Arriving in Oz joined an agency needing a salary asap.
First shift, morning on the postnatal floor, large public hospital, old building, no AC, stinking hot 35-degree day, white dress and tights clinging, whir of multiple fans, sweat trickling down my back.
Women and babies familiar, nothing else, paperwork, language, jargon all different, midwives over-worked, unfriendly. “ain’t coming back here”
(*working agency, you’re either hated on sight or adored)
Full-time job offer from small private hospital, jumped at it, no idea what I was walking into. The private system a shock.
Orientation day, “women are our customers, so are the doctors”
Customers? Righto.
Midwives lovely (reason I stayed so long) Scottish accent and jargon a source of entertainment, the puzzled looks, what IS she talking about? Guthrie test? Pyrexia? Venflon? Viii … tamin K. Why are the women grand?
For me the Oz terminology, “jug’s”of IV fluids, “grab us a Kylie?” 😆”bub” for baby and instant promotion to “sister” title in the NHS for the nurse in charge.
Older doctors, white shorts and knee high socks looking like electricians. World away from the white coated, bow-tie wearing docs in Edinburgh.
Quirky staff, one midwife fostered baby possums often producing a wooly bag from the nether regions of her bra, teeny furry baby in situ, kid you not. 😆 Visions of one falling out on the bed along with a placenta! 😩
Calling DOCTOR’S to “deliver” women with spontaneous normal labour took some getting used to (never did, had to leave)
Glimmers of hope from newer young obstetrician … woman standing, leaning over the bed, baby imminent. Into the dimly lit room he came, he didn’t bat an eyelid or say anything, her membranes ruptured, (whoosh!!) he gamely caught baby as she stood, shoes and shirt soaked in liquor 😆
Consultant pediatricians, visiting daily, (expensively) reassuring for the mothers.
Epidural service excellent, no delays. One anaesthetist stood out, always cheerful even in the middle of the night, epidurals placed quicker than I’d seen before (or since)
Grabbed his own equipment, don’t THINK he held syringe and needle in his mouth like vets in a cow paddock (did he??) gave off a relaxed, done this a million times before vibe. “All done sis!” off he’d go on his cheery way back to bed, woman pain free, me scratching my head, gobsmacked.
As per Scotland, babies lined up in the ward nursery in rows, (casual separation from their mothers beggars belief) swaddled tight. No disposable nappies, adorned in bulky cloth held on with actual pins or three-pronged plastic grabbers.
Lots of nighttime baby cuddling here.
Most of the women were breastfeeding, amazing! (Breasts in Scotland primarily for the male gaze. FEEDING with them?? “Whit!! Naw! Embarrassing!”)
After a year, where could I go? Independent practice, home-birth midwifery? No kids of my own, energetic (changed days 😆) idealistic, wanting the best for women.
Interviewed with local independent midwife, could’ve walked into the role, no extra hoop-jumping (1996) thought long and hard (still have the contract!) sliding doors moment, followed my gut, couldn’t make the leap (shame)
Back in a big hospital, three-year pilot midwifery continuity of care team, wonderful. Women loved it (course they did) midwives too. It came crashing down eventually (long story) me too, 1999, had my own delightful first bub, living out at ‘the farm,’ rest is history!