I’m now half through my holiday, and bored rigid. Hubby and I won’t be having a ‘proper’ holiday this year due to my fear that the minute I fly off to tropical climes the twins will decide to put in an appearance. I was looking forward to spending time in the garden, tidying it up and taking my troubles out on the soil but, thanks to the weather, I have only managed one and a half days cultivating the rest has been spent being a domestic goddess, a role which I am not at my best in. There isn’t quite the same scope for physical aggression when cleaning out the larder as there is when drastically pruning a vigorous shrub. Yes, strength is required when attempting to separate a tin of golden syrup from a melamine shelf, glue manufacturers should investigate the adhesive properties of syrup, it seems more successful than superglue in my house and has the added advantage that, if you do get it on your fingers, it doesn’t stick them together but is a real pleasure to remove with your mouth. There were moments for quiet deliberation on vegetables. Carrots, sneaky little tap roots. There is always one that has escaped the vegetable rack and has lain, undisturbed for weeks, could even be months and has remained undetected due to it not becoming offensive. Carrots, in a dry environment, mummify. Very different to those stored in plastic bags, they are capable of inducing nausea. That horrid milky stuff, almost phlegm-like, reminds me of the ‘sputum round’ when I worked on the chest ward, and the carrots themselves, pick the bag up and squeeze one of the orange veggies and it is totally soft. Disgusting. Potatoes, now if those go off and are left hanging around it is tantamount to keeping cats in the larder and not cleaning out the litter tray, and the smell lingers, at least they give themselves away though.

On Monday Hubby and I are jetting off somewhere, not abroad though. It is within easy return, should Van and Lorry wish to appear, but somewhere that neither of us have ever been before. Since it is only for 5 days it won’t be the end of the world if the weather is inclement, should be plenty of expeditions we can undertake, but if the sun should shine, one day would be good, there are lovely beaches. A complete change will be lovely, with enough relaxation to re-invigorate us.

On daughters house move, things are still floating around in the ether that is a solicitors office but friend in shining armour has ridden to the rescue, well he has certainly taken some of the pressure off. He rents out property, and he phoned yesterday to say that if daughter wants to they can move in to an empty property he has just finished preparing for rental, and he says they can have it ‘gratis’. It’s ideal. Just down the road from where they are now, but much bigger. Daughter is now much more philosophical about the whole fiasco as she knows that she won’t have to try and cope in a house that is really not suitable if their moving saga continue at it’s snail pace.

Son and fiancee came round with some news during the week, they are getting married in May next year. Not sure what has spurred them into action as they have been living together for five years, the girls have their suspicions that they are planning a family, I don’t think they are far wrong.

The bad luck continues for Jack and Izzy’s Mummy and Daddy. A month ago he came off his motor bike whilst racing and broke his arm in two places, he also injured the thumb on the other hand, but the hospital said it was just a strain. Wrong. This week he went to have his arm checked, and re-plastered as it hasn’t healed, and they decided to investigate the thumb and found that he has torn the tendon, so now that wrist and hand are plastered as well. He is ‘armless, practically speaking. Daughter is having to do everything, literally everything, for him and she is exhausted. A 3 year old, 5 month old and a 30 something ‘would be’ Valentino Rossi are more than enough for anyone.

Off packing now. Mac in a Sac top of the list.  

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Back again

I'm like a butterfly, flitting here and there, unsure of where to land really. I like this blog realm, except for the fact that I can't seem to stop being in USA. Not that I have anything against being in the States, but it's not true, I'm in England! In good old Blighty I'm a midwife where, apparently we have more support from our medical colleagues than midwives enjoy the other side of the Atlantic, although if you read NHS blogdoc you would have a hard time believing that there is any form of respect from the medical establishment, god bless them, toward the 'madwives'.

Presently I am in a state of perpetual anticipation as one of my daughters is 28 weeks pregnant with identical twins and is stressed to the max with trying to move house before the new babies arrive. We know that they will be born by 36 weeks as she has her caesarian section booked, her previous section plus the identical twins made the mode of delivery a foregone conclusion, but with all the stress, the size of the babies, each currently larger than a singleton, and still working I have this uncomfortable feeling they may decide to come earlier.

Time to flap off again now. Hubby and I are taking a few days off and I really need to pack.

