Countdown

Why the blog silence?

Long story.

Short version : this is a very different arena with so much more I would love to share with you, but these things and events must essentially remain unbloggable.

Long version: It seemed a good place to leave things, with me heading off into the sunset (or maybe it was a sunrise) over the horizon.

My life as a midwife has broadened immensely. And so therefore I have so much more to lose should this small world be revealed. Plus I've signed all manner of contracts to that effect.

I am not so vain to assume my meagre life outside my (challenging but rewarding) new job would hold much interest for many. Besides: life outside work? What life outside work?

At this point I am 8 days away from a month long holiday. And I am, shall we say, most keen for this to commence.

This post is to say I have neither forgotten how to blog, nor forgotten any of you. I am reading your blogs, if not quite as voraciously as I once had the time to do, then at least regularly. And I am (oh, slings and arrows) Facebooking much more than is required. Its hard work 'keeping up' with 400+ friends. I have spoken to all but about 10 of them in real life, or online, even so it is a little amusing to think I have so many acquaintances ;) Lets just say that it is both a good and a bad thing.

Lastly, I am about to turn 50. In 16 days time.

I think I feel ok about that.

But I thought I would work out any potential issues I had with the big 5-0 by talking to the Universe. And that's where you come in.

Stay tuned.

Last days

Snapshots from my 'place of birth'

A final week of madness on the ward. The hospital is in crisis mode, with a serious bed shortage and a staffing shortage to boot (I have not offered to work an extra shift this weekend).

I was lucky enough to work the same 4 rooms for 4 days, and saw 9 different women through those rooms, and 5 different babies. Some babies were in the nursery, some hadn't come out to play yet. All but one of the babies were great feeders, with sensible practical mums. It really makes a difference.

I can't tell you how many bells I answered, but it was a LOT. I have a sore foot currently and am limping alot of the time, which makes my other hip and my back sore. I was not pleased with frivolous ringing of bells, but I did take a certain pleasure in seeing that I would not be answering bells next week. Just mobile phonecalls.

I had my last late-early split. Bliss. I am well aware that I will be on call and I may long for the life of a rostered day off, but just let me enjoy this tiny fantasy, will you?

I worked a late, early, early, early, and was in a meeting from 9.30-1.40 today. Hubby was away on business and I had to walk/limp to and from work all week as I have no parking permit at work, and I live pretty close anyway so its not worth taking a car for an 8 minute walk. Unless you're limping. This part of the week DID suck.

Word was still spreading about my departure, so I have broken the news and said goodbye to many people all week. I have enjoyed much goodnatured ribbing about people making me hand-embroidered placenta bags if they'd known (my reply? Frankly my dear I'm bloody insulted you hadn't already wrapped it ready for me, what's the holdup? You've had 4 weeks notice!).

I have had 2 avo teas, with cake, wherein I received a lovely gift from my home ward, and many many good wishes, acknowledging my long-held desire to work in this field. Students and former students professed to have enjoyed birthing and working with me, saving lives with me, and laughing with me. I cried. I laughed. We hugged. I assured them I would not be far away, and would not be a stranger to them.

This morning I handed in my uniforms to the cheerful Julia in the hospital laundry/uniform section. She asked where I was heading and was delighted to hear that I was going to be a homebirth midwife. She regaled me with tales of her mother giving birth to 12 babies at home, including one caught by Julia herself when she was 13 years old. Her brother had come really fast and her dad was still away fetching the midwife!

This afternoon I had a final engagement with labour ward. Over two hours staff staggered in and out and asked for information about my next job. Some of them almost seemed to be giving grudging permission for this career move, but were greatly outweighed by those assuring me I would love it, and that it would be a great fit for me. There was much discussion about knowing me, and my capabilities, and knowing that I would understand their expectations if transfer occured. There was more ribbing about me phoning in to transfer primips who had been pushing for 7 hours (c'mon girls, you KNOW my minimum time limit before transferring is 8 hours) and much curiosity about details, which I was largely unable to furnish, as I have yet to be oriented. I caught up on the gossip, who was pregnant (3 of them), who was planning to be and who had got new roles. It was great to touch base with these fantastic bunch of hardworking and talented midwives again. I have missed them over the last 6 weeks and was a little sad not to finish up with them on Labour ward. But I am sure I will see them from time to time, and I know it will be a warm welcome.

Lastly I handed in my security pass. I cried again, suddenly, and couldn't speak as the man took it from my hand, and I left the building with tears rolling down my face for the umpteenth time that day.

