The Sorry State of Healthcare Complaints

Nearly three years after Baby G was born, I've reached the end of the official complaint procedure, through the NSW Health Care Complaints Commission. (If you've not read my blog before, the TL:DR is that when pregnant with Baby G I requested a caesarean at Sydney's Royal Prince Alfred Hospital on the grounds of prior abuse, was turned down, agreed to an induction under duress when I was ten days overdue, then when I refused permission to continue with the induction they went ahead anyway and wouldn't let me leave hospital until after two days of trying, my body stubbornly refused to go into labour and they finally carried out the c-section. The full, horrid story is here).

Anyway, the HCCC told me my complaint was being closed because the mental health nurse whom I was referred to denies I ever asked her for a c-section. I pointed out to the HCCC that I had a letter from RPA, dated a few months after Baby G was born, in which the nurse acknowledged that I asked her for a c-section and she refused this without referring me to an obstetrician. The HCCC's response? That the matter was a "communication difficulty", no further action.

So the woman tasked with the care of vulnerable pregnant women at Sydney's busiest maternity hospital failed to refer a sexual assault victim for a c-section at her request, then lied about it. The HCCC has documented evidence of this, and is okay with it. (I thought, well even if the HCCC thought there was nothing wrong in refusing the c-section, surely they'd take action over a nurse blatantly lying to them?)

If you're now thinking, WTF, it gets worse.

Concerned, as she said, about my mental state, one of the HCCC assessors called me to explain the outcome. During that call, she told me that even though no further action was being taken against the nurse or the hospital, it is traumatic just being assessed (imagine telling a rape victim yes, your rapists were acquitted, but it is traumatic just being arrested), that I should have just left the hospital (the hospital refused me permission to leave even though I begged, cried and offered to sign any form stating I was leaving against medical advice) and that well, you got a c-section in the end, didn't you? (They stopped raping you didn't they? You're not dead).

So this is how it ends. I wanted to know the nurse in question had been counselled or reprimanded. I wanted procedures to be changed. I wanted a real apology - not "we are sorry this matter continues to cause you distress" but "We are sorry we did the wrong thing and it will not happen again". I wanted something on the record so that this couldn't happen again in any hospital in NSW. And instead, I faced lies, arse covering and bureaucracy protecting it's own. What is the point of the HCCC?

They dismissed my simple need to not deliver vaginally as "anxiety", and now they fob off my rage and grief by advising I get counselling. I don't need counselling. What I need is justice. I want to know the staff involved have been held accountable and that it cannot happen again. That is all, but I can't go on without it.

I tell this not for sympathy, but to point out both how badly sexual assault victims are treated in hospital, and how vulnerable we all are. If something goes wrong in the health system - a mix up of forms, too much or too little medication, some error, mistake or fuck up - what recourse do we have? I even wrote to the NSW Health Minister, to be told there is nothing they can do to review the decisions of the HCCC. All I can do is post here, hoping that somehow this story gets picked up; maybe publicity can do what bureaucracy has failed. RPA is not a safe place to give birth and the HCCC fails to ensure safety in NSW public hospitals. We shouldn't have to kick and scream for decent health care and honesty from health care staff; it should be a human right.

Enough

I've never been one to back down on something I believed in. And after my experience giving birth to Baby G in 2011...I vowed I would never again keep quiet about something for the sake of keeping the peace. I wanted to make sure what happened to me wouldn't ever happen to another woman; that if an abuse survivor requested a caesarean birth, she'd get one, without having to plead or beg or tell her story to an endless series of hospital staff for evaluation. I initially complained through the official hospital process, and that ended up with an apology from the Head of Obstetrics...but they said I "slipped though the cracks". There was no indication anyone would be held accountable, no sign anything would change. So after some time and consideration, I decided to lodge a complaint through the Health Care Complaints Commission.

What a mistake.

Dealing with the HCCC has been an experience almost as painful and degrading as the initial treatment in hospital. I'd been warned they were fairly useless, but good Christ in heavens above. Their initial "investigation" consisted of asking the hospital had they done anything wrong. The hospital claimed no, they had not (contrary to what they told me in my initial complaint). That was good enough for the HCCC. Case closed.

