Survival Should Not Be the Benchmark

Blog 1. When Survival Becomes the Standard.

Fifteen years ago, I gave birth to my son after what had already been a very difficult pregnancy.

By that point, I had developed severe SPD and pelvic complications that affected my mobility significantly. Every time I put weight on my right leg, I was in pain. I was frequently in and out of hospital throughout the pregnancy, undergoing scans, monitoring, interventions and treatment because there were ongoing concerns around pain and complications. Much of my care, in truth, was good. Many staff were compassionate, attentive and supportive during an exhausting pregnancy. That is important for me to say. This is not a story where every aspect of my care was terrible. It is a story about how quickly things can change when communication breaks down, pain is minimised, and a patient stops being listened to.

I was admitted for induction on the 5th of November. What followed was a long, physically draining labour with repeated interventions, drips, examinations and very little rest. Because of the SPD and complications with my hips and pelvis, my birth plan had been carefully considered in advance. There were specific concerns around pain management and delivery because certain positions and prolonged strain on my body were not safe.

Then there was a change of staff.

The difference was immediate. The midwife who took over did not properly engage with my delivery plan and dismissed concerns being raised about my pain levels. My parents, witnessed the shift in care and made verbal complaints at the time because they could see I was struggling and not being listened to. What still stays with me now is that my pain threshold was repeatedly minimised despite a documented diagnosis of SPD and known mobility issues.

Because concerns were not acted on quickly enough, the anaesthetist was not called in a timely manner. By the time he arrived, my son’s head had already crowned. However, an epidural was still required to safely support the delivery because of the strain being placed on my pelvis and lower body.

I remember being terrified.

In order for the epidural to be administered, I had to physically hold and prop my lower body up off the bed while trying to remain completely still so that the injection into my spine could be performed safely. I was relying almost entirely on my hands and upper body strength to support myself — despite staff already knowing that one of my arms was weak and regularly gave way.

Looking back now, I realise how dangerous that situation was...

Dangerous for me.

Dangerous for my baby.

And dangerous for the anaesthetist trying to perform a spinal procedure under those circumstances.

What has stayed with me all these years is that the anaesthetist himself appeared deeply concerned for me and urged me to put in a complaint , stating that I should not have been treated the way I had been. But at the time, I did not make a formal complaint.

I think part of the reason was simple: my son survived.

After such a long and painful pregnancy and labour, I just wanted to go home with my baby. Compared to the devastating stories of others, I convinced myself that what happened to me was not 'that bad'. But fifteen years later, as conversations around Black maternal health disparities, maternity safety, and women not being listened to continue to grow, I find myself revisiting that experience differently. Truthfully, with regret.

I think about how quickly my care deteriorated once my pain was no longer taken seriously.

I think about how many people in the room could see something was wrong.

And I think about how many women; particularly Black women, have experienced far worse while still struggling to be believed.

For a long time, I measured my experience against survival.

Now I realise survival should never be the benchmark for whether a woman was treated safely, respectfully, and with dignity during childbirth.