Words by Haylee Penfold // illustration by Qiyue
Being someone living with multiple chronic illnesses, I’ve experienced my fair share of medical trauma and gaslighting from doctors, but for some reason I thought my birth experience would be different. Then I spoke to mothers around me and almost all of them had experienced some kind of birth trauma and I see the same pain in them. Perinatal Anxiety and Depression Australia (PANDA) states that 1 in 3 women in Australia describe their birth as traumatic.
I sat in the waiting room for my 20-week midwife appointment tapping my leg and picking at the sides of my fingernails. I’d rehearsed what I wanted to say in my head over and over in the shower this morning. After years of infertility and a round of IVF, I had thought the hardest part of my battle to become a mother was over. Yet, here I am almost having a panic attack on an uncomfortable chair at my local hospital, stewing over what I will do if I get another “no” from this doctor.
All I want is a birth that is safe for both me and my baby. Is that too much to ask?
It’s medical standards that in Australia women can have a choice (providing safe circumstances) to birth naturally, at home or via a c-section. For me, I could only foresee a c-section being a safe option for me. When you combine a chronic illness that makes your joints dislocate from hypermobility as well as another that makes your heart race which often results in fainting (especially when in pain) it was hard to imagine how a natural birth could ever be possible for me to experience without serious injury.
At my first midwife appointment, I brought up how I wished to have a c-section and mentioned all my reasons. They told me not to worry about it right then, we were still in the early days. I understood that but the anxiety that I already experienced in the medical industry and being dismissed had already given me a good amount of trauma. Weeks passed and I met with the head of OB at my local hospital and shared my anxieties with him. He looked over my chart and told me “natural birth is a beautiful thing” to which I replied, “Maybe, but not for me”.
His response to my medical history shocked me. Tears rolled down my face as he told me he’d prefer me to try the natural option. I asked how I was meant to give birth without my hips dislocating like they had so many times before? He shrugged his shoulders and said “If the hips were to dislocate, your birth would probably end up being quicker.” My jaw dropped. He stood up and handed my medical files to the midwife with a smile. No part of me felt safe being cared for by this man.
My mental health dived that day. I went from counting down the days until my due date to a growing dread inside of what trauma my birth would bring. What was meant to be the happiest day of my life now terrified me. I lost sleep from nightmares and spiralling thoughts of what could happen if I was forced into a natural birth. What if I go into cardiac arrest? It didn’t seem too far-fetched considering my heart races up to 200 beats per minute on an average day.
When it was time for my next midwife appointment, I brought my cousin with me. She had always been someone who I looked to for strength and support. Someone who radiates “don’t fuck with me” energy. I figured if the doctors wouldn’t listen to me, maybe they’d listen to her. It was worth a try, after all, I had nothing left to lose. I had no fight left in me.
Sitting in the same small clinical room I did a few weeks prior, I already felt the anxiety returning and the tears brimming. The nurse handed me a mental health questionnaire. Afterwards they told me my score had shown a concerning decline. That is all it took to cause me to break down.
“I know my body and its limits. I’m scared.” I said
I got letters of support from my physio, my surgeon – who had performed over seven surgeries on me for endometriosis -, and my psychologist all stating why a natural birth would put me at risk. Three health professionals who had known me and my body for years all supported my decision.
The nurse got the midwife on shift and she read through my letters and still didn’t seem convinced. She explained that they don’t like giving women as young as me c-sections for their first baby, what if I want another?
“If you force her to have a natural birth she might not live to have that option” my cousin said. It was the first time I’d heard my biggest fears spoken out loud and the look on her face showed she was just as frightened as I was.
The midwives sighed, and I could tell they had noticed the tears rolling down my cheeks. She told me she would bring my case to the higher doctors, but her hands are tied – she couldn’t give me the “yes” I needed to leave the room with a clear mind.
I cried most of the way home. My cousin told me over and over that we’d find a way. Those words would usually give me the comfort I needed, because usually we would. She was my person, the one I knew had my back, but this time I felt like we both were going into this blind. No plan. No real knowledge that it would be okay.
Lying in bed that night, I barely slept. I shared my story to a mother’s groups on facebook. I reached out to a woman I knew who had done her PhD on people with my heart condition and how pregnancy affected them. One thing they both had suggested was looking into a private midwife. Someone to stick with you throughout your pregnancy and to advocate for you and your birth plan.
I reached out to a private midwife that had been recommended by a mother in one of the groups. Her website was inviting and she had a kind face. Filling out the enquiry form I felt like my story was a short novel but I was desperate for her help. After only a few short hours she called me and we met a few days after.
She asked me about my birth plan. I felt silly, but I asked her what she meant. She asked me what kind of environment I wanted for my birth, what would make me feel safe and calm when I gave birth to my son. I cried as I told her all I wanted in my birth plan was to survive.
She held me. This woman with the kind face and beautiful curly hair held me and told me she would not give up on me, she would fight to make that plan a reality.
And she did. The fact that I had to pay a private midwife $6,000 to get approved for an elective c section shouldn’t have happened. $6,000 I did not have. And while I’m still paying off that debt, I have no regrets about that decision.
But why was my voice not enough? Why are women still not respected when it comes to our bodies, our health and our birthing choices? Was it because I was a young mum at 25 years old? There is a deep anger inside me that I had to pay someone to advocate me because my voice wasn’t respected. A choice that should be solely mine was never in my hands at all. I spent half my pregnancy fighting for peace of mind and it seemed I could have never achieved it on my own.
Statistics show that 1 in 3 in women consider their birth traumatic. At first I considered my pregnancy a miracle, something I thought I might not even have but so quickly it turned into something traumatic. 2024 has seen the first parliamentary inquiry into traumatic birth faced by pregnant women across Australia, a failure for the care of women in previous years.
More needs to be said on the lack of support for women in these circumstances, especially those with disabilities and chronic illness but for now, here I am, holding my son in my arms, something I feared I might not ever have. The hope I have for pregnant women in Australia (and beyond) is that their choice of birth is no longer a fight. I want women to be treated with dignity and respect no matter their birthing choices.
