Susanne Remic is a primary school teacher, freelance writer and parenting blogger. She writes at Ghostwritermummy and Maternity Matters and in between all of that she regularly wins mummy of the year awards for running around after her two children, aged six and 19 months. This is her pregnancy blog: an online diary of her third pregnancy as she strives to overcome two difficult births, one angel child and one awkward toddler. Join Susanne as she shares every step of her journey from bump to baby!
High-risk pregnancy?
By Susanne Remic on 07 Oct 2011
I’ve been told, once more, that this is a high-risk pregnancy. This time, it probably means nothing more than a few more ante-natal appointments with my community midwife and a couple of extra meetings with my consultant. It might mean that my notes are read a little more carefully but it might not.
I was high risk last time too, and it didn’t seem to make much of a difference to the level of care I received. In fact, the only time I was made aware that I was high risk was the night that I went into labour. I’d called the ward to let them know I was contracting and was asked to come in to be examined, since I was ‘high risk’.
High risk? Yes. Apparently, a previous section- emergency or not- gives you that label and means a hospital visit at the very slightest hint of contractions, since the biggest risk is the scar rupturing.
At the hospital, I was told that I wasn’t actually in labour but that I was to be admitted onto the ward. Once again, that ‘high risk’ label was being thrown around in conversation and I reluctantly agreed that they must have my best interests at heart. I said goodbye to my husband and was admitted to the ward.
So, ‘high risk’ obviously meant that they wanted to keep an eye on me, right? You would think so. Instead, the poor understaffed midwives were forced to leave me alone for hours, contracting and frightened on the ward. After that initial examination at 4.30 am, I was left well alone until 2.30pm that afternoon. Unless you count the doctor who hovered by the end of my bed and told me contractions that were six minutes apart meant nothing. I was not in labour, yet I still could not go home.
At around 2pm, I could take the pain no more and I was really scared. My poor husband followed helplessly as I continually shuffled up and down the corridor, clutching onto the walls until my knuckles turned white and sobbing in pain. My husband helped me into the loo and as I was exiting, a midwife came to tell him off for using the facilities. Before he could explain, she noticed the distress that I was in and offered to examine me. I was in labour and I needed to get down to delivery, since I was ‘high risk’.
My question is this: if I was high risk, why was I left alone for so long? If I was high risk, why were my fears and concerns over things going wrong never addressed? If I was high risk, why was I not examined for ten hours? If I was high risk, why did I feel like I was at the bottom of the list of priorities that day?
Being given that same ‘high risk’ label this time means nothing to me. I have two c-section scars that may rupture, but I also have the comfort of knowing that I will be having my planned section before I go into labour.
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