In the Recovery Ward

Living in NHS postnatal care

Read this story for free on Substack.

The postnatal recovery ward is a Vegas-like infinite twilight, but with baby cries and medical professionals popping in instead of bottle service and slot machine dings. The slack faces, too: mothers in the shock of birth as they are wheeled in on beds of their own blood.

Not so long ago, that was me.

Labor was nearly three days straight, and postpartum too seems to be a blur of slipping hours.

We’re lucky to have a window. Our ward has four curtained “rooms,” each with a bed, an upright chair, and a table. The cultural norms around shared space are varied; many of my transient roommates watch videos at full volume and take speakerphone calls at any hour of the day and night.

The bed is designed for one person, but Robert is permitted to stay; we squeeze in. From below the curtains of another room, I see someone else’s partner’s feet sticking out: a makeshift blanket bed on the linoleum.

Partners are allowed to stay, but if they leave after ten at night, they can’t come back in until ten in the morning. Robert cuts it close a couple of times, running down to the Sainsbury’s for needed supplies.