks later, whilst still in a state of limbo, my beloved father passed away suddenly. Up until then I had convinced myself I could continue to deal with the stress, the court case was still going on, however I still felt invincible and somewhat thought I was in control. But when I got the phone call regarding my father's death that all changed in an instant. Something had changed in me. I knew then that life had changed forever, and for the first time in many many years, I questioned whether I had the strength to get through it. My father's death has crippled me in many ways. He was my hero, my god. I idolised him and craved his attention in every way, I hung on his every word. Now this man was gone.

Three weeks later I suffered an acute anxiety attack, led by another, another and then another. They continued on and seemed to run into one. All the skills I had learned in therapy were not working, and I could not control the anxiety. One attack lasted 48 hours, and this is when my breakdown occurred. Anxiety, depression, grief and PTSD all hit me with one huge bang. I had an incredible desperation for it all to end - I could not tolerate it. The world had changed, it was scary and lonely. I was also physically sick, in reaction to the new medication. I could not eat or drink, I had vomiting and diarrhoea. It was the worst four days of my life. I did not feel I possessed any strength at all - it had all died within me.

That was four months ago.

Today I am on cloud nine - living life to the full. Daily life is of course still a battle most days, but it is a battle I enjoy. I am rising to the challenge life has presented me with. I am going to be the best I can be, the best mother, the best wife, the best friend and daughter. One thing I have learnt and taught myself to believe is that, through all of this, I am still normal. If I have a bad day - is it grief, is it depression, it is PTSD ??? - who cares, I will just do what I do to get through the day, remembering that even though it may be a difficult day - it is still a normal day, I am a normal person and life is still a wonderful gift.

I was not officially re-diagnosed with PTSD during the birth of my second daughter, however I know it returned. However as quickly as it returned, the worst has just as quickly disappeared.

I have, since the abuse began, blocked out a lot of the real trauma, and still to this day I cannot remember a lot it, however I am happy with that - I don't see the need, or the feel the need to remember such awful events. My body and mind have done me a huge favour and locked them away - hopefully forever.

"Rollercoaster Ride"

My daughter is 10 months old. The days since she was born have been like a rollercoaster ride that has only just ended. The ride was so frightening that I seriously doubted my ability to survive. I didn't know it until she was five months old, but I was suffering from post traumatic stress disorder relating to my pregnancy and birth. It was difficult to understand as physically I enjoyed a 'normal' pregnancy and birth, but for some reason, once she was born, surviving turned into a struggle like I had never experienced.

The tasks of eating, sleeping, making phone calls and running errands seemed insurmountable. I felt so anxious that I could barely breathe, and any reminder of my pregnancy or birth felt like a giant wave knocking me off my feet and leaving me gasping for air. The biggest challenge was to protect myself from reminders as I couldn't be sure when or where they would appear. Talk of pregnancy, birth or midwives were triggers as was any visit to a doctor or hospital. With the help of a kind GP, regular sessions with a clinical psychologist, and treatment from a psychiatrist, I came to understand how my suffering had been triggered by abysmal care during my pregnancy and birth and, more importantly, that I could recover.

My sympathetic psychiatrist was hugely helpful; it was plain that she understood my distress and she had good ideas for possible treatments. I guess I had half-expected to be dismissed as over-anxious given that I had a gorgeous, healthy baby, but she helped me to understand that my experience of repeated abandonment by midwives, and sub-standard care during labour and birth, was understandably upsetting. And that feeling as though I had been frozen into the horror of the experience was a syndrome called PTSD.

I accepted her offer to try a therapy called EMDR (eye movement desensitization reprocessing) and can happily report that it worked wonders. Just three sessions and I felt as though I had unlocked the door to life. For the first seven months after giving birth, I felt as though I was stuck in my pregnancy and my baby's life was going on without me, but after three sessions of EMDR I was able to look at my daughter and feel her being with me.

The psychological sessions helped, too. In those I worked on becoming more confident and assertive, issues which at first I thought were irrelevant but gradually came to understand how they had contributed to my vulnerability to PTSD.

The psychiatrist was also able to make a referral to a specialist who understands PTSD. My husband and I will meet her soon, the idea being that if we do decide to have another baby, we will feel from the very beginning that good care is available to us.

I can't tell you how grateful I am for the wonderful help I have had from the psychiatrist, the psychologist, the GP, and TABS. I truly feel as though mine and my baby's lives have been saved. We are so happy now and, I feel, living proof that anyone can overcome PTSD.

"Roz's Story"

I set up the birthtrauma.co.uk site in order to come into contact with women with similar experiences to mine. After I complained about the birth to the hospital responsible I was treated with surface courtesy and then dismissed. Their attitude seemed to be one of, “all right you've had your say, we've been patient, now go away and let us get on with our jobs and if the same thing happens again, well so what.” I didn't get any answers from them. I had to spend hours pouring over books aimed at the medical profession just to figure out what happened.

