Six months in & I'm still standing

Six months. I've survived six months as an NQM. I've cried a lot less than I thought I would and I've enjoyed it a lot more than I could ever have imagined. I've made friends in the most unexpected places and been supported by midwives left, right and centre. This weekend I've finished my rotation through the midwifery-led pathway and, after a week of annual leave, I'll be off to my six-month rotation through the obstetric-led pathway. I'm pre-empting a sizeable wobble and I've rallied the troops accordingly.

Knowing I know very little and knowing that everyone else knows that I know very little, it takes a lot of gumption to turn up to work every day wearing a smile and determined to do the very best for the women I meet. It also takes a fair amount of faith. Faith in the fact that I can recognise what's “normal”, that I know who to call when it's not, that I've got a team of midwives who will come running when I need them, and a team of fearless and formidable women beside me every step of the way.

I thought that summing up my first six months would be relatively easy, but I'm struggling to do it justice. How can you describe the irrational frustration you initially feel when a woman you've only just met vomits all over your shoes at the beginning of your shift, or the sense of crushing inadequacy that smacks you in the face almost every day, or the feeling that you might actually sink before you are able to even tread water, let alone swim? How do you put into words the feeling of insignificance you get when you walk into handover and are ignored by midwives, or the sense of rage when you know that nobody is listening to you?

The same goes for the multitude of highs too. What words are adequate to describe laughing your way through shifts with incredible women, or welcoming new life into the world? How can I tell you that I am beyond proud of the fact that abdominal palpations and vaginal examinations no longer make me break out into a cold sweat or induce a panic attack? I'm not sure I can tell you the pride I feel when I watch women become mothers, or the happiness I feel when the women on my caseload introduce me to their babies. I have no way of expressing my gratitude at the hundreds of moments of kindness from colleagues over the past six months, you'll never know how grateful I was to the labour ward coordinator who hugged me in theatre over the weekend because it had been a hard shift, or how much I appreciate the positive feedback I have received from some women and their families. I am beyond thankful for the support I have received from the ever-expanding team of midwives with their words of encouragement, support and tough love when it's been needed the most.

Imagine spending most shifts feeling as though you are flying by the seat of your pants and then being told that you did something well. Priceless. This time last year, I couldn't even begin to imagine how liberated I would feel without the weight of essays and deadlines looming over me, and how much a pay cheque would help, and how helpful it is to have pockets in your uniform. I am exhausted and exhilarated by being continuously bowled over by the sheer strength, determination and fabulousness of women. I've learnt so much in six months, not least that it can feel good to sit back and enjoy a compliment. Determined to fulfil my aim of learning to accept positive feedback and not let it send me into a spiral of despair, I've started to say thank you. And I am continuing in my quest to bolster other women and remember to pass on the positives.

As such, I want to say thank you to the midwife who has meant I've ended this rotation on a particularly positive note. She is one of my favourites. Hilarious, witty, self-deprecating, reassuringly supportive, lover of brilliant anecdotes, fearless advocate, wonderfully bonkers, seriously professional, ridiculously knowledgeable, and a beacon of positivity. I've felt very lucky to have worked with her on several occasions over the past few months, and she's soothed some of my general anxieties about work. Sitting on the brink of labour ward feels like the beginning of a roller coaster, that part when you can hear the carriage being cranked uphill, about to reach the summit. After which point you know your belly will be left behind and you will free fall. It's a heady mix of exhilaration, trepidation, transition, terror. That' how I'm feeling at the moment. My aims for the next rotation are the same as for the last: practise safely, not cry every day, be a kind person, care. Anything else will be a bonus.

My first six months have proved the doubters wrong, my mental health is no longer a constant struggle, and I am a lot more resilient than I ever gave myself credit for. A lot of that is thanks to the team. The team who don't bat an eyelid when I say I want to die, who hold my hand when it's really bad, who hand me crumpled tissues when I cry, who have faith in me when I think I'm completely broken, who stick around when I'm awful, who make me laugh, who remind me that wanting to be a good midwife is an admirable ambition, who come over for dinner when I don't have a babysitter, who look after my kids, who encourage me, who listen to my crazy ramblings and humour my perpetual desire to move and do more. These women are selfless and tireless in their efforts to get me through life and I love them wholeheartedly.

Here's to the team. To all those who have listened to me worry, moan and gush about being a midwife, a huge thank you. And apologies in advance for the next six months of me telling you I can't do it. We're in for one hell of a ride!