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Work and Family overlap

Increasingly, over the last month, I have found myself more and more worried and agitated about pregnant one. Back in February, when they found out they were having an addition to the family they put their little two up, two down house on the market. They could see that things may become a bit overcrowded for them when the new baby became mobile so thought a move to a larger house would be a good idea. In a buoyant housing market they found a buyer quickly, they were told he had sold his flat so was all ready to move. They heated up their house viewing then, when they found out they were expecting twins, quickly adapted their requirements and found a house suitable for their expanding family. All appeared well. The vendors had found the house they wanted and that owner was emigrating, so they were one link away from the top of the chain and one away from the bottom, this was the end of February. It is now the end of June and the deceit is positively racing out of the woodwork. Above them all is well, but fraught, below them a cascade of time wasting is threatening everything. Day by day new obstacles are thrown up, whilst day by day daughter is getting closer to giving birth to the twins. Their estate agent has been worse than useless, he is of the opinion that he will be paid for doing sweet ‘fanny adams’. Their purchaser’s solicitor has failed to respond to communications from daughters legal bod, and his mortgage company failed to pick up on ongoing applications when one of their employees left. Daughter is now stressed to the max. Her Braxton Hicks are kicking in with a vengeance, last night they were so ‘uncomfortable’ that her partner wanted to take her to the hospital, her blood pressure is still normal but rising, she is having frequent nose bleeds, and is now so worried that she isn’t sleeping.

Her comes the overlap, I’m her midwife and her Mother, and I want to kick someones ass so hard they can never sit down again! Before now, if one of my patient’s work have not carried out the risk managements they are supposed to for pregnant employees, I have dropped them a line reminding them of their responsibilities. If they have told women that they cannot have time off for clinic appointments I have sent them a letter advising them that they are in contravention of statutory maternity rights, in this case, which is potentially damaging to my daughter and unborn Grandchildren, I can do nothing, except seethe and worry.

All I know is that if I were one of these solicitors I would have been hauled over the coals and would, by now, be plastered all over the tabloids for failing to do my job. Can you sue a solicitor?

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Perspectives

I decided to do my own little sliver of research as to how I should address the women I care for.  This all came about due my my favourite G.P, during one of his diatribes about midwives, saying ‘I have never understood why, because a woman is trying to deliver a baby, it is assumed by midwives that she can be addressed by her first name.’ I thought about this and began to question whether I had just assumed that women would prefer being addressed informaly, I set out to discover how the women I care for feel about it. Usually I call the women in to the consulting room using their Christian names but for the last two weeks I have used their title and surname. Once in the room I have asked them if they would like me address them like that or use their first name. Without exception they have all said that I should use the informal approach, often qualifying this by saying things along the lines of ‘due to the intimate type of relationship midwives have with women this is far more appropriate’, or pointing out that I don’t introduce myself as Sister Midwifemuse but Iuse my Christian name. One of the women today said that when I use her surname and title she feels as if she has done something wrong. I began to ponder Dr Crippens assumption that women prefer to be addressed formally. Perhaps the answer lies in how Doctors in hospital, and some G.P’s address their patients and, perhaps more importantly, how they introduce themselves. Working in the hospital I only very rarely hear the Doctors introduce themselves by their first name, on the whole they refer to themselves, and are referred to by the staff, by their title and surname. They are maintaining a relationship on a formal footing. Why? Musing to myself, and with no evidence other than personal observation and anecdotal, I think it has to do with the type of interaction that is in play. A midwife is attempting to form a relationship with the woman through her pregnancy, labour and following the birth. I don’t anticipate becoming ‘best buddies’ with her, but I would certainly like her to trust, feel at ease and able to discuss anything with me. Once in labour a Doctor has only a fraction of the contact with the woman and her birth partner that the midwife does. S/he is generally only in attendance if labour is deviating from the norm and then that is for reviewing purposes, so short bursts of contact, or to expediate the delivery by instrumental or operative methods. This hardly adds up to the many hours that a midwife may spend in reassuring, encouraging, and soothing a woman (and her birth partner).  Another aspect to be considered is the use of titles. Mrs, Ms, Miss, we may be in a permissive age when being unmarried and pregnant is no longer considered socially deviant  but some women would rather not have this information broadcast around a crowded waiting-room however, by using a title, this is effectively what we are doing.

Outcome……….I shall continue as I have been. I have never had any complaints about it, my caseload at the moment are happy with me addressing them in friendly terms and I really don’t feel comfortable being addressed as ‘Sister’ and one of the women today said it makes me sound like a Nun, and that makes her uncomfortable!

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News for the good?

Loopy Lou had her homebirth, and all went fantastically. I went to visit her today and she is really happy with everything, baby is lovely, feeding well, and her stitches, yes stitches are comfortable. I asked how it was being sutured and she said that the worst part was the local anaesthetic, when she says that she screamed, but that after childbirth it was nothing! I am so pleased to admit that I was wrong.