What I found most distressing and frightening was that my baby was born suffering from the classic effects of foetal distress, and yet the midwife who attended the birth told me there was nothing wrong and I could go home. Had I gone home and my baby had choked as she did, I would not have been able to resuscitate her, as the doctor who helped us used a tube to clear her airway passage. I felt I could not just walk away from this experience and forget it, hence my web-site.

The response I have had has helped me a great deal in coming to terms with my ordeal. My aim is to make public the experiences that I and the women who have contacted me have had to endure. My ultimate wish is for reform; it does not need masses of money, just a shift in attitude. I am not naive enough to suppose that my web-site will be enough to accomplish this, but it's my little contribution. The downside to having my web-site is that I hear from women whose babies are brain damaged and will never recover, which is another good reason why we need reform. Not only are these women left suffering from the trauma of the birth, they are left with a lifetime of sorrow and what ifs. It simply isn't right.

It took me two and half years to realise that I was suffering from post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and I have just added a section on PTSD to my web-site. What exacerbated the loneliness of my situation and caused me to feel even more alienated was that a couple of the women in my postnatal group were downright nasty and rude about what happened to me, as if I were exaggerating it. I am sure this may be because they themselves have never received any kindness or sympathy, but when one woman turned around and said, “oh who cares what happened to you, it doesn't matter, you're all right now, the first birth's difficult that's all,” I was so upset that I was forced to leave the group and I cried so much on the way home, that I had to stop driving and wait until I'd calmed down.

As soon as I started to ask questions and dig around for the truth of what caused my baby's paediatric polycythaemia people who had previously been sympathetic gave me short shrift. It may be the done thing to look after one's own best interests in this society of ours, but it simply is not right, especially when it is a matter of life and death. I hope that if nothing else, my web-site will at least help people who, like me, have come up against a wall of silence feel less isolated.

"A Baby Dies"

"My PTSD arose from events that occurred over a period of thirty-five days early in 1993. A diagnosis of PTSD was made in November 1997 and my treatment, specifically for PTSD, (EMDR Therapy), commenced in February 1998.

It all began in my 28th week, when my suspicions were confirmed at a scan. YES, I was too big for my dates. "You know you have polyhydramnios" (excess amniotic fluid) said the sonographer. After seeing a specialist, I was to take steroids, to monitor my own size daily, and I should be peaceful and not worry.

Seventeen days later, being huge and no longer able to cope, I went into hospital for what I thought was just an "amnio" and I would go home soon afterwards. I was in fact an acute admission. Totally uninformed about the reality of my situation, I was already in labour and 2cm dilated, our baby girl had a very poor heart trace and she was not moving.

I had an emergency caesarean and our daughter was taken off to NICU. We learnt that she was "the sickest baby up there" and in my heart I knew she was going to die. At 1am, we were taken to NICU, where she deteriorated quickly until just after 6am, when turning off the machines, we held her for the first time as she quickly died. I stayed for 6 days in the post-natal ward.

Once home, I had a nagging feeling that I was not getting better, and in the third week I haemorrhaged. Back to the same postnatal ward, with another set of doctors, I was told I had retained products. Yet another new doctor removed these pieces of placenta with tongs then and there in the room, without much prior warning. "After all you have been through, we think that a D&C is not appropriate." "What does a D&C involve?" I wondered as I lay there.

Back at home I began a steady down-hill slide into blackness. One minute I was pregnant, the next my baby was gone and physically I felt very weak and unwell. I received help from various health professionals, but their focus was on the loss of the baby and my anorexia, whereas I was trying to grapple with all of the events.

By some miracle, I became pregnant 18 months later, despite my being very under weight. I had a physically healthy pregnancy, but in reality I cut myself off at the neck, but not emotionally, and ignored the physical aspect. All I wanted to do was to run away and hide and have the baby. At full term, our second daughter was induced and delivered.

Everything then came flooding back to me. For 20 months I kept a lid on it all until I hit rock bottom. Believing that I was beyond depression, I sought out help for PTSD, something I had heard might be my problem. I wanted to scream at the world, I am NOT depressed, THIS IS SOMETHING DIFFERENT! At last I was getting help for all of the events that had happened, and not just for the loss of my first baby.

During this time, I attended a medical disciplinary tribunal which forced me to "own" the events surrounding what had happened to me. Now it was unmistakably mine and something had to be done about it.

I wanted to be released from the paralysed state I was in. I wanted to cope with my anxiety about ill health, my fear of losing my second daughter and my isolation from other mothers - who were obviously having a much better time than I was!

Two years on, I can breathe the air and actually smell it. I am beyond the destructive tentacles of the trauma, but at times, a tentacle can reach out and grab me, if the circumstances allow or trigger it, but it is never to the intensity that it once was.

My wish is that women get help for PTSD early on in their postnatal care and that all women have the opportunity to talk, talk, talk their birth experience out."

"A Perfect Score"

"My PTSD happened as a result of my birth experience in Sept.1995. I went to my GP in Dec. 1996 when I suspected that I had PND and, after many referrals, and assessments, over a period of three months I was finally diagnosed with PTSD. My treatment included "Cognitive and Behaviour Therapy" and "Exposure and Imagery Reprocessing" and took about six months. My baby was now 2 years old.

