Can you be a midwife if you don’t have kids?

So here’s what I wrote just over 18 years ago after my first son was born. I called it: A taste of her own medicine…

“People tend to assume that not having children means I’m not entirely qualified for the job. Most are far too polite to allude to this unwritten law, but others have no such scruples. My answer is that, when I was a nurse, the training (4 years, one degree) was deemed sufficient to give adequate care. Would the same not apply to midwifery (18 months, another degree). Obstetricians are often men and no-one bats an eyelid; surely I don’t have to endure childbirth to understand just how painful it is? The mere fact that this could (and hopefully would) actually happen to me surely enhanced my empathy factor by, well, quite a lot. And surely no-one was implying that my non gravid uterus impaired my ability to give top notch care…

And then I went to the other side. I became a mother. Now I get asked a slightly different question: will this experience affect my practice? I’ve been trying to answer this honestly ever since.

As a home birth midwife, I was keen to practice what I preached. If I were lucky enough to have an uneventful pregnancy (normal size baby, no blood pressure, head down baby, no placenta blocking the exit, not hideously overdue, no infections) I too would have a home birth. How hard could it be? Bring on the pool, get me a TENS machine, have the gas and air ready. Naturally I did not write a birth plan: it’s common knowledge among midwives that women with detailed birth plans deliver by caesarean section. Plus, my lovely midwife Sai Yee did not need written instructions; she too was a homebirth midwife and a trusted colleague to boot. Experience had, however, taught me that serious pain-relief might become necessary, in which case I would take myself to hospital for an epidural and she’d be welcome to join me. Having covered all my options, I was ready for the big day. Or was I?

It all began sooner than expected. First babies are supposed to be late, so when my waters broke at 38 weeks and 2 days, I was woefully unprepared. The stress of knowing I would be going into labour sooner rather than later (I’d have to ditch the Christmas shopping, the Christmas cards and forgo the Christmas parties) was compounded by the knowledge that if I didn’t, I’d need to be induced. Ergo, no homebirth… I took a deep breath; got a prescription for prophylactic antibiotics and booked myself in for that induction; and got on with my last hours of freedom. It didn’t last long. That same evening, I began to suspect things were happening. I took another deep breath; I would ignore the mild tightenings and go to bed, enjoy my last night of sleep. It was an uneasy night. Those inadequately named tightenings were going from seriously uncomfortable to downright painful. By 7am, I’d waited as long as decently possible to call the cavalry. My birth brigade. The people who’d get me through this pre-labour stage, before I could actually, you know, call the midwife!

To cut a long (56 hours) story short, I got to 8cm at home in the pool, had a massive sense of humour failure, took myself to hospital, got a fabulous epidural, had the hormone drip, didn’t care at all as I couldn’t feel any contractions, pushed hard in the manner I’d so often taught others to do, and gave birth to a good size baby in a fit of giggles as I couldn’t get over the weirdness of having a new human emerging from me.

So what had I learned? Childbirth is painful? I already knew that. Homebirths can be amazing but epidurals are great? Already knew that. Having a lovely supportive midwife who works hard to keep you safe and comfortable and in control is a bonus? Not exactly a revelation! I might think twice about telling a women to breathe through contractions – turns out that’s surprisingly annoying!”

18 years later, with the benefit of hindsight, here’s what I have to add:

Had this made be a better midwife? Unsurprisingly, no! It just turned me into a guilty midwife and a guilty mother. A midwife who could no longer go that extra mile for her women as she’d be late for nursery. A mother who felt guilty for putting her baby into nursery. The hospital nursery she couldn’t really afford on a midwife’s salary; that didn’t cater for her night and week-end shifts, let alone Christmas and bank holidays. And so, dear readers, I’ve been juggling between my roles. One badly paid, one unpaid. Grateful to have both roles (not everyone gets to have such an amazing job, how lucky am I to work part time; not everyone gets to be a mum) but also guiltily ungrateful (why am I working part time and paying the nursery for the ‘privilege’ of working the hours I do? Isn’t there another parent? There is, but apparently, it’s not his problem). The thing is, you see, I chose to be a midwife (knowing full well that the pay wasn’t great) and I chose to have a baby (yes, we do have reproductive rights) and I chose to work (albeit part time) even though I didn’t have to (again, so lucky, I had that choice), knowing as I did that my hard earned income would be swallowed up by nursery costs. And so, being lucky enough to live in an age and in a country which offered me all these choices, whose fault was it if I’d made all the wrong ones? (Solely mine). And who was I to want more? (An ungrateful feminist). Sure, but then again: what would happen if nobody became midwives or if those that did either didn’t have kids or left the profession when they did? Oh, sorry, I’m talking about the good old days. Things were so much simpler then!

Hence, this blog.

Midwifery and motherhood. Both unbelievably rewarding and yet utterly unrewarded!

In my next blogs I’ll discuss, in no particular order:

The joys of being a pregnant midwife;

Why did it take so long for me to come out as a feminist;

Work/life balance – is it a myth?

Difficult toddlers, demanding clients (diplomacy vs dictatorship)

Diet training in both toddlers and pregnant women;

Teaching basic self care and exercise in kids and pregnant women;

Vaccines – should you? shouldn’t you?