Welcome home
This week I've received an email from work reminding me that I am nearing the end of my first year as an NQM. Ten months in and I'm still alive, who'd have thought? Quite a few people, as it turns out.
This week I've also had the pleasure of working with a lovely first year student midwife on her very first shift in clinical practice. When a colleague asked if her student could work with me, I was happy to oblige and it later dawned on me that mine was probably going to be the first impression of a midwife outside of academia that she'd be getting. Cue anxiety: heart palpitations, sweaty palms, dreams about her discovering I'm useless and my clinic overrunning. Remembering my own first day of placement, I made sure she had my mobile number and clear directions so she'd know where to find me. I felt nervous for her, and for me. I've spoken and written passionately about the student-midwife relationship, and now the pressure was on as she was the first student I'd worked with who knew me only as a midwife and never as a fellow student.
Needless to say, my clinic day was manic and I hadn't been prepared for a student so my appointments were back to back. I didn't actually have time to teach her, but I didn't want to abandon her standing in the corner as I remember feeling like such a spare part on placement when that happened so we tried to ignore the ticking of the clock and I did some teaching. We pulled together and we pulled through, having made up a bit of time, and the day ended with me apologising profusely for our nine hours of organised mayhem.
Working with her was positive in so many ways, not least because it gave me the chance to evaluate how far I've come in nearly four years since I began my training. I hated my first community placement and was ready to tell my tutor at university that this wasn't for me. I had huge issues with palpation, eye contact, being a human in general, and (more specifically) being a woman and a mum. The list of anxieties grew before it began to shrink: vaginal examinations, opening a birth pack, making small talk with women, taking blood, filling in forms, you name it and I was terrified I was going to mess it up. Above all else, the number one fear was disappointing my mentor, closely followed by the fear that someone would expose me as a complete fraud and kick me off the course for being wholly inadequate. These last fears reappear sporadically still, it has to be said.
I hope the lovely student isn't derailed by a similarly long list of insecurities, but I am excited for her. I'm also envious that she is yet to comprehend just how monumental a decision it was to become a midwife. She's yet to fully understand the enormity of her impact on women, and of their impact on her. She hasn't facilitated a birth yet, or experienced that leap of faith a woman makes when she puts all her trust in you because she momentarily feels as though she has nothing left to give. The incredible firsts she is yet to have leave me envious, but working with her has made me incredibly grateful for the position I am currently in. I've had many moments over the past ten months when I've felt defeated and deflated, not by the pay or the shift work or the relentless tide of women we care for, but rather by the system and sometimes by people's lack of compassion and kindness towards me. I floundered before Christmas when the midwife who humiliated me three years ago by making me practice vaginal examinations on a bucket turned up unexpectedly to observe me suture.
Despite the relatively minor setbacks, midwifery is exactly what I thought it would be, and so much more. Maybe because I moved here during my training and have no family close by, I've had to work hard to forge friendships with midwives. I occasionally get asked when I'll return 'home' to find a job, but this is my home and I've got my tribe. It's taken a long time, but I've sat back and realised that I've built a life and have the most incredible team of women around me. I knew I needed to build a safety net, and that is initially what I did. I surrounded myself with women I could message and say “today is a bad day, today I want to die” and they'd invariably reply saying “not on my watch”. It's taken a long time to admit that this safety net isn't really a safety net at all, it's a band of friends. It's duvet days, dinner dates, coffee and putting the world to rights, walks in the countryside and up big hills, it's singing to ABBA in the cinema, wedding invitations, laughing until you cry and crying until mascara runs down your face, it's swapping much-loved books you've read, holding a baby so Christmas wrapping can be done, writing articles for publication together, it's ranting and raving and sobbing because sometimes the universe kicks you in the face and tramples you, it's eating eggs and chorizo, and playing bananagrams.
Midwifery is teaching me so much about every aspect of my life and it gave me the courage to walk away and not look back, it also smacked me in the face and made me confront the uncomfortable truth about my own obstetric history, it's provided me with the time and space and tools to begin to settle and heal my own mental health, and it's made me sit still – I'm a born wanderer who has finally put down some roots.
Midwifery has given me goals, direction, hope and aspirations. I'm not sure I've ever felt so full of potential without being on the brink of a manic episode that ends in exhaustion or depression (or both). As it turns out, I'm excited for the lovely first year student who's got all of her firsts to look forward to, but I'm also excited for me as I've got a whole lifetime of midwifery ahead of me. I've spent this evening sorting out study day certificates and thank you cards to put in a portfolio, not because I'm particularly organised but rather the pile of paperwork finally toppled from its resting place. In the mess I unearthed a graduation card that I've only just reread and seems well-timed. The ever wise sender gifted me a book along with the card as books represent wisdom, potential, escapism, fulfilment, completion, and satisfaction, which she likened to being a midwife. She also drew parallels between the sense of belonging we gain from reading and that which we get from midwifery. The tribe.
As my week draws to a close (I'm in denial about my two night shifts over the weekend), what better way to end a week in which I've reflected on my own journey from petrified first year student barely treading water to wherever I am now, than by having coffee with the life guru? We got fired up about the sheer joy and privilege of being midwives, and this is what unites the tribe. When I think about all the phenomenal women I've met along the way, the ones who inspire me are the ones who ignite my passion for midwifery, they fan the flame and remind me that I am absolutely where I am meant to be. Finding midwifery has been like finding a home.
