My corona birth day: an eerie calm, brisk efficiency and face masks
The hospital at which the Prime Minister’s new son was born promises “the very best care for women and their babies” and “state-of-the-art facilities”.
Almost 6,800 babies are delivered each year at University College London Hospital – one of only two in the capital to receive accreditation in Unicef ’s prestigious Baby Friendly Award, recognising its work in supporting and enabling breastfeeding.
It also has a “level 3” neonatal intensive care unit, which provides specialist care for the sickest and most premature babies.
Although it offers a private maternity care package for those who can afford it, No10 said the baby was born in an NHS hospital, and specifically not a private wing.
‘You can’t see my face, but I’m smiling.” That’s what my midwife told me after delivering my baby at University College London Hospital last month; at the height of a pandemic, decked out in PPE, this is the way mothers and those who bring their newborns into the world must now communicate.
It’s not how you imagine those first moments, but just as Carrie Symonds said, the maternity ward staff were incredible – a calming presence at a time that often felt like anything but.
Coronavirus had begun to affect my pregnancy in the months leading up to Clara’s birth – several appointments had been moved, and others were by phone. But on the day, the strange situation we’ve found ourselves in almost worked out for the better. I had been having contractions since the morning, but on the advice of hospital staff via phone, they told me to hang on as long as I could before coming in.
That meant that when I arrived at the hospital that night – a 15-minute taxi ride through the traffic-free city – we were ushered straight in, taken for an assessment and then to a labour room, where I must have given birth around 15 minutes later. The place was quiet – at odds with what you’d expect.
Before I went into labour, I was worried by stories of dads sitting in car parks while their partners pushed, missing those first moments of their newborns’ lives. I was relieved that turned out not to be true for us – the midwives made clear that birthing partners could be present in active labour, but wouldn’t be able to stay over or visit like normal. We stayed together for a few hours, the three of us, before my husband Chris went home to our two-year-old that night.
The postnatal ward was a much calmer experience than the first time around when it felt like a revolving door of other people’s visitors. The other big difference was the focus on being discharged as quickly as possible: the midwives were meticulous, but wanted to get you home as quickly and safely as they could. After my first birth, it felt a bit like you had to push for them to complete the discharge paperwork.
Prior to Clara’s birth, I had worried about the knock-on effect of coronavirus to maternity services. But the dedication of the midwives and their empathy made mums like me, and I’m sure Carrie, feel as though we were in the best possible hands.