Kate's Story - St. Joseph's Health Centre, Toronto

Updated 2022

My name is Kate and I started The Obstetric Justice Project (formerly The Reproductive Justice Story Project) in 2017 as a place to talk about systemic issues of mistreatment and abuse in reproductive healthcare, more specifically, obstetric violence.

I have struggled with the effects of Postpartum PTSD since my baby was born in February 2017. In the days and weeks after returning from the hospital, I began to experience vivid flashbacks of my birth experience. I couldn't even sleep on my back, lounge with my knees apart, or be touched anywhere on my body without having sudden intrusive memories. I'd wake up crying in the night feeling completely violated again. The physical sensations felt so real that it was like I was right back at the hospital. 

I wrote a letter about my negative experience to the hospital's patient relations department. I explained what happened and why it wasn’t okay. The response I received was disappointing, re-traumatizing, and blatant victim-blaming. 



Like many people, I have a history of trauma and I don't always feel at ease in hospitals because they've been the setting of experiences that were disempowering, humiliating, and dehumanizing in my earlier life. I used to find it difficult and painful to talk about my experiences and to advocate for myself. During my stay at St. Joe's, my trauma response was activated over and over when staff ignored my wishes, minimized and invalidated my concerns, physically violated my bodily integrity, and rushed me to participate in their own plans without taking the time to explain.

There were some caring and capable staff members that were part of my care, but what stands out the most when I look back on my experience are the moments in which my consent was absent and rights to dignity and autonomy were ignored. Many of the staff members I encountered didn't seem to have a foundational understanding of informed consent and patient-centred care. Having a baby can be distressing and overwhelming for anyone, and the words and attitudes that healthcare providers choose have very real consequences in the moment and beyond.

After I came home from the hospital, I just couldn't shake the negative feelings about my birth. I needed my healthcare providers to know what had happened and why it was not okay, so I wrote them a letter. It took me six difficult weeks to get it all on paper. I wrote and rewrote, often nursing my newborn with one hand and typing with the other. I remember crying to my partner about how, even when it was all written down, typed out with every detail I could remember, I still hadn't captured how terrible it felt.

I began posting in online forums and talking to new parents at drop-ins and groups, wondering if others had had similar experiences to mine. The reports ranged from small cruelties, to acts that in any other setting would absolutely be considered sexual violence. Why do so few survivors of sexual violence come forward? The parallels here are too strong to ignore.

I’ve learned that while many report having really positive birth and reproductive healthcare experiences, many others leave these interactions feeling hurt or even traumatized by the way they were treated.

Given the response I received from the hospital regarding my concerns, it's no wonder more people don't talk about their own. It's absolutely crushing to be told, implicitly or explicitly, that what you went through was somehow your own fault. That you should just be thankful it wasn't worse. That you should just put it all behind you now and quietly slink away into parenthood.

Although I have experienced disadvantage in my life, I am also incredibly privileged. I came into the hospital that day along with that privilege; I am a white woman with health insurance and Canadian citizenship. I am able-bodied and English-speaking. I have a stable, loving home and a caring partner. Before this experience, I believed myself to be fairly assertive and strong, but even I felt completely powerless and vulnerable when I was giving birth. The trauma I experienced during the birth of my child has left me forever changed.

Back in 2017, there was less awareness of obstetric violence and little support for addressing it. I felt like I was stumbling through the complaints process without a map. Escalating my concerns through the hospital channels, up to the College of Nurses, and the Health Professions Appeal and Review Board felt clumsy and disorienting, but also important. I found my voice and a new purpose during this time. I saw first hand the limitations of existing accountability mechanisms, but also their potential to be leveraged for wider policy and systems change in Canada.

It's time to speak up about violence at the hands of healthcare professionals and the wider culture that normalizes it. We need to start talking about what respectful, dignified, compassionate care looks like, not just in birth, but in the full range of sexual and reproductive healthcare experiences.

I know that it's hard to speak up. I'm hoping that The Obstetric Justice Project can help make it a little easier.

If any part of my story resonated with you, please consider getting in touch to share your birth or reproductive healthcare experience. Submissions to the Community Story Blog are now welcome from patients and professionals all over Canada.

Change can happen if we speak up together!