It all began when I was admitted to hospital with toxaemia at 39 weeks, and I was under the care of the hospital "team." I was induced at midday. Things got moving right away with what felt like bad period pains that rapidly increased in severity. I felt pleased that I was "getting on with it."

I had been told I would be examined six-hourly. The doctor finally appeared at 8pm and said she would meet me in delivery suite to break my waters because of the severity of my toxaemia. I never saw her again!!

When I arrived at delivery suite three other women were in the process of giving birth so breaking my waters was put on hold for the time being. They were one midwife short and there was no-one around to help me. My midwife was having a frantic time, but she popped in now and again to monitor the baby. She was unaware of my toxaemia.

Twelve hours after being induced I still hadn't been examined, but I felt that I was progressing well as the contractions were long and hard.

At 1am my midwife was finally free to break my waters. The look of surprise on her face said it all. I hadn't dilated at all!! She wasn't able to break my waters and rushed off to get a doctor. I felt totally crushed. I was exhausted and so angry that they had taken so long to attend to me.

A doctor came and broke my waters. Already the pain was unbearable and now it skyrocketed to extreme without warning or acknowledgement. I was given an epidural, which was poorly managed and I see-sawed between pain-free oblivion and full-blown contractions.

I felt as if the staff were oblivious to my feelings, as if they were just remotely doing their jobs. It seemed like an endless stream of people doing things to me and they were all strangers.

I had a shift change just prior to delivery. The new midwife seemed inexperienced and couldn't find gloves of the right size let alone keep track of the baby's heartbeat.

After an hour or so of trying to push I was offered forceps. I was whisked into stirrups and my epidural was topped up, but not given enough time to work properly, nor was it checked. I felt the cut, the forceps going in and my body tearing as they pulled the baby out. I screamed long and loud. I was congratulated for how 'quickly and easily" he came out and he scored a perfect 10! The worst thing was that nobody acknowledged that I had had a bad time. Everybody was so pleased it had gone so well and that he was such a healthy baby! I felt as if I'd been raped!

Back home, after 3 months of painful breast-feeding troubles, I began having flash backs of the delivery, reliving all the terror and pain. I withdrew, lost all self-confidence and gradually lost my temper until I began to lose control. I felt trapped in someone else's body. I didn't know the person I'd become. I believed I was such a bad person. I was terrified to be left alone with my baby in case I lost control.

Eventually I suspected that perhaps I was suffering from depression and that with help I could be cured. A huge turning point came when I was finally diagnosed with PTSD. I wanted to shout it from the roof-tops. Treatment was a rough journey but I got my life back and I am a much stronger person for it.

My wish is that information about PTSD, as a result of childbirth, is widely available and that health professionals and care-givers are aware of how their actions can impact on a woman's life and on her family. One small mistake by one person may be a whole chain of events for the woman."

"Multiple Births"

"My first pregnancy was twins. I was told I had to go under the care of the high risk "team." I saw different staff at each visit and any concerns I had were discounted as "nothing to worry about." Getting two staff members to agree on any one thing proved impossible. Their solution to my increasing inability to get through the day was to "have a cuppa."

The abdominal cramps that came nightly for the last 9 weeks of my pregnancy were also "nothing to worry about" and are not even recorded on my records despite my obvious concern and increasing exhaustion. Finally, I was hospitalised at 38 weeks, physically and mentally exhausted.

It was then that I was told that Twin 1 had been a cause for concern on two or three occasions - no-one had thought it necessary to inform me or to give me advice as to what I could do to help him.

Initially it was decided that I would be induced, however my need for sleep after surviving on four and a half hours of broken sleep a night, was greater than my need to evict my babies. I averaged four sleeping pills during the course of a night, thanks to the continuing abdominal cramps.

During my time in hospital Twin 1 became my least active baby. This too was "nothing to worry about" so no scan was done. In fact, following their birth it became apparent that they had starved for at least a week. At 40 weeks I was induced. The cramps were now called Teutonic Contractions and why hadn't I rung the bell?!!

It was a managed labour with little or no information given to either my husband or myself. Neither was consent ever sort for procedures carried out. At one point an internal examination was carried out without my first emptying my bladder. The resulting pain meant it was "time for an epidural."

Once the epidural was in place, I started to lose it. The contractions slowed, my blood pressure dropped, in went the syntocinon, on went the oxygen mask. Twin 1 caused concern on and off, but nothing was done. Pain free for the first time in weeks, I drifted in and out of sleep. I lost track of time and reality and because monitors don't show that, nobody noticed.

The epidural was allowed to wear off as I slept, oblivious to everything. Then, after struggling all day, Twin 1 stopped breathing. I was dragged back to consciousness as my feet were thrust into the stirrups. I was aware of a sea of strange faces, bright lights in my face and pain.

