A Parliamentary and Health Service Ombudsman investigation upheld five out of seven complaints against Royal Cornwall Hospitals NHS Trust — finding breaches of NICE, NMC, RCS and GMC standards. We believe our experience is not isolated. This site exists to gather those stories.
The NHS scandals at Morecambe Bay, Shrewsbury and Telford, and Nottingham were not uncovered by regulators — they were uncovered by parents who refused to stay silent. We are doing the same.
When injuries are psychological — PTSD, postnatal depression, anxiety — families face an additional barrier: the legal and financial framework treats psychiatric harm as worth significantly less than physical injury. This must change.
A birth plan is a legal and ethical expression of a patient's wishes. Evidence shows that documented preferences are routinely overridden — often with no explanation, and no record of why.
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Treliske — Royal Cornwall Hospital, Cornwall
We are Sian and Jon. In December 2022, our daughter was born at Treliske — Royal Cornwall Hospital in Cornwall. What should have been the most joyful night of our lives left a mark on our family that we carry to this day. This is our story.
Sian arrived at Treliske in the evening, already in established labour. The Trust would not recognise this for almost three hours.
Despite being in established labour, the Trust failed to recognise this for almost three hours, and only did so when Sian began shouting that she was pushing. Her repeated requests for pain relief, including gas and air, were denied. She was told it could make people go ‘crazy.’ Gas and air was eventually provided, but was withheld again when she was transferred upstairs. After what had been said to her, Sian felt deeply reluctant to use it freely. An epidural, which was explicitly documented in her birth plan, was also refused. Further pain relief was only provided once staff realised she was fully dilated and actively pushing.
Sian had a carefully prepared birth plan. It documented her medical history, her wishes, and critically, her explicit refusal of certain examinations. Those documented wishes were repeatedly ignored.
When Sian was screaming at midwives that she was pushing, she was finally taken for a caesarean section. Not because staff had assessed and agreed she needed one, but because she had fought to be heard. It was only once she was in theatre that staff discovered she was, in fact, fully dilated. Sian was then forced to make a decision whilst lying on the theatre table: proceed with a caesarean, which was now higher risk given her dilation, or attempt a vaginal birth, which was itself already high risk because the baby was breech.
The medical evidence supports what we were not told. The Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists recognises that caesarean births at full dilation are technically challenging and pose significant risks to both mother and baby, including tears in the womb, serious bleeding, and longer hospital stays. On the question of future pregnancies, research led by Professor Andrew Shennan, Director of the Tommy’s Research Centre at St Thomas’s Hospital, found that when a caesarean is performed at full dilation, the risk of premature birth in a future pregnancy is increased sixfold, from around 2% to approximately 15%. A growing body of evidence shows that these risks appear to be greater with increasing dilation, and are highest when the cervix is fully dilated.
We were not made aware of any of this at the time. That information, about what had happened and what it meant for any future pregnancy, was never given to us.
Before the caesarean began, the anaesthetist used a cold spray to check that Sian could not feel anything. Each time, Sian told them she could still feel the cold. This happened at least ten times. Eventually, she was told they would simply have to proceed. During the removal of the placenta, Sian experienced excruciating pain, so severe that she was convinced her ribs had been broken from the pressure and force involved. She was offered a general anaesthetic but declined. She should never have been placed in a position where that choice had to be made.
When Sian required surgical intervention, the operating surgeon was not aware of a significant aspect of her medical history. During labour, we were told that a meconium-contaminated sample would be tested. It was only through the complaints process that we later discovered it had never been tested at all, because such samples cannot be accurately analysed. This raised serious concerns around communication, staff knowledge, and record keeping.
Sian had pelvic girdle pain (PGP) and was already on crutches when she was moved to the postnatal ward. Despite this, staff were fixated on getting her up and walking the corridors just hours after a caesarean section. Sian felt constantly judged for being unable to do so. That pressure, on top of everything she had already been through, was deeply distressing.
In the night, Sian buzzed for support with breastfeeding. Her baby was becoming very distressed and was struggling to latch. A midwife said she would come back. She never did. Sian buzzed again and someone else came, who said she would ask the first midwife to return. Sian heard that conversation take place. The midwife still never came. Sian felt utterly alone and like a burden. Eventually a different member of staff came and took the baby so Sian could get some sleep. That small act of kindness stood in sharp contrast to everything that had come before.
Sian attended a Birth Reflections appointment hoping for acknowledgement and support. Instead, she was told to be more assertive next time. Blame was placed on her. She was also advised to go outside and smell the flowers. We leave that without further comment.
We made a formal complaint to Royal Cornwall Hospitals NHS Trust. During that process, many of our concerns were met with the response that there was no record of the incidents having taken place, a direct consequence of the poor record keeping we had raised as a concern. Midwives said they simply did not remember. We found it deeply insulting to be given the absence of a record, or a failure of memory, as a reason why our experiences could not be acknowledged. We were not satisfied with the Trust’s response, so we submitted a second formal complaint, giving them a further opportunity to respond properly. We were still not satisfied. We escalated to the Parliamentary and Health Service Ombudsman. After a full investigation, the Ombudsman upheld five out of seven of our complaints, finding that the Trust had breached NICE, NMC, RCS, and GMC standards of care.
The financial remedy offered was £1,200. We consider this wholly inadequate for the harm caused.
We sought legal representation on a no-win-no-fee basis but were turned down by multiple solicitors. Part of this is because claims for psychological harm, including PTSD, postnatal depression, and anxiety, are significantly harder to pursue within the legal system than claims for physical injury. This is wrong, and we are calling for it to change.
We had followed the Ombudsman process first, as we were advised to do. By the time we approached solicitors, the three-year limitation period had passed. Several firms told us this alone prevented them from taking the case forward. We find this deeply unfair, particularly given that Sian was in no fit state, mentally or emotionally, to revisit or discuss what happened at Treliske for a significant period of time after the birth. The limitation period makes no allowance for that reality. Our search for a solicitor is ongoing.
In the days and weeks that followed the birth, Sian was diagnosed with PTSD, postnatal depression, postnatal anxiety, and OCD. The impact on her health, her confidence, and her ability to work has been profound and ongoing. Despite two years of exceptional support from the Perinatal Mental Health team, Sian still cannot think back to that day without experiencing a strong physical reaction. That is the reality of what happened at Treliske, and why we are telling this story.
