I was 16 weeks pregnant when I was sent to prison. When I arrived with my maternity notes in hand, I was left locked in a small room with 16 other women. I complained to the guard that I felt sick. Her response was: “Get used to it.” I proceeded to be sick all over myself.
I was made to share a cell. My “pad mate” was a smoker, so I was locked in for 18-20 hours a day, breathing in second-hand smoke, knowing my daughter was breathing it too.
While I was in prison I heard of four women who had had their babies in their cells because they weren’t believed when they said they were in labour – and were only assessed by untrained staff. You listen to the stories. You see it yourself. You’re petrified that this will happen to you.
There is no support from most prison staff: you’re just another face, another number, and they don’t think about your unborn baby. They don’t get that. You don’t get extra food or fresh fruit and veg for your growing child, even though you’re meant to be entitled to it. The staff either don’t know or they don’t care enough to make sure you get it. You just get a pint of full-fat milk.
I developed SPD (symphysis pubis dysfunction) while pregnant, which causes pelvic pain, so I desperately needed an extra pillow when lying down. But only one pillow is regulation, and the staff didn’t know if they were allowed to let me have another one (they were). And that’s just a minuscule thing – I had lots of huge questions swirling in my head. For example, who could be present when I had the baby? When would I be taken to hospital? Would I be allowed to have photos of my first precious moments with my baby? Could my family visit? These were things prison staff should have known the answers to. Instead, I just got conflicting replies. For instance, one person said family could take photos – but then another said only someone from the prison could take them.
I applied for a place on a mother and baby unit (MBU), where I would be able to keep my baby with me after she had been born. It wasn’t a given that I’d get a place, and the application process is a lengthy and complicated one. You need to get support from social services and all professional parties involved in your case. It’s incredibly stressful. But I was “lucky” – I got a place because of my mental health needs, and it was confirmed much earlier than in most cases: many women don’t know if they will be able to keep their baby with them right up until their due date, or even during labour.
When I finally made it on to the unit, I was allowed to have items for my child brought in. You get to know the staff there and you feel more at ease. I went into labour – spontaneous rupture – and was sent to the hospital in a taxi with two members of staff. I had no contractions. I had a traumatic birth, I haemorrhaged badly, needing surgery and a transfusion. No one helped me afterwards. I had no one to hold the baby for me so I could get some sleep, with different guards there night and day watching me. I could barely move. I thought, I’m not running anywhere – I just need sleep.
I had never felt so alone and so scared. I stayed in hospital for seven days, and I was desperate to get back to the MBU. The staff there supported me. But that’s not to say it was easy, by any means. The MBU is hard – you’re forced to go to “work” at eight weeks postpartum, leaving your baby in the care of the nursery. That’s especially hard when you are breastfeeding. You can complain and say it’s not natural, but the response from all members of staff is the same: “If you don’t like it, hand your baby out and get back to the wings.”
The attitudes and training of staff need to change. Yes, we are prisoners, but we are also pregnant women. Our children are not subject to the rules and regulations. Extra food, particularly fruit and vegetables, should be made available to all pregnant and breastfeeding women. Staff should be fully trained on how to deal with emergency labour situations. No one but a midwife or a doctor should be making decisions on whether you are in active labour.
Having a child is hard enough – being in prison makes it even harder. It doesn’t need to be this dangerous. Life-saving changes need to be made now.