Another midwife had been out all night at a homebirth so I was sent to cover her clinic in an area I am unfamiliar with. It all started so well, I guessed at the best route across country to get there, and I was right, well almost, if you don’t count getting on to the motorway by mistake and then having to drive an extra 6 miles until I could get off and then going to the wrong surgery. Not my fault, I went where I was told to! The clinic was a smaller affair than mine so having looked at the appointment list I felt quite relaxed, and it was an enjoyable experience until the last, thank heavens it was the last, pregnant woman. At 32 weeks, and having already changed the hospital she was booked at twice already, she had been to see another one at the weekend and had decided to go there. I explained that I was a locum and so was unsure how to go about booking her for the new hospital, perhaps she could wait and see her usual midwife. That was not acceptable, she thought her midwife procrastinated and was not organised, that put me firmly in my place, so the phone call chase to contact the new hospital, way out of our area, was on. An hour later it was all arranged, and to be fair she was extremely grateful. I found myself really questioning my motives though. The media’s recent tongue-lashings about midwives has made me quite paranoid and I am finding myself constantly ‘looking over my shoulder’. I had seen on her notes that she worked within the media industry and she did, at one point, mention the recent press coverage, it certainly did the trick though as it made me jump to her tune. Supposing though that she had not been the last patient, would I, should I have dedicated so much time to her desire or should I have insisted that her midwife deal with it at a more appropriate time? As it was it just made me late finishing and her happy but at a different time it could have inconvenienced 7 other, equally deserving, women. I’m just going to put it down to the power of the press not really working in everyone’s interest.

Readers of me in my other blog will know that I am soon to be minus a job-share as she is moving away to retirement land. I have been becoming very stressed about this, coming as it does, just when I need the flexibility a job-share offers due to the increasingly imminent arrival of the twins, Van and Lorry. Tonight though the phone rang with what could be very positive news, one of my ex-colleagues was told about the prospective vacancy by my ex-manager and rang to ask me if I would be happy for her to apply. Happy, I’m ecstatic, we have worked together before, I cared for her during her pregnancy and labour, she delivered my first Grandchild, I can’t think of anyone I would rather work with. Fingers crossed that it works out.

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Family

My family are a huge part of my life. We all live within a twenty mile radius so do see a great deal of each other and for that reason I see myself as incredibly lucky. As I am likely to refer to them in blogs I had better introduce them to you.

Jack            Amy            Izzy

These are my Grandchildren. Jack is 3 and his sister is four and half month old Izzy, they are the children of my youngest daughter. Amy is 2 and her Mummy is my eldest daughter who is expecting identical twins in September. We know that we will not have to wait until September to meet ‘Van and Lorry’ as she going to be having a caesarian section in August, if she doesn’t have them before! I was lucky enough to be invoved in my daughters care care during their pregnancies and births and they each, in their own way way, gave me whole new perspectives on childbirth. With the twins my input has been extremely scant as this pregnancy is considered high-risk, identical twins and previous caeasarian taking it mainly under the care of a Consultant Obstetrician but I have been able to go to a few of her 8 scans with her and love watching Van and Lorry cavorting around and bumping into each other.

I also have a son, no Grandchildren from him….yet, although the conversations seem to be leading us in that direction. I have said to him and DIL that I would love it if they could wait a year until they join in the family expansion process as, come August, I will have run out of cots and chairs to put all the babies in!

There is also my long-suffering Hubby. Being married to a Community Midwife is not the most predictable life, sometimes he goes to bed with me but wakes up in the morning to find a note telling him I’m at a birth, don’t know when I’ll be back, or we may have just sat down to dinner and off I rush, planned events often have to go on hold with the ring of the phone. He has found a way to get his own back, he plays golf, frequently, midwifery is my ‘hobby’ (his logic), golf is his.

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Decision

What follows is a copy of an entry I made in a previous life, blog. I have reproduced it here as I saw the woman ‘Loopy Lou’ again today and am feeling really ambivalent now toward her, and even more worried about her choice of a homebirth.

