Being on Call
Being on call… I was asked some time ago: If there was one thing you had known about becoming a midwife before you began training that you know now, would you still have chosen to become a midwife on call for home births? My answer was: “The realities of being on call.Knowing that I would be on call 24/7. That my phone would have to be charged and near me at all times!” I knew that attending home births and being on call would entail all of these when I chose to walk the path of midwifery and attending home births but the realities of it are quite different from any selfless fantasies one might have about it. Seeing the disappointed faces of my children as we turn around the moment we walk into the library or leave the beach, or miss a much loved extra-mural activity. Having to miss birthdays. Leaving for a birth on Christmas day. Missing New Year’s. Missing my very good friend’s wedding. Or feeling too tired to enjoy any of the above… And having that bloody phone so close to my head as I sleep and having to jump up and check EVERY SINGLE MESSAGE that pings its way into my world at all hours of the day. I curse at pointless emojis and kisses and notifications that I have won R500 000 from Coca-Coal via sms – I am trying to sleep! And having to check and answer every message and call even when you need to desperately sleep after two back to back births. Being on call means being available. 100% available. It means being willing, and able, to drop everything, no matter how important and valuable, to go and sit and just be at someone’s birth. If you want to practice a path of non-attachment then being an on-call midwife is it. I have had a nice break from being on call, teaching in Spain and Portugal in July. Being able to leave my phone in my caravan while I taught, or letting it die completely for a day or two was a rare treat. Now I am back in South Africa and life carries on. Being with my children. Four children. Homeschooling. Extra murals. Outings. Housework. Meetings. Teaching. Seeing clients. Walking on the beach. Life! And somehow I am supposed to drop everything and fit a birth into all of this? This busy, full, demanding life I have created for myself? And yet, somehow, when that phone rings or pings, and it is time to go – whether in the library, or the beach, or at breakfast, or more than likely, in the middle of the night, while it is raining and I am in the deepest sleep – time is somehow able suspend itself and I am able to make space for this woman birthing her baby. My mother was a midwife and her attending births was often more of a nuisance and an annoyance than fascinating to me while growing up. It meant that she would be tired and unavailable. But, it also meant, that when I fell pregnant, she dropped everything to be with me in labour and for the first time I saw how essential the work she did was for the woman in labour – her calm and presence held me through that experience and afterwards I thought, “This is the coolest job on the planet!” and wanted to be able to do just that for women in labour after that. But why do it? Why sacrifice family, children, friends? Is it worth it? It is. It really...
Read MoreThis is Marthe and she had a Home Birth…
When Marthe was eighteen years old and newly married, she went into labour one Cape Town spring morning. She was living down the road from her Aunty Maggie and Aunty Martha’s house and the two busy body aunties came to see if the pains the expectant mother was complaining about were indeed the pains of labour, they were there to keep the nervous young husband at bay, and to send a young boy to summon the midwife. The local midwife soon arrived on her bicycle and stayed with young Marthe for three days before deciding to send the young woman off to Groote Schuur hospital. The labour was taking too long and the baby was not coming. The midwife was concerned. After three days of labour and after being transferred to the hospital, Marthe gave birth to a skinny little baby girl. The doctors were baffled as to why the tiny girl had taken so long to come. Eighteen months later, Marthe was in labour again. Again she was at home, and again the local midwife joined her. This time the labour seemed to be progressing smoothly and soon Marthe began bearing down. By some strange twist of fate, the house across the road caught alight. While Marthe easily heaved out a large ten-pound baby girl, a woman died as the house opposite burnt to the ground. (Birth and death walked side by side down that road that day…) Marthe was my grandmother and the large baby girl was my mother. Marthe was pregnant again three years later, and she gave birth easily, at home, attended by a midwife, to another girl. Smaller this time. Life went on and many things changed, especially my grandparents’ social status and when my grandmother fell pregnant in her thirties it was only natural, that this laatlammetjie(1) birth would take place in a hospital, under the care of the best doctors that money could buy. It was years later, when my grandmother was hard of hearing, and cataracts had begun to form in her eyes, that I took her along to a birth film festival I had organised in Cape Town at the Labia theatre. On the drive home, she divulged her birthing stories to me, and she admitted that giving birth at home, had been for her first prize and that paying all that money to have her baby “delivered” in a hospital had been a disappointment. After watching these beautiful birthing films that night, she had only one regret. She would have liked to have had a water birth! * (1) Afrikaans: a child born many years after his or her siblings * My grandmother died in France two years ago, whilst on holiday with my aunts. She had been quite ill and been a given a short time to live so she took herself and her daughters off on one last holiday and shopping spree before she passed away in Nice. She was cremated and has been at rest in a crematorium in Nice. This week my aunts bring her back to Cape Town where she will be buried, alongside my grandfather (who passed away over twenty years ago). Rest in Peace Jiajia, and welcome...
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