Infant mortality in 1800 was 329 deaths per 1000 births in Britain.  statista.com has a very impressive chart which shows how this rate has fallen steadily so that in 2020 it stood at 4 deaths per 1000 births. I present these facts as a backdrop to the findings, published recently, of Donna Ockenden’s report into maternity “care” at Nottingham University Hospitals. Over 500 mothers and babies were seriously injured or died between 2006 and 2024. Parents are calling for a government inquiry. I read reports of her findings, and watched videos of some of the affected parents speaking of their experiences in total horror. I reel from the findings in this report as I, perhaps, naively, believed Britain to be one of the safest countries to be pregnant and have a baby in. https://www.ockendenmaternityreview.org.uk/

Women consistently reported feeling dismissed, disempowered or blamed when they expressed anxiety or reported critical symptoms such as reduced foetal movements, severe pain, hypertension and postnatal deterioration. Instead of being taken seriously, their instincts and physical concerns were frequently minimised, normalised or reframed by staff as maternal anxiety. Tobi Thomas, The Guardian. https://guardian.com

Racism, prejudice and misogyny played a part. Women from black, Asian and other minority ethnic groups as well as those of lower socio-economic status and teens were particularly affected.

It’s difficult to watch mothers and fathers speak about what they went through when the child they were ready to welcome died or suffered injury causing cerebral palsy.

This hits me hard as it takes me back to my own experiences as an expectant mother more than thirty years ago. My book Passing Stranger tells some of this story. I post the title poem here with its shocking quote from a nurse: “Still not passed that foetus?”. 

My ex and I had no problem with the getting pregnant part but I couldn’t hang on to those potential babes. Seven pregnancies, five miscarriages and thankfully two live births, my son and daughter. I know so well the deep hurt, the grief of losing a baby. Miscarriage has long been deeply misunderstood. I see that culture of denial around foetal and infant death beginning to change. And so it should. We are in the 21st century! Hold that up against 1800 and statistics from that era. As a society we should be deeply ashamed.

Passing stranger

Still not passed that fetus?
The nurse cajoles, jollying me along. 
Should I have said I’m sorry?

I am sorry. Sorry I would never pass
a long, cooped-up winter listening 
to the weight of your breath
through the dark, windows steamed 
with the warmth of  our closeness. In the night,
I might have passed my hands over you,
wondering that you were real,
separate but connected to me. 
I am sorry I’d never watch you pass 
a soccer ball down a field, 
call out to receive a team-mate’s pass
and end mud-spattered and tired, 
in need of a bath and hot cocoa.
Sorry not to have the chance to pass you 
on the street, a person I never met, catch your eye,
smile that uncertain, checking-you-out 
kind of smile, a passing stranger’s tentative exchange,
half recognise in your eyes, 
maybe your walk, something of me, 
once, long ago.

I am sorry I will eventually pass you,
a barely-formed collection of cells, coming apart,
disintegrating in the warm but caustic bath of my uterus, 
so much blood and tissue, flowing warm against my skin.
I summon the passing bells to toll.

From Passing Stranger, Pam Galloway. Inanna Publications, Toronto.