We share this not for sympathy, but because we believe we are not the only family this has happened to. Major NHS maternity scandals — Morecambe Bay, Shrewsbury, Nottingham — were not uncovered by regulators. They were uncovered by parents who refused to stay silent.
We are not staying silent.
Five upheld complaints. Four regulatory standards breached. One Trust that needs to do better.
In January 2026, the Parliamentary and Health Service Ombudsman completed its investigation into our complaint against Royal Cornwall Hospitals NHS Trust. The Ombudsman upheld five out of seven complaints. The following failures were formally identified:
Sian arrived at Treliske in the evening and was already in established labour. The Trust failed to recognise this for approximately three hours. By the time they finally recognised that Sian was in labour, she was fully dilated and pushing. This was a serious clinical failure with direct consequences for everything that followed.
During hours of active labour, pain relief was not appropriately provided. Sian initially requested pain relief, including gas and air, but was told no because it can sometimes make people go ‘crazy’. Gas and air was later provided, but then withheld again during transfer upstairs, and after those comments Sian felt reluctant to use much of it. Further pain relief was only provided once staff realised she was fully dilated and actively pushing. We do not believe these were appropriate reasons or circumstances in which to deny or delay pain relief to a woman in active labour. This is not an appropriate clinical reason to deny pain relief to a woman in active labour.
Sian had a formal birthing plan documenting her explicit refusals of certain examinations. Staff made repeated requests that directly contradicted her documented wishes — a failure of patient-centred care and of basic professional standards.
The operating surgeon was not aware of a significant aspect of Sian's medical history prior to operating. This is a fundamental requirement of safe surgical practice and a clear breach of RCS and GMC guidance.
During labour, meconium was discovered in a urine sample. We were told it would be sent for testing, but heard nothing further at the time — and were offered no reassurance or support. Only through the complaints process did we later find out the sample had never been tested, because it cannot be accurately tested when contaminated with meconium. This should have been known and explained at the time — it revealed inaccurate training, a lack of knowledge, and a failure of communication within the team. Record keeping throughout was found to be poor.
What the Ombudsman required
The Ombudsman required the Trust to issue a written apology, produce an action plan within three months, and update its surgeon review policy to align with RCS and GMC guidance. We will be monitoring whether the Trust meets these requirements — and making the outcomes public.
NHS maternity care failures rarely reach the scrutiny they deserve. The data we have gathered through Freedom of Information requests tells a story of rising complaints, low escalation, and almost no independent accountability.
Between 2015 and 2025, Royal Cornwall Hospitals NHS Trust received 228 formal complaints relating to maternity services, community midwifery, and obstetrics and gynaecology. The Trust holds no maternity-only category in its complaints system, so this is the closest available breakdown.
The trend is clear. In 2015, 15 complaints were recorded. By 2025, that figure had risen to 40 — nearly three times as many in a single year. The sharpest increases have come in the last three years.
That partial uphold is Sian’s case — the case that led to this campaign, in which five out of seven complaints were formally upheld against the Trust. The second complaint escalated to the Ombudsman is currently under investigation.
Source: Royal Cornwall Hospitals NHS Trust, response to Freedom of Information request ref 33137, 23 June 2026.
We also submitted a Freedom of Information request directly to the PHSO. The picture it reveals is striking.
In the last five years, only 2 cases relating to Royal Cornwall Hospitals NHS Trust reached investigation stage where the complaint involved pregnancy and childbirth.
One of those was closed because the family was directed to pursue a legal remedy instead. The second is Sian’s case — published on the PHSO website, and partly upheld.
An important limitation in the data
The PHSO does not categorise complaints as maternity-related at the point they are received — that categorisation only happens if a case proceeds to full investigation. This means there is no way to know, from publicly available data, how many families have contacted the Ombudsman about RCHT maternity care and been turned away before investigation even began.
Source: Parliamentary and Health Service Ombudsman, response to Freedom of Information request, June 2026.
Rising complaints. Near-total local resolution with no independent scrutiny. Only two cases in five years reaching the Ombudsman — one resulting in findings against the Trust, and one still under investigation.
This is not a picture of a system working as it should. It is a picture of complaints being absorbed quietly, with very little external accountability. We believe families deserve better than that — and we are continuing to pursue further data through the FOI process.
Ongoing FOI request
We have requested additional information from RCHT about specific standards breaches and external reviews of its maternity services. That request is currently under internal review.
What happened to Sian at Treliske has never felt like a one-off to us. The findings of independent national investigations published in 2026 confirm why.
In June 2026, a further Ockenden review reported on Nottingham University Hospitals NHS Trust, based on more than 2,500 family cases and over 800 staff. It found a persistent failure to listen to and believe mothers and fathers, and a corresponding failure to investigate, and therefore learn from, mistakes.
That same month, Baroness Amos published the final report of the National Maternity and Neonatal Investigation — the most extensive review of NHS maternity and neonatal care ever undertaken in England. Over 450 families and more than 10,500 members of the public contributed evidence, alongside more than 9,000 staff across 12 NHS trusts. Its findings describe women not being listened to, defensive responses when things go wrong, and apologies that were, in its own words, “felt to be meaningless.”
Neither of these reports examined Royal Cornwall Hospitals NHS Trust. But the patterns they describe — women’s concerns dismissed, delays in recognising deterioration, families fighting for answers, and a system slow to acknowledge mistakes — are the same patterns documented in the Ombudsman’s findings on Sian’s care.
This is why we believe Sian’s case cannot be treated as an isolated local failing. It is part of a national picture that independent investigators, across multiple reviews and over many years, keep finding.
Read the full reports:
Ockenden Review final report — Nottingham University Hospitals NHS Trust (June 2026)
National Maternity and Neonatal Investigation — final report and recommendations (June 2026)
Experiences shared by families who have received care at Royal Cornwall Hospital maternity services. Published with permission — anonymously or named, exactly as each family chose.
I gave birth to my first child in 2021. Covid restrictions were still in place at that time. During pregnancy, due to my BMI, I had been told I wouldn't be able to have the water birth I wanted. I complained about this and after discussion with the matron it was agreed I could use the birth suite and have a water birth, on the proviso that if there were any issues I would be transferred to the delivery suite, which I agreed to.
