What of childbirth and midwives? A guest post

 

Since I started using Twitter I have met so many interesting and inspirational people. I'm not sure how Susanne and I became connected but I was attracted to her blog and read with mixed emotions the tales of her childbirth experiences. During my career I sat and listened to women who described their traumatic birth to me, and their world became mine for that time.  I know first hand that childbirth can be transforming, empowering and has the potential to change communities. It can also be responsible for damage that resonates through whole families.

I invited Susanne to write a guest post for me.

I often view motherhood as a journey- one that has rugged paths and smooth sails, with howling winds and forks in the roads. I know it’s a cliché and an analogy that’s been overused, but I think there’s a very good reason for that. But what of childbirth?

Before my firstborn came into this world, before I even considered being a mother, I always just assumed things would work out. My body would know what to do. I trusted that a combination of medical professionals and my own natural instincts would be enough. But eight years ago that changed for me and my journey of childbirth hasn’t exactly gone smoothly.

My firstborn came into this world fifteen days past my due date. She was a pink little thing who mewled like a kitten when they plucked her from the hole in my belly and placed her onto my heavy legs for a moment. She turned me into a mother. She made me realise just how precarious life could be. She was perfect, but her birth was not.

Her birth set the seed of doubt in my mind and it was five years until we dared to do it again. I was convinced that my body would let me down again; I would be exposed as a fraud once more. My body didn’t know what to do, I needed another way out of this. I struggled to keep ahold of myself and my emotions and my mind became jumbled with

panic

anxiety

lonliness

failure...

I wanted a c-section but I wasn’t allowed. They played on my mother’s guilt and told me that my baby was too small and would need special care if he was born too early. It was best to let nature take it’s course and allow my baby to be born when he was ready. I knew that; I knew he was safer inside me- oh, how I knew that. But they didn’t know that I was actually incapable of doing this the right way; they didn’t know my body wasn’t able to do it.

I know now that it wasn’t my body. It was my mind that lacked strength, clarity and confidence. I spent the entire length of my second pregnancy believing childbirth was a mountain to be climbed and endured, rather than an expedition to be embraced. All I could see was casualties and loss, when I should’ve been looking for achievement and celebration.

An elective section was reluctantly agreed upon and I held my breath until it was safe to believe it would all be ok. I changed tactics and focused on getting through the remainder of my pregnancy and into the safer realms of motherhood once more. Skip the childbirth.

And then they changed the surgery date.

And my body decided it wanted to have it’s say.

After previously failing to go into spontaneous labour, my body decided it wanted to have a try.

It was the day after my original surgery date, when my son should’ve been in my arms. He should’ve been safe and warm and wrapped in a blanket and feeding from my breast. I should’ve been breathing in the sweet smell of his skin and feeling his tiny finger curling around mine. I should’ve been reading cards and receiving flowers. I should’ve been feeling happy.

Instead I was terrified. My body surrendered to pain and confusion and panic. I was left alone to cry. I was left alone and I just knew that something was wrong. I was not listened to.

They didn’t listen when they insisted I was not in labour. They didn’t listen when I said I couldn’t do it. They didn’t listen when I asked for my c-section. They didn’t listen when I asked for help. They didn’t listen when I asked what was happening and I was shaking and crying and the room was silent and all I knew was that the beep beep beep of the monitor was silent... my son was dead.

They took me to theatre and they ripped my son from my body at speed. Afterwards, they tore the tube from my throat and put my son in my arms, but I was broken. This journey had taken me to the top of that mountain and tipped me over the edge, down to the bottom, all by myself. My arms were heavy and dead and my mind refused to relate this baby to the baby who had kicked me from within.

The rest is history. My son’s birth shattered my soul and pieces of me were scattered all over the floor. I spent months and months picking myself up again. And then to do it again.

Third time around I knew the path that childbirth could take and I refused to go there again. I survived the journey and I now know how wonderful it really can be. When they held my tiny daughter in front of me and she cried... I cried too. I cried for that baby who lost his mum for a while. I cried for that me, who lost herself for a while. I still cry for that baby who wasn’t wanted, who wasn’t loved, whose existence I wasn’t even aware of. He came into this world alone and his journey was rough. He almost didn’t make it. And how different it can be. I know that now.

So what of the journey of childbirth? It’s emotional. It’s exhausting. It’s dangerous. The end destination isn’t always marked clearly but I made it, in the end.

Throughout each journey, with it’s differently marked crossroads and varying landmarks, there has been one constant. The midwives. I don’t remember their names but I remember their faces so clearly. I remember the cool flannel held to my forehead and I remember the relief of having a strong body to lean against. I remember a kiss on my cheek, a whispered apology and a squeeze of my hand. I remember a smile. I remember a moment of feeling safe and cared for. I remember a cup of sweet hot tea, made without my asking to soothe my torn throat and I remember thinking I could never do this job. I remember every single midwife that came on my journeys with me; and now I know  I could never do this job. I hope I said thank you, each time I made that journey.

I have so much gratitude to Susanne for sharing her vulnerable moments with me, and now you. Although Susanne’s memories of midwives were positive, the NHS and all maternity services workers whatever their grade, position or profession must listen and take heed; their actions and words matter. Thank you Susanne.

 Susanne Remic is a teacher and a writer, and can be found here. 

Photograph: Francesca and Flo

Dear Carla

When I first met you I was a young novice midwife and the mother of two young children; the youngest was only six weeks old. I was so upset about leaving my baby to work all night, but we had found ourselves in financial difficulty and getting a midwifery position (just 12 hours a week) was a God send. With all the family rallying to support, I embarked on my first shift and you were there. Sister Gazzola. To be honest, I found you stern and quite imposing. When I told you this years later you were shocked, alarmed even, and you said that you never intended to be. As I grew to know and love you I learned that your sometimes serious expression was not what was in your generous loving heart. I also learned that you had suffered horribly in those years, part of your life that was to silently haunt you for years to come.

