Hospitals - Having a baby in Spain
Hospitals - Having a baby in Spain
Last night my daughter gave birth to her second child in the hospital in Denia. On the 45 minute drive to the hospital which is our nearest, I wondered how on earth emergencies make it on time. I was later reminded of a recent case where a British guy living in the Jalon Valley had phoned for an ambulance and was told there was a delay and he would have to drive himself. He got ten minutes down the road to Alcalali and had a massive heart attack at the wheel of his car.
On arrival at the hospital, an hour later than my daughter Coral and her boyfriend Ylli, we were told in A&E that we couldn’t go through to the maternity unit. Whilst loitering about wondering what to do, we happened to spot Ylli further up the corridor who told us how to get round to the unit. However, he too had been denied access and had no idea what was happening inside. The unit itself is behind a locked door, meaning you have to wait until someone comes out to be able to make an enquiry about anyone inside.
Coral does not speak much Spanish, so I knew how anxious she would be feeling on her own in there, especially as her labour was quite advanced when she arrived. An hour or so later, a midwife informed us that one of us could go in and see her. She was sitting upright on a chair at a desk, still in t-shirt and trainers with a sheet wrapped round her waist, whilst the doctor informed us that they didn’t have her notes and would have to repeat urine and blood tests that had been taken only three days before. They then gave her a scan, all the while telling her ‘tranquila’ (calm down). Once the tests were complete, we were told to walk down the corridor to a spare room where she could lie down. In this advanced stage, and still with no pain relief, I requested a wheelchair as Coral was convinced she couldn’t walk, but our request was greeted with a withering look that said ‘what a fuss you are making’ – we had to walk.
Once Coral was settled on the bed, I was told I had to leave, as only the father could be present from then on. Although we understood that only one person could be in the room at any given time, we had intended to take turns as both her brother and sister were also there to support her. Very different from the birth of her son in the UK, where there were five of us in the room during labour, and my own births – none of which had less than three present.
Whilst waiting in the most boring corridor on earth, we saw other couples arrive, but only the women were admitted to the unit whilst the men waited outside. I suppose it was like this in Britain many years ago, but we have been brought up in a time and a country where families, and even friends, are involved in the birth of a child.
During the next five hours, no-one came out to let us know what was happening. We tried knocking on the door a couple of times but were either ignored, or told to go away. We were unable to leave the ‘waiting corridor’ to go to the drinks machine or to have a cigarette, as there were so many people lying on gurneys on the way to the exit, that we were told we would disturb them and would be unable to get back in.
Then we heard the screams and knew that a baby was being born. Two Spanish women waiting near us complained about the noise, we told them to shut up. An hour later the baby was bought to the door of the unit but was quickly taken away again. We were told that if we waited another hour, Coral and the baby would be taken to a room on the ward and we could see them. An hour and half later we were informed that it was too late and that we should come back at 9am. When we left the hospital after 3am, we had no idea how Coral was, how much the baby weighed or where they had been taken. I have photos taken at, and directly after the births of all of mine, and my first grandson, but not this one.
This morning Coral phoned and although all is well, informs me that she will never have another baby in Spain. Despite requesting and being denied pain relief, she was told shut up, stop crying and calm down during labour and birth, was made to walk from the labour room to the delivery room 10 minutes before giving birth, and felt that she was treated very badly by unsympathetic midwives and doctors.
Had we been born in a different country, we may well have found the treatment of both Coral and ourselves acceptable. Spain is supposedly a family orientated country, but in this instance the family were treated like bothersome nuisances. Maybe we have been spoilt in Britain, but having had three births of my own, and attended two of others, I am used to a very different attitude. I know there are reports of NHS hospitals leaving people in corridors on gurneys, but I have never seen it for myself. Some of these poor souls were hooked up to monitors and ventilators, and had just been left haphazardly in passageways all over the hospital.
This has been one of the most frustrating and infuriating episodes of my life, and for the first time in four years I wonder what the hell I’m doing here. Despite being the only hospital in the area, it is in need of modernisation, more beds, more human resources - and the staff should be injected with a dose of ‘bedside manner’ - even the ambulances parked outside seem to have only the most basic necessities inside. I now dread the thought of myself or my children becoming ill and needing a hospital. NI, or ‘Autonomo’ contributions are compulsory for self employed workers at 226 Euros per month, which covers health care and hospital treatment, private medical is approximately 550 per year. In order to avoid the likes of Denia hospital, I know which way I’ll be going in future.
