19/10/2020
Midwifery is a noisy job.
Women scream, partners shout, machines bleep, feet run on the corridors, water splashes, paperwork rustles
And the clip clop of a heartbeat punctuates the minutes.
We aim for peace but birth is a cacophony of sounds. A melody perhaps.
The music of birth. Culminating in the sweetest sound.
But sometimes babies slip into this world.
Silent and sleeping.
Sometimes the room waits chilled. Words unspoken.
Hearts barely beating as they wait.
For the inevitable silence.
Hoping against all hope that a beautiful cry will rend the still air.
Instead the silence in broken only by tears and a mother’s lament.
Ours is a vocal job.
We offer encouragement. Urging, “come on” “push” “you can do it” “It will be so worthwhile” “You'll be so proud”. Cheer-leaders, personal trainers, eternal optimists. We hold her hand, guide her way. To a joyful conclusion.
But sometimes mothers labour with broken dreams. Our love and care cannot heal their pain. Sometimes we carry the mum to the edge of the abyss, a place we cannot follow and soft words ring hollow.
Then midwifery is a painful job. We quietly care. Careful not to intrude but anxious to do what we can. Aware that these precious moments are all they have. A few cuddles, photos, footprints. Robbed of a lifetime of memories we cram in what we can. As heart’s break and sorrow consumes all. A sleeping angel is cradled in shaking arms.
And then we leave this place on the longest drive home. With shattered hearts and heavy shoulders. We would take their pain with us if we could. Preterm birth, sepsis, PET, abruption, undiagnosed abnormality, often hidden. And sometimes no reason, no explanation. Unexpected quiet. A light snuffed out without warning.
And we return the next day, weary and worn. Questioning ourselves. Questioning our skills. Just questioning why? Why? Then we wipe our eyes, replace our smiles and take a deep breath . Cheerfully we walk into another story, another day.
Author of poem: Katherine Mabey