As my due date got closer I was pressured into agreeing to an induction, and was basically told that because I had a high BMI, if I went over my due date my baby would die. This was my first child after two miscarriages, and I agreed to being booked in for an induction.
On the morning I was booked in, my partner drove us to RCHT and I checked in. He was told he needed to leave due to Covid restrictions and could return at 2pm for the two-hour visiting time. We didn't live close to the hospital so it was a little inconvenient — but more than that, I was scared and alone. The pessary was inserted and I waited. I walked around the ward, bounced on a ball, and kept myself entertained waiting for something to happen. My partner returned at 2pm and we went and walked around the hospital grounds.
Just before the end of visiting time I started getting pains — like bad period pains. My partner was worried and asked someone for help. They said they would get me some pain relief and advised him he needed to leave as visiting time was nearly up. Once again alone, scared, and now in pain.
During the evening the pain increased and I was keeping track of contractions. I was put on the monitor for a while, and I remember thinking the baby's heart rate seemed high. The midwives kept me on the monitor for a long time before saying all was okay. I used the ball and breathed as we had been taught in birthing classes. I tried to be quiet because I was acutely aware there was one other lady in the bay with me and I didn't want to disturb her.
At some point I was given Oramorph, which made me hallucinate, and I vomited. No one came to check on me. It must have been around midnight. I went for a shower hoping it would help the pain. While I was in the shower the pessary fell out. When I told someone, they said another would need to be put in. I declined initially due to the pain and discomfort I was in. The midwife offered me pethidine and said we could try again after that. I agreed.
Before giving me pethidine they said I had to be monitored to make sure the baby was okay. During that time the baby's heart rate was lower than it should have been. They consulted with a doctor and it was agreed I would go up to the delivery suite where I could have gas and air and the baby could be monitored closely. I was advised to call my birth partner and ask them to come in — I think this was around 3am.
In the delivery suite I had gas and air, which really helped, and I requested an epidural because I was struggling to cope. I felt more relaxed knowing my partner was with me. The epidural didn't work. They tried again a bit later — it still didn't work. The person who administered the epidurals was then in surgery and unavailable to try again. When the day shift came on, someone repositioned the epidural and topped up the medication — it still had no effect. The fourth time someone came in, they offered to take it out and start again. By this point I was exhausted and in so much pain that I asked them to leave.
At some point during all of this I was told the baby was back to back and still moving trying to get into position, which was why my contractions were so painful.
The day shift brought a new midwife — she was much sharper than the midwife I had had overnight. She refused to let me stand because I had had an epidural, even though it was not working.
When I started pushing I was terrified, exhausted, and in more pain than I thought I could cope with. At one point I tried to stop pushing because that just hurt more. I recall being very vocal. The midwife kept telling me to stop shouting and focus on pushing. Shortly after this, a doctor walked in and told me to stop shouting and start pushing, or he would cut me to get the baby out as her heart rate was struggling. A few more pushes and my baby was born. She was still in the incorrect position, which accounted for the pain and her heart rate.
The midwife examined me and said I needed stitches, but she wasn't prepared to give me local anaesthetic and asked if I consented to having a spinal. In a daze I agreed. I assumed I would have some time with my baby before this happened — but the room filled with people and I was wheeled off, leaving my partner with our baby, whom I had seen for all of five minutes.
They brought her in to me about halfway through because she was hungry. Someone latched her onto me and held her because I was lying flat. I didn't get any quality time with her until I was in recovery. I was taken back to the ward at about 5pm, when we were told visiting time was over and my partner needed to leave.
During the night and the following day I tried desperately to breastfeed but really struggled. Lots of people came to "help." I was told she was too tired, or my breasts were too big. I was told it was because she was lazy, or too hungry, and she was given a bottle so we could try again later. I was told it would be better at home where we were both more relaxed. We were discharged the day after she was born. No newborn checks were done and I wasn't given the red book.
We continued to struggle with feeding. Midwives and health visitors came to help, and it was even suggested the reason we couldn't do it was because I had postnatal depression — I did not. I was just overwhelmed, exhausted, and frustrated. I wanted to be able to feed my baby.
Because it was post-Covid there were no support groups. After much research I found one, and the lady who ran it discovered my baby had a tongue tie which had never been spotted. Because it was after the NHS cut-off point, I had to go private and drive to Exeter to get it fixed. Having it cut was almost an instant fix to the feeding issues and colic.
My waters broke on 24th March. I was checked at the Birth Centre and advised that I could begin the induction process or wait 24 hours to see if contractions started naturally. I wanted to feel relaxed and comfortable — ideally in the Birth Centre, with freedom to move and different options for pain relief, including the birthing pool. As we knew induction was more likely to lead to a hospitalised birth, we decided to wait. No contractions started, so we returned the next day to begin the induction process.
During my induction I was admitted to Wheal Rose. It was just awful. Through pregnancy, so much antenatal information had been about mindfulness, being able to move, being calm, breathing — but there I was in a space that completely opposed all of that. The woman opposite me screamed, shouted, swore and watched horror films loudly on her laptop, all through the night. I appreciate that this is a shared space, but staff were aware and made comments about how loud the ward was — yet no one acted to manage it. The lights were on all through the night with people coming and going. It felt very hectic.
The woman in the bed next to me kept asking for help and midwives only arrived as she gave birth on the ward. She was wheeled away and no one said a word about it. There was no explanation of what had happened, no reassurance that she and her baby were okay. In an attempt to sleep, I slept on the small sofa in the visitor's room. The staff were aware — they came and took my observations in there. In hindsight I worry that this sounds trivial, but I was nine months pregnant, exhausted, in tears, sleeping on a tiny PVC sofa, on my own. I know that if I saw someone else in that position I would find it unacceptable — that at the very least I would take the time to talk to them.
As time went on and labour didn't start with just the pessary, we became increasingly anxious. We knew that the more time passed from my waters breaking, the higher the risk of infection. On 27th March we were taken up to the labour ward. I cannot explain how tired I was at that point — but I was so relieved to be there. I was given the hormone drip and contractions started. I began to shiver a lot and they took my blood and told me I had sepsis. It felt like everything we had worried about was happening. I was exhausted and the situation felt increasingly out of my control.
