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A Nurse Did The Unthinkable To My Mum As She Gave Birth To My Brother. No One Believed Her, But I'm Here To Warn You.

A Nurse Did The Unthinkable To My Mum As She Gave Birth To My Brother. No One Believed Her, But I'm Here To Warn You.
"Sadly, my mom’s experience wasn’t an isolated incident," the author writes.There are no photos of my brother Paul. No one recalls what he looked like or what type of personality he had. He wasn’t here long enough to create those kinds of memories for us. However, his short life and tragic death were indelibly seared on our mother’s heart. She tried to conceal the pain she felt from losing him, while also keeping the truth about his tragic and unnecessary death — actually, I would call it manslaughter — hidden for decades. The story everyone had been told was that Paul inexplicably inhaled a large quantity of “birth fluids” while he was being delivered. The fluids congested his little lungs and he died less than seven hours after his arrival. This seemed like an atypical childbirth injury, but it turns out it was so much more than that. As my parents’ youngest child, I recall visiting the local cemetery with them every Memorial Day to lay flowers on the graves of Paul and Johnny, another older brother I never met. Tragically, Johnny, who was born four years after Paul, died at age 2 due to a respiratory infection.My only living sibling was my sister, our parents’ first born, who was 14 years older than me. She married and started her own family when I was young, leaving me to often ponder what life would be like if I’d had one or both of our brothers to grow up with. During those years, Paul’s death remained shrouded in mystery. I didn’t ask any questions about what happened and I didn’t learn any new information about him until I was in high school.The author as a teenagerI don’t recall the specific date when my mother told me about the appalling incident from 25 years earlier, but I suspect it may have been Oct. 8, the anniversary of Paul’s birth ... and death.I was sitting at the kitchen table reading a magazine when Mom abruptly stopped preparing dinner and began telling me a story that sounded like something out of a gruesome horror novel. I listened in shock as she stoically and matter-of-factly explained why her first son’s life ended hours after it began.Mom had been 28 years old in 1952 and, because Paul was her second full-term pregnancy, she knew how the delivery should play out. When her labor began, Dad rushed her to the hospital. All four of Mom’s babies were born quickly, but Paul had the misfortune of arriving in the early afternoon, when the family doctor was seeing patients and having trouble leaving his office to deliver a baby.In that small-town hospital, long before fathers were permitted inside the delivery room, my mother was trapped alone with a frenetic nurse who was completely unprepared for working in a maternity ward. As Mom cried out with intense labor pains, the nurse yelled, “Your doctor’s not here! You can’t have that baby now!”My mother stared off into the distance as she recalled telling the nurse that the baby was coming. In that instant, the nurse morphed from a seemingly compassionate medical care provider into a crazed assailant who did the unthinkable. She grabbed Mom’s right thigh, forcibly crossed it over the left one, and then sat atop both of my mother’s legs, using her weight to keep the infant from emerging through the birth canal. Mom struggled to push the nurse away, but racked with hard contractions, she was no match for this woman.The author's parents in Abilene, Texas, where her father was stationed while serving in the U.S. Army (1942).Minutes later the doctor finally arrived and delivered the baby, but it was too late. My brother had suffered fatal injuries. In the hours and days that followed, my parents told the doctor and hospital staff what this twisted nurse had done, but their outrage fell on deaf ears. No one believed a nurse would commit such a vile deed — but she did.I recently received Paul’s death certificate from the state of Colorado, and it exposed a startling surprise. I already knew my brother was born at 1:16 p.m. and died that same day at 8 p.m. of “Atelectasis of Lungs – Cong.,” meaning his lung sacs (alveoli) could not inflate properly due to congestion from inhaling birth fluids. However, the death certificate revealed another “significant condition” described as “Rupture of Liver,” a fact I don’t believe my parents were ever told about. My heart sank as I realised this gory detail further underscored the nurse’s attempt to prevent Mom from delivering her son. The way my mother and infant brother were treated is soul-quashing, and it’s unforgivable