I disassociated myself at that point and exhaustion once more got the better of me. My husband's job was to wake me with each contraction to push the baby far enough down to get a ventouse on to his head. I heard the tone of his voice but couldn't make out the words. I had no strength to ask what was wrong. Finally, there was nothing left. I felt myself give up. My husband registered what was happening with obvious concern. Fortunately, the ventouse was on.

My husband woke me again and pointed across the room to what seemed like miles away. Someone was holding a black baby up by the ankles,(Twin 1.) I drifted off again to be woken by someone asking if I wanted to hold some baby, (Twin 2.) I didn't. I woke 3 hours later in a quiet room with the lights dimmed. My husband sat "miles away" holding a baby, apparently my 2nd son.

It was so surreal. I was told this was my son, that I had another in SCBU, yet inside it felt like my babies had ceased to exist. So much for celebrating the birth of our babies!!

My nightmare continued on the postnatal ward. Twin 1 was returned to me 24 hours later with the words "I believe this is yours" - screaming. He has screamed ever since. He has high functioning autism, most likely caused by oxygen deprivation prior to birth.

Twin 2 screamed from day 3 with "colic". Both children were under care of the paeds. Every day they came in, woke my sleeping babies by jabbing needles into their heels and then walked out leaving me with two screaming babies. Once home, the visiting midwife and Plunket nurse assured me everything was normal. On most visits they would find me in tears and left me in the same state. Within 6 weeks I was 3kg lighter than my pre- pregnancy weight. I didn't eat or sleep. Family members told me to "pull myself together."

At six weeks I stopped trying to breastfeed my babies as a third breast infection set in. Postnatal depression followed - again, unnoticed by most people. I don't remember when the nightmares started. I could never break free from them and would be completely numb and unable to cope the following day. My daughter, born two and a half years later was the one who finally woke me from these. They were full of dead babies and faces from my time in hospital with my twins. My sense of unresolved grief remained, though at the time, due to the amnesia, it made no sense at all. Emotionally I was a wreck.

Second time round the pregnancy was physically easy but emotionally traumatic. My midwife knew nothing of PTSD or it's very obvious signs. The day before my daughter's birth, we saw a hospital consultant. Despite my obvious distress (shaking and crying), he tried to insist on an induction if baby was overdue. Finally he backed down. Going into labour that night, I waited five hours before giving my midwife a ring. It was a seven and a half hour labour. She insisted I woke my husband. I was exhibiting all the classic signs of PTSD, but no one knew what was wrong. My husband was asked to ring for an ambulance. When it arrived the officers walked in and my world collapsed. Suddenly I was back in the delivery room surrounded by strangers and reliving the nightmare - only this time I was screaming.

When my daughter was six months old, and my twins were three, a diagnosis of PTSD was finally made. I had had every symptom that was listed on the diagnostic criteria. Some were still very prevalent.

Somehow we stayed together. Then came a third pregnancy - twins again and the fear of having go to back to the same hospital was overwhelming. I miscarried them both within four days of each other. The good thing that came from that experience was my determination that I would have another child and that no one would be given the opportunity to harm that child or myself!

My fourth pregnancy was another twin pregnancy. I miscarried one, leaving one very small wee bairn who caused concern by failing to grow. Growth scans and doctors appointments became the norm. I cancelled life to help him grow and to avoid a hospital birth.

The birth plan, recorded with help of a Mental Health professional was watertight. Baby would be born at home or by c-section . If under the paed, only one paed would have access to my baby and that paed had to be a parent. At 41 ½ weeks, I went for a scan to check our wee man. He had flipped transverse!! The PTSD, that I had managed to keep in some sort of check, kicked in with a vengeance!

I did not speak to anyone. I was numb to the core, trying desperately to maintain some control. I started shaking as the spinal was administered. My midwife kept talking to me though, again, it was the tone of her voice and not the words I heard. Again, I was pointed in the direction of someone holding a baby - this time my husband. Again, I was told, this is your baby. Again I was in shock, covered with a mountain of blankets unable to get warm. The nightmares started the next day and as before they come and go.

I have no regrets putting myself through this last pregnancy. The care, support and understanding I was given meant that I came through it all feeling safer and more able to cope than previously. PTSD never completely goes away. It's a life sentence you have to learn to work around. You can't buy back the past but you can, with help, learn to enjoy life again. Support, understanding and a quick and accurate diagnosis are paramount. Better still - appropriate care so it doesn't occur unnecessarily in the first place!! "

10 years on.

My life is back on track, although the nightmares continue from time to time. I have learn not to fear them but to work my life around them. I have learnt the value and importance of self care and that has brought about a calmer, happier family.

I'd like to thank all those who over the years have listened and supported me through dealing with the injustice of my situation and to Cheryl Beck for giving me the opportunity to talk not so much about the events but the effects of living with P.T.S.D. on a daily basis.

Kia Kaha [Be strong]

"Another Country"

"I have a daughter born in 1991 and a son born in 1996. I am a doctor and my daughter was born in the Papua New Guinea hospital where I had been working. I enjoyed the work and liked the people.