Worst of all, though, was hearing that the nurse at the heart of my complaint - who refused me a c-section, when she had no right to do so, instead of referring me on - was now denying I'd ever asked her that. That was a punch in the guts; I exclaimed "she's lying!" and had to end the call, sobbing. I couldn't get over that. Initially, I would have been satisfied with an apology from her (a real apology; not "I'm sorry you're upset" but "I am sorry I did the wrong thing"). Now I wanted justice; she should be suspended for this. I read case after case of previous decisions by the Nursing and Midwifery Council. Nurses have been reprimanded for far less than leaving a patient verging on suicide and then lying about it. I appealed the HCCC decision, and I had one thing on my side. A letter from the hospital, dating back to my initial complaint, where plainly stated I had asked for a c-section when I first saw her. Written proof. I've got her now.

The HCCC didn't care. They didn't ask to see my written evidence that the nurse was lying. It is not their role to investigate, and whilst it is very regrettable that I am still distressed, the level of care was not below that which is expected.

Once I'd gotten over my shock, grief turned to fury. I could see I would have a bigger fight on my hands here. Not only the hospital, but the HCCC itself now, for what is the point of a regulatory body if it does nothing about these kinds of things. I must do this for all the others. I started a petition, made an appointment to see my MP, wrote again to the HCCC...

But as the petition failed to take off like I'd hoped and I actually came under attack from pro-natural birthers (can you believe it?! Against elective caesareans, don't have one), I wasn't strong and fighting. I was crying constantly and feeling helpless and frustrated. A short trip away helped me reach a decision. Enough. I give up. I can't do this any more. I wanted to help other women. I wanted to make sure it couldn't happen to anyone else. But, as they say, fit your own air mask first. Putting myself on the line like this, baring my past and soul to strangers to get passed off with bureaucratese, was driving me to the very brink of despair. Each letter from the HCCC sent me into hours of misery. Every signature my petition didn't get was like a message that what happened to me was okay, it didn't matter. I was carrying this with me all the time, and I have to let it go. Maybe when I'm feeling stronger down the track, I'll pursue this more (I think I'll bypass the bureaucracy this time and just straight-up sue). But by letting go, I'm refusing these people permission to upset me any more. Yes, it niggles that I'm letting that nurse get away with it, but I reason that a nurse who has this effect on a patient and lies to cover it up has to realise they're a bit shit as a health practitioner and a person, and that gives me peace for the time being.

Anyway, to mark this decision, I chopped off a foot of hair and dyed the rest bright pinky red.

Changing for the Better

As regular readers of this blog know, I've been fighting an ongoing battle with the NSW Healthcare Complaints Commission. If you're coming to the story now, in 2011 prior to the birth of my son in a NSW public hospital, I requested a c-section on the grounds of prior sexual abuse...and was turned down. The full (and warning - rather graphic) story is here. And I've been suffering PTSD ever since.

Anyway, wanting justice and for it to never happen to another woman, I lodged a formal complaint with the HCCC, despite warnings from others that they can be rather useless. It went back and forward for months. Last week I got the final response. The nurse and hospital in question lied about what had happened, and the HCCC took their word for it. Case dismissed.

I cried. I threw things. Then this morning I woke up with a fresh determination. I had been planning to appeal my complaint with the NSW Health ombudsman, but I've decided to give up on complaining. I'll not get justice for what happened to me, and I think I can make peace with that. What I can do is help make sure it never happens to anyone else, and that's where you come in.

I've created a petition on change.org asking the NSW Health Minister, Jillian Skinner, to protect the rights of sexual assault survivors giving birth in NSW public hospitals to choose the birth they need - guaranteeing the right to a caesarean section if they wish. Please sign, please share with as many people as you can. It's my dear hope that we'll get enough support that the minister will look at this petition and make changes to the law so no woman is forced to cry and plead and beg, go through an induction or forceps or episiotomy or any more trauma after the trauma they've already been through. A huge part of the trauma for sexual abuse survivors is the loss of control, of bodily autonomy. To be victimised again by the hospital system is something no one should have to go through. I want to make sure they don't have to. Please help.

