Thank you midwife

I was born into the hands of a student midwife. My lovely mum had hours of labour after an enforced IOL that included all the historical must haves women of the 80’s faced, but when she recollects the memory of my birth she beams about the calm environment that overshawn the medicalised beginning when it was just her, my dad and the midwives. I never knew about this until my career aspirations changed from being in Due South as a Canadian Mountie to being a real life baby catcher back in the UK. I had given up on policing. I was way too soft to be enforcing the law, and had successfully trained as a nurse in my adopted home of Canada. I was working as an obstetric nurse two years post qualifying when I met this woman who was suppprting a lady to give birt at *gasp* home. She had to transfer in due to a very attached placenta and was receiving postnatal support from us...the nurses. I was so inspired by this relationship of the midwife knowing the woman, listening to her, holding her hand and insisting we support her decision to have skin to skin that I kissed my parents goodbye and flew home to England. That was it. I wanted to be WITH WOMEN. It was a hard journey. I had to wait three years to train, I had to do the full three years of training despite being a nurse, and had to also struggle with the commitment of being a student whilst working part time and sadly losing three of my wise men and women (grandparents) during those difficult and wonderful three years of training. But I did it. I survived. I caught 40 babies. I passed my BSc. And I moved from a wonderful beginning in a small maternity unit in Sussex to be a caseload midwife in London. It was here that I really understood what it meant to give gold standard care. I followed women from the very early stages of pregnancy up until the regrettable discharge at 28 days. I loved these women. I loved their family. And I loved being their midwife. I caught babies at home. In black cabs. Outside a tube station. In theatre. Over the phone during a lockdown. On our midwifery led unit. In our obstetric led unit. In pools. Under Christmas trees. And I LOVED it. I used to love the call in the middle of the night to catch a baby. To support a woman I knew really well or had met a few times during antenatal classes. I was a superhero driving through the streets of south London whilst others were straggling home from Hootennanys. I was exhausted. I was carrying bags of entonox. I was even at times driving through traffic with two placentas in my boot. Those were the best four years of my life. And I’m so glad they were my introduction to being a qualified midwife because I was surrounded by an extremely talented and supportive group of women I call my sisterhood today. I often wonder what would have happened to me had I chosen another route. Would I have experienced the love of being with women so strongly? I often read about newly qualified midwives needing to go ‘inside’ first to get heir skills. But I was suturing with a head lamp on a sofa. I was supporting women with their birth choices in an elective Caesarean section by playing music and ensuring skin to skin. I was holding a woman’s hand when she gave birth to her sleeping baby. I had the experience I needed to be an autonomous practitioner and one that was surrounded by a team I could call upon day or night for advice or for a much needed debrief. When I became pregnant myself I remember a colleague saying to me, ‘are you sure you want your team looking after you? What if something goes wrong?’ Nothing was going to go wrong, I replied. And if I did. I’d want my sisterhood around me. So when my planned homebirth turned into a premature emergency caesearen section I can tell you the only part of that experience I remember with positivity was that my best friend, my midwife sister, was there holding my hand and to this day has never let it go. So many women tell me that they never forget their midwife. It’s so true. I’ll never forget mine. And. I wish I knew the one who caught me so calmly, who made my mum feel so loved and safe, so I could thank her.