I gave birth to my first child in Holles Street in Dublin in 2016. I went into childbirth thinking I would give birth naturally. It would be painful, but I would leave after one night in a floaty, fresh, white smock dress. I would be infused with love hormones that would over-ride all my worries and anxieties and I would sit, in my floaty gown, breast to babe, feeling content, peaceful, serene. I would want for nothing.
This is not what happened.
Oscar was big and 12 days past his due date. I was to be induced. My body reacted strongly to the gel they inserted to prepare my cervix for labour so for the next few hours I was in a constant state of contracting.
The consultant called it. An emergency section was needed.
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Oscar was taken out screaming and perfect. Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe, something was pressing on me, my uterus had gone floppy.
I had haemorrhaged.
When I woke up, midwives and doctors were rushing around me in an organised frenzy. My gown had been cut off, I was lying naked under a light on an operating table as everyone around me focused on my uterus.
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move.
My eyes searched for my husband and baby and instead found a stream of blood like a crack in the floor to the earth’s core.
Sweden is not perfect, I am well able to give out about it, but the way they support mothers and babies financially, mentally and physically in their early years is a triumph
Something else had left me with that stream; something had poured out accidentally. The doctors who saved my life, who gave me my baby, couldn’t gather the pieces of me that fell, lost to the earth.
I have had two more children since Oscar. They all contain pieces of me. Pieces of what was left of me. The past 2½ years living in Sweden has given me time to find out.
One of my friends here in Stockholm is a midwife and recently had a baby in a hospital where machines and medical supplies are carefully concealed to provide a calm environment for mothers in their own private rooms.
Look, Sweden is not perfect, I am well able to give out about it, but the way they support mothers and babies financially, mentally and physically in their early years is a triumph.
When I brought Oscar home from hospital I was suffering from PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) and we had missed out on initial bonding time in the first 48 hours after his birth. However, all the aftercare we received was baby-led. I went to see the consultant who administered my section and he checked my scar. It looked good, it really did, and the scar is invisible now.
He gave me a medical term for me to be able to use. Atonic uterus. But I did not understand why I was feeling shrunken down to a muted whisper, trapped in a small room while going through the motions of daily life with a newborn.
Here in Sweden, all new mothers fill out the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale (EPDS) and are referred to a specialist for further care if needed. In Dublin at that time, my assigned public health nurse advised me to keep my pain relief out of reach of other small children who might be popping by to visit the baby.
Some friends of mine who gave birth in Dublin in recent years received the EPDS, some didn’t.
I didn’t feel I could manage joining a breastfeeding group in those early days. As much as I craved company, getting the baby out the door gave me pangs of anxiety. I felt lonely often in the first year.
For a society that feels less prone to community than Ireland in many ways, Sweden provides that community for parents and babies
Oppna Forskolans are preschools all over Sweden for children aged up to five and their parents to attend daily for free. It is a totally separate facility to dagis/daycare. All children aged one-five whose parents are working, studying or seeking employment have the right to a placement at dagis. It costs about €200 per month per child and they are generally open from 7am-5pm. The children are provided with snacks, food and nappies if needed and there is great emphasis on outdoor activities in all weather.
By providing free socialisation for mother and baby in the first years and then affordable, quality childcare, Sweden took on some of the caring for my children.
It gave me the opportunity to think about what I wanted to do that would put me in the best position to care for my family.
For a society that feels less prone to community than Ireland in many ways, Sweden provides that community for parents and babies. I am better for it and my family is better for it.
The doctor sewed me back up in Ireland, but Sweden put me back together.
Grace O’Malley lives in Stockholm with her three children, Oscar, Leila and Elsa Konopik, and Swedish husband, Philip Konopik
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