2020 Year of the Nurse and Midwife
2020 is the Year of the Nurse and Midwife, so declared by the World Health Organisation. Today is day three of this new year, a year for me and my colleagues, yet I am exhausted. So are many of my colleagues.
Yesterday I worked an early shift, and I was asleep on my sofa by 5pm. I cried with frustration because I realised that I had the weight of the world on my shoulders: I no longer feel as though I am the midwife that I wanted to become.
Today I ran my antenatal clinic. Unusually, I shared the clinic space with the life guru, this midwife of exceptional quality and experience, a woman who inspires me and challenges me in equal measure. We always joke that she’s a pink and fluffy midwife, but she’s actually also incredibly fierce and powerful. She doesn’t just practise midwifery, she is a midwife, heart and soul, she has midwifery embedded within her. We usually have so much fun when we work in close proximity to each other, bouncing ideas and experiences around. Today we didn’t. Today we were both exhausted, not simply due to workload, but also due to the shifting sand of midwifery upon which we stand. The service is responding to increased acuity and complexity, coupled with soaring induction and intervention rates, and levels of staff illness that are second to none.
The life guru was glum. And I was grumpy. It was a really poor combination. We couldn’t seem to rally each other, or light the fire under our passion for midwifery. You could see each of us leave the office and put on a happy mask for the women, a mask that slipped as soon as the door was shut tight again and we were safely ensconced in our miniature hideaway. It was a sad day. My heart wasn’t in it, and that’s not how I work. That’s definitely not how she works either.
It’s the year of the midwife, our year, and I feel as though I’m doing a bad job. At the weekend I cried because I felt as though I was shoved from pillar to post to cover the service needs. Continuity was eschewed, all sense of compassion towards colleagues went out the window, and breaks were a long time coming. I felt as though I was on a ridiculous treadmill that just wouldn’t slow down, and I ask myself how sustainable this type of midwifery is. The brakes need to be slammed on before we all crash head on into a brick wall. It’s not a coincidence that the service seems to be at breaking point and a huge number of colleagues are off sick. Midwives are broken. Caring, brilliant, spectacular, compassionate, motivated, loving, courageous women are unable to go to work through stress, exhaustion, anxiety, depression, mental health crises. We aren’t caring for ourselves or our colleagues because we are trying desperately to keep our head above water. The ground shifts and a tidal wave looms large, we are gasping for breath between various onslaughts.
We meet the best and the worst of life, yet we are only supported by colleagues and friends on an ad hoc basis. We plough on through the tears and heartbreak. There isn’t a robust system to look after us because we are too busy caring for others. We don’t have time for self-care because we go home and look after the rest of our rabble. We’ve got life stress to deal with, kids and family and perhaps spouses or elderly relatives to care for too. There quite honestly isn’t time to stop and stake stock, or stop and breathe.
We are exhausted. We are expected, and want, to give gold standard care, but (to use the old adage) we are pouring from an empty cup. On a day off I need to clean and do the washing, go shopping, and the last thing I want to do is go for coffee or meet friends. That’s the very thing that would make me feel better though. I need to debrief with friends, share how I feel about being a midwife at the moment, because I feel as though I am failing. At regular intervals, I like to ask “Am I the midwife I wanted to become?” And the answer at the moment is no, I’m not. I wonder whether everyone feels the same, but we are just too afraid to speak out.
Day three of Year of the Nurse and Midwife, and my moaning is over. Tomorrow is a new day. Tonight I’ve had a nap, washed up, stacked the Christmas presents away from the main thoroughfare of the house so I’m no longer at risk of breaking my neck. I’ve put the washing on. Tomorrow is day four of 2020, and it needs to be a day for a call to arms. I’m not going to spend the year bemoaning the shortcomings of the NHS, midwifery, the service, or myself. I’m going to see what positive changes I can make to reclaim midwifery, so that I rediscover and reclaim the midwife that I wanted to become. As Feeley et al stated in this month’s The Practising Midwife, a welcome sight on my doormat when I got home from work tonight, midwives need the resources to be able to support women to survive, thrive, and transform. While this is true, midwives also need to be supported to survive, thrive and transform. Without a workforce that is committed, determined, rested, happy, healthy, positive, passionate, informed, we simply survive (if we’re lucky). We also need to thrive and transform in order to advocate for women, and provide inspirational care that is safe, holistic and woman-centred.
2020 is the Year of the Nurse and Midwife, let’s reclaim a midwifery that we are proud to be at the heart of.
