On a wintry Saturday morning, my daughter entered the world amidst a flurry of snow. We were discharged from the hospital by Monday, and, like many new mothers in the United States, my husband returned to work the very next day. This left me to care for our newborn daughter alongside our energetic 2- and 4-year-old sons. Just three days postpartum, I felt a deep ache in my bones as I stepped out of the car and onto the icy pavement at my doctor’s office. My body was strained under the weight of the baby’s car seat, and I had to brace against the car to avoid slipping. The distance to the clinic door felt almost insurmountable. I chuckled at the hospital’s advice to avoid heavy lifting for a few weeks—if only that were feasible.
Due to high blood pressure and pre-eclampsia, my labor had been induced, and I still hadn’t fully recovered upon leaving the hospital. When I returned to the clinic for a follow-up, I was met with a whirlwind of activity. My toddler dashed out of the car, bubbling with energy that I simply couldn’t muster. My heart raced as he sprinted ahead in the parking lot while I struggled to keep pace. Arriving at the nurse’s station, I gasped for air and called out to him, feeling utterly overwhelmed.
As expected, my blood pressure remained high, prompting the nurse to schedule another appointment in two days. Conversations about bed rest, medication, and the possibility of having to stop breastfeeding my 3-day-old daughter swirled around me. Looking into my tear-filled eyes, the nurse urged me to rest more. I laughed again, gathering my strength to hoist my toddler onto my hip, balance the baby carrier on my other arm, and exit the exam room without collapsing.
I wanted to direct my frustration towards my husband for leaving so quickly, the doctors for their insistence on follow-ups, and even my body for failing me when I needed it most. Instead, I found myself nursing my wailing infant while observing my son’s curiosity as he attempted to put everything he could reach into his mouth. It dawned on me how starkly different my postpartum experience was in the U.S. compared to my time in the UK.
When people learn that my first son was born in the UK, the typical question is, “How was the experience different?” While there were a few differences in labor and delivery, what struck me most was the contrast in postpartum care. The UK’s National Health Service ensures that every resident, including those on student visas like I was, receives equal support. In the UK and much of Europe, fathers and partners are entitled to at least two weeks of paid parental leave, allowing for bonding and support during recovery.
Had my daughter been born in the UK, there would have been no need to brave the cold to check my blood pressure, risking exposure to germs and the possibility of reopening stitches. After giving birth to my son in the UK, a team of local midwives visited us at home for two weeks, providing necessary checkups without the hassle of appointments. Whenever I had concerns about my health or my baby’s, I could call the midwives 24/7 or request a home visit. When I struggled with breastfeeding, a lactation consultant arrived at my home the very next morning to assist me.
After two weeks, my husband returned to work, and I transitioned out of midwifery care, but my support network continued. My son was assigned a health visitor, a specially trained nurse who monitored his well-being for the next five years. Initially, she visited several times a week, gradually reducing her visits. However, I could still reach out by phone or text whenever I had concerns. When I called her in tears because my baby resisted breastfeeding, she arrived within two hours to reassure me that he was healthy and thriving. Studies have shown that adequate support during the perinatal period can significantly reduce the risk of physical and mental health complications like postpartum depression.
The pressure on new mothers to “do it all” can be overwhelming, and having a built-in support system alleviates some of that burden. After my daughter was born in the U.S., managing three children under five, running the household, and keeping up with appointments drained my healing energy. I felt like I was drowning, and my body responded with stress. I longed for help, but the American healthcare system simply wasn’t providing it.
Sitting in the waiting room of my ob-gyn’s office, surrounded by expectant mothers, I was struck by the reality that many would have to return to work after only six weeks or risk losing their jobs. Those who stayed home might become exhausted and isolated, potentially succumbing to postpartum depression.
How can we consider ourselves a civilized nation if we fail to care for mothers after childbirth? It is crucial for the United States to learn from other developed nations and recognize that supporting mothers in their recovery is vital for raising happy, healthy children. The first step is ensuring mothers receive the time and care they need after bringing new life into the world.
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In summary, the disparities in postpartum care between the U.S. and other developed countries highlight the urgent need for reform. By prioritizing support for new mothers, we can foster healthier families and communities.