Mothers of premature babies also need care – as I know too well
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Version 0 of 1. Only once in my life have I left a doctor’s surgery clutching a prescription for antidepressants. It wasn’t when I had cancer, or when I was bereaved. In fact, it was at a time when you might have thought I’d be on top of the world, because my husband and I had just brought our eldest daughter home from hospital after she’d pulled through, against the odds, having being born two months before she was due. Related: NHS neonatal intensive care units 'stretched to breaking point' Giving birth to a baby very prematurely is terrifying, lonely, shocking and sad. It rips at the core of you, physically and emotionally: the child you’re doing everything in your power to protect is suddenly separated from you, long before she or he is ready to go. My immediate reaction was: I’m a failure. It was my job to bring this baby into the world safely, and I let her down. And then came weeks of sitting beside a plastic box, stroking a tiny finger, getting to the hospital each morning with my heart in my mouth until I could see that she was still there, still breathing, the machines still doing their job. It was exhausting and disorienting: it can take a huge toll on your self-esteem and your relationship. And then, when the day I couldn’t imagine finally arrived and I brought her home, I fell apart. I don’t think I’m the only one: which is why I find it so shocking that according to a report out today from Bliss, the charity for babies born too soon, parents at 41% of neonatal units do not have access to a trained mental health worker. That’s along with the charity’s other findings, which include the fact that two-thirds of units need more doctors, and 64% of units need more nurses, to give them the best chance of saving lives. In 1992, when my daughter Rosie was born at St Thomas’ hospital in London, no one thought for a second about making sure I had any psychological help. I simply carried on, doing a not very good job of seeming to cope; and because no one asked the questions, I kept shtoom about how I was screaming inside. And of course, looking back, it now seems obvious that while I could just about hold it together while there were other people looking after the baby, everything would come unstuck on the day I was finally faced with the fallout of the birth and the responsibility of looking after a tiny person, who weighed not quite 4lb (1.8kg)when she was discharged. Related: Our health system is failing new mothers | Maggie Gordon-Walker That was 23 years ago, and I’d have hoped neonatal services had moved on. That four in 10 mothers are still unable to access a mental health worker – despite plenty of evidence that mothers of premature babies are at far greater risk of postnatal depression – is an appalling statistic. Of course the NHS should provide enough doctors and nurses, but the truth about mental health provision is it’s actually a less expensive resource, and a little goes a very, very long way. For me, a few sessions of counselling would likely have changed everything. All I needed to know was that what I was feeling was, in the weird circumstances in which I found myself, completely normal. All I needed to know was that, in time, I would become a normal mother and Rosie – when she came off the ventilator and started putting on weight – would one day be a normal child. All I needed was someone to say all that, to hear me out and perhaps make a few sensible suggestions. That mothers aren’t getting that now is truly terrible: because when premature babies get out of hospital, they need their parents more than they need anyone else. It’s not the time to fall apart, and a little bit of support can make all the difference. |