On arrival at the hospital, an hour later than my daughter Coral and her boyfriend Ylli, we were told in A&E that we couldn’t go through to the maternity unit. Whilst loitering about wondering what to do, we happened to spot Ylli further up the corridor who told us how to get round to the unit. However, he too had been denied access and had no idea what was happening inside. The unit itself is behind a locked door, meaning you have to wait until someone comes out to be able to make an enquiry about anyone inside.
Coral does not speak much Spanish, so I knew how anxious she would be feeling on her own in there, especially as her labour was quite advanced when she arrived. An hour or so later, a midwife informed us that one of us could go in and see her. She was sitting upright on a chair at a desk, still in t-shirt and trainers with a sheet wrapped round her waist, whilst the doctor informed us that they didn’t have her notes and would have to repeat urine and blood tests that had been taken only three days before. They then gave her a scan, all the while telling her ‘tranquila’ (calm down). Once the tests were complete, we were told to walk down the corridor to a spare room where she could lie down. In this advanced stage, and still with no pain relief, I requested a wheelchair as Coral was convinced she couldn’t walk, but our request was greeted with a withering look that said ‘what a fuss you are making’ – we had to walk.
Once Coral was settled on the bed, I was told I had to leave, as only the father could be present from then on. Although we understood that only one person could be in the room at any given time, we had intended to take turns as both her brother and sister were also there to support her. Very different from the birth of her son in the UK, where there were five of us in the room during labour, and my own births – none of which had less than three present.
Whilst waiting in the most boring corridor on earth, we saw other couples arrive, but only the women were admitted to the unit whilst the men waited outside. I suppose it was like this in Britain many years ago, but we have been brought up in a time and a country where families, and even friends, are involved in the birth of a child.
During the next five hours, no-one came out to let us know what was happening. We tried knocking on the door a couple of times but were either ignored, or told to go away. We were unable to leave the ‘waiting corridor’ to go to the drinks machine or to have a cigarette, as there were so many people lying on gurneys on the way to the exit, that we were told we would disturb them and would be unable to get back in.
Then we heard the screams and knew that a baby was being born. Two Spanish women waiting near us complained about the noise, we told them to shut up. An hour later the baby was bought to the door of the unit but was quickly taken away again. We were told that if we waited another hour, Coral and the baby would be taken to a room on the ward and we could see them. An hour and half later we were informed that it was too late and that we should come back at 9am. When we left the hospital after 3am, we had no idea how Coral was, how much the baby weighed or where they had been taken. I have photos taken at, and directly after the births of all of mine, and my first grandson, but not this one.
This morning Coral phoned and although all is well, informs me that she will never have another baby in Spain. Despite requesting and being denied pain relief, she was told shut up, stop crying and calm down during labour and birth, was made to walk from the labour room to the delivery room 10 minutes before giving birth, and felt that she was treated very badly by unsympathetic midwives and doctors.
Had we been born in a different country, we may well have found the treatment of both Coral and ourselves acceptable. Spain is supposedly a family orientated country, but in this instance the family were treated like bothersome nuisances. Maybe we have been spoilt in Britain, but having had three births of my own, and attended two of others, I am used to a very different attitude. I know there are reports of NHS hospitals leaving people in corridors on gurneys, but I have never seen it for myself. Some of these poor souls were hooked up to monitors and ventilators, and had just been left haphazardly in passageways all over the hospital.
This has been one of the most frustrating and infuriating episodes of my life, and for the first time in four years I wonder what the hell I’m doing here. Despite being the only hospital in the area, it is in need of modernisation, more beds, more human resources - and the staff should be injected with a dose of ‘bedside manner’ - even the ambulances parked outside seem to have only the most basic necessities inside. I now dread the thought of myself or my children becoming ill and needing a hospital. NI, or ‘Autonomo’ contributions are compulsory for self employed workers at 226 Euros per month, which covers health care and hospital treatment, private medical is approximately 550 per year. In order to avoid the likes of Denia hospital, I know which way I’ll be going in future.
posted by Debbie at
2:06 pm
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