What can I say about our friendship now that you are gone? Do you remember all the long nights we shared for nine years, working together...chatting, knitting, and laughing? I remember how it was hard to get you to smile, but if something really amused you you would laugh out loud...and boy it always did me good to see that. But Carla, you did used to run us ragged. When I say 'us' I mean the junior staff who worked with you on a particular shift. You were in charge and we knew it. We had a strict routine of jobs to do before women 'settled down' for the night, and even though that kept us spinning, you would add lots more tasks to the list. But your priority was quite rightly the new mothers and their special little babies. Their comfort and happiness was all you cared about, and nothing was too much trouble. Nothing. You taught me to be more patient, and when I watched your interaction with tired, confused and anxious mothers I aspired to be like you.

Funnily enough, I didn't really see you assist at many births, yet I desperately wanted you to be my midwife for Thomas and Olivia's birth. And you were! The photograph above was taken just hours after you safely placed baby Tom into my arms for the very first time. It was when you facilitated the births of my children that I learnt so much. You didn't speak during my labour, or disturb me. I asked you not to touch my abdomen during a contraction, and you didn't. You quietly watched me, loved me and respected my wishes. Silence. 'Just your quiet breathing could be heard' you told me afterwards. How very blessed I was to have you with me in those special moments.

After Thomas' birth you became a very close and special friend didn't you Carla? You spent hours at my home, helping me with the care of four children. You stepped in when my wonderful Mum had her devastating stroke and helped more, you were like a second mother to me and I owe you much.

When you died in June this year in Italy after a much needed operation, I felt huge regret. I hadn’t seen you since 2004 when we visited you in your lovely apartment in St Nicola. Time flew by and there is no excuse. I heard that you read my book, Catching Babies. This must be one of the best things that has come from writing my memoirs, as you featured greatly within my story and it was dedicated to you along with others. I think you already knew how much I loved you, but you will have read how much you meant to so many other people after reading the book. I am happy about that.

Carla, we will never forget you. I have planned a Mass for you to celebrate your life and dedication to mothers, babies and families throughout East Lancashire and beyond. And my family benefitted the most.

Thank you, my friend.

Love always, Sheena x

Meet Emma Lee-Potter: mother, journalist, book reviewer and novelist

I have great pleasure in introducing Emma Lee-Potter; Emma is a journalist, book reviewer and novelist. She lives in Oxford in the UK.

I first met Emma when she had just given birth to her son. I was a community midwife and Emma was on my list of postnatal visits for that day. She lived in Downham, a distinguished untouched village at the foot of Pendle Hill in Lancashire. Emma and I got on so well almost immediately, and I later learned that her mother was Lynda Lee-Potter OBE, a well-known newspaper columnist. Time moved on, and I became connected to Emma again when she contacted me after reading and reviewing my book, Catching Babies. I was delighted, and started following her blog.

I have recommended many of my friends and family to follow her writings too….which they have. Check these out at the end!

This week I asked her a few questions, and this is what she said!

When did you decide to become a journalist, and who influenced your career the most?

I always wanted to be a journalist. My mother was a very successful newspaper columnist and interviewer and I was fascinated by her job. She took me with her to some amazing places while she was working – like backstage at the theatre and on an RNLI rescue off the coast of South Wales – and I desperately wanted to do the same sort of job when I grew up.

How long have you been writing a blog, and what inspired you?

I’ve been writing a blog since 2007. I was inspired by a writer called Josa Young who told me that all journalists should write a blog. She talked me through what to do on the phone and five minutes later I was writing my first post. I started House With No Name in 2011 because I wanted to concentrate on blogging about books, children, life and France.

You review a book every week for your blog, how long on average does it take you?

I’m a very fast reader, which is lucky. How long does it take me? It depends. If I’m really gripped I’ll stay up all night to finish a book.

What was the first book that you read?

One of the very first must have been First Term at Malory Towers by Enid Blyton. I was so obsessed by her books that I used to save up and spend all my pocket money on them.

Which is your favourite book?

That’s a really tricky question. Can I have three? I’d say Germinal by Emile Zola, Brooklyn by Colm Toibin and How I Live Now by Meg Rosoff.

Other than those you love, what would you save in a fire? 

An oil painting of my two children. It’s by Lucy Dickens, who is a wonderful painter. She came to my house when they were about four and six and my son just wouldn’t sit still. In the end she had to bribe him by drawing him for five minutes and then letting him run round the garden.

Which film have you seen several times? 

Manhattan by Woody Allen.

What ambition do you have?

To write a mega bestseller.

What is your favourite colour?

Navy blue.

What temptation do you wish you could resist?

Pinot Grigio.

What, in others, makes you angry?

Meanness – in every sense.

What wisdom would you share with a child?

It sounds trite but I’d say “be happy.”

What is your favourite song?

It changes all the time but at the moment it’s Up to Us by Charles Pasi.

What is your favourite piece of music?

Canon in D Major by Pachelbel

Which four people would you like to invite to dinner and why?

Paul Merton and Ian Hislop because they’d make me laugh, the late Anthony Howard because he was so wise and illuminating about politics and JK Rowling because she’s a literary superstar.

What do your regret from the past?

I wish I’d travelled more and been more adventurous. I’d love to go to South America and the Far East.

What has made you happiest?

My children.

What would you want if you could choose anything?