We could see the monitor and the baby's heart rate going up, but no one discussed it with us. We would just hear snippets of conversation — a midwife saying "the baby won't take much more of this, she will need a c-section." And eventually I did have a caesarean section.
I feel that this should have been a relief — I had my baby and could start healing, bonding and making memories. But Wheal Fortune was even worse. Due to visiting hours my husband had to leave very soon after I was admitted. I had sepsis, a caesarean section, and a newborn. My daughter screamed as I tried to breastfeed. I repeatedly asked for help and no one could help me get her to latch. The woman opposite complained about the noise and I was a distraught mess. I asked if there was anywhere I could go to sit and try — "no" — but there was no help either.
By the morning I had a lethargic, pale baby. When the doctors arrived they told me she had high infection markers. She had a spinal tap and needed a feeding tube. What followed was a blur of desperately asking for help with feeding, waiting days for a breast pump, then triple feeding. I find it hard even now — that first morning I woke up alone, ill, with a poorly baby, I was expected to go to the visitors' room to make my own breakfast, to push the baby to the kitchen and sterilise her bottles. I was exhausted to another level. I felt like I had died, like I could see my bones. I cried and cried until I couldn't stop. At that point I was moved to a side room.
When I got home I still couldn't stop crying. I reached out to every health professional I could and said I wasn't okay, but I didn't get any support. Not being okay led to postnatal depression. We were repeatedly directed to Birth Reflections for support, but when we arrived for our appointment they didn't have our notes, interrupted our story, and repeated phrases like "be kind to yourself" — which at that point felt impossible.
I do think it was wrong that I had to wait so long for the hormone drip, and that this directly contributed to both myself and my daughter becoming ill. The environment I was in was not empowering or supportive in the lead-up to the birth, and it did not help me to heal or bond with my daughter. I went through a prolonged period of fear, exhaustion, illness, uncertainty and isolation, and I did not feel adequately cared for during some of the moments when I most needed support.
I understand that complications cannot always be prevented. What continues to affect me is not only the medical outcome but the lack of communication, support and compassion I experienced throughout.
I was induced due to concerns regarding my baby's size, as I had gestational diabetes. I was induced with a pessary which was left inside for over 24 hours — this was very uncomfortable. As I was not progressing, they opted for the drip and to break my waters. This was incredibly uncomfortable, which I put down to the midwife saying I was "red raw down there from the pessary" — this made me wonder if it had been left too long.
Another 12 hours passed with still no improvement in dilation. I was getting tired after not being able to eat and was feeling delirious. My blood pressure dropped and so did my baby's heart rate. My partner requested that a doctor reassess. The midwife discussed how she thought we should push for a natural birth, otherwise it would be a failed induction. This comment made me wonder why she pushed so hard — was there a culture around this? Luckily my partner pushed the midwife to ask for a doctor to assess, who decided it was time for an emergency caesarean section.
This meant my midwife had to prepare me for surgery. She had to shave the area where they would make the cut. She commented: "I bet you wished you'd shaved before." This comment has stayed with me. At this point I was barely coherent and unable to defend myself. Looking back, I wish I could have said: I didn't shave because I thought I would be having a natural labour, and that it wasn't something to be ashamed of. But I shouldn't have had to explain myself at all in response to such a callous comment.
Thankfully the caesarean section went well and everything was okay. The aftercare felt very uncaring — I felt judged for struggling to walk to the toilet for the first time, as though I was overreacting to how my body felt after surgery.
In the end I'm grateful no harm came to myself or my son. But I agree that something is wrong with the culture. The attitudes of some staff are so judgemental, and you place so much trust in them that it leaves you feeling deeply vulnerable. The difference between each midwife I had was vast — and having a midwife who made you feel unsafe and powerless is deeply unsettling.
I know I'm lucky my experience ended with a healthy baby. I hope this adds to the wider picture of the standards of care being provided.
My baby, my firstborn, was born in the summer of 2023 at Treliske. It was a rollercoaster of emotions met with both warm, genuine care and ice cold, dismissive attitudes. My waters broke and twelve hours later I still had no contractions. I was sent up to the hospital to be induced, something I wasn't keen on.
I recall a wonderful midwife going through all my options, but my anxiety was already through the roof. She agreed to give me some time to think things through with my partner, and we chose to return home for a few hours, try to relax, have some good food and see if we could bring on contractions naturally. Nothing worked, so we returned to Treliske and I was seen by a junior doctor. She was nice, but pretty firm that my birth plan was out the window at this point, and that I had to be admitted to the delivery ward and induced. I very reluctantly agreed to a pessary in the first instance and to being admitted, but remained clear that I was not ready to be induced with oxytocin.
As time went on, both me and the baby were being monitored and we were both fine. I wanted to carry on waiting for contractions to start naturally, but the pressure from some of the midwives, and in particular the medical staff, started mounting. They moved from junior doctors up through the ranks trying to get me to agree to an oxytocin drip. When I still declined, they brought in the consultant.
A stern woman spoke to me in such a belittling manner that I almost burst into tears. Once it became clear to her she was doing nothing but infuriating me, raising both my stress levels and my heart rate, she turned to my partner, then back to me, and told him directly that if I did not comply I was putting both myself and the baby at high risk of death. I watched the colour drain out of his face, his eyes grow wide with fear, looking at me, pleading with me to agree. I have never in my life felt so vulnerable, and for a supposed healthcare provider to undermine me in the midst of that vulnerability, without any compassion or support, was beyond belief. Both baby and I were still being monitored and there were still no signs of distress. I knew I was approaching their policy on how long to wait before inducing, something I believe had recently been reduced by 24 hours.
I was told the pessary hadn't worked and that I needed to start oxytocin. I felt exhausted, deflated, anxious, sad, scared, angry. We had been in hospital for about 24 hours at this point. I very reluctantly agreed. I remember sobbing when the midwife started the drip.
Time went on. Contractions started. I felt desperately out of control. I was never once asked if I was okay, whether I wanted to talk about it, or whether anything could be done to help. My partner and I were left in a room for hours, only checked on when the baby monitor had moved, was beeping, or the drip needed increasing.