Unfortunately they had a 1950s attitude to maternity care - as long as mother and baby survive, what are you complaining about? I had a 33 hour O.P. labour, no emotional support from hospital staff, lots of syntocinon cranked up at regular intervals with no regard for how much pain I was in, some pethidine given in a horrible stop-start manner, and a very late epidural. Delivery was by ventouse with a large episiotomy. My consent was not asked for the ventouse or the episiotomy and I felt as if I'd been raped. Once I'd had the epidural it felt like it was not me giving birth, it was the hospital staff. They proudly presented me with this baby as if I'd had nothing to do with producing her. Arriving in the postnatal ward in the evening, I was left to care for my baby through the night even though I'd had no sleep for two days, and for some reason they refused to show me how to breastfeed until the next day.

I think the main trauma was not the nasty long O.P. labour but the fact that no-one acknowledged what I was going through. In fact, the staff seemed to be quite vindictive and blamed me for the slow labour. (I was an elderly primip at age 32!) They truly seemed to enjoy the fact that I was having a hard time. I had grown up in an abusive family; it took from age 19 when I left home, to age 31 to develop enough trust in the world to believe I would be taken care of when having a baby. Then, the care wasn't there and all my old feelings of vulnerability and poor self-esteem were triggered.

After my baby was born, any mention of birth set me off in a panic attack, (although I didn't recognise these as such.) I couldn't stop remembering the birth. It was like a videotape playing over in my head. I slept poorly and had nightmares and I was tired all the time. I was anxious and over-protective of the baby but her demands made me irritable and I found it hard to love her - which seemed strange, as she was gorgeous. My husband was traumatised too and dealt with it by trying to forget about the birth rather than talk it through - this is a common reaction amongst men. The final trauma occurred a week after the birth when I realised that my husband NEVER wanted to discuss it. EVER!. I had no-one else to "debrief" with. I felt that I was a terrible person for needing to complain.

When we had settled back in NZ, I found my own private psychotherapist. Going cold into the public system and having to explain and "beg" for some kind of help would have been just too hard. Lots of listening and some psychodrama put paid to the panic attacks and the intrusive memories.

For my second birth I took along a large team of support people and it was a positive and healing experience. Birth is supposed to be full of joy, and if the joy isn't there, it CAN'T be a neutral experience.

I still carry grief because my first birth was cold, technical and unsupported and my husband wouldn't talk about it and there was no-one to share the joy. That was a terrible loss and it can never be replaced."

"After Birth!"

"My baby was born at 12.45 am on Sunday the 2nd of April, just missing April Fool's Day (although it may as well have been) after three days of alternating back and stomach cramps. On the Saturday morning the pain in my back became so bad that I contacted my midwife who suggested meeting her down at the Delivery Suite at 4 pm as I was three days "overdue" by that stage. When there, she performed a "stretch and sweep" after telling me that I had actually reached five centimetres dilation by that stage even though I had had no contractions. After the procedure she sent me home to do something like take a long walk to hopefully bring on some contractions. This I did and yes, the contractions started at five minutes apart.

At 8.30 pm, after sending our first daughter to Nana and Grandad's, we went back to the hospital. My waters were ruptured at 9pm. At 12.45am our beautiful baby daughter arrived via an undiagnosed posterior presentation.

Following her birth the midwife joked about the cord breaking when she was removing it - IT DID! A consultant was phoned. Because it was the middle of the night the consultant couldn't be bothered getting out of bed and gave instructions that a Syntocinon drip was to be started to keep me contracting and the placenta was to be removed manually. This was attempted with only pethidine and gas sedation. It was the most horrific experience I have ever been through in my life. Like having someone try to grab your brain through a pin hole in your small toe! At about 2.30am I suggested that my husband should go home as I "didn't want to make a fuss" in front of him. After he left I told the midwife and consultant's "sidekick" that nearly two hours of them trying to remove the placenta was more than enough and to "go away and leave me alone." At that time the consultant was phoned again and he gave directions that I was to be filled up with pethidine (which made me extremely nauseous) and left until the morning when he would try something else.

After another three hours of lying there with very strong contractions still going on with the Syntocinon, I had the urge to go to the toilet. After nearly passing out on the toilet from the loss of blood and the intensity of the contractions, the placenta popped out, into the toilet bowl. At 6 am the Consultant finally showed his face and basically told me that if he had done a D&C I probably would have "perforated" even though this is the standard management of New Zealand Consultants and I have never heard of it happening. (The consultant concerned was not a New Zealander.) For the first three days our baby screamed and was inconsolable. The midwife thought this was probably due to the high doses of pethidine I had been given.

Four and a half months on and I still can't seem to forget about that night of horrors. I am only now starting to go to bed at the same time as my husband. (I used to stay up so as to avoid any "action" in the bedroom as I could not bear to be touched.) My husband didn't understand, which only made it worse. I will never have any more children after that experience!