I’m sure the PC thing to say would be world peace. But if you mean something material I’d love a flat in New York.

Who is the most fascinating person you’ve met?

I haven’t met him but the most fascinating person I’ve ever interviewed is Sugata Mitra. He’s an academic who has done lots of research into how education can be provided to children and young people in parts of the world where educational resources are limited or non-existent. He is often dubbed the “slumdog professor” after his Hole in the Wall experiment in the slums of Delhi inspired the book that became the Oscar-winning movie Slumdog Millionaire.

Where is your favourite place in the world?

The south of France, although I have a secret hankering for Pendle Hill in Lancashire.

If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?

Help! I can’t do anything else. Maybe I’d run an art gallery.

Five things you might not know about Emma Lee-Potter

I hate eggs.

I once met Princess Diana and she told me that her favourite pop group was Supertramp.

I’m a serial mover. My dad was in the RAF and I changed schools eight times. The moving habit has clearly stuck because me and my husband have moved ten times since we got married.

My blog’s called House With No Name because the tumbledown farmhouse in France I bought on a whim doesn’t have a name. “How does the postman know where to deliver letters?” we asked the elderly vendor. “He just does…” she said. She was mystified that we were mystified.

I was once the world’s worst au pair. I couldn’t cook, couldn’t make beds with hospital corners and had never changed a nappy before.

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Emma’s blog House With No Name is brilliant, I have learnt so much from reading about her interests, her book reviews (many of which I have then purchased) and her children. –  Her latest ebook is called School Ties and is available for download. She can be found on Twitter at @EmmaLeePotter

         

A childbirth revolution

When I was at the centre of a traumatic litigation case for 9 years following a home birth I facilitated, I believed my life would never be the same again. I have very recently been reminded of those harrowing days, months and years, but am now able to breathe a sigh of relief. On the 20^th September I watched the premiere screening of Freedom for Birth,  in Holland. I was graciously invited to the home of Nicola Philbin to see the film, which was a God send as I was in the Netherlands visiting my grandchildren. Nicola is a lawyer, a doula and an antenatal teacher, and I met her months earlier at the Human Rights in Childbirth Conference in the Netherlands simply by admiring her dress. Along with a friend of hers, an English midwife who works in the Hague, we sat glued to the TV as the documentary played.

Since the aforesaid conference I thought I had a broad understanding of many of the global issues surrounding childbirth and human rights, but I was wrong. The Freedom for Birth film was a revelation. The talented filmmaker couple Toni  Harman and Alex Wakeford succeeded in delving deep into the detail of events where the human rights of individual women have been catastrophically violated during the childbirth period.

The film mainly focuses on the plight of Agnes Gereb, a Hungarian  obstetrician/midwife who has been subjected to what can only be described as a witch hunt for facilitating homebirth, she was sentenced to a prison sentence and is currently under house arrest pending the outcome of an appeal.  Toni and Alex take us to Agnes’s doorstep, and we hear her gently spoken account of her situation, and what she is experiencing internally.

Freedom for Birth highlighted to me the relatively fortunate position we are in in the UK, with regard to parental choice in place of birth (including home birth), and professional regulation and autonomy for midwives. But that doesn’t mean our system is perfect, far from it. The reality of women being able to choose where to give birth varies from area to area and there are many compounding elements influencing the fact that most women continue to choose to have their baby in hospital believing it to be safer.  There is also the potential erosion of choice for mothers and midwives if a solution isn’t found to the inability of Independent Midwives obtaining indemnity insurance, as practice without insurance will be illegal from October 2013. AIMS are concerned that if this situation is realized the potential for women choosing to birth outside the system and without a midwife will increase (AIMS 2012).

And each day the evidence revealed in the Birthplace Study (2011) that for low risk women there is a greater incidence of intervention and Caesarean section when birth takes place in hospital is apparent.

In addition, there is FEAR amongst the health care professionals working in maternity services.

Fear of retribution

Fear of litigation

Fear of the press

The workloads are frequently unmanageable, and the pressure increasing. The concept and delivery of risk management strategies are eating at each element of care so that 'records' are the focus, not the individual and her family.

But there are mini revolutions happening every day too. In my experience when midwives support mothers and push the boundaries of organizational and professional constraint and they are supported by obstetricians, change is possible. I witnessed first hand radical shifts in culture in maternity services that were once burdened with destructive  oppression from medical and midwifery staff. Bullying was common place. But the ‘revolution’ took decades, and was achieved with small steps and a handful of committed individuals. There was a tipping point in the service, which is now successfully offering the full range of choice of place of birth for women, and promoting positive birth outcomes for all women.   This was made possible through staying focused, collectively gather momentum, and developing collaborative, respectful relationships.

Reading and listening to others and their stance on Agnes makes me angry and frustrated. How can it happen?

But we must keep going, pushing, influencing, lobbying, and be committed to give back birth to women.

My hands are joined with others across the world, I hope yours are too.

Other related blogs:

The Mule

The Hackney Doula 

Valerie Gommon Midwife's Blog

And an interesting thought 

References:

Dresner Barnes H (2012) Professional indemnity insurance for independent midwives AIMS Journal 24(2):18-9

Photograph credit

Old head, young shoulders

Do you remember things that your parents or ‘elderly’ relatives used to say when you were growing up? In my family there was definitely a special language…sayings and quotes that were passed down through generations, some were common, well known phrases and some that we think were made up, and used only by those connected to the Dixon family.

My Mum and her sister Maud spent a lot of time together during my early adolescent years. Mum was running the bakers shop in Great Harwood and Aunty Maud just lived down the road and used to come and help. I used to listen to them chatting on the special occasions I was allowed to, and I loved it.

