IDM 2020

Am I the midwife I wanted to become? Sometimes I don’t know, and this week in particular I’m not sure. The service has been stretched, not through staff shortages but due to the sheer volume of women with babies desperate to come into the world. I’ve met and cared for more women this week than I can even remember, infinitely more that I can count on my fingers and toes. I’ve felt as though I’ve failed them all because I couldn’t do more, didn’t have more time, more energy, more love. I was feeling despondent until the life guru messaged to say she felt as though she wasn’t inspiring. She had to be kidding. This woman inspires me to be the midwife that I am, the midwife that I wanted to become. Time and again I tell the story of when I fell in love with midwifery: the night shift that we walked in to a pool room and within seconds she was cupping the woman’s face in her hands and guiding her through each contraction. My wow moment.

Looking back over the past week or so, could I have done more or given more? I may feel as though I’ve failed, but there was no more that I could have done. The care I gave is the most that I could have given, and I had no more of myself left to give either. The weekend was one of those flukes where all the babies try to arrive all at once, and the busyness of the ward and lack of breaks was nobody’s fault. When I evaluate the weekend, I see a group of midwives, good people, literally running to try to keep up with their workloads. I see tired midwives, enthusiastic ones, quiet ones, funny ones, sad ones, new ones, not so new ones. All shapes and sizes of midwives, all with different skills, a different story, coming together to support each other to provide the best care possible for those accessing maternity services. I see managers cleaning blood off of a bed, bringing very dehydrated midwives cups of tea, delivering the ubiquitous best toast ever to new mums. I see MSWs supporting midwives and new families with compassion and love and patience. I see the most incredible MSW kneeling beside a woman to harvest colostrum and help her latch her baby to the breast. I see one of the best from my community team with her face squished against a labour room door asking the woman on the other side of it to let her in as the door had got stuck behind her. I see the neonatal team waiting to care for very early babies, waiting with a smile. I see the rainbow-coloured heart-shaped lollies thanking the NHS, a very welcome sugar rush at 5am. I see my friend crying through sheer frustration and exhaustion at the end of her shift. I see the newly appointed labour ward coordinator being the very best person, our advocate and support in challenging times. I see the woman who came into my clinic crying and staring at the floor, broken by life, and I see her smile when she heard her baby’s heartbeat for the first time. I see the life guru, the very best and worst of her, encouraging me to be the best version of me that I can be. I see the registrar who brought homemade cake for the whole team, who made a tea trolley and poured cups for everyone. I see the countless women who became mums, loved and/or in love. I see the fear melt away when women felt safe and supported, cared for. I see the midwife who was working in a new area, I feel her gratitude that we all stopped to help, I see the relief on her face when she realised she wasn’t alone, when I helped her with the central monitoring, an epidural, an IV infusion. I see the day midwife, clean and fresh and smelling incredible, and I believe her when she tells me not to worry about the crushingly long list of jobs I’m handing over to her. I see the photos of my own babies as I walk through the front door, smiling reminders of their absence during this pandemic. I see the fatigue etched in lines across my face, the shadow that nestles behind my eyes because I feel as though I’m not enough. I see the midwives who have caught me, propped me up, loved me, when I left a bad marriage, when I relocated, when I came out. They held my hand and hugged me (pre-pandemic) and made life better. They’re still here and they’re not going anywhere.

Looking back over the past year, I see the sadness in my clinic room the day that I couldn’t find a baby’s heartbeat at her term appointment. I’ve never heard a sound as deafening as the silence that poured in through the edges of us. I’ll never forget that feeling, the look on the faces, the words of that mum when she apologised, saying sorry that it was me who had to find out. I won’t forget another mum who I hugged and shared tears with as we waited for her daughter’s poorly heart to stop working completely. When I look back, I see these women, their hurt, fears, tears, but also their love, strength, kindness, determination. I see these women, mums in the making, mums already, mums with empty arms, friends, colleagues, family, in all their imperfect glory and I am so incredibly grateful that I get to share the best, worst, busiest times with them.

I see the midwives, near and far, who have created a network of knowledge, learning, creativity, support, and those who form my own formidable tribe. I think back to my own experience of maternity care and shudder. I drove away from the hospital with two perfect babies, one in each arm, but not much else. Traumatised, undignified, bruised, battered, scarred. I became a midwife because I wanted to stop women having a similar experience to my own. I try and I will keep on trying, because we don’t always get it right. After a week of beating myself up for not being enough, I see my midwifery family celebrating today, their day, our day, and I remember that I am part of this. I see the messages from two women on my caseload, thanking me for being their midwife and wishing me a happy day today. Maybe for them I am enough.

Happy International Day of the Midwife 2020, I hope it’s been kind to you