Clayton's Story
When people talk about birth trauma, they don’t often think of asking the father in the room.
I want to be really clear about that from the start – nothing in what I share takes anything away from what my wife, Thiloshini, has been through. But fathers carry birth trauma too, and for a long time I didn’t have a name for what had happened to me on the days my children were traumatically born.
I’m a dad of four; my kids range from 10 to 18yrs now, and all four births were highly traumatic. Between them, they left me with PTSD and depression, which I’m still dealing with today.
Our first-born son, Yenuk, was born in 2008, and as all first-time parents, we went into the birth fairly naïve and full of excitement.
It wasn’t until 4 days before Yenuk’s birth that they informed us that he was posterior. It wasn’t made into a big deal at the time, and we thought nothing of it.
After 42 hours of drug-free labor and my wife absolutely crushing it – everything changed.
What had started as a planned, natural birth changed rapidly — first we were being prepped for an emergency C-section and even before I got into the theatre and the obstetrician had examined Thiloshini, the anesthetist had given a full spinal block.
The Obstetrician then examined my wife and announced: I can get this baby out with forceps. I remember standing there, terrified, within 30 minutes we had gone from laboring normally, to a c-section and then forceps.
We didn’t have a say, we had no idea what forceps were even, and I remember watching in disbelief as our son was ripped from Thil and she was almost folded in half.
My wife experienced a 3rd degree tear and received many stiches. Thil was unable to hold our son properly, as the spinal block had not yet worn off. This first moment was taken away from us.
Our second-born son Dulin came five years later, once we’d found our courage again after that first traumatic birth. It took Thiloshini 5 years to want another baby after the trauma from our first.
This time, my wife had an episiotomy without ever being properly told what was happening to her. It’s still one of the hardest things I’ve had to sit with and if we had our time again and were better informed, we never would have had the Episiotomy.
We lost our beautiful boy to a rare childhood cancer aged 9 months, after being diagnosed at the precious age of 5 months; and even though it’s not part of the birth trauma it is definitely part of our experienced trauma.
In 2015 we had Mayon (our 3rd-born son), everything in this birth story went amazingly (thank goodness). We had the joy of birthing Mayon standing in the shower without intervention, and I had the utmost privilege of catching him being born.
Thiloshini got skin to skin, delayed cord-clamping, and Mayon even crawled towards the boob and latched on perfectly (the ideal birth up until that point).
Then a retained placenta turned it into an emergency — my wife was losing a significant amount of blood, and in the chaos, our baby and I were pushed into a corner of the room and then shoved outside without being told what was going on.
I was simply ignored while the staff rushed in and out of the room working on Thiloshini. I still remember standing there holding our newborn, completely helpless, not knowing if my wife was going to be okay. And when I walked back into the room the amount of blood all over the room was so shocking that I can still see it today…
Then in 2016, our daughter Tenuji was born. Labour was going smoothly — my wife was on the floor mat, listening to her cue’s, knowing her body, coping well — until a midwife told her to get up onto the bed so she could be checked.
We asked if this could be done on the mat as she was comfortable but in the end she climbed onto the bed for inspection.
As I helped her down, in a moment, our little girl fell out onto the floor, right between my legs, and the umbilical cord snapping. I helped Thiloshini onto the bed, and put my hand to stop the bleeding, not knowing where it was coming from.
It was a code blue, and the room suddenly filled, I was pushed outside, Thil was rushed off in one direction and Tenuji in another. I was left standing there, blood all over me not knowing what to do.
10 minutes later a nurse ran in and grabbed me as Thiloshini was screaming out for me, she yelled find our baby and make sure she is ok. At that time I didn’t know if I was going to loose both of them and again I was left alone to find my own way out from the theater.
Thankfully both were ok but the ongoing scars for Thiloshini and myself will never go away. After this no one contacted us to see if we were ok, or to check in with us.
Four births. All of them were traumatic. I carried alone, because I thought my job was just to be strong for my wife and my family.
It wasn’t until 2018 that something shifted. My wife showed me Birth Trauma Australia’s Peer2Peer social group, and reading what other people had been through, I recognised pieces of myself in their stories for the first time. That recognition was what finally pushed me to seek help.
These days, I share our story with hospitals and health professionals, to help them understand that birth trauma doesn’t only happen to mothers — it happens to the fathers and partners standing beside them too.
Talking about it doesn’t diminish what my wife went through. It just means we can support our partners and still be allowed to be human and vulnerable, ourselves.
Clayton found Birth Trauma Australia in 2018, when Thiloshini showed him our Peer2Peer social group. He has since become an advocate for the organisation, inspiring health professionals across the nation to remember partners in the room and help them better understand the impact of birth-related trauma on those witnessing birth.