Feminism on the Maternity Ward - The Right To Choose A Caesarian

As we hear of yet another instance of a pregnant woman apparently forced to give birth via c-section, I'm thinking of how many others there must be like me - women forced to give birth vaginally, denied their right to bodily autonomy by being denied the right to give birth by c-section as they desired. For those not familiar with my story, I requested a c-section late in my pregnancy due to psychological reasons at the public hospital I was due to give birth at, and was turned down. I ended up delivering by caesarian, but only after reaching 12 day post dates and a failed 48 hour attempt to induce labour. The full story is here. A hospital, seeking to keep it's caesarian rates down, deemed my reasons for avoiding vaginal birth unworthy.

A woman's right to bodily autonomy is not trumped by a hospital's policy to keep c-section rates down. There may be all sorts of reasons a woman wishes to deliver by c-section, very few of them being because she's "too posh to push". Maybe she's been hurt, traumatised, has a fear of pain, past abuse, suffers anxiety. It doesn't matter. It's none of anyone else's business. It's her call to make. Armed with the full knowledge of the risks of both vaginal and caesarian deliveries, it should be the woman's final decision to make if she desires to give birth by caesarian section. If she has suffered from abuse or trauma, she should not have to explain herself over and over to hospital counsellors and social workers, shouldn't have to beg, shouldn't have to leave a decision regarding her basic bodily autonomy in someone else's hands, shouldn't have to suffer to contribute to a figure in an end of year departmental report. Just about every decent person is on board with the idea that it is wrong to force a woman to continue with a pregnancy against her will. Why is it deemed acceptable to force a woman to deliver vaginally against her will? To tell her not everything in life can be controlled and vaginal deliveries are safer for babies and if she can't grasp either concept, maybe she's just not ready for motherhood?

This isn't a concept with much support in feminist circles, alas. Notions of feminist birth and empowering birth often focus on achieving homebirth or birth with as little medical intervention as possible. I'm very glad these voices are being heard. I'm glad we've moved away from the days when a labouring woman was admitted to hospital, shaved and given an enema, and left to labour on a steel trolley for days whilst her husband alternatively paced in the hall or went to the pub. I'm glad the right of women to have autonomy over their birth is changing hospital procedure. But sadly these policies and these women's voices are not speaking in support of a woman's right to choose a c-section. That right is little acknowledged at all, and living in a state where abortion still falls under the Crimes Act, let alone which recently passed laws infringing on women's rights by creating a fiction of fetal personhood, it is hard to imagine such a right being legally recognised any time soon. We'll keep seeing articles lamenting that the c-section rate is too high. But as feminism makes in-roads in the maternity units and birth centres, and more women are able to access the kind of birth they want, it would be nice to see avoiding forced vaginal birth is no longer seen as a privilege.

Edit: I've started a change.org petition to have the right to a c-section for abuse survivors in NSW hospitals enshrined in law.

Please sign and share.

Summer Fun With The HCCC

Received a letter in the mail this week informing me the Health Care Complaints Commission will not be proceeding with my complaint over events leading up to the birth of Baby G. The HCCC has come to this conclusion after a rigorous investigative process which consisted of asking the hospital, and specifically the nurse who initially refused the c-section, if they'd done anything wrong. Both the hospital and nurse have replied that they don't feel they didn't do anything wrong. Well that's okay then! Case closed. Be on your way. I especially like the part of the letter that says "the nurse denies being rude or condescending to you, stating that this is not part of her normal practice". Well of course she's going to say that isn't she. "Are you ever rude to patients?" "All the damn time, you bet I am! You've got to let them know their place".

Sigh.

I have asked for a review, based on the one thing I seem to have on my side right now: the nurse involved is now denying I ever asked her for a c-section at all. Funnily enough I have a letter from the hospital in which the nurse "remembers your meeting and request for an LSCS". So my hope is that even if the HCCC doesn't think refusing me the c-section breaches an acceptable standard of care, they'll take a less approving view of a nurse explicitly lying to them.

