Why Holistic Care is the Future of Maternity Care

Every single year, 1 in 100 babies are stillborn or die shortly after birth. Globally, every two minutes, a woman dies from pregnancy or childbirth complications according to the latest estimates released in a report by United Nations.

Pregnancy is often portrayed as a time of hope and joy, but for millions of women around the world, it can turn into a terrifying, even life-threatening experience in the blink of an eye. The right care at the right time can mean the difference between life and death.

Yet for years, I’ve seen articles dissecting how maternity care is failing mothers—the lack of resources, the stark racial inequalities, and the heartbreaking high statistics of birth trauma, postnatal depression, and maternal suicide which is still the leading cause of death for mothers.

But there’s one critical piece missing from this conversation: the need for holistic maternal health care.

The future of maternity care isn’t just about fixing the broken pieces in a complex NHS system. It’s about reimagining how we care for mothers—not as patients shuffled through a system for nine months, but as whole beings. Mothers need physical, emotional, mental, and sometimes spiritual support—not just during pregnancy, but in the months and years afterward.

Think back to your last visit with a doctor or midwife. Were your appointments personalised to your needs? Or were they more like a routine checklist—blood pressure, weight, and a few polite questions before moving on?

In my first pregnancy, it felt like the latter. I felt nothing more than an NHS number on a file that was having a routine check up.

Just months earlier, I had overcome pancreatic cancer—a life-changing victory that also made my pregnancy “high-risk.” Yet, despite receiving this label, no one ever sat me down to explain what my risks actually were.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault. The clinics were overcrowded and the practitioners were trying to get through as many patients as possible.

But then, one day, a doctor used a different approach which I believe saved my life.

And the end of my appointment, he deviated from his usual checklist. Reflecting on my complex medical history, he asked a critical question “Have you ever had a bowel obstruction?”

I stared at him, confused. “No… why?”

“Well,” he said, “with your history, you’re at risk of having one. I don’t want to alarm you, but if you suspect it, come straight to the hospital.”

My anxiety kicked in as I asked “What is it precisely? And what are the symptoms I should look out for?”

He glanced at the clock and sighed. “I’m sorry, we’re out of time. I have to see the next patient. But trust me… you’ll know if you’re having one.”

And that was it. I walked out of the appointment, completely baffled. The whole thing left me feeling uneasy, but I had no idea what to watch out for.

A few weeks later, severe abdominal pain came out of nowhere—sharp, relentless and so fierce I could barely breathe. Timed like contractions, a midwife compassionately said, “You’re having a late-term miscarriage,” they said.

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.

Deep down, I was terrified. I prayed they were wrong. Then in a flash, I remembered that doctor warning: “You’re at risk of a bowel obstruction. You’ll know if you’re having one.”

“Could this be a bowel obstruction?” I asked, my voice shaking. “Can you check?”

She shook her head. “You’re in denial. You're going through a miscarriage. I know it’s hard to accept, but it’s common. You’re just in shock.”

Despite her confidence, her explanation didn’t sit right with me. It didn’t make sense. I couldn’t just let it go.

I insisted on staying in A&E until I got that scan. After hours of pushing, they finally gave in. And thank God they did.

The scan revealed I wasn’t having a miscarriage—I had a total bowel obstruction that left baby and I with just hours to live.

The gastrointestinal doctors told me that if I waited another 24 hours to be diagnosed, it would have been too late—for me and my baby.

If I hadn’t reflected on my unique medical history and if I hadn’t fought for that scan, I wouldn’t be here today. I would have been another statistic. Another Black woman lost to preventable complications during pregnancy.

This experience opened my eyes to something deeply troubling: how easily things can spiral out of control when no one takes the time to truly see you—to review your medical history, understand your unique risks, and listen to what you, as a patient, know you desperately need.

My story might be personal, but it’s far from isolated. Over the years, I’ve heard countless stories from mothers who felt invisible, dismissed, and denied the care they deserved. The consequences are heartbreaking—emotional birth trauma, crippling depression and anxiety, life-altering perinatal damage, and at worst, stillbirth or maternal death.

And yet, we’re not talking enough about the solution: holistic care.

Holistic care means seeing mothers as whole people, not just a series of symptoms or numbers on a chart. It’s about asking more than, “What’s your blood pressure?” It’s about asking, “Do you understand your risks? What are your concerns? How can we support you?”

When we approach mothers as complete humans—acknowledging their physical, emotional, and mental needs—we don’t just save lives. We create healthier mothers, healthier babies, and stronger families and communities.

Every mother’s journey is unique. The risks aren’t just physical; they extend to emotional and mental health, stretching well into the postpartum period. A woman’s needs don’t end when the baby arrives—they often multiply, and yet so many are left to struggle in silence.

It’s time to stop seeing mothers as cases to manage and start understanding what they truly need to thrive. That begins with one thing: holistic maternal care.

Mothers deserve better. And it’s time we deliver.