I then reached that point during labour when your body says push. I told my partner I needed to push. He told the midwife I needed to push. Her words: "No you don't, you were only 3cm on your last check." I thought, maybe I don't. We waited it out, but sure enough that feeling returned. "I need to push, please get the midwife again." She returned, disagreed that I needed to push, but checked me anyway, only to find that I was in fact at 10cm and yes, I needed to push.
My baby was born without issue, taking only 20 minutes to make his way into the world.
Generally my care from then on was great, apart from one final, negative experience. Baby and I were moved from the delivery ward, arriving at around midnight. My partner was told to leave — standard practice for them, terrifying for me. We made it through our first night, with both of us sleeping through. I was woken in the morning to find a somewhat disgruntled midwife asking me how many times I had fed my baby overnight, as I hadn't filled out the chart. I hadn't fed him at all — he slept for most of the night, and when he did stir, I couldn't get him to latch. She berated me for not alerting anyone. She made me feel completely inadequate. She brought me to tears. Once again, in my most vulnerable state, I had been brought to my knees by someone who was supposed to care.
On the advice of a close friend, I had brought some colostrum with me, so we gave that to my baby — but I was convinced by this point that I was a terrible mother.
Then the midwife I'd encountered at the very beginning of my journey came on shift — the one who was kind, warm and caring. She came over to say congratulations, asked me how I was, and I just broke down. She was the first person to genuinely care, or so it felt. I told her about the breastfeeding issue, to which she said I had been given pethidine shortly before he was born. The medication was undoubtedly still in his system, which is why he had slept all night and struggled to latch. A simple explanation which, had it been given earlier, would most certainly have avoided a lot of heartache.
She sat with me and together we got him to latch. I wish I could remember her name. She was so wonderful.
When I had my first baby in 2022 we felt fobbed off by the staff. His heart rate kept increasing and decreasing and my midwife told me she'd get a doctor and never did. I bled into my catheter and was told it was normal.
They guessed the amount I bled during my postpartum haemorrhage — I get that to a certain extent, but I heard them say the words "I guess."
I was left without a cot for my newborn at 2am, after being in active labour for 20 hours. I was told to shut up when pushing. We weren't told how heavy our boy was when he was born. No communication, no empathy.
My community midwife put in a complaint.
My daughter was born at Royal Cornwall Hospital — a normal birth. However, it became very quickly apparent to me that she was very poorly. She wouldn't feed, and everything she did eat came straight back up. I spent three days on the maternity ward telling the nurses and midwives that she was ill and had not passed any stool — but they didn't believe me, as I was a new mum and they thought I was anxious.
On day three, some of her vomit got onto a white cloth. It was bright green. I took it to a midwife and made clear that green vomit was not normal for a newborn baby — this was after three days of telling them something was wrong.
They immediately had a doctor come to see her. She was taken to the neonatal unit, where they tube fed her — and all of the food came straight back up. By that point you could see all her intestines bulging in her tummy.
She was blue-lighted to Bristol Children's Hospital the next day and diagnosed with Hirschsprung's disease. She was very seriously ill. She needed triple IV antibiotics and immediate washouts three times a day. She then needed major surgery to remove the obstruction.
I had spent days being gaslit — told I was imagining it, that I was just an anxious mum — while my baby got more and more sick at Royal Cornwall Hospital. Bristol said that if Royal Cornwall had left her any longer, she would not be here now.
In early December 2014 I was admitted to Royal Cornwall Hospital with suspected gastroenteritis, due to give birth in January. I became very unwell, but my infection markers didn't seem to show much. On 12 December my waters broke and, due to my heart rate accelerating so as to be indistinguishable from the baby's, I was rushed for an emergency caesarean section.
Upon opening my abdomen, there was a great deal of pus — the reason for my being so unwell. I required a blood transfusion, oxygen, and was on several different IV antibiotics for the next two weeks as they struggled to get my infection under control.
Whilst I was treated with kindness, staff shortages were obvious. On several occasions I was unable to receive my prescribed pain medication — I had been prescribed Oramorph (liquid morphine) to be given hourly. Due to there being only one midwife with the key to the medicine trolley, I waited over five hours on more than one occasion.
Thankfully my partner was able to stay with me, as due to both my infection and chronic hip pain I was unable to care for my newborn son. The pressure on staff was such that they simply did not have the time to help me.
One thing my partner and I reflected on afterwards was how quickly we were discharged. From memory, I think we were home around 3–4 in the morning, which at the time felt surprisingly quick — particularly given my partner's pre-existing health condition — and I don't recall all of the post-delivery checks being carried out.
Our experience was obviously very different to many of the stories shared here, but it did leave us questioning afterwards whether things had moved a bit too quickly.
In 2020 my waters broke and I went to hospital. My husband wasn't allowed in due to Covid. Even though my waters had only broken two hours previously, I was told I needed to be induced right away. I was given a very strong dose which meant my contractions were coming every minute. I was told to be quiet. I was left in a room on my own whilst I was in excruciating pain.
Twenty minutes later I knew I needed to push. They ignored me. It was only when I grabbed a wall and started to push that they decided to check. I was 6cm dilated, and so they finally allowed my husband in.
Upstairs I said again that I needed to push and was told: "No you don't — we just checked you and you're 6cm." I began bleeding a lot and again started pushing as I couldn't help it. I shouted: "I am pushing!" The midwife finally decided to check, and I was 10cm dilated with membranes protruding.
On giving birth, my baby was put on my chest very limp and grunting. I immediately had to start stimulating him as the midwife hadn't noticed. Once I told her he wasn't breathing properly, she took note and he was taken to the neonatal unit, where he spent 16 days extremely poorly.
I was moved to the postnatal ward where the behaviour of some staff was appalling. Personal details about patients were shouted across the ward for everyone to hear.
On day three, I came down from visiting my baby in the neonatal unit to be told: "What's the point in you even having a room down here when you spend all your time with the baby? You're never here — it's a waste of bed space."
The worst experience of my life.
With my first child, I was discharged from the ward prematurely and incorrectly. As a result, I was left alone on a dark ward without any painkillers or hourly checks, having just had a caesarean section. A passing nurse heard my baby crying — I was in too much pain to get to her. They had no idea who I was, or any notes, as I was no longer on their system. I was just a woman on a ward with a baby.
It was 2022, so there were limited visiting hours. I remember calling my partner in distress about why there were no staff or anyone checking on me.
