Midwife Crisis (eBook)

Chapter One

The bus driver’s eyes bulged and his knees buckled as he attempted to lift the metal trunk up the steps.

“What on earth ’ave you got in ’ere?”

I pushed the trunk for all I was worth and we somehow managed to wrestle the unwilling object into submission amongst the other passengers’ shopping and folding pushchairs. He stood upright and pointedly rubbed his lower back for a few seconds. I smiled sweetly.

“Thank you so much for your help. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

He sighed the deep sigh of the man who regrets offering help, swung himself into his seat, and shut the doors. I found a seat where I could keep a good eye on the trunk, but could still feel the probing eyes of the other passengers as they considered whether any of their belongings were in mortal danger from this oversized piece of luggage.

The bus pulled out of Watford Bus Station, and we slowly swung our way towards Welwyn Garden City, some 17 miles away. This was it, the beginning of the next phase of my nursing career, and I felt a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

I was going to begin my midwifery training after four demanding years in Edinburgh where I had trained and worked for a year as a staff nurse. I was filled with a mixture of nervousness and confidence. The former because this was all so new – a new job, a new hospital, even a new country – and the latter because I was bringing with me experiences of immensely difficult and demanding times, and yet, by the Grace of God, I had survived.

The bus pulled into its stop, and the driver stared stoically ahead as I manhandled the trunk and my suitcase rather clumsily down the steps. The doors closed and the bus pulled away, and I was left staring at the hospital which loomed in front of me.

Unlike the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh, which is steeped in centuries of tradition, this hospital, the Queen Elizabeth II, was modern and multi-storey. There was a large car park which I crossed, pulling the trunk on its tiny wheels. I eventually arrived at the reception desk and waited to be acknowledged by a young blonde woman who was reading a magazine.

“Good afternoon. I’m one of the new student midwives, and I’ve been told to report here to find where my room is in the Nurses’ Home.”

Blondie yawned and reluctantly lifted herself out of her black plastic chair. “Follow me.” We trundled out of the double doors and back across the car park. “Go up there. That’s where you’ll find your room.”

I followed her pointing finger and tried not to grimace as a very large flight of stairs came into view. Unsure as to whether it was safe to leave the trunk unattended, I heaved it up to the first floor and wandered along the corridor in search of an office.

“You’re in the wrong building. It’s that one over on the other side of the car park – Harmer House. You’re in Room 17, on the first floor.”

I smiled my thanks and then proceeded to drag the luggage all the way back down the stairs. I wondered why it was called Harmer House – it seemed a very inappropriate name for nurses and midwives. Back across the car park I went, and then up another two flights of stairs. I followed the uncarpeted corridor along to the end, and found Room 17 on the right-hand side. By the time I reached my destination my arms felt as though they were parting company with the rest of me, and my hands were trembling as I tried to put the key in the lock.

It’s always an exciting moment when you enter a new home, and I was excited and hopeful as the door opened. Inside, there was a bed in one corner and a desk under the window. At the other end was a wardrobe and washbasin. But it was the colour and odour which struck me more than anything. The walls and ceiling were the colour of old tobacco, and the curtains were pungent with the smell of stale cigarettes.

I opened the window and let the outside air flow into the musty room. Sitting on the bed, I drew up a plan of action; after a couple of minutes, I emptied all my belongings into the cupboards and drawers, then set to with a basin full of water and detergent and washed all the ceiling and the walls. I fell into bed exhausted, but full of anticipation.

The night which followed was spent wriggling and jumping at every unfamiliar sound. But when the morning came, I was up bright and early and ready to begin the new course. The midwifery school was situated on the sixth floor of the hospital, and I made my way there in good time for the nine o’clock start.

When I arrived, there was already one other student sitting in the classroom. “Is this the midwifery classroom?” I asked, more to initiate a conversation than anything else.

The young woman turned around in her seat. “If it isn’t, then I’m in the wrong place.” She smiled and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Jennifer.” We shook hands, and I sat down next to her.

“Have you had far to travel?” I asked.

“No, I live in Harpenden, so it’s only about 20 minutes in the car.”

“I’m in the Nurses’ Home, so it’s even less for me.”

“How is it there?”

“Well, you know what Nurses’ Homes are like.”

Jennifer grimaced, “Indeed I do, you poor thing!”

Just then, a couple more students entered the room. “Is this the right place for the midwifery training?” they asked. I was struck by their soft Irish accents. Jennifer and I reassured them that this was the place, and they sat down behind us.

Sinead and Moira were just making themselves comfortable when Abigail arrived. She walked in with her arms full of folders, pencil case and a huge wad of lined paper. As she was passing the back row of desks, she caught her heel on one of the chair legs and, losing her balance, sent the folders, pencil case and paper in a myriad of directions which would have been the envy of any aerobatic display team.

“Oh dear!” she said. “I knew I should have worn flat shoes today.” Jennifer, Sinead, Moira and I all scrambled around on the floor collecting the far-flung items. At this precise moment, our tutor, Miss Harrier, arrived.

“Good morning, ladies. I must say that I didn’t expect to find you all on your knees so early in the day!”

We clambered back to our desks in unison, and tried to establish some degree of decorum. Abigail sat at the front with Jennifer and myself. Miss Harrier looked at her watch. It was two minutes to nine. As we sat in dutiful silence my attention wandered to a diagram of the female reproductive system, and then to a rather odd-looking model of a pelvis with what looked like a knitted sock dangling from it. I’d never seen anything quite like that in real life, and it had me quite perplexed.

A moment later, two other students arrived. “Sorry we’re late. We couldn’t find anywhere to park. It’s murder at this time of day.”

“Very well. It’s Helen, Zoe and Denise, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Miss Harrier.”

“That’s fine. Just sit anywhere. When you are settled, we will begin with the introductions.”

The moment took me back four years to when I had sat in that classroom in Edinburgh, staring out of the window at the endless snow, and wondering what lay ahead. Now, in contrast, the sun was shining, and instead of being in a huge room with 30 other students, there were only eight of us here, and the atmosphere was altogether less formal.

I was disturbed from my daydream by Miss Harrier’s voice. “Hilary, will you please stand up and introduce yourself to the group? Just say a little about where you completed your nursing training, and any post-registration experience you have had.”

“Oh dear,” I said. “Um, well, I trained at the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh, and worked as a staff nurse in Oral Surgery and Coronary Care for a year after qualifying.” I sat down again hastily in case anyone should ask any questions. Public speaking was really not my thing. We went round the group and I discovered that several of the girls had come from large teaching hospitals in London, and that Sinead and Moira had come all the way from Dublin.

With the introductions complete, Miss Harrier proceeded to embark upon various legal issues associated with midwifery, and a brief guide to the history of the profession. By coffee time my left hand was complaining of writer’s cramp. I hadn’t taken notes like this for over a year, and wished that I had persevered with learning shorthand.

The shot of caffeine revived us all. We had been used to working in busy and demanding areas of nursing, and it was difficult to get used to sitting still for such long periods of time. We took a walk downstairs to the department which distributed uniforms, and we admired one another in the blue-and-white check dresses which would depict the humble nature of our new role. I think that we all shuddered inwardly as we realised that we were returning to the bottom of the pile once again, at least until the next intake of student midwives arrived in another six months’ time.

Returning to the classroom once again, we were introduced formally to the female pelvis which had been sitting coyly on Miss Harrier’s desk. “You may have been wondering what this woollen...