Nevertheless, I'm not too hopeful of anything coming of this - the HCCC and Nurse Midwives Board, do seem to be rather concerned with protecting their own. So now what? Civil action? Ombudsman? Going to the High Court of Bogan Australia, i.e. Today Tonight? I'm temperamentally disinclined to just let this go, as that does nothing to stop this happening to someone else. I've been seeking out stories of others who've been let down by the medico-legal system, to see how they've coped. But if they think I'm going to just let this go, I'm not. I won't.

A Story of Birth Trauma, PTSD and Other Fun Stuff

Trigger warning: contains discussion of abuse, medical procedures and birth trauma.


So, I've shared a lot with my readers...from the year long quest to conceive Baby G, through to my dreams about pornographers. Probably I over share. But now I'm going to tell you a very personal story I've not shared even with people I know...a tale of medical incompetence and the not-so-delightful lead up to the birth of Baby G. And I'm telling you this because I want to add my voice to the brave women who say birth trauma is real, it does matter, and because what happened to me should never happen to anyone, if I have to shout a bit to make sure that happens.

When I was pregnant with BabyG back in 2011, we were still living in inner Sydney, so I booked in to go through the birth centre at an inner city hospital. I have had some very bad experiences at the hands of doctors, so I thought the most natural birth safely possible was the best, least traumatic way to go. We had a doula, and I practiced breathing exercises and visualisation, and took natural birthing drops, which I didn't even believe in but thought I'd try...you get the idea. Also in preparation for making the gory parts of the birth as smooth as possible (are you still with me? This is where it starts getting nasty) at 38 weeks I hopped in the shower to try perineal stretching. Very gently to start with.

The second I tried it, my blood ran cold; I nearly fainted and threw up at the same time. I was horrified. It instantly brought flashbacks to a disturbing incident when I was young; I came out of the shower sobbing. There was no way - no way in hell - I could have a vaginal birth. The stretching was so horrible, I feel sick even now thinking about it. Fuck the birth centre. No one - no doctor or midwife - was touching my hoo hah. Pass the scalpel.

So the next day, I reported to my regular appointment at the birth centre, and explained the situation. Sorry guys, you've been great, but I can't do a natural birth. So they referred me to the clinical nurse consultant, and I went through the whole situation. I've been abused; preparing for a natural birth has triggered flashbacks, I can't face a vaginal birth and I want a c-section.

She said no.

Can you believe that? I can't, still. I've spent the last five years in the community sector, advocating for people. I'm at a loss, shocked, by how someone could lack the basic human compassion to allow an assault victim to have a c-section on request. She was really, really rude actually - told me I should have thought of this before, that if I wanted an obstetrician I'd have to go privately because it was too late now. If I knew then, what I know now, I'd have made a massive scene, demanded to speak to someone, anyone else - but I  didn't.  I meekly said that's fine, I understand. Be nice. Don't give anyone any reason to not like you. And I went home and cried and cried.

As it happened, BabyG went overdue. Really overdue. By day 10, I was overwrought with anxiety - about the birth, about the baby, as another overdue baby a couple of months before had not had a good outcome, and the precious little angel was born asleep. I was terrified, and would have gotten G out with a garden fork if I had to, and I stupidly agreed to an induction. Into hospital we went on Tuesday, 30 August. They shoved cervadil up me, which was fairly fucking horrid. I had been told in advance that once the cervadil was in, I could go home until contractions started. Oh no, I was told now. You can't leave. At all. Not allowed to walk up the street to get my head together. I was already starting to lose it, but they gave me a valium and off I went to sleep in the hope labour would start and this would all be over.

Wednesday morning. No labour. Nothing has happened. No dilation - he wasn't even engaged. Okay, said the midwife with her hand rammed up me (sticking her finger in my urethra on the way in) - the next step is to put a balloon catheter in your cervix.