Their conversations intrigued me, and they invariably got on to the subject of their youth and how things had changed.  

Some of their expressions and sayings come to mind more and more as I reach the grandmother/'older' aunty stage, and I understand the meanings of some of them much more clearly. When Mum was trying to give me advice as a young girl, and particularly when I didn’t want to follow her suggestions, my Aunty would say ‘Kathleen, you can’t put an old head on young shoulders’.  

How true is that? I didn’t quite understand the meaning as a youngster, but I sure do now.

It’s not that age brings total wisdom, not at all. And it doesn’t mean that parents always know best. But as I observe younger family members I often wish I could save potential hurt or discomfort by making a suggestion (and sometimes I do!) Wouldn’t it be great if all the experience and wisdom that mattered from our lives transferred through osmosis to our offspring ?

But it can’t be.

And one day they too will understand and maybe say that on young shoulders an old head won’t fit.

A letter to a special midwife....

Dear Shelley,

When I saw your face nestled amongst other delegates in a lecture theatre at Coventry University this week, I was overwhelmed. The joy of seeing you made my day, and I am still smiling. How could it be that we lost touch after sharing such a close relationship as young midwives, and young mothers? We grew together didn’t we? You shared your sunshine personality with so many others, and everyone loved you. Including me. I was always delighted when I knew we would be on the same shift, caring for mothers and babies, as I knew the hours would be full of smiles and compassion even when it was busier than we thought possible. I can see you now, coming through the doors of a birth room with a great big smile to help someone else. Always helping- ‘no’ wasn’t in your vocabulary.

One occasion when we worked together stands out above all the others.  You came out of one of the birth rooms on the Delivery Suite at Blackburn and asked me to ‘mind’ Julie, the woman you were looking after, whilst you went to have some lunch.  You sought me out. ‘Sheena this young girl is in early labour and is frightened of me leaving her’.  ‘I promised her I would find someone kind to sit with her whilst I had a quick bite’ you said. You explained that Julie had distressing social circumstances, and she had learning difficulties. I was flattered that you trusted me, and followed behind you into the room. The young woman was crying because you’d gone.  So you hugged her, and kissed her forehead, and as I looked on I caught glimpse of the head lice crawling around her locks of hair. I also became aware of the stench and saw the grime on Julie’s skin and nails, and I bent to her level to try to reassure her that I would stay as close and carefully take good care of her whilst you were gone. Julie swore at me, and said she didn’t want me, only you. You asked if you could go for just 15 minutes, as you were so hungry, and she screamed ‘NO!’.

So you stayed. You stoked her hair, and put your arms around her neck and then moved back to get eye contact. ‘OK Julie, I won’t leave you’.  You didn’t worry about catching the lice, or the offensive smell, you didn’t just care for Julie, you loved her. And she felt it. It may have been a first for her.

I have often recounted this tale Shelley, especially when talking to student or new midwives about real humanity and compassion. I have always considered myself as being up there with others in my ability to nurture, empower and to be kind. But you go beyond that. You are the ultimate midwife, your sensitivity and love is a rare gift, and I am thankful that I witnessed your capacity to make a difference to so many women.

At our unexpected reunion at the Baby Lifeline study day we talked and talked of times gone by, we laughed and we cried. And we spoke of other stars, Anita, Louise Slater, Sue Henry and Katie were amongst those we remembered.

Later that evening I posted the photograph above on Facebook, and these comments from some of your friends quickly appeared:

Patti Hughes Shelley Shore! Lovely lady - and doesn't look a bloody day older!

Jean Duerden Loved it knowing she was in York. A very special person. X

Tina Chatburn Shelley Shore .....loved her tales !!

What do you think about that?

Shelley Shore: a legend

Love from your friend,

Sheena x

From one Rose to another

Dear Marie (Rose Marie)

You were my wonderful mother-in-law for decades.

You were the amazing mother to baby Rosemary who died before you saw her little face, and whom you never held. And you were the fine, strong mother of Stephen, Paul, Mark and David. You always seemed happy in your life, yet you suffered more hardship than most.

This photo was taken at Butlins holiday camp, when you were young, carefree and unaware of what life was going to deal you.

I remember when Anna was born. Your first grandchild, and a girl. Did she remind you of the little girl you lost? Of Rosemary? I never asked you. I am sorry about that. As you curled your loving fingers around hers and cupped her face with both your hands did you cry silent tears? As I grow older as a mother and grandmother I can only be sure that you did.

And now we have another Rose! I want to introduce her to you, as your namesake.

Here she is in the arms of your son, her Grandad Paul. She was born to Anna and Garry surrounded by love, and we were as you were when Anna was born, looking on in amazement as the next generation emerged strong into the Byrom family.

And so Elizabeth Rose (Betsy) will carry your name on into the future. We will be sure to tell her what she has to live up to, and about the legacy you left for her through the life that you lived; loved and respected by all. As time moves on, your strength and values are passed on Marie, and for those things we are blessed.

My love to you,

Sheena x

PS

Marie, I heard shortly after writing this letter to you that we have another lovely baby Rose, born before Betsy! How could I miss that? Pheobe Rose has your name too, and is the beautiful baby girl born to Jordan and Jemma. Pheobe has brought much joy too, and is Gill and Mark's first grandchild. She too will hear about you, and carry your love and positive spirit with her through her life....here she is Marie; what a beauty.

Why is the birth room being used for mass entertainment?

I don't like this photograph. It actually depicts the worst possible scenario. That is, a labouring mother flat on her back, vulnerable with her legs wide open. The midwives hold the power. As a midwife this is certainly not how I want my profession to be represented.

