My daughter made her grand entrance on a frosty Saturday morning, and by Monday, we were discharged from the hospital. As is common for many new parents in the United States, my partner had to return to work the very next day, leaving me to navigate the challenges of caring for our newborn along with our two other young children, aged 2 and 4. Just three days postpartum, I found myself shivering as I stepped into the parking lot of my doctor’s office, my body aching and weary. The strain of carrying the baby’s car seat made my deflated uterus contract painfully. I steadied myself against the car to prevent slipping on the icy pavement, wondering if I could even make the short trek to the clinic door. The hospital’s advice to avoid heavy lifting seemed laughable given my circumstances.
My labor had been induced due to concerns of high blood pressure and pre-eclampsia, and I still felt the effects as I left the hospital. My doctor, puzzled by my ongoing condition, asked me to return for follow-up visits. As I arrived for my appointment, I watched my energetic toddler leap from the car, his excitement starkly contrasting with my exhaustion from the mere six hours of sleep I had managed over the past three days. My heart raced as he dashed ahead, leaving me gasping and shouting to keep up.
As expected, my blood pressure remained elevated, and the nurse advised me to return for another checkup two days later. There was talk of bed rest, potential medication, and even the distressing possibility of needing to stop breastfeeding my 3-day-old baby. As the nurse looked into my tear-filled eyes and urged me to rest, I couldn’t help but laugh, hoisting my toddler onto one hip while juggling the baby carrier on the other side. We stumbled out of the exam room, barely managing not to collapse.
In that moment, I found myself grappling with anger—toward my partner for leaving so soon, toward the healthcare system for requiring me to come in after giving birth, and toward my own body for failing to meet my needs. Yet, as I nursed my newborn and monitored my son who was enthusiastically exploring everything within reach, I reflected on how starkly different the postpartum experience is in the United States compared to other developed nations.
When people learn that my first son was born in the UK, they often ask how my experiences differed from those in the U.S. While there are some variations in labor and delivery, the most significant contrasts lie in the postpartum care that follows. In the UK, the National Health Service provides comprehensive support to all residents, including those like me on student visas. Moreover, fathers and partners are entitled to a minimum of two weeks of paid parental leave, allowing them to bond with their newborn and assist their partners during recovery.
Had my daughter been born in the UK, I wouldn’t have had to brave the cold weather and potential infections just to check my blood pressure. After my son’s birth there, a team of midwives visited us at home to provide checkups whenever needed. There was no need to schedule appointments with a pediatrician or carry a car seat around town for every little ailment. If I had questions regarding my health or the baby’s well-being, I could reach out to the midwives 24/7 for advice or request a home visit during the day. When I struggled with breastfeeding, a lactation consultant came to our home the very next morning, offering support without requiring me to leave my pajamas.
Once my husband returned to work and midwifery care ended after two weeks, my son was assigned a health visitor who monitored his health for the next five years. Initially, this professional visited frequently, gradually spacing out visits over time, but remained reachable by phone or text whenever I felt overwhelmed. I recall calling her in tears when my son began resisting breastfeeding, and she was at my doorstep within two hours, reassuring me that he was thriving. Such consistent support has been shown to help prevent physical and mental health issues in new mothers, including postpartum depression.
The immense pressure on new mothers to manage everything—from child care to household duties—can lead to overwhelming stress. In contrast, the support integrated into the medical system in the UK alleviates some of that burden. After my daughter’s birth in the U.S., I found myself exhausted and isolated, responsible for three children under the age of five and managing the household. It felt like I was drowning, and naturally, my body reacted with a fight-or-flight response. I needed assistance, but the American healthcare system was failing to provide it.
While waiting in my ob-gyn’s office, I observed other expectant mothers who would likely face similar pressures to return to work within six weeks or risk losing their jobs. Those who remained at home might struggle with exhaustion and isolation, potentially falling prey to postpartum depression.
How can we call ourselves a civilized society if we can’t provide adequate care for mothers after they give birth? The United States must take steps to align with the rest of the developed world and acknowledge that investing in maternal health leads to healthier families and communities. The first step in this direction is ensuring mothers receive the time and support they need to recover after childbirth.
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In summary, the disparities in postpartum care in the U.S. compared to countries like the UK highlight a critical need for reform. By prioritizing maternal health, we can foster a more supportive environment for new mothers and their families.