Everybody out of the goddamn pool, I said. I'd had enough being nice. I'm not proceeding with the induction. Get him out now - I want a c-section, if you won't give me one I'll go home and freebirth. And by the way, being in the hospital in pretty fucking upsetting, considering I'm not even in labour can I just walk up the street and get some food? They told me they'd get back to me. Do you know how long they made me wait? Thirty fucking hours. Thirty hours of me crying, begging for the c-section, not allowed to leave, and having midwives continually giving me cervical sweeps "to see if anything is happening" and pressuring me to go on with the induction.

Finally on Thursday afternoon - 48 hours after arriving at hospital - they gave me the c-section, and BabyG was born. And whoops, no one picked up on that he was 4.5kg with a 40cm head, which should have qualified me for a c-section if I wanted in the first place.

I've lived with this for two years now, and I'm still angry. I'm angry at what I've missed out on - my one experience of birth, and it's just such a horrible, horrible memory. I'm angry that it has taken such a toll on bonding with G. I'm angry at the effect it's had on my marriage. I'm angry at the lack of agency, the disempowerment. Being treated like an object, a piece of meat. I'm angry it was all so damn unnecessary. I'm so angry and I don't know what to do with it. I've complained to the hospital, which was semi-helpful, I guess - but they said I "slipped through the cracks" in the system. No I didn't. It was that damn nurse's cruelty and complacency that allowed this to happen - and you know what? Apparently she didn't even have the authority to refuse or allow a c-section and should have referred me to the head obstetrician. Why didn't you ask to speak to an obstetrician when the nurse said no, the hospital asked? Um, cause I don't know your chain of command. And what about the 30 hours I waited? I was asking everyone by then.

I've also lodged a complaint with the Health Care Complaints Commission; that's still going through the process. I've thought about suing, I haven't decided yet. I've seen a counsellor for PTSD, but I've never been a great fan of counselling; it doesn't work so well for me. I'm on anti-depressants. I've recently started going to the gym and that's nice, but it won't take the need for the medication away. Where to from here? We are almost certainly not having any more kids - a drawback of starting your family after 30 is not having oodles of time to think about it - so the prospect of a "healing birth" is out. Anyway we're looking at moving back to Sydney, back into the catchment of that hospital. Give birth there again? I'd rather burn the place down. Even passing a bus on George St, with the hospital on it's destination board, is upsetting.

So there's my birth trauma story. I was chewed up and spit out by the public hospital system, and I know I should be grateful I have a healthy kid and I gave birth in a safe modern hospital but fuck it, I don't think availing yourself of those services should mean you have to put up with whatever non-compassionate, incompetent treatment they mete out. And I'm furious whenever I hear wails about the c-section rate being too high - I suffered weeks of psychological hell, and 48 hours of physical hell, because a public hospital wanted to keep it's section rate down. I've changed. I no longer meekly accept things to not make waves; I scream, I shout. I'm not a nice person anymore. I used to think I was, but now I'm a furious old boiler who will always speak up. And if what I've said here makes someone think they're not alone it's been worth the pain it's taken to write it down.

A Plan To Save The Nation - A Plea For Lefties To Breed

Much derision in the media this week over Tony Abbott's claim that his paid parental leave scheme will encourage women of calibre to breed. Abbott's plan is to impose a levy on the biggest corporations in Australia - how's that for a great big tax on everything? - and use the money to pay parent's up to six months parental leave at the mother's wage rate. This, he hopes, will encourage high income earners - those he dubbed the "women of calibre" - to breed. You'd expect this would alienate his base of aspirationals - the low and middle income earners from outer suburbs - but they still adore the guy. Now, Tony Abbott is a fetid piece of distended monkey rectum on epic scale and should he be elected prime minister, we'll be an international laughing stock...more so, but he has pointed the way to an interesting solution to all society's problems (although Bill Murray got there first).

