One to One?

Spent lovely afternoon today with group of mums and babies we met during the pregnancy. I know all of us are a bit astonished to find bumps turned into babies, and now they are all 6 months old. All unique, and all a bit yummy too.

Most of these mums we met through attending NCT (National Childbrith Trust) antenatal classes. These turned out to be a God send in more ways than one. Not least because the classes the NHS offered us flagged up some dreadful inconsistencies in the care we received because I have a disability.

Our midwife was adamant. We needed one to one antenatal classes, and she was going to get us them. This sounded great to us as we suspected a lot of my questions just would not fit into a standard class set up. There was talk of them being at a suitable time for my husband - of course he needed support too (pah, why make it convenient? in the end it was take time off work, or no classes together for you). I had to fight for those classes. After an initial burst of excitement that we were getting good accommodation, the heart sinking began.

Firstly the class coordinator argued with me over the phone - why should we have one to one classes? Why, what kind of birth was I going to have? Surely as a wheelchair user it would be caesarian?

I was not happy. The whole -'it should be a c-section' I'm going to write about later as it's an erroneous assumption to make, and one that caused me a lot of distress. I told the coordinator to talk to our midwife who promplty stated her wishes and got the ball rolling. First hurdle over, we set aside dates. I don't always ask medical professionals to be mindful of my perfume/aftershave allergy as many doctors don't wear it, but I had an instinct to inform the coordinator. This proved to be wise as she told me basically she wore a lot. I asked her to consider writing a post it note and putting it on a mirror to remind her in the morning not to wear any, as this is a trick another person told me they use as understandably it's a fixed part of their routine.(She remembered on the day. She did not however remember when she met me in the waiting room the next week, and insisted on standing very close to chat. Awkward. Much.)

Originally we were told we would have two classes, and this would cover everything. In the end we got one afternoon, which was mostly filled up with meeting the maternity physio to talk over possible birthing positions. The rest of the class was taken up with the coordinator taking us into the labour ward and us looking around one of the rooms. Although this was like seeing the holy grail in advance, and reassured me beyond doubt that the rooms were spotless, this was about the sum total of our antenatal classes. I estimate we were given under two hours of attention.

Now comes the very uncomfortable part - the past where staff tell us something that sounds so ridiculous it makes us blink. Apparently this meant we had covered everything they normally cover in the classes. There was no offer to give us another afternoon. Not one bit of discussion on how to tell I was in labour, or breast feeding, or anything else we thankfully did cover in the NCT classes.

We were lucky. The classes are discounted for people on benefits but even so, they were still not cheap. We could afford the classes and that was just as well. Without them we would have been left with an alarming lack of information. Instead of getting extra attention, we were given less than any other expectant mum. I was too tired of it all to make a complaint, but it still shocked me that we were given such neglectful treatment. Whatever you learn in antenatal classes there is one thing for sure - no matter what the content, it does at least do much to prepare you mentally for what is ahead. This was like being given a pregnancy book with most of the chapters missing, and a clear expectation from the hospital that we were to be very grateful.

Sadly what we learnt was this - watching a coordinator smugly present her measly offering was inredibly hard to bear. It showed so much lack of care to our needs; to anyone's needs in fact. Especially when we were told of the pride the hospital had in supporting disabled mums. In fact, didn't we know that they'd just had a mum in recently who was unable to use legs or arms effectively. Apparently the care they'd given her was excellent. I really hope it was. Ooh, maybe we could be pals? I said I'd be happy to give my email address but not my phone number. The coordinator then emailed this poor mum who'd only just had her baby. I'm sure she was delighted to be bothered at the time when she was so sleep deprived she was hallucinating.

I'd say the whole set up was a farce. It actually hurt because if we'd relied on this afternoon alone, I cannot even think what a state we potentially could have been in. Our whole experience was mixed, and still is, and regretfully our overriding feeling is this. Become a parent when you are disabled - be prepared to swim hard and fast and seek out your own support, because not only will it be given poorly, it will be given with a proud smile that belies just how abysmal the system really is.

It makes afternoons like today so precious - laughing together at babies tumbling together on the floor, and enjoying the richness of new friends and their growing children. A beautiful reminder that lovely moments can do a lot to hide the cr*p surrounding you.