You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone...

Well with the storms well and truly gone and Queensland sunshine in full swing we have had time to look back and reflect on the events of last week. We still find it hard to believe that we arrived in Australia on the eve of a cyclone, but there you go. The thing that really flummoxed us all was when the electric power to the house disappeared, and whilst it happened at the most inappropriate moment (I was giving Vi a back massage and the others were watching Andy Murray and Novak Djokovic in the final nail biting moments) we learnt to improvise quickly and we had some fun. It’s hard to think of a time without electricity.  In England power cuts are brief (except for the ones I remembered in the 1970s), they last minutes, but this one lasted 2 days. No hot water, no cooking facilities, no fridge, no AC and an inability to charge gadgets! Eek! The situation made us acutely aware of our dependency on modern commodities to live our lives.  There were times when we forgot to remember that we were powerless. Whilst cooking on a camping stove in candlelight (so obviously no electricity) we all had blonde moments:

 Vi: ‘If you get too hot tonight Sheena without AC go in the spare room and put the fan on’ Lynne even carried the same fan into HER room on another occasion.

 Sheena: ‘Let’s put the TV on and see what the news is’

 Frank: ‘Lynne I’ll heat up your coffee in the microwave’

 And as the outdoor pool was about to overflow due to three days of torrential rain Paul announced that he would use his recently acquired skill and empty out some of the water….forgetting he needed electricity.  

 When the lights finally came on again we cheered and celebrated. What luxury!

The old adage is so true.

You don’t know what you've got until it’s gone.

Photo

And the rains came....on Australia Day!

We knew it was the rainy season in Queensland, and we live in the North of England, which is a constant rainy season. But we didn’t ever expect this. Rain, rain and more rain. The ex-tropical cyclone Oswald hit Broad Beach with winds up to 125 kilometres an hour as it moved down from Cairns, and Vi tells us she has never experienced anything like it in the 25 years she has lived in Australia.

The weather forced organisers to cancel Australia Day celebrations yesterday, but at No 7 Bermuda St the revelry went ahead with Vi’s friends…we had a blast. 

The tropical weather is causing havoc still, and tonight we felt worried as we drove home after seeing the Life of Pi at the cinema.

I do hope it passes soon.

Hello again Australia!

As schools closed down due to heavy snowfall in England, we arrived in Brisbane, Australia, under clear blue skies and warm sunshine. There was a cheer from passengers as the huge aircraft finally came to a standstill, and I smiled. We had finally arrived on the other side of the world; my lovely son is in this wonderful country and to be honest I feel like I am coming come here. My niece Claire and her daughter Lottie live in Barwon Heads, and it’s only 15 months since we were here, staying with them. 

Frank and Lynne are as excited as we are, and Vi is coming to meet us. Lovely Vi.

 So what’s going to be in store for us this time round?  Some things we know as we have carefully planned them….but there will be I know the unexpected events that will hopefully make us smile.  And I have Bill Bryson’s Down Under to read again to remind me of the felonious beginnings of the Antipodes, and the delights we have yet to experience.

Here we go! 

The National Childbirth Trust are not to blame....

Kirstie Allsopp’s recent criticism of the National Childbirth Trust (NCT) is very sad indeed, but I am afraid it’s yet another sign of the times. The article in The Telegraph strikes me as another ‘who can I blame?’ dialogue that is usually focused on breastfeeding. But this misguided condemnation of an organisation that has for decades campaigned, championed and worked very hard to support positive childbirth outcomes through supporting information sharing to expectant couples isn't helpful. 

I have been a midwife for 35 years. During that time midwives (including me) and doctors have unwittingly and relentlessly nudged childbirth from a social family centred occasion towards an increasingly perceived 'risky' medical event, and now women are fearful of giving birth and reliant on unnecessary medical intervention. 

The article reminds us that it is absolutely critical that no women should feel that she has 'failed' if she needs a Caesarean section for the safe delivery of her baby. A positive childbirth experience is most important. But women's disappointment needs careful support and attention, and blaming a whole organisation does not contribute to that. 

Charities like the NCT are part of a global surge to reverse the trend of increasing UNNECESSARY intervention, and their work maximizes the opportunity for women to feel empowered, to be less afraid, and to understand and believe in their ability to give birth. So if women attend NCT antenatal ‘classes’ and become strong and inspired as their baby’s due date advances, they are fortunate and in a much better position to negotiate the corridor of countless doors that face them when labour starts. But, if each of those doors sadly close due to rigid hospital guidelines, ill-informed health care professionals, hospital cultures and systems, or as often happens a change of plan from a confused mother to be, then the NCT are not to blame. 

What do you think?

2012...what a year!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L3TPP4QTc5w

I don't think there'll ever be another year like this one. As it leaves us, I wanted to write a post of all the heartwarming moments. Instead I made a film.

Memories!

What happened with my blog in 2012

 

Here's an excerpt:

4,329 films were submitted to the 2012 Cannes Film Festival. This blog had 18,000 views in 2012. If each view were a film, this blog would power 4 Film Festivals

Click here to see the complete report.

Patient opinion matters

It happened on Christmas Day.

Our Christian celebration and a time for love and hope and goodwill. My son J and I saw this is abundance in one single half hour in a dental surgery, and it was totally unexpected and surrounded by worry.

Our delightful little 4 year old grandson came with his big sister from Holland to celebrate Christmas with us, and during a short walk on Christmas Day afternoon, he fell full length on some ancient stone steps in the grounds of Whalley Abbey, and knocked out one his front teeth, and loosened another. Amidst his screams and copious amounts of blood, my husband ran to a nearby shop (amazingly it was open!) for tissues and then for our car to take him home.

