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By Lucy Notarantonio and Emily Jackson
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I always wanted two children. I loved growing up with my sister and imagined giving my own child the same experience.
But after a traumatic birth and what happened in the days that followed, I am one and done. Even my 24-year-old sister Sophie, who was one of my birthing partners, says the experience has put her off having children.
I was induced at 38 weeks after being diagnosed with gestational diabetes 10 weeks earlier. My blood sugar levels had stopped spiking, but I was told this didn’t mean the condition had resolved. Instead, it was a sign that the placenta wasn’t working properly, so I needed to deliver early.
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I was initially given a pessary and told to walk around the hospital to let gravity do its thing and encourage labor. At first, I was quite relaxed. I strolled around the hospital with Sophie and my 36-year-old husband, Craig.
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Two days later, I was dilated to around 3-4 centimeters and my cervix was in a prime position, but the woman in the bay opposite me was taken down to the consultant ward first. I had to wait for the next available space.
Looking back, it felt like a conveyor belt, with one woman going in and another coming out.
By the time I got to the ward, my cervix had reverted, so the midwife broke my waters. I was put on a hormone drip to manually start the contractions.
We initially attempted a water birth as I wanted to give birth, using just gas and air. But after two hours, the pain was excruciating. It felt like a forced labor that my body wasn’t ready for.
I got out of the water and asked for an epidural. My baby’s heart rate kept going up and down, but everything seemed to be under control. Then the midwife came over, looked me in the eyes and said: “I am going to press a button and you’re about to meet a lot of people. Please stay calm.”
Within seconds, the room was full of consultants and doctors. My baby’s heart rate was declining rapidly. They couldn’t find her heartbeat for four minutes. Eventually it stabilized and then 30 minutes later, they rang the emergency bell again as it had significantly dropped. A fetal scalp electrode was attached to my baby’s scalp to monitor her heartbeat more closely.
I was told my baby was stressed and wasn’t doing well. After that, everything is a blur.
My sister shouted for the midwife and said: “Something is wrong with Emily.”
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My fingertips went gray, and the discoloration began moving up my arm and leg.
My body had gone into septic shock.
I became delirious. I didn’t know where I was or what I was doing.
I was in so much pain, but it wasn’t like labor pain. It felt like my body was shutting down. I was struggling to breathe and was put on oxygen. I remember saying, “Get her out now.”
As I was being wheeled down to the operating room, I remember thinking that at least I was leaving my daughter with an amazing daddy. I genuinely thought I was going to die.
Then I crashed and lost consciousness.
I was 9 centimeters dilated, and they had to push my baby back so she could be delivered via an emergency C-section.
When I eventually came around, I was vomiting. It felt like a real horror story, but all I cared about was making sure my baby Noella was safe.
Her temperature was a little high and her blood sugar was low, but I was told she was OK.
Still, my gut was telling me something wasn’t right. I had only been a mother for a few hours, but my maternal instincts were already kicking in. She wasn’t feeding. She was just sleeping.
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Staff reassured me that some babies are tired, and one person even said some newborns are lazy.
We spent the night at the hospital. I could hear all the other babies crying while mine didn’t make a sound.
Despite being worried and expressing my concerns, I was discharged the next day.
At home, I tried to feed her, but she wasn’t interested.
Two hours later, she made a strange noise.
I looked at her and she was purple and wasn’t breathing. She was freezing cold and her temperature was extremely low at less than 35 degrees Celsius.
We called an ambulance and, when paramedics tested her blood sugar, it came back at 0.8 mmol/ when it is supposed to be over 2.
We were blue-lighted straight back to the hospital where she had been born. She was bundled up in a snowsuit and taken straight into resuscitation.
As she was so tiny, they struggled to find a vein for her IV. It was awful.
We learned that she had contracted sepsis from me as I had developed the deadly infection after my waters were broken while she was still inside me. But she hadn’t been tested for it before we were initially sent home.
She was pumped with antibiotics, which improved her condition, although they made her ill in other ways, including colic.
We were discharged after four days, but by that point I was terrified. I felt like I was taking her home to die.
Since then, I have been having therapy every week to treat postpartum depression and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
The experience also delayed my physical recovery because, rather than being able to take it slow at home, I was rushing around the hospital worrying about my baby.
I think my postpartum depression stemmed from everything we went through.
As a new mom, you feel unsure of yourself and naturally put your trust in medical professionals. But when something goes wrong, the consequences can be enormous.
For me, one of the lasting effects has been the fear of not being able to trust doctors.
Craig later told me he thought he was going to leave the hospital either as a widower or without both of us.
We had always imagined having another child, but now neither of us wants to take that risk again. Craig doesn’t want to risk our daughter being left without her mom.
There is a happy ending, though.
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You would never know Noella had been as ill as she was. She is so cheeky and sassy. She is hitting milestones early and already trying to walk. She is a happy baby and rarely cries.
We absolutely love being parents and she is a joy.
We are only having one child, which wasn’t our original plan, but now we want to concentrate on making sure she has the best life we can possibly give her.
I want to raise awareness of sepsis, but I also want other women to trust themselves.
It is easy to be made to feel as though you are worrying too much, that you don’t know what you’re doing or that your concerns don’t matter. But sometimes we have those feelings for a reason.
Trust your gut.
If you raise a concern, ask the doctor to document why they aren’t taking action.
It is better to raise the alarm and turn out to be wrong than to let somebody make you doubt yourself and end up with a critically ill child.
Emily Jackson, 27, from England, works in education and is sharing her experience to raise awareness of sepsis and encourage women to advocate for themselves when seeking medical care.
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