It's often been said that society is becoming more conservative, and there's definitely some truth to that. Michael Moore has called Richard Nixon the last Democratic president. Malcom Fraser has quit the Liberal party in disgust at it's shift to the right. Conservatives hark back to the days of the 1950s, leaving out the part where one of the reasons society was kept in smooth running order was a top income tax rate of over 90%. Australian history points to a more open and tolerant past. We had great nation building projects such as the Sydney Harbour Bridge and and the Snowy River Hydro Electric scheme; we accepted with open arms boat people fleeing Vietnam after the war. Nowadays we can't even get a decent national telecommunications system without people wailing like stuck pigs about the cost of it all; we're an international laughing stock due to carrying on like a bunch of scared, spoiled, selfish children over a relative handful of asylum seekers. Why is this happening?

We can blame some of the shift to the right on the Howard years - the Howard government left this country with moral wounds from which it may take decades to recover, an culture of greed an entitlement which shames us as a nation. But it's not just that. Perhaps the nation is becoming more conservative because there are...more conservatives. Conservatives, as a sweeping generalisation, tend to marry younger and have more kids, who grow up listening to rants about illegal immigrants and dole bludgers, before marrying at 24 and having three kids of their own. Lefties aren't keeping up. We're breeding ourselves out of existence. In order to save society from the lurch to the right, lefties need to acknowledge the problem. And we need to have more kids.

It's a generalisation, sure. I know many lefty, feminist, kick butt families with 3, 4 or more kids. But in general, lefties marry late, or not at all (many because they're legally prevented from getting married to their partner of choice), and are far more likely to have no or only one child. It's completely understandable. We're busy, and we understand the costs to the planet of overpopulation. We ourselves were planning on leaving it at Baby G - babies are expensive, and a lot of work, and I'm the family breadwinner for the time being, and I don't do pregnancy well. When your first child nearly kills you, you're not rushing to go back for more. But perhaps I need to revise my view. Australia needs more kids growing up in lefty houses, going to marches and rallies, knowing that 90% of what's published by News Ltd is rubbish and the rest is the ads, that the belief "I work hard for my family, why should I pay for other people's welfare?"just makes you sound like an asshole. Now, I'm not rushing into anything yet - DH is yet to warm to the idea, and Baby G needs so much work right now I can't imagine adding to the load (and he's an easy kid) - but I feel I should add to the effort. If not for us, to have a baby for a same sex attracted friend. I'm still aware of the environmental concerns, but look - we're being outnumbered here. If we don't have the kids, they will. Lefties, you need to get breeding. Have just one more. Bear a child for a same sex couple. Fill the planet with concerned, responsible citizens now. I believe we are in danger of being swamped by racists. This mother's day, couldn't you go just one more?

Peter Costello famously exhorted us to have "one for Mum, one for Dad, and one for the country". I would ask you to have one to spite the IPA, one to stick it to Rupert Murdoch and a third to annoy Joe Hockey. Playgrounds full of little lefty kids wearing t shirts that read "WHITE AUSTRALIA HAS A BLACK HISTORY" and "THIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE" whilst their two dads look on adoringly and sip chai lattes. What a great future for the country. Let's all have more babies.

Breastfeeding - The End of the Road

BabyG started daycare yesterday. As DH fretted about facing the days without his little friend, I was completely fine. It didn't bother me at all. It was just a step forward in his life, another milestone to be marked off...until that is, I bought some labels to sew in BabyG's clothes. And there, in the haberdashery section of Big W, it hit me. "Oh my god", I thought, "he needs labels in his clothes because he's starting his life without us!". It begins, I thought, first daycare, then school, and then he'll start going out with friends and learn to drive and go overseas and move out. Our baby! (Freaking out over major life events in retail establishments seems to be a habit of mine. I had a panic attack over my upcoming wedding in the Salvation Army store in Marrickville. "This wasn't supposed to happen", I thought as I struggled for air, "I was supposed to OD at 26, not get married and have kids").

In our hearts though, we knew BabyG would be fine, and he was. He's such a feisty, fearless kid it's hard to really worry, and sure enough, once he was in the door he was off at a great pace, running around meeting people and playing with the toys, wiggling free when we tried to hug him goodbye. No tears all day, we were told at pick up. We all knew he was ready for this. As an only kid, it's time he learnt to socialise a bit. He gets bored at home. It's time to put away the baby things, and BabyG has lead the way, taking this time to wean himself.