The tears are ones of recognition of the importance of that place in my life. Of gratitude to my colleagues who have taught me and shared so much. Of grief to be leaving their daily lives. I have been delighted to work there, to become the midwife that I am. My tears are also of pride in my accomplishments so far. The tears of transition.

Most of all, over the last 4 weeks, I have been humbled by the warm support of mentors. They have been open in their joy for me. I am certainly standing on the shoulders of giants. I mentioned before that I felt like I was at Everest base camp, still with one heck of a climb ahead of me, but Oh! The view!

Who knows what sort of midwife I am yet to become?

In safe, strong hands

Today my husband's hands have opened presents.

They have eaten chocolate. And spooned porridge.

Fetched hot chocolate at swimming. Pressed timekeeper buttons at the competition.

Massaged the back of a swimmer.

Recorded a personal best time for our daughter.

Driven us safely home.

Eaten a picnic by the beach, and drank wine.

Done the fruit and veg shopping at the market.

Unloaded the dishwasher. Hugged our son.

Packed a suitcase to take him away for a brief business trip.

Opened the door for the cat (umpteen times).

Later, they might get lucky ;)

But wherever those hands travel, I feel safe when I see them. They are strong. They are dependable. I love to hold them, and be held by them.

They held our babies many years ago, and continue to do so. Safely.

We are very lucky to have them.

Happy Father's Day my love.

And the winner is Syd-dnee! (now with added dugong)

Uh-oh. How did it get to be August already?

Somehow I have not posted since June. Oopsie. Its not that nothing has been happening. Shall I recap? June 23 - we all headed to Sydney. We bagged a superb apartment that we all wanted to move in to permanently, right near the town hall. It was drizzly but we didn't care.

We wandered out to Darling Harbour in the dusky gloom along a street that somehow contained all the hiking shops, every chain, every supply you could want, holding our umbrellas against every pissing awning - and there were plenty of 'em!

We walked across the Pyrmont bridge and into the Aquarium which we essentially had to ourselves. It was wonderful. Much bigger than when I had last been there in 1988. The displays were enchanting, and really easy to photograph too if you had a steady hand.

There was a special dugong exhibit, with a pair of dugongs lolling about quite mournfully at one end of the pen and slowly crossing the tunnel above our heads and returning to the wooden pier where they would try to hide in a corner. There was nowhere to hide. Yet it was still entrancing to watch these creatures, even though I had a clear impression that I was intruding on their privacy. Excuse me, maam.

Another tunnel contained a shark pool where the toothy crowd were a bit more lively and numerous. Nothing scary, just ...Establishing Respect.

The upstairs exhibits were fantastic, but the big tanks really were stunning! When I say big I mean BIG! HUGE! probably about 5m deep and at least 15m in diameter, all landscaped and populated with reef fish, or deep sea fish, or sharks or rays, Nemos and Dories, just fantastic and surprisingly entertaining. Great big fish looking mournful. It was wonderful, I'm so glad we went.

We then walked past the damp World Cup Soccer Village all the way to the other end of Darling Harbour and into China Town where we had dinner in a very chaotic restaurant. I have no idea what we had but it was delicious, and there seemed to be a LOT of Taiwanese people in there, enjoying a ridiculous gameshow on a big screen. Fascinating place. Couldn't for the life of me tell you what it was called, sorry, but it was popular.

Slept like logs in our sumptuous rooms. The apartment had 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms, a laundry, a full kitchen and a huge living and dining room, big TV, all brand new and modern, with 2 balconies overlooking the rooves of churches and in eyeline with skyscrapers. We were on the 27th floor! It was brilliant.

The next morning my cousin arrived. Katharine is my youngest cousin (of 23 first cousins), I was 17 when she was born. She is living in Sydney now after being brought up between England and Perth. She is just lovely, and I wish I could see more of her. We stayed with her Mum in 2007 in London. K is very arty and has recently directed her first short film. She works heaps in the arts scene and we were delighted to catch up with her and be shown around the Sydney Opera House backstage - we even had coffee in the Green Room, and saw the Sydney Biennale on Cockatoo Island. The art was thought provoking and really evocative, and often really out of left field. There was a plywood model of the Hubble Space telescope, that seems like a steampunk had had a hand in it! I also enjoyed the piece with a car flying overhead in a shower of sparks. Cockatoo Island is the site of old naval shipyards and the buildings and spaces made me feel the presence of my Dad, who was a mechanic. The smells of oil on a dirt floor, and the industrial spaces and the rust. Being with his sister's only child. I'm sure he was with us as we wandered about that fascinating site, or maybe, just remembering him makes it seem that way. It was a gorgeous day and the free ferry ride was an added treat. Stephanie saw where Dance Academy was filmed, we went under the bridge, it was all good.