I coped not too badly with two children for the first three months, as I kept myself so ridiculously busy that I didn't have time to think about any of it. Then my baby started getting me up twice a night again and I didn't have the energy to keep busy so as to be able to push it all out of my mind. I'm tired, moody, grumpy at my 22 month toddler and probably more than a little bit depressed. However, today I went to my family GP. He is to refer me to someone for some counselling."

17/2/03

After much counselling, catch up sleep and support from friends that I finally "let in", here I am, nearly three years out from that awful night and as I read over what I wrote back in 2000 I shudder and think "was that really me?". The road to recovery was a long one with many days spent thinking about how I could take the easy way out of the nightmare I was living in (suicide) and probably about two and a half years long in retrospect.

I'm happy to say that my life is better now than I thought it would ever be, I have embarked upon a university degree extramurally with great enthusiasm and success, my children have got their mother back in mind as well as body and they now live in a very happy environment. Life couldn't be any better!!"

"Ripped!"

"My pregnancy was normal. I went into labour, 4 days overdue. When my midwife came to my house, I discovered much to my delight, that I was already 7cm dilated. She decided we would go straight to the hospital where I had planned to birth. We arrived at 6.00pm.

At 8.45pm the labour started to get tough. I was given gas. By 10.50pm it took a lot of my energy just to say I couldn't continue. This was noted in my birth notes. At 12.50am (2 hours later) an obstetrician was finally called in.

When the obstetrician arrived I had been pushing for 2 hours with no pain relief. I hadn't been able to talk let alone think for at least the last hour. The obstetrician had to get the baby out quickly, due to my "matured exhaustion", and he believed the baby's heart rate was starting to drop. He could not wait the 30 - 60 minutes for an epidural. All I had was a pudendal block (a local anaesthetic).

I did not feel the cut but as the baby was pulled out with forceps, I felt myself ripping. I screamed the most blood-curdling scream I have ever heard. I later found out I had ripped the depth of ½ the vaginal wall, all the way from vagina to bowel. I then felt 20 of the 30 minutes it took to stitch me up. They gave me back the gas for the stitching, which did dull the pain.

From the minute I was stitched up, I felt I was treated as if I had had a "normal" birth. All I was given for pain relief was Panadol. I even had to ask for an ice pack.

The next morning the obstetrician discharged me to the hospital where I had planned to have my aftercare. At this stage all I knew was that I had a 4th degree tear. I didn't know this was a very serious tear, that my bowel had been ripped & that there was a 50% chance I would become incontinent.

Day 7 after the birth, I burst my stitches while passing a bowel motion. My midwife rang the obstetrician who wasn't concerned. A few days later, the faecal incontinence started. My midwife rang the obstetrician again.

3 weeks after the birth the obstetrician saw me and referred me to a bowel specialist. At this point I felt I was being passed from one person to another. I felt that there was no one person overseeing my care.

7 weeks after the birth I saw the bowel specialist. This was the first time I realised how serious my injury was. I was told there is an operation to repair the damaged bowel muscles but first I had to have tests to see how bad the nerve damage was. If the damage was too great he would not attempt the operation, as it wouldn't work. If I was able to have the operation I would have to wait until 6 months after the birth, I would probably have a temporary colostomy, and the operation had a 60 - 70% success rate.

After 6 months and the very painful nerve tests, I was told I could have the operation and I would not need the colostomy. I was put on the public waiting list. Meanwhile my husband and I investigated putting in an ACC claim for the operation. They approved and I had the operation 9 months after the birth.

The operation went smoothly, however it was a long and difficult one to recover from. The hospital staff were excellent. I was never in any pain as I had effective pain relief, and the operation was a success.

The aftercare of the wound by the surgeon was of a very high standard and lasted for 5 months. Thirteen months after the birth I was finally physically recovered.

MY THOUGHTS ABOUT THE BIRTH:

I started to experience flashbacks from the first full night I spent in hospital. The first 3 nights I heard my screaming and felt the ripping when I tried to go to sleep. Then the screaming stopped but I felt the ripping for 2 or 3 months. For months I felt terribly confused, there were lots of questions in my mind, like, What happened? Why did the birth go so wrong? Whose fault was it? All these thoughts kept buzzing around my head when I tried to sleep.

I nearly cancelled the operation a few times. I was comparing it to the birth. The surgeon said this was a very painful operation to recover from. I asked if it would be as bad as recovering from the birth. He said it would be worse. I realise now that I was thinking I was going to be in a really bad state of mind after the operation, like I was after the birth. I felt that I could not put myself through that again. But I was also having trouble living with the incontinence as it was a permanent reminder of the birth so I did have the operation & it was "a piece of cake."