It's been coming for a while. For the last two months or so BabyG would only take a feed every couple of days, and that under sufferance, when I pulled him on to my lap, or if he woke in the night. And for the last two weeks or so - nothing. He won't take a feed at all. If I offer, he laughs, shakes his head, will even pull my top up to cover the bosom whilst giving it a "there, there, sorry, but it's over" pat. He's as affectionate as ever - he particularly loves sitting on my lap, just because he likes to be there - but he don't want no breastfeed. He's done, and I'm glad he chose it this way himself. The only part of our breastfeeding journey which was easy and natural was the end. I've written here previously about our huge difficulties breastfeeding, and that given our time over, I'm not sure I'd do it again.

But we made it to sixteen months, and I'm happy and grateful we had that; I'm not as suffused by warm maternal glow as the media would like to portray mothers, especially long(ish) term breastfeeders. It was lovely to have that bond, and once I made the decision at around six months to just keep going with this thing and see how long it lasts, I did wonder how it would end. We broke every rule in the "how to establish successful breastfeeding" book; BabyG had formula in hospital, and I expressed feeds so I could go out for a bit when he was three weeks old, and we comp fed from 6-12 months, and he had a dummy...and without any of those things, I doubt we would have made it this long. Wisdom also goes that kids don't wean themselves before age two by choice. Nonsense. I can assure you this is completely BabyG's choice, and I'm not pregnant, and haven't done anything differently to affect the milk, and offered, and he refused.

I wondered how it would feel when it ended. Slightly nostalgic - the TTC/pregnancy/birth/breastfeeding part of my life is over. But we are ready, really - I'm ready to move on to the next stage of my life, getting my career on track; and so is he, ready to be a big boy, not a baby anymore. He'll always be our baby, of course; but not one that needs or wants bosom anymore.

Father Knows Best

According to a new study (well, it was out last week - I've been busy) fathers are averse to attending parenting courses because they're seen to be stuck in the 1950s. This comes as no surprise. Having recently passed through the public maternity system, it was depressing the extent to which all the literature reinforced an archaic view of parenthood - that fathers are distant, uncomfortable with children, unsure what to do. Returning from an early midwife appointment, I without reading it first handed DH an info booklet I'd been given of information for new fathers. I soon heard him laughing tersely. The booklet actually advised fathers to spend time with their children, make eye contact with them, and talk to them. "Don't they think fathers know that?" DH asked as he tore the brochure up, just a little hurt, I could tell. Why this assumption that men know nothing about kids until they have them, and are dragged reluctantly to parenthood by their partners? DH was even more eager to have a baby than I was; it's the same with several of my friends, with the male partner excited to become a dad as soon as possible and the female wanting to wait a few more years.

You wouldn't know it from a visit to a bookstore. I tried to find DH a good book about becoming a new father, but all I could find were "hilarious" accounts from comedians who unexpectedly became fathers in their late 30s and had apparently never held a child before then. Much asking of "what's a placenta?" and putting on of nappies back-to-front ensues. The alternative were pastel-covered books written by the people who'd produced the brochures, treating potential fathers like reluctant idiots. I could not find a conversational book to give DH some support through the challenges he was about to face, whilst acknowledging that men might already be aware that babies go through lots of nappies.

There are tonnes of active, involved, aware fathers these days. But you wouldn't know it from the media; there still seems to be a perception that at heart, children are the primary responsibility of the mother (witness the practice of telling women how lucky they are that their male partner is spending time with the kids - let alone telling said male how wonderful it is they take responsibility for the care of their own children). There's a lot of deep-seated assumptions to overcome, it's true. But we have to start somewhere, and surely it makes sense to start at the beginning?

2011 - My Year in Review, In Photos

Being a news junkie, I've always loved those "Year in Review" shows the networks wheel out about now. This year's batch should be especially entertaining. It was a hell of a year for the world. And for me personally - what with all the moving and new jobs and babies and politics. Rather than bore you all with 1500 words about it all, here is my photographic year in review.

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