The heart breaking meeting with the Prince Charles Hospital

Monday the 6th of June. It was a date I dreaded with all my being, and I had no idea how I would force myself back into that hospital where I'd been cast aside 6 months earlier, only to lose our little girl.

I went and visited my GP a few days prior and told her my anxiety was literally crippling me. It's been almost impossible to live with it even in my daily life, let alone faced with a confrontation I knew I had to go through with. By this stage I was no longer able to work. I'd tried. But the horror of styling an event left me crippled. I'd been styling the tables for Christmas when I finally realised I might have been in a bit of trouble... the last normal thing I did was an event. Then my entire world fell apart. My dear friend Carolyn has since taken over my jobs and acted as me to spare me the horror (particularly the baby showers) whilst I try to just sell the business and move on. However, I digress. I walked in to see my GP and asked if she could prescribe a single day's worth of Alprazolam so I could beat the anxiety attacks and remain together throughout the meeting, which she gladly did.

As I explained why I was going to this meeting, she began questioning me about what had occurred the night we lost Suri. I watched her look more and more horrified as she listened quietly. When I finished, she explained that she had been an ED doctor in a rural hospital that also didn't handle obstetrics, however she outlined exactly what the procedure should have been. She explained to me that the tests the Prince Charles doctor took but never processed should have been completed, that I should have been given anti biotics there and then, prior to transfer, among multiple other failings the Prince Charles bestowed upon me.

She printed out the Qld Health guidelines and protocols which was a godsend. Adam and I went home and went over them, highlighting the aspects that had been neglected. It was a recipe for our entire argument.

Armed with those protocols and the edge taken off my stark terror by a low dose of Alprazolam, we parked and walked to the administration building which, thankfully, was nowhere near Emergency. I had no desire to ever again see the miserable place where I stood in the rain, waiting for an Uber, scared and in pain.

We were met by the acting Consumer Liaison Officer. She was a lovely lady and seemed genuinely empathetic. She took us to a meeting room where the Medical Director of Safety, Quality and Innovation plus the acting Director of Emergency waited.

Once we were seated, the Medical Director began by giving his sincere apologies about what had happened, and then we began. I explained that I was there because I believed the treatment I received that night directly resulted in my current state. At that stage I hadn't yet been formally diagnosed with PTSD (which I have since) so I described the living hell my life has become. The inability to work, not only in my old job but with no prospects for the foreseeable future. The nightmares. The constant anxiety, panic attacks, depression, shaking and more.

I asked the first of the major questions around why I wasn't given any useful treatment that night that may have prevented, if nothing more, the sepsis. There was no answer. Just a "we will need to create new procedures" and other useless responses.

I then asked why I was made to "find my own way" to the Royal Brisbane Hospital. Again, there was no explanation, however the Director of Emergency piped up and said "perhaps there weren't enough ambulances that night." I asked "Have you checked that info?"

"No, but it's definitely a possibility."

I replied with "Those words are of no use to me. I didn't come here for "Oh, maybe xyz". I can't take that home with me, can I?"

"No, no you can't. I understand."

I then explained that by the time I had been examined at the RBH, Suri's cord had prolapsed, which was the reason my labour couldn't be stopped. It was why she couldn't be saved. And at that moment I asked the question that has changed everything for me since that day.

"Does it say in my notes that when she gave me the speculum exam, she could see a cord prolapse?"

Head of Emergency (looking through my chart), "No, no. It says you were 2cm dilated but there's nothing here about a cord."

You could have heard a fucking pin drop. I saw red and if it hadn't been for the Alprazolam I would have absolutely fallen to pieces.

"What? You're telling me she knew I was in labour? She knew?"

Him, looking panicked and re-reading the notes, "Uhh it does say that." Me: "Wait, so this doctor sent me out into the rain to take an Uber when I was 23 weeks and 5 days pregnant and in extremely premature labour, knowing I also had an infection?" The three representatives of the hospital looked miserable and helpless. It was clear that they hadn't realised I'd not known I was dilated - and they regretted divulging that info entirely. The rest of the meeting was a blur. Like a nightmare, one of the ones you have that is insanely awful at the time, but when you wake up you're not entirely sure what the hell happened.

As it turns out, the doctor who ruined our lives that night no longer works for Qld Health. I want to know her name. This faceless, nameless woman who changed our future with her carelessness.

Since the meeting, I've been nothing but hollow. A gutted fish. I smile and pretend to be happy when I have to talk to people, but I do it to spare them. It's exhausting so I avoid interaction with anyone as much as I can. I try to do normal things. For example, I tried to go to Coles in person early this week. I needed 2 things. I left with none, in the midst of an anxiety attack. I wasn't LIKE this before. I wasn't afraid to leave my house. I didn't burst into tears multiple times a day with absolutely no provocation. I had control over my stress levels, and my minimal amount of sleep wasn't plagued by nightmares.

She didn't just take away our baby girl with her negligence that night, she took away our lives as we knew them.

I'll be getting my medical records, soon. I'll know her name.

To be continued...