Last night I delivered a baby. This still sounds completely surreal. I have been studying midwifery for a mere three months. This is the moment all student midwives eagerly anticipate, yet I am struggling to get my head around the fact that I, Georgina Greenwood, aged 25, brought a new life into the world.
True, a first year’s experience of delivering a baby is guided by the midwife in charge who tells you where to put your hands, but I still have this huge, amazing, want to shout it from the rooftops feeling of knowing that I contributed to the first moments of a baby’s life.
I had imagined, like all student midwives, what my first delivery would be like. Nervous but excited expectant mum, supportive partner holding her hand throughout – maybe her mother hovering outside the delivery room looking at you eagerly every time you leave the room to get more towels, waiting to hear that she is finally a grandmother. My experience was not like this. The woman’s labour was difficult, very painful and stressful. Various complications, though not severe, shook both myself and, of course, the mother. Although I had read the woman’s notes, and knew the baby might have inherited physical abnormalities, I was shocked when I undertook the initial baby assessment and realised this baby had extra fingers. I had no idea how to tell a mother that her child was not ‘normal’.
With the support of the other midwives, we gave the woman an honest assessment, delivering the news calmly, neither concealing the truth nor dramatising the situation. The mother was distressed and in shock. I was acutely aware that I had to remain professional at all times. I quickly understood what is known to all midwives, but perhaps not all student midwives at their very first delivery – that it is not about me. The woman before you in agony pushing and pushing, losing all dignity, does not care one bit whether I am feeling alarmed at her screaming, worried about where I should be standing, wondering whether I should rub her back or try and make small talk between contractions. No matter what her background is, the number of previous pregnancies or her social circumstances, all this woman cares about is getting her baby safely delivered into the world.
I didn’t always know I wanted to be a midwife. If you asked me five years ago where I saw myself in five years’ time, it certainly would not be back at university, committing myself to another three years of studying. Talk about bullying within the NHS is rife and while I have not experienced anything first hand, other student midwives have reported feeling unsupported by their mentors, being expected to to perform skills well beyond what is expected of a first year student and being reprimanded for not being able to do so. The shortage of staff, space and equipment in hospitals is clear even to my untrained and naive eyes. The pressure on each midwife from the NHS, the patients and their families is marked and I know that I have a challenging time ahead of me, not just in my three years of training but throughout my whole career.
Hours are long, it can be so busy that there is no time for a break and there is a running joke that to be a midwife, you have to have a strong bladder because you may not have a chance to relieve yourself in a 12.5-hour shift. Trust me, I know.
It seems obvious to me, however, that I was destined to embark on this career. There is no question of me backing out now. I am geared up to become a ‘real’ midwife. I have been humbled by being exposed to the most intimate experience of a couple’s relationship. Being the first person to touch a newborn baby is an incredible experience.
Yet, walking home after my 14.5-hour shift (I was desperate to stay beyond my allocated 12.5 hours, convinced the moment I left the room the mother would deliver) I felt a bit lost. It was 10.30am. I had started my shift at 8.30pm the night before. Who could I celebrate my first delivery with on a Tuesday morning? In my euphoric and somewhat delusional state, I was convinced that after this experience, I would look different somehow.
Something has changed inside of me. I am really doing it and in two years and nine months I will finally be able to say, I, Georgina Greenwood, now aged 28, am a midwife.
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