Postpartum rage: after giving birth, feelings of frustration and fury took me by surprise | Gabrielle Innes
I felt all-consuming love for my daughter – but small discomforts like the heavy footsteps of an upstairs neighbour left me fuming
“Toilet!” yelled the midwife. “Toilet!” I was in the final stages of giving birth and the midwife, unable to speak English and convinced I could not understand German, wanted me to push.
An hour or so later I was wheeled away, my daughter in my arms, into a dimly lit room where another mother was feeding her newborn baby. The nurse, kind but aloof, brought me a piece of white bread and cheese, lowered the bed to flat and left me there, presumably to sleep. But I was in complete shock. My boyfriend was out on the street, unable to stay due to Berlin’s Covid regulations at the time, and there was a little person on my chest, who still appeared better suited to her amniotic sac than the little knitted hat the midwife had put on her.
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