Terrified of giving birth? Stay away from Mumsnet
Here’s a bizarre new affliction for the 21st century: tokophobia.
Is it an ailment? Is it an allergy? Or yet another look-at-me affectation in a society where everybody craves special status?
No, it’s a pathological fear of giving birth. Not only has tokophobia been medically established, it is also on the rise. The cause? Mumsnet.
Not understaffed and overstretched maternity wards. Not scandals such as Morecambe Bay, where 19 infants and mothers died due to lack of care between 2004 and 2013; or the current investigation into the maternity unit at Shrewsbury and Telford NHS Hospital Trust, where more than 60 mothers and babies are feared to have died or sustained serious injuries over the past two decades.
No, the finger of blame has been pointed at Mumsnet’s discussion boards, which apparently contain too much gory veritas for modern sensibilities.
Somewhere beyond the anguish over stressful sleepovers, selfish mothers-in-law who refuse to look after their grandkids 24/7 and rants about unmarked school jumpers, there is a thread called “Terrified, terrified, terrified of childbirth”.
That’s one of the less explicit exchanges, as there’s no mention of vomiting or involuntary bowel movement – although, to be fair, catheters get a reasonable show.
As someone who has endured two horrendous births, I have great sympathy with those women genuinely anxious about labour. It can be nightmarish. But usually it’s not. Is there really anything more to add? Other than “Look away, newbies, this is not for you.”
One of the chief consolations of battle-weary parenthood is you get to patronise new mothers, dispensing bleeding obvious advice on everything from teething to sleep training to… childbirth itself.
There isn’t a woman of any age who doesn’t relish retelling her birth story. It’s one of those huge life events, like war, over which you have no control.
At the outset, you plan for a little light national service, but you can suddenly be plunged into a ghastly, frightening battle you most certainly did not sign up for. So of course you want – need – to talk about it.
I developed post-traumatic disorder after my first labour, which was mismanaged, swift and excruciatingly painful. The midwife had abandoned me and I was left in my own terror, covered in blood and screaming the Our Father as my husband wheeled my bed down the corridor to get help.
Post-natal depression, morbidity and sexual dysfunction haunted me for years afterwards. When I eventually became pregnant again, I was very scared; back in 2008, tokophobia wasn’t even a thing. I repeatedly told any medic who would listen that I reluctantly wanted to have a C-section because it sounded like the least worst option, which is to say the better-the-devil-you-don’tknow option.
Everyone tried to dissuade me, until I asked straight out: could the hospital guarantee I would have a midwife during labour? It could not. Eventually, I met with the consultant who smilingly steamrollered over my request. I ended up agreeing to an induced labour (again), but with the promise that if there was no sign of baby, she would whip it out before her shift finished.
That didn’t happen. She clocked off and left me. I ended up with a series of bungled epidurals, during which my dural membrane was punctured and cerebrospinal fluid leaked from my brain and spinal chord.
Then came an emergency C-section, where the obstetrician started cutting into me before the anaesthetic had kicked in. It was days before anyone was available to fix the puncture, by which time I was curled up like Quasimodo, my headache so searing I could barely walk and was unable to see from one eye. Again, I had postnatal depression. Again, I somehow got through the dark tunnel of despair and emerged on the other side.
But no pregnant woman needs to hear such harrowing front line accounts when she’s booking her babymoon and fantasising about her first outing with the Silver Cross.
Mumsnet is a fine institution, a useful resource if you want intel on car seats and how to get chewing gum from a toddler’s hair (olive oil), even if the grammar has visibly deteriorated of late and the dreaded “Mom” is creeping its way into conversation.
It’s the online equivalent of the women in the hut passing on their hard-won knowledge, but with more passive-aggression and insufferable “Why don’t you just hire a doula?” smugness.
What would make it a far more useful resource for mothers-to-be would be a guide for their menfolk on how to support them if the whole shebang doesn’t go to (birth) plan: everything to do with being assertive, knowing when and how to summon help and, most important of all, what to do if it’s clear the midwife can’t cope.
My major regret is not having ensured my husband had done the homework, was aware of the chain of command, and could call in the proverbial cavalry when needed.
So take it from a veteran who’s done it the hard way twice (and would endure it again in heartbeat, so much do I love my children): if you have substantive concerns, forget online forums. They are the virtual equivalent of the village water pump, not the World Health Organisation, for pity’s sake.
If you have a phobia about giving birth, don’t get pregnant. If you do, seek professional help and discuss your options and allow your fears to be allayed. Because no midwife is going to refuse pain relief to a woman wearing the “I’m Tokophobic” badge, is she?
I might be biased, but nine hours of discomfort is a small price to pay for a lifetime of mother love.
But if none of these apply and you just want to whinge and make a melodramatic fuss about nothing for the sake of it, well, there’s always Mumsnet.