On a snowy Saturday morning, my daughter entered the world. We left the hospital two days later, and like many new mothers in America, my husband returned to work immediately, leaving me to care for our newborn daughter along with our two energetic sons, aged 2 and 4. Just three days postpartum, I felt the ache in my bones as I stepped out of the car onto the icy pavement outside my doctor’s office. The weight of the baby’s car seat strained my already tender body, and I steadied myself against the car, fearful of slipping. I chuckled at the hospital’s advice to avoid lifting anything heavy for the next few weeks. If only that were realistic.
My labor had been induced due to high blood pressure and pre-eclampsia, which still persisted by the time I was discharged from the hospital. When I returned to the clinic for a follow-up, my toddler dashed ahead, bubbling with energy that I couldn’t muster after barely six hours of sleep in three days. My heart raced as I chased after him, arriving at the nurse’s station breathless and flustered.
It was no surprise that my blood pressure remained high, prompting the nurse to suggest I return in two days for another check. Conversations about bed rest, medication, and the potential interruption of breastfeeding swirled around me as I struggled to balance my children and my own health. I wanted to be furious—at my husband for leaving, at the doctors for their rigid follow-up schedule, and at my body for not cooperating when I needed it most. Yet, as I nursed my fussy infant while keeping an eye on my son’s mischief, I couldn’t help but reflect on the stark differences in postpartum care between the United States and other developed nations.
When people learn that my first son was born in the United Kingdom, they often inquire about the differences in the birthing experience. Although the labor and delivery processes had their distinctions, the most significant contrast lay in the postpartum care I received. In the UK, the National Health Service ensures that every resident, even those on student visas like I was, receives comprehensive support. Fathers and partners are entitled to a minimum of two weeks of paid parental leave, allowing them to bond with their newborns and assist their partners in recovery.
Had my daughter been born in the UK, I wouldn’t have had to venture out into the cold simply to monitor my blood pressure. After my son’s birth, a team of local midwives visited our home regularly for two weeks, providing checkups without the need for appointments or long trips with a car seat. I could reach out to them at any hour with questions about my or my baby’s health, and when I encountered breastfeeding difficulties, a lactation consultant came to my home the very next day to help.
Once my husband returned to work and I was discharged from midwifery care, my son was assigned a health visitor who monitored his well-being for the next five years. Initially, she visited multiple times a week, gradually spacing out her visits until she checked in just a few times a year. However, she remained available for phone consultations whenever I felt overwhelmed as a new mom.
When my son was six months old, I called her in tears because he was resisting breastfeeding. Two hours later, she arrived to reassure me that he was healthy and thriving. This kind of support is crucial; studies indicate that new mothers with adequate assistance during the perinatal period are less likely to experience complications like postpartum depression.
The pressure to “do it all” weighs heavily on new mothers, and a robust support system integrated within the healthcare framework alleviates some of that stress. In contrast, after my daughter was born in the U.S., the burden of managing three children under five, household chores, and appointments left me utterly drained, triggering a fight-or-flight response in my body. I needed help, yet the American healthcare system fell short.
Sitting in the waiting room of my ob-gyn’s office, surrounded by expectant mothers, I felt a wave of concern. Many would have to return to work after a mere six weeks or risk losing their jobs. Those who chose to stay home might feel isolated and overwhelmed, potentially leading to postpartum depression.
How can we consider ourselves a civilized nation when we neglect the fundamental need to support mothers after childbirth? The United States must learn from its counterparts and recognize that fostering happy, healthy children begins with prioritizing the well-being of mothers during their recovery.
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In summary, the disparities in postpartum care between the U.S. and other developed countries highlight a critical gap that needs to be addressed. To ensure the health of mothers and their children, the U.S. must implement more supportive practices and policies for new families.