I believe that this traumatic early experience contributed to postnatal depression and had a negative impact on my bond with my daughter.
I would like to balance this with the fact that I recently had my second child, and it was a brilliant and positive experience — mostly. The one negative was being given a dose of pain medication that made me so unwell I couldn't walk and had to leave hospital in a wheelchair. As an introductory dose to help with difficulty coughing up mucus after a caesarean section, that was a significant amount.
Overall, I still have to work hard on my bond with my daughter. As a first-time mum, being abandoned on a dark ward with no one knowing I was there — or even who I was — was like something out of a horror film. I would have received better care sitting on the pavement outside than I did in a maternity ward. At least people would have known I was there.
This is now made all the more stark by the wonderful bond I have with my son, which I feel is a direct result of the much better care I received the second time around. My first experience left me utterly traumatised. The contrast between the two couldn't be clearer.
I won't be having a third.
I would first like to acknowledge the excellent care I received during my first pregnancy and birth in August 2023 — my experience was overwhelmingly positive despite being a tricky birth, which is why I feel particularly disappointed by my recent experience. For my second pregnancy, I was admitted for induction of labour at 41+5 due to being post-dates. I had a Foley balloon catheter inserted, which worked as expected and fell out approximately 12 hours later, indicating that my cervix had dilated to over 4cm.
At this point, I expected to progress to the next stage of induction in a timely way. However, my induction was then delayed for approximately 42 hours due to a lack of capacity on the labour ward.
During this prolonged delay, I remained in hospital experiencing what I can only describe as prodromal labour. I was unable to sleep for almost two days, became increasingly exhausted, and was growing more concerned as my baby's movements had noticeably reduced. By this point, I was also over 42 weeks pregnant, which I understand carries increased risks for both mother and baby.
Despite these concerns being highlighted to nursing staff and an obstetrics consultant, I was repeatedly told that there was no capacity on the labour ward to admit me for the next stage of induction. I eventually was transferred to the labour ward around midnight, nearly two full days after the catheter had fallen out.
By the time I was assessed again, my cervix had retracted from over 4cm to approximately 2cm. I then experienced what I found to be a very difficult labour and required an epidural, which I strongly feel was made significantly harder by the extreme exhaustion caused by the prolonged delay and lack of sleep.
Most distressingly, my daughter experienced a shoulder dystocia at birth and required approximately 15 minutes of resuscitation. This was an incredibly frightening experience and significantly disrupted those crucial first moments of bonding following delivery. In addition, I suffered a significant postpartum haemorrhage following delivery, which added further physical trauma and distress to what was already an extremely difficult experience.
I want to be very clear that throughout this experience, the individual staff caring for me were compassionate, professional, and did their best within what appeared to be extremely difficult circumstances. My concerns are not about the staff themselves, but about what appears to be a serious capacity and staffing issue within the service.
I cannot help but feel that had there been sufficient capacity to continue my induction when clinically appropriate, this outcome may potentially have been avoided. The prolonged delay, exhaustion, and subsequent complications caused significant physical and emotional distress to both myself and my family, and the impact of this experience continues to affect us.
My story is nowhere near as frightening as some, but it has just never sat right with me. I was induced at full term using the pessary due to labour not progressing twelve hours after my waters had started leaking. I couldn't fault anyone on Wheal Rose ward. Labour went quite slowly for a while, but as soon as my waters fully burst it was all go.
The midwife left the room to ring up to delivery and by the time she walked back in I was pushing. I was then wheeled on all fours on the bed through the halls with nothing covering my lower half, until someone realised and slung a sheet over me just before the double doors. We were taken upstairs in the lift.
Whilst trying to bear down, the midwife — without warning or consent — inserted a finger in what I assume was an attempt to help stretch the skin and help the baby crown. This happened several times, and each time made me lose my concentration on pushing. She then, sounding fed up, told my partner that I was just not pushing hard enough.
They said I was going to have to have an episiotomy to help the baby come out as he was becoming distressed, and attempted to inject local anaesthetic between contractions. They did not wait for the anaesthetic to take effect before cutting, and I couldn't tolerate the gas and air during labour, so I yelped very loudly. The baby was delivered safely.
More local anaesthetic was given for stitching, but again minimal, and she did not wait long at all before starting. I was told to let her know if I could feel it, to take gas and air, and that she would stop if it was too much. After two stitches she had passed the point where the anaesthetic had reached, and I let her know I could feel it and that it was painful. I was told to just use the gas and air. I did as I was told and cried silently in pain, feeling every stitch after that, whilst trying to inhale as much Entonox as I could.
We were taken to Wheal Fortune shortly after to stay for overnight checks. The night staff were lovely and helped me with breastfeeding, which I really struggled with.
The following morning we were told we would be discharged, but that my baby would have his newborn examination before we left. A few hours later we asked if they knew when this would be and were treated as though we were being rude for asking. They had in fact forgotten to carry out the newborn check, and we were discharged a short while later when they realised.
During the postnatal midwife checks at home the next day, the community midwife wasn't happy with the uterus check and sent us back to Treliske for a scan. They did not scan me — they had a quick feel of my stomach and sent us home. Luckily this corrected itself.
On my next postnatal visit I asked the midwife to check my stitches. She then asked whether they had been catching a lot, as the stitches had two starts and ends where they would usually try to use only one. I assume this was where the delivery midwife had stopped stitching when I said it hurt, and then carried on.
I never made a complaint. At the time I was just happy my baby was here safe, and I thought I should trust that they had done the best they could.
Thank you for taking the time to listen to so many women. I hope change will come for future mothers.
This is such a great thing to set up and I hope it can bring some serious change. In 2020, I was pregnant with twins and at 32 weeks developed sudden severe swelling in my hands and feet. I contacted the maternity unit and was told swelling was normal towards the end of pregnancy. A few hours later I called back due to reduced movements and was asked to come in.
On admission I had protein in my urine and raised blood pressure. A doctor wanted to observe me overnight, but a midwife openly argued against this in front of me because she did not think I should be taking up a bed. I was then left overnight without any observations.
Over the following week on Wheal Rose my blood pressure worsened and I was prescribed multiple medications, however doses were frequently delayed or missed. My family repeatedly raised concerns that I appeared increasingly unwell but felt these concerns were dismissed.
