This is a bit of a curveball post for this blog. It is not strictly cystic fibrosis related - although CF plays a part in this story.
This is one for all the postpartum mums out there who have suffered at the hands of midwives doing home visits after they took their baby home - and the emotions that can still rear their ugly head all those months later.
I’ll tell you why this came to me today - this week we had the most gorgeous news that one of my best friends has safely welcomed her beautiful baby boy into the world. Honestly my heart has been bursting for her and her new little family. He is utterly perfect and I love them all so much!🥰
But hugely unexpectedly, a tiny meaningless sentence in a message “...a midwife will come and weigh him today…” brought up an almost PTSD reaction within me.
I don’t know where it came from but I felt a bit sick, anxious and I found myself nearly crying.
And I realised I have never really made peace with all of the midwives and health visitors that were so unsupportive (and one of them was actually just plain cruel) when Arlo had trouble gaining weight before we found out it was because of his CF and the pancreatic insufficiency.
So I told Martyn I was going to write an open letter to the ‘cruel one’ in the hope that it might make me feel better.
And I tell you it felt sooooooo good!
To all the mamas who have been spoken down to by a midwife and/or health visitor - and I know there will be a LOT of us! This is for you!!👊👊👊👊
You can read it here - warning ⛔️- not for the faint hearted or if you’re short on time!!! (I did a law degree so I love my own writing!🤣)
To THAT midwife,
It was just a job to you, but to me it was hugely personal. You came into my home that I shared with my gorgeous new family - who were my world - even more so in those first few days of postpartum bliss and chaos.
You took blood tests - it turns out that was THE blood test that would later tell us that Arlo has cystic fibrosis.
You weighed our little man - and he was so very little then - he had lost 9.8% of his birth weight.
My hospital notes in your hand described how beautifully Arlo had been breastfeeding during my 3 day stay on the ward after he was born. I’d told you I was feeding on demand and that I felt really positive about it. I was shocked because I just didn’t feel like breastfeeding was the problem.
But you dismissed anything I had to say. You decided that I must be a lazy or stupid or naive first time mum who wasn’t breastfeeding properly. Or maybe you thought I was a selfish mum who was sleeping rather than feeding often enough.
You spoke down to me as if you were reprimanding a child or speaking to the village idiot. I felt humiliated but far, far worse than that I was beyond devastated because you let me believe that I was letting my baby down. I felt so responsible and you loaded the blame on me. All on me. Only me. With no empathy. AT ALL.
You didn’t hold back with your crushing ‘diagnosis’ that breastfeeding wasn’t good. It wasn’t working. That we must go on a dramatic feeding plan. That I must take this very seriously. That I must feed every 3 hours or more. That I should consider introducing formula. That I should really pin my baby to my chest and not consider trying any different feeding positions. That I mustn’t relax and enjoy it - it should now be a military operation.
I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever cried before in the way that I cried when you left. Because I don’t think there can be a pain worse than feeling like you’re letting down your newborn baby.
And then the anxiety set in. The random bursts of crying for no reason other than this sick feeling in my stomach. Feeling positive for about 5 minutes after a successful feed but then immediately dreading the next feed in case it wasn’t as good. Feeling guilty for doing anything that wasn’t breastfeeding. I remember going for a walk and feeling like I shouldn’t be enjoying the fresh air - and sending WhatsApp messages to Martyn checking Arlo was okay. Was he hungry? Should I come back? The DREAD at the prospect of another midwife visit, another weighing - another telling off and another chance for another midwife to make me feel like a huge disappointment.
This cycle of anxiety for THREE WEEKS!
This might sound overdramatic to you because you see mums and babies every day. You’re desensitised to the impact your words can have. But trust me when I say your words, your visit, those feelings are imprinted in my memory and they have resurfaced today like some kind of PTSD when a friend who has just had a baby has told me she expects a midwife visit soon.
So this is my letter to you, this is what I wish I could stand and tell you to your face now, in hindsight.
First - it is never okay to talk to new mums in the way you spoke to me. A new mum will always be trying her very best. She has given her blood, sweat and tears to bring that baby into the world. Her whole purpose of being and all of her emotions in those first few days are bundled up in that tiny human. That is her EVERYTHING. Right then in those first few days that little baby is what keeps her going - fuelled by adrenaline and love. So please think about how you deliver less positive information if you need to. Please be mindful of how you discuss areas of concern.
Secondly - 9.8% is bad but it’s really not terrible. Just saying … now I know that’s actually super common!!! So thank you for making it sound like the end of the world - we trusted you to be the knowledgeable one and that you would only ‘ring the alarm bell’ if it was really necessary but now I know that anything up to 10% is actually incredibly common. It should be monitored of course but I think a supportive nurturing approach would have been more proportionate to the problem and much more helpful than your militant, hyper critical approach.
Thirdly - Arlo has cystic fibrosis. You were wrong and my mum instinct was right - the breastfeeding was going brilliantly! Me and Arlo were a perfect little feeding team - and we still are after 7 months. It’s just he couldn’t absorb all the goodness from my milk. When the paediatrician came and told us about Arlo’s CF he actually CONGRATULATED me on the fact that Arlo had regained his birth weight without the assistance of digestive enzymes. I was given a huge pat on the back. I wish you had been there to hear that!!!! Maybe next time trust a mother’s instinct more than your own hasty assumptions.
And finally, I want to say that whilst I’m at peace with it now, I wish I had had more of a backbone when you were standing in my house berating me. My husband told you that your bedside manner was atrocious - and that says a lot because Martyn never complains or speaks up like that. (I often joke that Martyn would eat a meal with a hair in it at a restaurant rather than complain to the waiter🤣🤣🤣) But I was rendered totally mute by your words. I was completely empty of anything to say. I was so devastated. But I wish I’d had the courage to say that even if there was a problem - cause breastfeeding is hugely complex so it’s nothing to be ashamed of if you find it hard - the way you delivered the news was not okay. I wish I’d been able to say something, anything, at the time to convey how you had made me feel.
You are terrible at your job. Cause whilst you might be knowledgeable, qualified and well trained, when you are going into people's homes 5 days after they have had a baby, HOW you do your job is more important than what you know. This is me letting it go now.
Just please think - please don’t do this to any more mums!
Yours truly,
The ‘rubbish’ mum to Arlo
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