A letter to my doctor

I wanted to take a few minutes to let you know why I decided to file a complaint against you this winter, and explain to you the lasting consequences of your actions the night of May 11, 2007.

I trusted and chose you to be a part of my transformation from a woman to a mom. I know for you it was just another delivery. It was just another series of complications to overcome, but for me it was a life changing event. For 32 minutes, I experienced the joy that comes with that transformation, and then you forced me into another transformation, a rape survivor. I know that wasn’t your intent. You were trying to avoid worrying me with another complication when you believed that you could easily and painlessly eliminate it. However, a yellow plastic gown, latex gloves, and a medical school diploma hanging in your office don’t make you God. It was my body that you violated. You humiliated and shamed me in front of my husband, daughter, best friend, and the nursing staff. I was vulnerable and trusting, and you betrayed me. Instead of treating me like an adult capable of making decisions, you treated me like an unfeeling object. Epidural or not, labor or not, my vagina is private. It’s up to me to decide who and what invades it. You abused your power, and denied me the opportunity to consent. You denied me the ability to process the event as a medical procedure. There was no warning, no understanding. The pain was indescribable. I know you tried to explain what was happening afterwards, but the pain was an incredible barrier to my understanding. The blood loss was too great, the change in blood pressure too rapid for me to process what was happening. I became legally incompetent so rapidly, that I can’t even figure out who signed the consent form for the D & C.

My primary care physician told me once that he really enjoyed delivering babies. It’s one of the few times that someone goes home with something after being in the hospital. I went home with a lot of things. I went home with a newborn. I went home with nightmares. I went home with flashbacks. I went home isolated because births like mine are not to be discussed. You don’t discuss birth rape over a cup of coffee at Caribou with an infant beside you.

Do you want to hear my version of Jennavive’s birth? I’m sure my version differs from yours?

“One more push to get the shoulders out.” I hear the doctor say. Despite not having any breath left, I try once again to push. I feel myself tear as the baby slides out, and they lay this gooey baby on my stomach. I’m in shock, she looks like an alien. There was nasty gooey mucus covering her whole body along with streaks of blood. I wish I could say I loved her at the point, but I was appalled by how she looked. I was relieved when the nurse took her away to be measured, weighed, tested, and cleaned up. At 11:45 pm, the doctor asked the nurse to tell him when 15 minutes had passed. I thought it was kind of odd at the time, but I was really starting to feel a sense of accomplishment and joy. I was watching the nurse cleaning her up while my friend took pictures. I was starting to feel a little odd, but I remember telling the doctor that “his 15 minutes was up”. The nurse asked me if I wanted to hold the baby, but I said no because I was feeling really woozy. My friend brings her over for me to touch. I reach my hand out to her. PAIN!!!! My hands are fisting in the sheets, and I’m fighting not to scream. My breathing is ragged, and I don’t know why the doctor’s hand is in my hoo-ha. I try to get away, I’m scrabbling with my hands trying to drag my body up the bed, but with the numbness in my legs I can’t escape. My vision is blurry, and I start seeing spots when I hear the doctor tell the nurse to get the surgical team. I’m struggling to stay conscious to focus on my daughter, but everything fades to black. Why do I need surgery? I don’t know what’s happening. The baby’s already here. I can’t leave her. I hear the angry voice of the doctor, “what took so long, where are they?” The nurse answers, “They left for the night. It will take an hour to get back to the hospital.” Why is he so angry? I don’t understand what’s happening. The pain is so intense it takes my breath away. They strap the oxygen mask over my face, and I feel the pricking of needles. Are they doing a hysterectomy? I still can’t see. Where’s my baby? I can’t abandon her. I hear fear in the doctor’s voice. “Where the hell are they”, he yells at the nurse. I’m so scared now. Am I dying? I can’t abandon my baby. My husband will never forgive her if something happens to me. I have to stay here to raise her. Do whatever it takes, but keep me here to raise her. Alarms are going off. What’s happening? I hear a new voice, and I feel the bed moving. They’re rolling me down the hallway to the operating room. I sense the bright lights, and feel myself being transferred to the operating table. The voices are frantic. I feel more needles pricking me, and everything fades to black…

This is what you left me with. Each year on her birthday, this is the story that I will remember. Do you remember your children’s births? Do you remember the joy you felt? I don’t. It was so fleeting. I remember the pain, anger and fear. I’m glad that you’re skilled enough to have kept me alive. I’m glad that I’m here every day to enjoy my daughter, but I can’t forgive you for the pain you caused.

I wrote the complaint to the state medical board because you crossed a line that should never be crossed. It’s my small attempt to remind the medical establishment that patients have rights. I wanted to remind you of the Hippocratic Oath. Isn’t there a line in there about “doing no harm”? You caused harm that night. It’s my small way of facing my attacker, and while you’ll probably get off scot-free at least I tried to change it for the women who will tread this path after me.

I wrote this several months ago, but I'm finding myself struggling again. My co-worker's induction is scheduled for next week, and I'm worried about how things will go for her. I just don't want to see her end up in the same place I am.

Reading this today made me realize just how much anger I still harbor towards the doctor. I guess the PTSD comes in waves. I feel strong for a while, but then something sucks me back down. I know part of the problem is a story on my SOLACE forum that really struck a nerve. A mom went through a post-birth experience similar to mine, and has never felt validated in her feelings. Reading her story, and feeling her pain, anger and fear radiating through it just smacked into me.

Sometimes criminal activities take place in the bright lights of a hospital. It's not intended to be that way. I know there's no intent, but the action itself is criminal. If a patient is fighting to get away from you, they're in pain. If they're screaming at you to STOP, stop. If you're more worried about what their family members are seeing there's something wrong with your morals. Patients are humans. We're autonomous. We have feelings. We're not objects. Treat us with the respect that you expect us to treat you with. Listen to us. Answer our questions. Allow us to trust you. Don't betray us in the heat of battle.