I love homebirths, under the right circumstances. I suggest a homebirth as an option to all of my women who a) are considered to have no risk factors (low-risk); b) seem to me to be emotionally, temperamentally a good ‘candidate’. Until today I hadn’t really acknowledged that I make this judgement call about their emotional ‘suitability’, perhaps it had never really happened before but then ‘Loopy Lou’ came into clinic requesting a homebirth. I asked why she was considering a homebirth, I find this a good place to start as from the reply I can usually judge whether this is a well considered choice or them just grabbing hold of political and media hype or ‘tree-hugging’ stories on homebirthwebsites. The answer started well, they had attended antenatal classes the previous night where homebirth was mentioned, but then it went a little off, they were making the decision because the hospital was dark when they went there, they had to park, and they had to leave the dog and cats at home. I would see all these points as peripheral to the homebirth choice and certainly not the answer of someone who had really thought about giving birth at home. I continued sounding her out and, just to see if they had thought about everything they would have in the forefront of their minds I asked what they would do with the dog whilst she was giving birth. I explained that dogs may become distressed if their owners are exhibiting signs that they may be in discomfort and could become confused by the odours, particularly blood, which are associated with giving birth. After a momentary pause I received my answer, ‘It’s alright. Its my husbands dog, I’m not his owner’. There was something not quite right with her whole demeanour, I felt as if I was in a Shakespearean play as she kept making ‘asides’ to a person who was not in the room and then seemed to be listening to a reply. As we continued chatting I flicked through her notes; minor psychiatric problem in the past; cardiac abnormality at birth, which has since been corrected by surgery. Right, so when is she next going to see the consultant, she’s not, whoever booked her considered her low-risk. Now, I’m in a dilemma here. I feel I should ask a Consultant to review her, purely due to her medical history and there is a little voice in my head telling me that this lady is not a good candidate for homebirth. I can advise her that in my personal estimation a homebirth may not be the best option and I have told her I would like her to see the Consultant, but she is now questioning why, in the previous 20 weeks, no other midwife has made that referral. Fair point, why haven’t they? Would I have done if she hadn’t requested a homebirth? I just don’t know, all I know is that I feel uncomfortable with her having baby at home. So I’ve taken the cowards way out. I’ve asked my job-share to visit her at home, told her my concerns, admitted I have a strange ‘feeling’ about this case and said that I will concur with whatever decision she comes to. As it stands though midwives cannot refuse anyone a homebirth, we can advise against it but it is a Health Authority’s duty to provide professional care for a woman wishing to have her baby at home. So, if Loopy Lou decides to go ahead with it, all I can do is put on my happy face and go with it. I just wish my gut instinct was not worrying me so much.

Between that entry and today my job-share booked her for her homebirth. She agreed that LL was dotty, not enough for her to question her homebirth, but reported back that the house was filthy and stunk of cats, she added that she hoped she wasn’t called for the birth as she didn’t think it would go well. Either my job-share is thick skinned or I’m losing the plot. Then last week my manager left a message saying that she didn’t think that LL was a good candidate for a homebirth because of her cardiac history and her OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder), I was happy, understatement. That was the day that I should have been seeing her at clinic but I was called to a homebirth so a colleague covered it instead. The following day I discussed LL with the colleague who had seen her at clinic, she agreed with me that LL was not the most stable person, mentally, that she had ever met. Then the bombshell, manager had reviewed Loopy Lou’s hospital records, spoken to one of the consultants and decided that a homebirth would be fine ‘with 2 midwives sooner rather than later’.

I saw LL today at clinic. Tomorrow is her due date and obstetrically all is well and there were no conversations with invisible third parties so I began to feel slightly more positive, until I talked to her about a stretch and sweep next week if she hasn’t gone into labour. As I began to explain what it involves she asked if it was like a smear, ‘Well, not really. We don’t use an instrument, we use our fingers.’ She looked uncomfortable, don’t blame her really, and then she explained that she always bleeds after a smear. I changed tack and talked to her about raspberry leaf tea, under ripe pineapple and other alternative methods that may encourage labour including making love. Then the flood gates to her psyche opened. Making love is always painful, I asked if she bleeds then, no she doesn’t but it always hurts ‘ Conception was not a pleasant experience’. I wondered if she had sought help, she has seen the G.P and she was told to use plenty of lubrication, that doesn’t help her. She reverted back to the stretch and sweep, she doesn’t want one, she finds people touching her painful, touching her anywhere painful. The conversation meandered around, without me asking she volunteered a lot of personal, very personal information. I suggested to her that perhaps a homebirth is not the best idea, supposing she needs stitching after the birth will she be able to tolerate that sort of touching without the aid of something more than a local anaesthetic, she said she could but then in the next breath asked me to book her for an induction of labour next week, I think that she is having second thoughts.

I’m going to see her at home next week, I have promised not to mention stretch and sweeps and she seemed really pleased that I would be going round. I’m feeling like a two-faced old c*w. I’m trying to turn her off a home birth, I still think that she is a poor candidate for one. She obviously has major psychological hang-ups and I do worry that having the baby at home, with all the touching that involves may tie baby, home and painful, unpleasant experiences together. I’m not a psychologist so have no idea if that could be a reality, or what the outcome could be but I would really like to avoid finding out. I’m going to make her an offer, go into hospital to have the baby and I’ll go with you. She will probably turn me down flat, I may be entirely mis-reading things but I do think that today we hit it off and I believe a ‘domino’ birth could be the best answer for old Loopy Lou.

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