Birth trauma: “For months I was sure that my child was not mine”

Helen Miller suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) after a traumatic birth. A 34-year-old woman from Wirral, Merseyside, recounts how flashbacks and severe sleep deprivation worsened her mental health. After having obsessive thoughts about harming a child, she was hospitalized for three months. She is now in recovery and runs a support group for women and families affected by postpartum depression.

I have never had mental health issues. The pregnancy, my first, was uneventful despite being categorized as high risk due to my weight. However, now I see that the beginning of my struggle began when I was wearing Erin. I was very afraid that something might go wrong, and I felt that I would almost certainly lose my long-awaited child.

I was pregnant in the midst of the pandemic and the isolation and worry that my husband Carl wouldn’t be able to be with me during the birth certainly had an impact. After the traumatic birth, I had flashbacks and hallucinations, I couldn’t sleep for several days. All of these factors created the perfect storm that caused me to lose touch with reality.

In September 2020, the day before Erin was due, I was initiated because meconium (baby feces) was in the amniotic fluid. I was horrified because I had heard that induction could cause more painful labor.

After 10 hours I was allowed to push. But after 30 minutes, I was told that the baby’s head was in the wrong position and that I needed to go to the operating room for a rotary forceps delivery, and was warned that I might need a caesarean section. I got sick and very scared.

I cried my eyes out, convinced that my child would die and I would die. It was also depressing to realize that if I went under general anesthesia, my husband would have to leave the operating room.

I had an extended episiotomy (a deeper incision than usual to widen the entrance to the vagina). Erin’s head lifted, but her shoulders brushed against my pelvis. The paramedic ran out shouting “shoulder dystocia” and other doctors came. Suddenly, my legs were completely upright, pointing towards the ceiling, and the midwife applied compression to my abdomen. Nobody told me what was going on. All I could see was a blue screen on my face.

Later I learned that Erin was in despair. Her head was not suitable for a caesarean section, and the doctor pulled it out with both hands, twisting it. I expected a scream, but it was silent. Erin did not answer and was immediately taken away for oxygen.

I kept saying, “I failed, I failed.” I know it’s irrational, but it felt like I was giving up my child in my first job: delivering her safely. Luckily, Erin came over with a towel and didn’t get hurt. I lost a lot of blood: five pints.

I never had much skin contact with Erin as I passed out several times over the next few days and passed out from low blood pressure. I got a blood transfusion. During that first week in the hospital, I had a sudden, strange bout of confusion when I forgot that I had a child and that I didn’t know who I was.

Taken from one day to another

At home, I looked good on the outside and continued to say how happy we were. My relationship with Erin was good. But I discussed the smallest things with my family, and while the baby slept wonderfully, I kept waking up at night and could not fall asleep again. I had pelvic pain and contracted multiple infections which caused me to be separated from my daughter for 24 hours in the emergency room. I struggled with breastfeeding – Erin wouldn’t breastfeed and I couldn’t bring my milk supply up to pumping levels. I gave up after 10 days and felt like a failure again.

My husband, Carl, a truck driver, had to work non-stop for five days, and with the newly introduced Covid restrictions, it was very difficult for me to be at home alone and look after a child while I was still physically disabled and mentally struggling with what I now know was PTSD from birth. I was starting to feel really depressed. I was walking with a child by the sea and thought about how to jump and drown us both. Luckily, I was able to quickly talk myself out of it.

I attended a birth consultation at the hospital, and after hearing what really happened to me, it was like my mind was broken overnight. I had birth memories and hardly slept for eight days. I began to believe that Erin was not my child, and the intrusive thoughts of hurting her intensified. I didn’t mean to hurt her, it was rather involuntary. I changed her diaper and imagined her banging her head against the wall. I also had recurring dreams about strangling her. One night, during this dream, I went to her bed in a dream, which scared me.

I kept asking who the child is. I became pathetic. The crisis team came to my house for a week, and then they sent me to the mother and child unit. When the medics asked me if I knew who Erin was, I alternated between saying that my baby had died and gone into the bin, or that I was still pregnant and she was locked inside of me. I had hallucinations: one day I woke up and a man was laughing at me. I was diagnosed with OCD and my mother’s PTSD and was on antipsychotics and antidepressants.

We had group therapy sessions and I heard that a mother was breastfeeding her child. The nurses always said they weren’t worried that I might actually hurt Erin because those thoughts made me feel desperate. Then they said they were worried – not that I would hurt her, but that now that she was a little older, she would be embarrassed by my outbursts. All this caused a breakdown, and I was very afraid that my child would also be taken away from me.

road to recovery

After three months and a gradual return home, things began to improve. It took me months to call Erin by her first name and acknowledge that she was mine, but I did it. I had fantastic support from the perinatal team and local charities. I have always been active in my recovery. Along with medication (which I still take) I had talking therapy, desensitization and eye movement work, treatment for post-traumatic stress disorder. I went to swimming and babysitting classes with Erin and did a lot of baby massages to strengthen our bond. He’s really strong now and Erin is a happy, healthy two year old.

I was still struggling with pelvic pain and it was 18 months before I was referred by a physical therapist when they discovered it had been damaged during childbirth. Last year I got trichotillomania, where someone can’t resist the urge to rip their hair out – and I’m bald on top of my head. But in general, I’m doing well.

I have volunteered for Pandas UK, a postpartum depression charity, and run an affiliated support group that helps around 100 families. While I have received a lot of support, I feel like you really need to get sick to get help. I want to be able to support women who are fighting for life and not eligible for NHS help before they get sick.

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