Soon after the operation I started to feel very angry about my treatment in the maternity system. While in hospital (for 6 nights) I was never told to have a sitz bath even though the obstetrician had ordered them. My temperature, blood pressure & pulse were never taken even though I had a high chance of infection due to bowel motions passing through the wound. I was on a prescription laxative, yet it was up to me to remind staff when it was due; sometimes I was nearly asleep when I remembered I was overdue for it. All I was given for pain relief was Panadol. One staff member even questioned my use of Panadol. I was never seen by a doctor. On the 5th day when a staff member found me crying so much that I couldn't talk, she quickly left the room. This crying episode was never mentioned again and wasn't written in my notes either. It was noted that I was very despondent, but no one talked to me about why I was feeling this way. The first few weeks, and especially when in hospital I was so traumatised and confused that I couldn't think straight. I didn't even ask for pain relief. I did exactly what everyone told me to do without asking any questions.

I became withdrawn. I didn't go to activities other new mother's did, like meeting the antenatal class, morning teas in the hospital for new mother's etc. I went to a couple of antenatal get-togethers, but found them too upsetting. People were talking about their births, but I didn't want to talk about mine. I felt my daughter's birth was the most horrific experience I had ever had, and that it felt like torture. I didn't like other people saying what a wonderful experience childbirth was. My husband described me as being temperamental and difficult to live with.

I now believe my physical injuries were mismanaged and minimised by people in the maternity system. The trauma of the pain of the birth, recovery and incontinence was never discussed with me by anyone in the maternity system. It was never fully explained to me what a 4th degree tear was, neither was I warned there was a 50% chance I would become incontinent. In fact no one seemed to recognise my experience as unusual.

I saw the TABS article in the Little Treasures magazine about 13 months after my baby's birth and recognised myself as having had many of the symptoms of PTSD. I have now had counselling. The counsellor thought I had Acute Traumatic Stress. Before the counselling I think I had already dealt with a lot of the issues myself, but now I feel at rest with the situation & have been able to put it all behind me. Part of my healing was to meet with the obstetrician. He clearly explained to me what had happened at the birth, as I had no recollection about what happened between him arriving and feeling myself rip."

"Another Story"

"My birth story was not horrific or traumatic like some TABS ladies have had, but it was very scary and overwhelming and not one which I wish to repeat. There are several reasons why things were worse for me. First, I had been reading a really bad Listener article on child abuse while being monitored the day my son was born. Secondly, I had previously suffered PTSD after a court case which involved sexual abuse of a little boy, murder and attempted murder - I was a juror and I had nightmares for weeks afterwards - I have a really vivid imagination and lots of empathy. Thirdly, R was a very much wanted baby. After struggling with infertility for nearly 1 1/2 years and being told I had virtually nil chance of getting pregnant without further fertility treatment, I miraculously conceived.

My pregnancy went well till the 37th week when my blood pressure shot up. There were traces of protein in my urine, so I was told by my specialist to rest up and he would see me again at the end of that week. On Friday I went in and was told that I now had protein in my urine, my blood pressure was still exactly the same and I needed to go to the women's assessment clinic to be monitored the next day. There would be three possible outcomes: either my blood pressure would go down and I could go home again, or my blood pressure would go up higher and I'd need to be induced that day, or my blood pressure would stay the same and I'd be induced Monday or Tuesday. As soon as I left the hospital, I was rung by the hospital to say that the assessment centre was not open in the weekend, and I had to go to the antenatal ward, Ward 11. In the meantime, my husband was in a badminton tournament that Saturday and my parents had gone to Hawkes Bay for the weekend, so on Saturday I drove myself to hospital with two bags - one for me and one for the baby. I was told to pack both although I probably wouldn't need them.

The first thing that happened, after I explained to the midwives what I was doing there, was that they said I wasn't expected, and my specialist had written a vague letter of explanation which didn't tell them much. I was a day visitor so I was put in a side storeroom with oxygen equipment and baby clothes and left by myself most of the day. I was given a blood test to test if the toxaemia was getting worse, and the nurse punctured a vein in my arm which was really painful and gave me a large bruise which didn't disappear for 3 weeks. She took the blood from a side vein in my arm saying that I had large veins and might bruise if she took the blood from inside my arm. Having had bruises before with blood tests, I hastily agreed and got an even bigger bruise than I had ever had before. I was then monitored and my blood pressure was taken and it was discovered that I was having some contractions which, I was assured, were false ones.

I was left by myself again and, apart from walking around the entire hospital to try and lower my blood pressure at lunchtime (it didn't), was either reading magazines or being monitored. My specialist rang me from the golf course, got a progress report and came to see me when they decided to admit me at 5pm ( I arrived at 11am). I was told to let them know if I was in labour or my waters broke on the one hand, but assured that the contractions were false ones on the other. At this stage they were worried as I was having contractions but the baby was not moving around much, so I had to drink glasses of icy water and try sitting up and lying down to see what difference it made. They had planned to monitor me again at 10pm. but I asked, as I was getting tired, could they bring it forward, so they decided to do it again at 9pm. My husband had popped in to see me at lunchtime and again at dinner time, then went home for lunch and dinner.