One night, before administering a blood thinning injection, a midwife had not checked my blood pressure until I reminded her that my medication was already hours late. Once checked, urgent help was called and I was transferred to delivery suite where I became severely unwell with pre-eclampsia. I asked when being transferred if I should call my mum and partner, and was told that my mum would just get in the way. Staff in delivery suite upstairs were the ones to call my emergency contacts.
I required emergency treatment including multiple doses of magnesium directly into my cannula, magnesium drips, fluids, iron transfusions, blood pressure medications and steroids. My kidneys began to fail and the stress on my body caused premature labour. My mum asked the staff if I was going to die and they couldn't reassure her, only say they were doing all they could. I couldn't eat or drink for days because my lungs would have filled with fluid.
My twins required resuscitation at birth and were transferred directly to neonatal while I remained seriously unwell.
I will always be grateful to the delivery suite staff who saved our lives. However, I believe there were multiple missed opportunities before this point where my deterioration and the concerns raised should have been recognised sooner.
The experience had a significant long-term impact on my mental health. I was diagnosed with PTSD. It has taken many years for me to feel able to speak about what happened and there are still parts I can't remember.
I never complained at the time — I felt like I couldn't — and when I requested my notes I don't feel that they reflected the severity of what happened to me.
I then went on to have another baby in December 2025. The pregnancy, labour and birth all went well, and overall I felt much more listened to than I had previously. However, when we were discharged from hospital, we felt the midwife was quite abrupt with us. We asked several times whether there was any paperwork, checks or anything else we needed before leaving, but we were repeatedly told no and were discharged in the early hours of the morning.
When I saw the community midwives on day five, they informed me that no newborn examination had been carried out on my baby before discharge. Nobody had checked his heart, eyes, temperature or completed any of the standard newborn checks. They explained that the discharging midwife had incorrectly documented that these checks had been completed and that my baby was fine. Because of this, the community midwives believed it was safe for me not to be seen until day five. They also raised an internal complaint.
They told me they would carry out the examination immediately, but also explained that if they discovered any issues, such as a heart problem, it could be extremely serious because it had gone unnoticed for five days. They warned me that any concerning findings could result in my baby being admitted straight to the neonatal unit.
During the examination, they noticed my baby had bloodshot eyes. I was asked numerous questions and whether I had any photographs or videos from shortly after the birth. Thankfully, my partner had sent my mum a video immediately after delivery where his bloodshot eyes could clearly be seen, which supported that this had been present from birth.
The midwives explained that bloodshot eyes can sometimes be considered a sign of shaken baby syndrome, and that without that video evidence I would have been referred to social services and treated as though I had caused a non-accidental injury to my newborn baby. They explained that I may have been questioned by consultants and described how distressing and traumatic that process could have been.
I was extremely upset and anxious afterwards, worrying that health professionals might not accept the video as sufficient evidence. I spent the first few weeks of my baby's life constantly worried because nobody at the hospital had documented the bloodshot eyes at birth. Thankfully, no medical concerns were found, and the community midwife was incredibly supportive. She documented everything clearly in my red book so that I would not have to repeatedly explain the hospital's mistakes.
I submitted a formal complaint last week, which has been acknowledged as a serious complaint, and I have been told I should receive a response no later than 1 July. I decided to complain because I cannot imagine other new parents having to go through this, particularly if they did not have video evidence, as most newborn babies do not open their eyes much in those first few days.
I saw your Facebook posts and wanted to share my story of both my son's births at Treliske. My first birth, in August 2017, was a positive experience — a lovely midwife, gas and air, a birth that came naturally. October 2024 was something else entirely.
My baby's growth had been described as "small" on scans — bearing in mind he weighed the same as my first son at that point — so we were advised to go for induction. One to follow medical advice, I did so against my personal feelings.
I was induced and things started to develop rather rapidly. I was having steady contractions for a few hours at a normal pace, being checked every now and again. Then within one hour I was being whisked up to the delivery suite. The midwife was very nonchalant about the rate at which I had gone into active, ready-to-push labour, and was sure I wasn't ready.
I was.
They wheeled me upstairs in a chair, but I couldn't sit down because of the contractions — I was ready to start pushing. All the while, my partner (his first birth) was just riding the wave, a normal amount of scared.
When we got to the delivery room, there were many midwives entering, checking me over, trying to discuss next steps as though something was wrong — but not saying what. About five or six of them were all clambering over each other to see what was happening. I only know now that they couldn't assess whether the baby was okay because I had progressed so quickly, because that's why they gave me medication to slow things down.
They asked my permission to give me medication to slow the birth down — too late. They were jabbing me with all sorts, and all the while essentially ignoring my partner. He was in distress, wanting to be with me but being shoved aside and given no information. They were telling me what to do with my positioning, but I was in so much pain I couldn't follow it — I needed to be in my chosen position. When I moved, they would stress to me: "This baby needs to come," which made me very anxious at a time when I needed to focus. Still five or six women, all giving different advice, some of them contradicting each other. It was crowded and confusing — panic had been created, but no information given about what was happening or why.
Eventually he was born, fine and healthy.
As quickly as they had come and caused all that stress, they were gone again. I needed stitches, so they put my legs up — and then left for about forty minutes. They came back to stitch me up, then left again. Someone came back a few hours later to tell us we could go home whenever we wanted, which felt more like: what are you still doing here? It was about 1am, so we packed up and left.
We had to ask what time he was born. We had no idea.
It was strange — and compared to my first experience, horrible. It left both of us feeling somewhat traumatised. We got home and were like: what the hell was that? It felt like none of them really knew what was going on in that moment.
I wanted a third child, but I'm not sure I could face it, given the anxiety levels just thinking about this brings.
For clarity, here is a rough timeline of how quickly things moved
12pm — induced
12pm–7pm — steady contractions; could talk, move, walk and eat
7pm–8pm — went into active, pushing labour; wheeled upstairs in a chair
8pm–9.30pm — labouring in the midst of panic
9.30pm — he was born
What you're doing is a great thing. I know there are much worse stories out there, but thank you for giving us all a voice.