I imagine that the photo was taken to attract media attention, to draw potential viewers to the BBC TV programme it is associated with...and there will be those who don't notice the image particularly. But there is a message in the pose that has the potential to negatively influence society, and childbearing women. As the documentary programmes have too....ITV's One Born Every Minute, and BBC's The Midwives.

I have to admit that I always avoid watching TV documentaries about maternity services. My decision stems from the fact that I can’t bear to watch poor midwifery or obstetric practice without the ability to influence, and I think the intimate moment of a baby’s birth should take place in a private ‘space’ where the woman feels safe and protected. It certainly isn’t the place for TV cameras, even those that are hidden.

Childbirth is important for humanity, and the ultimate aim of maternity care workers is to ensure women have a positive childbirth experience. When women are in labour the hormones that aid the birth process are heavily influenced by the environment she is in.  Michel Odent, a highly acclaimed French obstetrician gives his expert opinion; one which I fully support after observing childbirth first hand for 35 years. He said:

The best environment I know for an easy birth is when there is nobody around the woman in labor but an experienced midwife or doula – an experienced mother figure who is there, and who can remain silent. Silence is a basic need for a woman in labor. Privacy is another basic need. Michel Odent

So that's a big enough reason not to have cameras in the birth room that broadcast private and intimate moments to millions, with no control over who watches.

And then there's the issue of editing. The producers want to draw viewers in with drama...and the drama is having the desired effect and the viewing is said to be 'compelling'...but what else is happening?

Globally, we are in a situation where women are becoming increasingly afraid of childbirth and unsure of their ability to give birth without medical assistance. There are lots of factors that influence this position, and the media play a huge part.

As a Facebook and Twitter user I have read so many comments in response to the midwifery documentary programmes, from mothers, women, midwives and student midwives. The comments mostly demonstrate the fact that the content of the programmes have stimulated fear. Some midwives, whilst acknowledging the scary and distressing scenes highlighting their colleagues 'under pressure', believe it to be good as it raises the issue of the shortage of midwives nationally. But should this be at the expense of those potentially and actually using maternity services?

Let's read the comments.

The Telegraph reviewed The Midwives

There is a gruesomeness to childbirth TV that I find partly compelling and mildly horrifying. I understand that births where nothing goes wrong don’t make for exciting enough footage but, as a childless, slightly broody 31 year-old, I found some of the scenes pretty harrowing, and had to watch with my fingers over my eyes. There were complications with almost every birth – is this the BBC’s attempt to keep that soaring birth rate down? If so, it’s certainly worked on me… 

One tweet from a student midwife said that she was scared to go on her next shift following the programme....

Twitter:

'It seems such a shame they always show midwives shouting at women, calling them good girls, or do the 'silent midwives' not want to be on TV…'

Facebook (taken from One Born Every Minute-the truth page)

Susan:

'I watched it last night and couldn't believe the triage midwife with the short blonde hair telling the soon to be mother of 5 that she was definitely not in labour. It was her fifth baby, she knew her own body!! I wanted to shout at the telly. I was so smug when the labouring woman progressed quickly and birthed not long after that. I did not like that midwife's manner at all, and she only seemed to get worse throughout the programme..'

Jane:

'I am 21 weeks pregnant with my third baby, and watched the first programme last night. Honestly, despite having been very lucky both other times, it has left me petrified. Must get a sense of perspective....'

Oh dear. How to demoralise women.

We really need to turn the tide. In addition to #moremidwives we need some positive media....positive stories to raise the bar. What do you think?

P.S. On the contrary, I LOVED Call the Midwife. Quite different.

Photograph 

Time to relax....and the fragrance really matters

So it's been a couple of weeks since I posted on my blog; life took over! Births, weddings, sick friends, grandchildren and meetings in London (where I got to catch up with my special Doula friend Mars Lord) scooped me up and took me away from sitting and pondering....but now there is so much to reflect on!

But before I do that I have to talk about the things that frequently save my soul and help me to take time to relax....Melt Candles

I have always loved candles. I prefer candle lit rooms to any other and the mood candles create is perfect for so many occasions.

But Melt candles are something else. They not only look luxurious and world class, but they provide a wonderful fragrance in each room that stimulates my senses just perfectly. The scents are subtle and carefully selected by the founder and owner of the company, Cheryl Hook. Cheryl has a unique talent for identifying wonderful fragrances and blending them with the perfect colour; both the scent and the colour compliment nature and there are many to choose from. They are simply the best.

I don't need to say any more except I am thankful to Melt candles for all the pleasure (and assisted rest!) they give me....if you want to know what others think then you could  read reviews from more satisfied customers.

Now where was I? Oh planning my next blog....

This is not a sponsored advert

UK Student Midwives-something to be proud of

It's a long time ago since I was a student midwife (1970's), we were then known as a pupil midwives. It's even a long time since my daughter was a student midwife...and that does make me feel old! I have worked very closely with so many incredible students throughout my career, and I have instantly recognised the ones who I felt 'had it'- that is, the sensitivity and kindness that makes a difference to childbearing women in their most vulnerable yet special moments of their life.

But during the past year I have been incredibly fortunate to have 'met' hundreds of students from throughout the UK and beyond, in the virtual world. This has been made possible because of two things: writing my midwifery memoir Catching Babies, and using Twitter.

So many student midwives have contacted me and given feedback about my book, and I am touch with dozens on Twitter. I have also been approached by several individual students with requests to talk at their University conferences, and have been humbled and honoured to attend and support them.