After at least an hour of trying to convince NHS Direct that we needed a dentist and not a trip to the local hospital's emergency department, I gave up and contacted our private dental practice and asked to be put through to the emergency on call partner. A little while later we were on our way to the surgery, having been directed to enter by the back door.

To say we were anxious was an understatement, my son was as traumatised as his little boy, and we were worried about the decision about to be made on the future of the loose tooth. Dr Alison Whittaker met us at the door, with a beaming smile and such a pleasant, reassuring attitude. She instantly made us feel safe and secure. What a difference it made to us all, and our small grandson didn't hesitate climbing on the treatment couch so that she could look at him.

I have recently posted about my experience of NHS care, and the importance of positive attitude, kindness and compassion from healthcare workers. I am no stranger to the impact this has on patient experience, and how a nurturing environment aids recovery and supports families to aid the process. I have also recently discovered the brilliant and 'common sense' work of Robin Youngson who demonstrates how 'compassionate care saves time, money and lives'. And I have seen it myself from a caregivers, patient, and family member perspective.

Through #Twitter I came across Patient Opinion, the UK's leading independent non-profit feedback platform for health services. The website facilitates 'honest and meaningful conversations between patients and health services', and I was happy to tell them about our liaison with Dr Whittaker. I think feedback is a powerful tool, and crucial in encouraging and supporting first class health care. And what better way to let someone know they have made a difference? Or that there needs to be an improvement?

And what a perfect antedote to the negative unsolicited media coverage of the National Health Service, which does nought but instil fear in those who use it. Patient Opinion can help those of us who work or have worked for the NHS and affiliated services to promote positive stories and further empower those who are committed to serving their community with pride.

Do you have a story to tell?

A little scare and our wonderful NHS

The thing I had dreaded for years happened. I was recalled after a routine mammogram.

Some of my dear friends have received the same letter, and after recheck have been diagnosed with breast cancer. I also know that many women are invited for further checks, and sent home with reassurance that all is well. I actually had a premonition that I would be recalled, and although shocked to see the green letter (denoting a problem I feared) I was quite calm. I tried to stay positive, and succeeded I think, but as my husband and I drove into the hospital car park my stomach started to churn. Would this be the beginning of a change in my life? The fear started to creep in. We had trouble parking, and so arrived at the department just in time.

As soon as I walked through the door I received impeccable and exemplary attention. The receptionist was warm, smiling and kind. She went out of her way to direct me to the waiting room, and I instantly felt reassured. There were three other couples in the waiting area, all staring at the TV in the corner. I got out my knitting (Christmas presents!) and started to focus on being calm and strong. After 10 minutes I was called into a treatment room by Rachel, who quietly and carefully told me why I had been asked to come for further checks, and she showed me by mammogram images. A tiny small area of concern had been highlighted and that was the problem. Rachel was so very considerate and reassuring. She gave me the most appropriate care, and helped me to relax. I had a further structured mammogram, then an ultrasound scan. With the help of lovely assistant Heather, Dr Ahmed carried out the scan, and after formally introducing himself and shaking my hand he performed the task sensitively and at all times maintained my dignity. I am shy, so this procedure made me feel anxious. After checking my lymph nodes carefully, he informed me that the tests were clear, and that there was nothing to worry about.

With eyes full of tears, I thanked Dr Ahmed and Heather, and gave them feedback on their positive attitude and approach, explaining how it had helped minimise my fears.

On the way home (with an equally relieved husband) I reflected on this brief but important and potentially life-changing experience, and I felt and still feel enormously thankful to such dedicated caring staff at East Lancashire Hospitals Trust (Burnley site), and to the NHS as a whole.

Amazing.

We owe you so much.

Cuz Fest 2012

This month my sisters and cousins shared precious time together, at my home. We have tried to do this at least once a year following a successful 'Red Tent' weekend seven years ago, to celebrate my 50th birthday. That occasion was an amazing experience; all female descendants of Gertrude Dixon, my grandmother, in one large house in the Yorkshire Dales. We shared skills, stories, home made family films and delicious food and drink. We also entertained each other. It was a unique time, never to be forgotten. 

This time there were just six of us, cousins. Daughters of Kathleen, Mary, and Maud. We laughed and chatted, ate and drank...and I was able to use my new found skill to help the cousins feel relaxed...I gave them a massage! I think they liked it.

So here you see me, Anne and Eileen my sisters, and Pat, Barbara and Juliet. Some of us are photographed twice as there was no one to take us all together!

We feel blessed. Roll on next year.

My birthday and a message from my sister

I woke up this morning, my 57th birthday, to this email in my inbox from my lovely sister. What more could I ask for?

This isn't just an old photo.... well it is.. but for me it opens up a treasury of wonderful memories and what better day than today to share it with you ...
as children I could never be AFRAID of the dark because your voice was always there pleading for more stories... long after the light had left the sky outside......

ARMS  linked through mine as we walked home from work through those terraced streets.... tired yet full of the days' gossip....

 two EXCITED young girls  as I slipped into my wedding dress and we talked of our lives changing forever....

TEARS as you lovingly placed my beautiful daughter into my arms that you had safely delivered into my world...

HANDS held in wait for the devastating news of our mums stroke knowing that from this day our world would never be the same... 

PRIDE as I watch you walk through those gates into Buckingham Palace to receive your OBE and knowing that this  world is a better place because of you...

REASURRED that wherever we are in this world of ours no matter what the problem might be..I can rely on you totally because you are MY sister...
I love you always

ESPECIALLY today Sheena

much love Eileen

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.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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