Alive

10.14 am proudest mother alive.

Completely drained, limp, with intermittent surges of adrenaline from time to time. Morning drifted by my weary eyes yet they stayed transfixed upon this new life. This baby was not only a boy, child or person he was my son. Upon my lips touching his hour ago vernix covered cheeks he felt like silk. He tasted fresher than the most filtered spring water you had ever drunk. I was drunk in euphoria unbeknown to me was this surreal experience possibly going to be my last.

2 pm afternoon, visitors gallivanted to and fro, crisp crinkling of envelopes opening to reveal congratulations cards had begun to wear thin on my tired senses. This sounds ungrateful for as new mothers we should welcome the gestures of kindness- yet where is the kindness in not allowing a new mother to rest?

8 pm I was finally alone to inhale Elliot’s tiny breath, gently I embraced his naked body next to my swollen breast. Fulfilling my maternal instincts in peace then suddenly piercing discomfort riddled my torso. Rapidly my womb began to ooze fluid. Something was seriously wrong! The odour from the bed sheets became staler by the hour; I could feel myself drifting away. Weak, dithery, clammy I reached out my little finger for comfort, Elliot gripped his tiny hand around it. 

Investigations start.

1 am metal, cold degrading devices butchered my womanhood until I couldn’t take any more. 

3 am injected with what they call a legal heroine. Palpitation, delirious and hallucinogenic, abdominal scans more fondling with metal and manly nurses hands. Trapped with my own self surrounded by strangers and separated from my son- fear like I’ve never experienced before. 

4 am irrational fleeting thoughts, BLEEP, BLEEP, BLEEP what are these machines? Tangled in wires millions of them attached to me like venomous snakes squeezing the life out of my veins. Never before have I been so religious “please, please, please God help me” I internally scream as I repeat the lord’s prayer….Know one came, know one answered their phone and know one cared. 

5 am teary eyes and three litres of dark blood later I held my son for what I believed was the last time. Wheeled to theatre on a rickety, old, squeaky bed my bones jolted and grinded as they whisked me into the lift. The last thing I remember from that hour was the stench from the orange iodine as it seeped into my nostrils. As I drifted off to sleep I strained towards the nurse on my right, clutching her freckly warm hand with every last bit of motherly love I had, I said “tell my three babies that mummy loves them and please, please, please don’t separate them”.

7 am I was Alive-just.

Written by Francesca Shaw after a gradual PPH (Post -par-tum haemorrhage) following a third live birth with intervention. This experience in 2010 left me needing 2 blood transfusions and several months worth of medication and therapy as I developed PTSD and postnatal depression. I went on to have a 4th child and was too frightened to have a hospital birth. This led me down the path of a home birth with an independent midwife (which ended up being the best pregnancy and water birth I could have ever dreamed of) despite the hospital trying to convince me I was high risk and couldn’t have a home birth. I started researching everything from scans, breastfeeding, vaccination, terry nappies and placenta encapsulation. I later trained as a breastfeeding peer supporter and facilitator and supported new mothers in my community for nearly a decade. I urge any mother that is expecting to listen to her wild woman inside of her, to question the intervention to explore her options before just going along with everything that is said to her. Research Douala’s and ask questions when you feel like you’re being pushed into decisions that go against your gut instincts. Thousands of women experience negligence and are left with lifelong trauma that they are never debriefed on- you deserve better and so does your baby.

I would like to thank Deborah Faye Rhodes, Amanda Wardle, Rebecca Ball and (Susan Stephenson who sadly passed away after my 4th child’s birth) for all supporting me during the pregnancy, birth and for 12 weeks postnatal. These women helped to heal my soul and made me believe in my body again. Forever, I will be grateful to you.