Alice Legendre: My Postpartum and Every Mother’s

Alice is the mother of Marthe, three and a half months old. After giving birth, she was hit with two slaps, straight in the face—one of love, and one of postpartum. She wishes she had been informed, wishes someone had told her that the postpartum period could be so hard, so painful. Alice opened up completely for the Journal d’Élhée and tells us, in honest and moving words, about her postpartum experience—an experience so many other mothers share!

My Postpartum and That of All Mothers

“Marthe was born on December 14, 2020. The shock. The punch in the face. The sunshine in my life. Her crooked little smile, her big wide-eyed wonder, almost as much as ours. Her smell—orange, milk—and all those indescribable things, all the things running through my body and mind. The joy, real joy.

The arrival of a baby and the whirlwind that follows. Emotional. Physical. I didn’t expect to feel so many new things: love, pure love, the kind that grips your gut, visceral, so vivid it sometimes hurts your heart, the kind that brings hot tears flowing in a hospital room. But I also didn’t expect the suffering that follows childbirth. Postpartum. All the things no one told me, all the things no one ever talked about.

I spent hours clinging to Marthe in our room at the maternity ward, trying not to let her sense my pain, not daring to speak about it to others, smiling even though I was hurting badly. I didn’t know. I didn’t know you could feel so faint just trying to get up after a C-section; I didn’t know I wouldn’t be able to pee after anesthesia, that I’d have a urinary catheter for three days, didn’t know what afterpains felt like, that you could still have contractions after childbirth. I didn’t know the hormone crash could be so violent, so intense. I didn’t know your breasts could hurt so much from breastfeeding. That the cracks could be this bad. That distress could, at times, bring dark days and leave you wondering when you’ll come up for air again. I spent hours feeling guilty for knowing nothing, stupid, alone. Hours being afraid. Long minutes watching myself in the bathroom mirror, not understanding this belly that still looked pregnant, staring at my mesh underwear, and all the blood pouring out of me. I wondered why no one said anything, why my mother never said anything, why women don’t talk about this with each other.

After giving birth, I had pancreatitis. An inflammation of the pancreas due to a gallstone. It’s rare. What is less rare is women not being listened to. My attacks were severe. In my chest, in my back. I went to the ER twice. The first time, an intern sighed when I tried to tell him I knew something abnormal was going on—when I tried to talk about the blaze inside my body. The second time, I was told I was having panic attacks. I had to insist. Talk to my general practitioner. Say that I was on all fours, on my bathroom floor. That I felt like I was dying. That I was going to die if nothing was done. I was finally hospitalized, far from Marthe, far from her scent, her warm head, far from her skin and breath—I spent twelve days with a nasogastric tube, had my gallbladder removed. I felt like I’d lost my body.

If pancreatitis is a personal experience, what’s common is the lack of psychological help, the healthcare system’s struggle to listen to women in pain, the abandonment of mothers during their postpartum recovery. I met some wonderful people—kind caregivers, amazing midwives, fantastic nurses. My partner, my parents, my friends, were a huge support. But I was alone, terribly alone.

I don’t blame the women. Not my mother. Not my girlfriends. Not the whole army of warriors expected not to talk too much about their suffering, who are made to feel there’s little to celebrate when they’re home with the kids, feeding, washing, changing, raising them, who are made to feel that once the baby is born, it’s all about the baby now—their needs can wait, their health will wait. To them I send all the strength I can. To them, I say, let’s talk with each other. Let’s talk about our motherhood, our experiences as mothers. Let’s talk about postpartum. Let’s fight.”