I remember eating dinner and moving from bed to chair to bed, again trying to get comfortable. I still had no idea I was in labour and was not to know, as it was my first baby, he was early, and I had never experienced either Braxton Hicks or normal contractions before. Only one midwife said that sometimes babies decide when they are ready and get born early with toxaemia. Around 7pm I said to the midwife I was having more contractions, so she put the monitor on me and left me there for an hour with a couple of quick visits. I was in agony with three contractions every 10 minutes and at their peak going off the chart. A midwife came back and ripped off the results and rushed out and I took off the monitor myself. At this point, I was thinking, well, if this isn't labour pains I'd hate to know what is, and, if they don't come back soon to tell me if I'm in labour or not, I'll have this baby at the end of the bed without any medical personnel. I was just thinking through in my mind how I could do this, when a hospital midwife rushed back to tell me I was in labour, and I had better get down to the delivery suite right away.

By this time I was on all fours at the end of the bed and couldn't walk or travel by wheelchair like that, so my whole bed was wheeled down with me in it. I was told on the way down that I'd have the baby in the next two hours. It was a real shock going from thinking he was due in 2 weeks to having false contractions to being in labour ready to have him. I kept thinking stop he's not due yet and is nearly 2 weeks early. Stop - I'm not ready! My specialist and husband and midwife and trainee midwife all appeared as soon as I got down to the delivery suite around 9pm. When I got down to the delivery suite, my waters broke immediately. Then I was examined for the first time and told I was already 10cm dilated - another shock. I thought I would be examined several times and then told this news.

I was then told to push and that the baby could be as quick as 20 minutes if I pushed well. With one of the first pushes I had a 2.5cm tear in my vaginal wall, so although I hated my birth position of lying on back it was my only option - my midwife suggested another position, but I tried it and was told I risked further tearing and bleeding, and I might be hard to sew up. My midwife and specialist disagreed on this, but I wasn't wanting more stitches or tearing. I was mentally and physically exhausted by then, and had a sore back, and the last thing I felt like doing was pushing - I was told that if I was pushing longer than 2 hours, I'd need a forceps or caesarean, and I feel that was a threat to make me mad - which it did - and push harder.

Anyway, R was born after 1 hour and 50 minutes and an episiotomy to help him come out. I was shaking and in shock afterwards, and felt bad when I was told he was only 5 pounds 1oz, and had not been feeding properly for the past week - I found out later this was due to the toxaemia stopping the flow of food through the placenta, not me not being hungry and not eating much. He was a small skinny baby and the medical staff were worried about him getting cold so I couldn't feed him, and had to wrap him up in a hospital towel for the first cuddle so he didn't get cold. His clothes were still in the boot of the car in the hospital carpark, so they were fetched by my husband and zapped in the microwave. It looks rather impersonal having the first photo of your new son wrapped in three hospital towels, as he had no clothes. That night I had a nightmare about a baby getting his arms and legs snapped off like a gingerbread man. The baby had my son's face.

I was okay for the first 3 months, walking around like a zombie but on auto pilot. Things got worse in August when I started to worry about something happening to R, based on a Listener article I had had read the day R was born, the effects of sleep deprivation kicking in after feeding him 3 or more times a night, with my husband sleeping through everything. After my 6 week check at 10 weeks, I was convinced I had PND and saw my GP who said I didn't look depressed and gave me sleeping pills. I then didn't need them, but when I took them later they sped up my thinking and made me an insomniac and paranoid. It was really scary thinking things faster than you could say them, and made me feel like I was going crazy.

I went back to my doctor almost one month later and he put me on Prozac - an antidepressant which combined with the sleeping tablets gave me hallucinations. I was convinced that my husband had put R face down on a tripillow, and when I told him that babies can suffocate that way, he said whoops, flipped him over like a pancake and went back to cooking dinner. I asked him if he had done that, and he didn't say yes or no, so I wasn't sure what was reality and what wasn't. He didn't understand what was going on, and made the situation worse by going out more to play badminton, also he kept saying that he couldn't cope and was going to leave. I couldn't tell him what was happening, and my parents thought I was overreacting and were very unhelpful, so I ended up taking R with me and going to stay with some friends. This was totally uncharacteristic behaviour, and my husband thought I had left him, so that didn't help things much but gave me the breathing space I needed to work out what was happening.

I ended up being interviewed by the CATT mental health crisis team, who basically said I was having a major depressive episode and a reaction to the Halcyon sleeping tablets - they were rarely prescribed as they had known side effects, and the team thought my GP's knowledge of medicines was out-of-date. I have since changed doctors. I was referred to Maternal Mental Health, and for the first time I was told my birth story was "atypical" and I felt listened to.

From that point, things started coming right, but it was a slow climb uphill - it took 3 weeks for the Prozac to take effect, so I'm not sure what you are supposed to do in the meantime. It took quite a few weeks to feel I could concentrate enough to drive the car again and to get my energy back. I cut back my activities to one a week and only increased them as I could cope. Breastfeeding a small hungry baby certainly didn't help but he refused to drink from a bottle until 12 months so it was worse trying to force him. I weaned him at 14 months and felt much more energetic."