So what is it that makes me feel proud? From my experience I feel this new generation of student midwives have not only 'got it', but they have other attributes that really impress me. I have seen a confidence and maturity that enables them to express themselves respectfully, with humility and graciousness. But this assertiveness is not at the cost of kindness and compassion; this is in abundance, along with an enormous passion to make a difference to women and families during the childbirth period.

My belief was further consolidated on the 16th July when several student midwives dressed in 1950's Call the Midwife style uniforms cycled 6 miles through London raising awareness of the desperate need for 5000 more midwives and the petition that the Royal College of Midwives have organised. The event was organised by Rebecca Ashley, and she and her colleagues have demonstrated courage and determination, innovation and leadership and they are still in their first year. We (midwives) are eternally grateful to them.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bqHGuQdUS0U

The more I communicate with, see, hear and chat to our country's student midwives, the more my heart sings. We are incredibly fortunate, and the future health of our nation depends on their ability to say strong, positive and focused.

And these student midwives need midwifery posts when they qualify. HAVE YOU SIGNED THE PETITION? 

Photo of keychain

On the other side of the fence-the relative

During each and every one of the 36 years I worked for our glorious NHS, I always tried to put myself in the shoes of those I cared for. It's strange and quite nerve wracking to be on the other side of the fence, and to be receiving care. When I was a patient myself last year I was ever alert to what was happening around me, and I was truly nervous.

Last week my eldest daughter gave birth to Elizabeth (Betsy), and I was 'the relative'. This was yet a different experience; I was still as anxious and even more out of control. But I was delighted with the care and attention; in fact it was first class. I expected high standards, as I know the maternity service is second to none and receives excellent feedback. Even so, we found the staff to be exemplary, and they went out of their way to make sure us 'relatives' were OK too.

I have to mention two people (there are many more but A will tell all). The first is Leigh Halliwell, the wonderful midwife who worked hard with Anna, loving and supporting her for 12 solid hours. Thank you so very much Leigh. And then there is Mrs Liz Martindale, the obstetrician who supported choice, gave commitment and encouragement, and even supported me via text in the hours leading up to Betsy's arrival. Just moments before the birth, Mrs M told us she was going to make A's birth experience (emergency caesarian section) the most positive ever, and she did just that.

Those who know me, or who have heard me talk at conferences will know that I frequently sing the praises of this particular doctor. This is because she is exceptional in so many ways; pushing boundaries to ensure women feel in control and happy with their birth experience. Mrs Martindale is quite famous for her innovative work (1), especially the 'Martindale Manoeuvre'. Do you know what that is?

So an enormous THANK YOU Liz from all our family for all you did for daughter A, and Betsy Byrom.

(1) Byrom S, Fardella L, Sandford J et al (2010) Collaborating to push boundaries to promote positive birth :an inspirational reflection MIDIRS Midwifery Digest 20(2): 199-204

Photograph of fence

A Girl for my Girl

Dear Betsy,

The night before last the anticipation of your birth was replaced by sheer joy as you made your grand entrance into the world, and your Mummy and Daddy saw you for the very first time.

As well as shedding plenty of tears, we heaved a sigh of relief; you and your Mummy were safe and happy. And now all we feel is love for you, and we can't wait to share your life with you.

So Betsy, may you give joy to your parents......have fun with your Daddy and be best friends with your Mummy.....

When your Mummy was born, my lovely mother told me:

'A son is a son 'til he takes him a wife

But your daughter's your daughter the rest of her life'

And she should know, she had 5

Grandmother in waiting

I am at home anxiously awaiting the birth of my eldest daughter's second baby. When the little one arrives, we will have 5 grandchildren, and each one caused a tummy twisting turmoil just before they made their appearance. When I gave birth to my four I was confident and happy as I approached labour and was lucky enough to have four positive experiences.

So why am I sat here in a tizzy? I swing from staring at my mobile for messages, to looking at the house phone and wondering whether I should call...and then I walk round the house doing half tasks.

It's hard being a mother to a mother that's labouring in another place, so hard. Please come safely and soon little one.

And then I wonder if my lovely late Mum had the same worries when me and my sisters laboured hard for hours?

That's what I'll do; I'll go to her grave and I'll ask her...

Photograph

Five nights in Firenze

Being already connected to the Latin country of Italy, I was ready to relish the never before ventured city of Florence last week. Our lovely friends, Eileen and Michael Whitehead generously invited us to accompany them to their favourite haunts and we accepted....along with my sister Eileen and husband Denis, and the fabulous Frank and Lynne. We stayed in Max and Beatrice's fabulous Bed and Breakfast in the city. Residenza Casanuova is a magnificent house that has been owned by the same family for generations, and Max gave us a potted history. The rooms were themed and luxurious and we felt rather grand going to bed there...almost like being in a period drama!

Under the hot sun and Michael's knowledgeable (when truthful!) guidance, we trod the worn paths of the Medici family in complete awe of the culture and history. Climbing the almost vertical but winding steps of the dome in the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore, otherwise known as the Duomo, was hard.....but so worth it! We were able to take a close up view of Giorgio Vasari's much-reviled frescoes of the Last Judgment (1572-9) which was spectacular. I wasn't too keen on the artist's interpretation of Hell, so I hope I don't go there.

My special friend Katie is always alarmed at my lack of knowledge when it comes to art, but as children my sisters and I weren't really introduced to the subject outside school. But as the Uffizi Gallery hosts some of the most revered paintings in the world we spent an afternoon there checking it out. Just wish I'd researched some of the work a little more before going!

On the last day we strolled around and over Ponte Vecchio, the famous old bridge that has a history of its own. There are several jewellers shops on both sides and above them a passage, which connects some of Florence's palaces and stately buildings. The passage was built by the Medici family so that they could walk between the buildings and not mix with 'minions' on the streets below. It is alleged that the jewellers were once butchers and fishmongers, but the noble family ordered they were closed down due to the stench.