that because no one believed my parents, Paul’s death was quietly tucked away into a forgotten history.Sadly, my mom’s experience wasn’t an isolated incident. While most mothers haven’t experienced the kind of abuse that she did, an August 2023 report from the U.S. Centers for Disease Control revealed 20% of the women surveyed said they experienced mistreatment by health care practitioners during pregnancy and delivery. Common types of abuse include being shouted at or scolded, being forced to accept unwanted treatment and being threatened with the withholding of treatment.An April 2024 Columbia University study offered similar results: more than 1 in 8 parents who had a live birth reported mistreatment by health care providers during childbirth. Patients who are unmarried, have no insurance or public insurance, or are LGBTQ-identifying are among groups cited as most likely to experience mistreatment. The author's parents celebrating her father's 75th birthday.Such incidents can haunt traumatised parents for the rest of their lives. Mom was deeply depressed or angry at various periods throughout my childhood. My dad and I joked about her being “a fiery redhead” to explain away her fury, but I now realise that Mom’s inability to prevent the deaths of both her sons — and her failure to attain justice for Paul — made her equal parts despondent and enraged. How could it not? Sadly, after Mom revealed her horrific story to me in 1977, we never again discussed it. I was far too immature and had no idea how to broach the topic with her, though I eventually asked my father about it. Dad confirmed everything, adding that my mother had desperately wanted to sue the hospital, but he talked her out of it. Not only did they not have money for an attorney, but a lawsuit “wasn’t going to bring the baby back,” Dad said resignedly.Astonishingly, the nurse kept working at the hospital despite her role in Paul’s death. When Johnny was born four years later, she showed up to ask my parents what name to put on his birth certificate.“Your mother threw a fit! She demanded that woman leave her room and stay away from Johnny,” Dad recalled. “She was so upset that I was afraid they’d sedate and restrain her.” My sister and I had a phone conversation in late 2020 to discuss what to do with an antique Bible from our mother’s side of the family. My sister had gotten the book after our parents passed away and mentioned that Mom had never added Paul’s vital statistics to its family history pages, likely, we agreed, because doing so would have been too painful.The footprints of the author's brother Paul.“You should jot in the date of Paul’s birth and death,” I said, adding that he might have enjoyed a long life if not for the unbelievable actions of a panicked nurse.“What do you mean?” my sister asked. I was shocked. How could my only living sibling still not know the full story of Paul’s death? I realised that she was just 6 years old when Mom was pregnant with Paul, and it would be another 25 years before our mother could muster the courage to speak about the pain of this loss. So, I relayed to my sister everything I knew about the violence that stole our oldest brother from the family. That conversation led me to consider writing about our family tragedy, but I kept delaying the task until I unexpectedly stumbled across Paul’s original hospital birth certificate in a pile of family photos. As I unfolded the brittle paper, I touched for the first time the only physical remnant of my brother’s life — both of his tiny footprints, stamped with purple ink.Paul deserved to be more than a whispered secret. He was a healthy baby whose future was recklessly destroyed by a callous health care provider. By sharing what happened to him and our family, I hope to encourage more research and discussions regarding patient mistreatment during maternity care. I can’t bring Paul back — nor could I assuage our mother’s grief — but I have finally shared their story. A long-time journalist, editor and market analyst, Tammy Parker holds a BA in Mass Communications from the University of Denver and an MBA from the University of Colorado. Her freelance articles have appeared in a wide variety of business and consumer publications. You can reach her at [email protected] and follow her onLinkedIn.Do you have a compelling personal story you’d like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we’re looking for here and send us a pitch at [email protected]...'My Daughter Suffered Brain Damage As A Baby – 7 Words From A Stranger Changed Her Life'I Thought I Was Giving My Daughter A Life Any Kid Would Dream Of. I Was Shocked By Her Response.'I Went Through My Daughter's Phone. What I Saw Terrified Me'

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