I firstly want to say thank you for doing what you are doing — it is something I thought about doing myself but sadly I wasn't in the right headspace to arrange. I gave birth December 2024. I went in on the 28th for my induction at 1pm — it took hours to be seen. When I finally was seen, they realised I didn't need the induction: I was already 3cm dilated.
They told me they had no midwives so couldn't pop my waters, and that I needed to go home and let them know if anything happened overnight.
Early on the 29th I got a call asking me to come in. I had my waters broken and was told I could go home. No one told me what to look out for, what to do, or offered any reassurance. I went to Sainsbury's to get some food but started having contractions in the queue. I sat down and breathed through them. I returned to the hospital in pain with contractions every three to four minutes. I asked for some pain relief — one midwife offered me some options, but another said I had to wait because my bath was running.
I walked from one department to the next, having to stop every few steps. I got in the bath and started to relax. The midwife in charge of my care kept saying she hadn't had a handover and hadn't read my birth plan. My birth plan was printed out and somewhere in the room.
I was being sick with every contraction and push. The gas and air didn't help and I wasn't offered anything else. I was unable to talk, eat or drink. After a few hours of non-stop sickness they finally gave me an anti-sickness injection. Sadly this didn't help and I kept being sick. At about 2am the midwife said I could start pushing — I already was pushing; I didn't know I had to wait for her to tell me. She told my partner he would be here by the time she finished at 3am and to get ready to catch the baby.
After an hour, nothing. A new midwife came on shift. She read my birth plan, put some music on and encouraged me to drink. At about 4am, after another hour of pushing, I was starting to get worried. The midwife went off to see another patient, so I decided to check for myself and see if I could feel his head — no one was updating me. I could feel his head. I pulled the call bell and said so.
After about another hour, his heart rate started dropping. I had to get out of the bath. I tried so many different positions, still being sick and with no pain relief. The main midwife got called and she tried some things to help. Then I got rushed into the delivery suite on a trolley — top half on show, baby stuck, still being sick. I had to walk from the bed in the corridor to the one in the room with everything on show.
Finally in the room, a doctor told me forceps were on the way. The panic bell got pulled and the room filled with people. With a lot of pulling, twisting and an episiotomy, the baby's head was out. Then there was a massive pop and the umbilical cord snapped — the room was covered in blood. One midwife said she wasn't sure what to write about the blood amount. Another said: "Just put 500mls down."
They passed me my baby. His head was covered in blood and scratches and was a cone shape. They said: "Don't worry, over time it will go down." I was taken back to our room and left to rest. I was still being sick. I was struggling to wee, eat or drink. No one explained what had happened. I was asked to let them know when I had had a wee.
My son had a short umbilical cord — that is why it was hard to push him out and why he got stuck. After a few hours I managed to wee, had my injection, they checked the car seat and we could go home. I had been continuously sick for twelve hours, had no food or drink, and had just given birth — but we were allowed home at around 1am.
The next day, at about 9 or 10am, we had a visit from a midwife. She wasn't happy with a few things with the baby and wanted him checked. If we had stayed in, they could have checked him over properly instead of sending us home. A few days later I was feeling horrible — they realised I had a UTI from my urine sample at the hospital. I needed antibiotics and was told that if I hadn't already started breastfeeding, it might be a good idea not to, because it would be harder to treat me.
My son has had a lot of health issues since his birth. We took him to see a chiropractor. She said his body is full of stress, probably linked to his birth. He had to have a helmet to help mould his head due to how misshapen it was.
I complained to the NHS and received an apology. They also acknowledged that some of my paperwork hadn't been completed correctly. I have escalated my complaint further — firstly for how I was treated, and secondly because of my son's birth injury.
Thank you for taking the time to read my story.
Time to speak up and out. I miscarried during Covid and was alone when they told me the baby had passed. Fair enough — rules were rules — but nothing ever prepares you for being alone when they tell you "your womb is empty."
I then never got my birth plan due to my weight. I so wanted a water birth. I spoke with other plus-size mums who said there's no actual evidence that suggests weight hindered anything. Their reasoning: "What if something goes wrong — you'd be too heavy to get out the pool." (My partner at the time said he would drag me out if needed.)
I then gave birth towards the end of Covid, so it was still only one household member allowed. My baby's dad didn't come back, so I was alone for the three days I was in. I made friends with the tea lady, who sat by my bed for the majority of her shift, and then with the ward sister, who also sat with me so I wasn't alone. But I so would have loved my mum there.
Then they missed her hip dysplasia on her checks, and her tongue tie — it wasn't found until she was a lot older. I was told "she's just little and needs to adjust to the world." She used to hold her legs in one position and scream and scream and cry when her nappy was taken off. We later found out her nappy was holding her legs in a comfortable position. When the lady who scanned her hips looked, she said — and I quote, because it has stayed with me forever — "That poor little mite, no wonder she's always crying: she has no socket for the hip to sit in."
Her tongue tie was found much later — past the date that the NHS would treat it for free. So I had to go private. Luckily a breastfeeding clinic had some funding and they paid for her to have it cut. I hold that one personally, as it really impacted our breastfeeding journey and we were recommended to switch to bottle. (I know fed is best — but the choice was taken from us, not made by us.)
A student nurse forgot to sign my discharge papers, so they sent me home without anyone knowing. My stitches became infected, my breasts felt like they were going to fall off, my daughter screamed and screamed, and I thought I was going mad — and yet we didn't see a midwife at home until day four. My mum asked why I hadn't been seen and I thought it was normal for them not to visit straight away. But they didn't know I'd left the hospital. When I questioned it, it was brushed under the carpet: "Oh, she was in training and mistakes happen." Yes. To me they did.
So I am fully behind you on this one. Thanks for listening — sorry it was a long one.
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Accountability, transparency, and systemic change.
The NHS maternity scandals at Morecambe Bay, Shrewsbury and Telford, and Nottingham were all brought to light by families speaking out — not by regulators acting alone. We are doing the same. We believe other families in Cornwall have stories that deserve to be heard.
When the harm is psychiatric — PTSD, postnatal depression, anxiety — the legal and financial framework consistently undervalues it compared to physical harm. Families are failed twice: first by the care, and then by the law. We are calling for this to change.
A birth plan is a legal and ethical expression of a patient's wishes. We are calling for stronger enforcement of the duty to respect documented birth preferences — and for clear accountability when those wishes are overridden.
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