Michael and Eileen knew where to take us to dine, and from the delicious plates served in Semolina (their favourite) to the amazing taster menu at the Cibreo Cafe we were treated like royalty by some rather handsome young men....

Romantic Florence is all I thought it would be, and the best part of all was being in the company of my family and friends; boy did we laugh.

As we finished our meal the night before flying home, we heard some pretty spectacular singing nearby. The girls in our party located the spot where a teenage girl gospel choir was performing in the open air, and we rushed to take up the only four remaining front seats. We couldn't believe it...the young women's energy was electrifying, and we were spellbound as they smiled and danced whilst their voices gave us goosebumps. Song after song they thrilled the crowd and as we whooped and cheered they seemed to entertain us more. What I found most pleasing was the fact that each girl had the opportunity to do a short solo as part of the act, and every voice was as perfect as the next. It was when I heard the girls sing Something Inside So Strong that I thought of the connection with the Human Rights and Childbirth movement and I started to consider the potential for the choir to team up with One World Birth to do something.....

Eileen and I rushed over after the final song to speak to the MD, and met delightful Jennifer Yard. Jennifer humbly told us the choir was from Wallington High School for Girls in Surrey. Congratulations to you Jennifer!

So as I sit and reflect and remember the week with a smile, all I can say is thank you a million times Eileen and Michael. And who's for an ice-cream?

Desert Island Discs

I heard about this brilliant Radio 4 programme late on in life...just 10 months ago. How did I miss it, given the fact that it's been around since before I was born? Anyway, my sisters Anne and Eileen discovered the delights of the channel and told me to tune in...

I love it. If you've never listened, I will briefly explain.

Individuals  who have made a contribution to UK society, or who are famous, are chosen to be a guest on the programme, and they are asked to choose eight music tracks or 'records' (originally gramophone records) that they would like to take with them to a desert island. Each piece of music or song has to be relevant to a part of their life, so listeners get to know a little bit about the person. The presenters ask quite searching questions at times, and the 'interviews' are frequently revealing. Now I think choosing eight music tracks would be so hard. This year I was invited to be a guest on Radio Lancashire's very own take of DID... Lunchtime Favourites and I had to choose 12 of my favourite songs. I found it extremely difficult to narrow it down to so few!

Here are the chosen ones:

 1 We are family: Sisters Sledge (I am youngest of five girls and this is 'our' tune!)

2 I'll take you home again Kathleen: The Fureys

3 Long and winding road: Beatles

4 Sweet Baby James: James Taylor

5 It's getting better: Mama Cass

6 If we try: Don McLean

7 As: Stevie Wonder

8 Rock with you Michael Jackson

9 The Moon and St Christopher: Mary Black

10 Italia: Chris Botti

 11 Why worry: Dire Straits

12 Back to black: Amy Whinehouse

So, I download the episodes of Desert Island Discs to my iPod, and at night I often plug in and enjoy the music and the stories of the lives of so many interesting individuals. Here are a few of my favourites:

Doreen Lawrence

Lord Victor Adebowale

Heather Rabbatts

Andrea Levy

Alfie Boe

Who are your favourites?

Five countries in a week

After spending two weeks in Holland with Minnie and Quentin, whilst their Dad (our son) entertained guests on a cruise ship in the Mediterranean, we went on a whistle-stop tour of four other countries.

Frank and Lynne joined us on Thursday night, and on Friday we left for Germany. We made a perfect choice when we decided to stay in Boppard, on the banks of the River Rhine. The tourist resort had everything we needed from the quirky and reasonably priced hotel, to the recommended local eating houses. Because of the weather on the first day we took a boat trip up the river, and were introduced to the majestic ancient castles on the hills along the way. A few drinks and some food helped us to relax and ignore the grey skies, and we played our favourite card game.

The weather forecast was right, and the day after we were able to hire bikes and we rode 42km in the bright warm sunshine visiting quaint historic villages along the way. So, it was cakes (massive!) and coffee in St Goar, and iced beer in Oberwesel. It was along the road from the impressive hotel where we slurped the alcohol that we found a touching and thought provoking memorial; a Star of David symbol and the names of the Jewish inhabitants who were tragically deported and murdered.

The cycling was great fun, and we crossed the river on a short ferry which then enabled us to travel back on the opposite side.

From Boppard we travelled to Luxemburg, and again stumbled upon an interesting village Ehnen famous for it’s vineyards and impressive walks. After a ramble through the hillside rows of budding grapes,  we sipped glorious Rose and Riesling wine on white chairs in sparkling sunshine, and laughed a lot. There was a period of concern in the early evening as we watched a low flying helicopter spraying vast quantities of pesticides onto the vines…and then there was a debate as to the effect on the environment and on individuals.

It was great to be able to converse with the locals in French, though we discovered that most spoke Luxembourgish! Never heard of it….

The day after there was mutual agreement that the idea to go to Bruges for our last night was a good one. We set off early and once more found great lodgings near the city. The bed and breakfast accommodation was situated above the owner’s spa and treatment centre, what a haven it was! The rooms were contemporary, stylish, and very comfortable. We will most definitely go back there!

Lastly, we spent a few hours in France; our last relax in the sun. We sailed across the English Chanel in warmth and comfort...and for the first time beheld the white cliffs against clear blue.

 God Bless the Queen!

Advertising formula milk through sponsorship and professional journals: why the debate?

From the time I can remember, my lovely mum taught my sisters and I to try to always tell the truth and to consider speaking up in unjust situations. Mum held on to her beliefs right up until she died, and frequently shared her views on situations that she considered inappropriate.  I think I’ve upheld mum’s principles, and on reflection I believe it’s always helped me to stand firm when pushing boundaries to facilitate women’s choices during their childbirth experience, and has assisted me when I have succeeded in implementing or supporting change.  It is with this in mind that I write this blog, about formula milk companies and their drive to make money through exploiting relationships with healthcare professionals, and parents.

Breast v Bottle

Before go on I want to be clear I am fully committed to the promotion and support of breastfeeding.  I successfully breastfed my four children, and have witnessed the health and social benefits of breastfeeding through my extensive work as a midwife of 35 years. I could go on. But I am a true advocate of choice, and believe that if a mother has considered relevant evidenced based information in relation to feeding her baby and she chooses to use artificial milk, then her decision should be respected and supported.  My words here do not intend to debate breast v bottle feeding, but to present my position and moral stance on whether multi-million pound formula milk companies should advertise their products through health professionals.

Once more the British Journal of Midwifery (BJM) has responded to criticism about their continuing allegiance to formula milk companies (Lewis 2012), and attempted to justify their actions. The article fails to convince me that the intent to continue to engage with formula milk companies is anything other than financial.  In 2004 I wrote to the BJM [link on the page] (Byrom 2004) following the editor’s reply to a reader’s letter about her dismay that the journal advertised formula milk. Although my letter was printed, it brought about no change.

Quite recently it was brought to my attention that the BJM was also advertising study days sponsored by Cow and Gate, and research grants.  In response to this activity various blogs and social media campaigns are raising awareness of the ethical implications, and the push for change is speedily gaining momentum.

Targeted marketing= increased sales

I am totally flabbergasted and bemused as to why organisations whose aim is to educate health professions continue to accept unethical sponsorship and advertise products that potentially undermine health benefits (Renfrew et al 2005).

But the debate surrounding the marketing of formula milk in professional journals and sponsorship is long-standing and controversial (Sachs 2005).  Yet for me it is simple, and doesn’t need academic reasoning or debate as to whether or not the practice breaks any legal code.  Formula milk companies would NOT sponsor studies or financially support professional journals if it wasn’t lucrative for them. They KNOW that the influence on professionals is subtle, but it increases sales.

A well used ‘excuse’ from professional journals who accept financial support through advertising formula milk on their pages is that the adverts serve to provide information on milk products to its readers so that they can in turn provide advice to parents. But this is neither necessary nor advisable on many counts.  How can we provide advice from information from an advert? There are resources available that provide the detail needed to help mothers choose which artificial milk to use, so adverts which introduce bias and confusion are not needed.

So come on BJM, the opinion of your midwifery readership doesn't change. It would be so good if you would follow the example of your sister journal the African Journal of Midwifery, and decline to engage with formula milk company financial aid. A moral conscience is so important.

And midwives, if you are happy to accept sponsorship from formula milk companies, consider the impact. The only benefit is the increased wealth of the milk manufacturer, and the detriment is to mothers and babies.

Be the change you want to see in the world....

References

Byrom S (2004) Correspondence British Journal of Midwifery Vol 10 12 P608

Lewis P (2012) Breast is best but choice is paramount British Journal of Midwifery Vol 20:6 386-387

Renfrew, M. et al (2005) The effectiveness of public health interventions to promote the duration of breastfeeding: systematic review, National Institute for Health and Clinical Excellence, London www.publichealth.nice.org.uk

Sachs M (2005) Debate: Milk advertising should not be allowed in journals. British Journal of Midwifery Vol 13:11 714-715.

Photo: Danielleford.com

The bicycle and the Netherlands:perspective and fact

At the risk of being boring, I am once again going to applaud the Dutch and their transport system, especially the way they get around on their bicycles. I have raved about this phenomena before, and I may do it again!

This trip to Holland has given us a new insight into riding on bikes. Paul has got used to taking the children in Daphne's Bakfiets and that's no mean feat!

And I have had a great bike to ride on...

Now as a fairly competent cyclist in the UK, going uphill and down dale...I am finding that here cycling here is completely different. It's a common sight to see folks transporting their whole family (literally) on one bike! There are NO helmets, but health and safety is very much apparent as cyclists have priority in most instances and the cycle paths are everywhere. The children are taught road safety from an early age and are therefore aware of potential dangers.

But for me, my senses are well and truly heightened! I really have to keep my wits about me as I negotiate riding on the right-hand side, watching for trams, cars, bikes and pedestrians and traffic lights! Aaargh! But it's SO worth it. I absolutely love it.

From birth to football....Holland is turning orange!

As my county celebrated the Diamond Jubilee and we watched the spectacular events on the BBC from Scheveningen in the Netherlands, we felt an enormous sense of pride at belonging to a British culture that supports the Royal Family and makes an enormous effort to let them know. Before we left for Holland I was struck by the amount of bunting, flags and Jubilee paraphernalia on sale in the shops and already displayed in streets and houses around the country. But of course it is a unique event and something to party for!

And here in the Netherlands there is an equal display of patriotic fever,

but it's all related to football! Orange bunting brightens up already beautiful streets, flags, tea shirts, dolls.....hats, everything that can be turned orange...is orange. Yesterday we saw four orange footballs dangling from a balcony of a house, in orange string bags!  Incredible. I am informed that what I see is mild compared to how it will be when the European Championship begins....

I really hope the efforts of the Dutch in supporting their country in this tournament passes over to their football team, and gives them the enthusiasm they need to do well.

Good on ya Dutch folks...your sense of community and loyalty is enviable.

London photo courtesy of zimbio.com