I've never spent long in the Circular Quay area before so it was such a treat to really see it, and wow what a place. It deserves the reputation as one of those locations where if you sit there long enough, the whole world will walk by. It is not only physically beautiful, in the sense of water and coves and clean air, and buzzing atmosphere but the man-made environment (i.e. the Bridge and the Opera House) is also gob-smacking. I hadn't expected to enjoy it so much but it truly was superb.

K also works at the Museum of Modern Art, right on the harbour, so we had spent the day in her environment. It was so enjoyable. She joined us for dinner back at our place, where we waited for the slowest Indian food delivery I have ever experienced. It was a bit average, but we talked and talked, and it was nice to just hang out with a family member I hardly ever get to see.

The next day - Taronga Park Zoo! Stay tuned!

A quiet life

Well, we've had 'the talk'.

I made it quite clear that it was unacceptable to know so much about their intimate life. And for our visitors to hear so much about it even at the other end of the house.

Would she make that much and that kind of noise at her mother's house? I was boldly told 'Yes, I do actually'. So I encouraged her to do it there instead, because I never, ever wanted to hear these sounds from her again. All luck to her for her talents, good for her, I had no objection to them engaging in sex, per se, at all. I just didn't need to hear it. Nor did his sister on the other side of the wall. Nor did his dad, his aunty, or I need to hear it. I was NOT kidding. I was approaching her directly about it because seven discussions with our son had been ineffectual.

There was no apology, from either of them.

They couldn't skedaddle back to his room quick enough and stayed in his room all evening, only emerging after my husband had gone to bed to have a 30 minute shower and talk loudly in the echo-y bathroom right next door to where hubby was sleeping. (insert grinding of teeth here)

They stayed in his room all day until 5pm, undoubtedly trying out silencing methods which must have worked because I didn't hear a peep out of them apart from talking and laughing occasionally. She left late in the day.

He wandered into my bedroom and asked if I was happier with the course of the day. I reiterated the level of distress that had built up over the last four months, and how I was quite clear about this being non-negotiable, about how it had been widely discussed with all and sundry in the suburbs and how I was by no means an island in feeling so alienated by their behaviour.

I described the advice about suitcases, buckets of water, ultimatums and unpleasantness on upcoming trips and the remainder of the year, and the undesirability of such courses of actions when compared to the relatively small price of cohabiting as adults while remembering our manners. I told him how much their voices carried. Especially in bathrooms late at night. How inconsiderate they had been. I described how my holiday period had begun with the frustration of being constantly hemmed in the house with a caterwauling young woman invading my personal and mental space being not at all what I had planned and now my final day of potential alone-ness was gone and I was pretty annoyed.

I wanted him to truly understand not only which side of his bread was buttered but how thick that butter was for a relatively small price of civility. The time was coming when he would be buttering it for himself, and it was important that he not take our butter for granted, and that would require some consideration for this final period of time we would be living together.

I think we have reached a new level of understanding. He said he was glad we had had it out. We had a few chuckles. We remain friends, but with a new, non-negotiable boundary.

Phew.

On the road again

Thanks for all your kind wishes on our anniversary. We had a lovely party, speeches were made and people caught up with. We really are most fortunate.

I have been away for a four-day weekend to rural Victoria. For those needing to repeat this exercise I have included instructions below.

Step one: get on a plane at 1am in the morning and fly throughout the night, arriving at your destination at 6.10am local time in Melbourne.

Step two: Pick up a car and drive by feel (consulting only a printout of the Google directions) to the northern border twin-towns of Echuca-Moama, on the Murray River. Stop a couple of times for pit stops, and once for a sleep, remember you've flown through the night. Arrive at 2.15pm at the caravan park on the farthest edge of town. Feel a bit proud of yourself. Look at watch and realise you'd better skedaddle to the Murray River cos you have a date with a paddle steamer!

Step three: Drive 8 minutes into town and grab a parking spot in front of the paddleboat ticket office. Screech to a halt at 5 minutes before the departure time for the boat trip arranged by the conference organisers. Run in and make enquiries, curse at the news that they will be underway in 5 minutes and that the boat leaves from the farthest dock, then RUN as only a fat midwife with sore knees can. Jiggling boobs are optional. Panic slightly as you notice steam rising from the stack of your boat. Imagine all those midwives making merry without you. Make your way down the bank to the gangplank and puff out that you can't remember if you have prepaid the ticket or not. You'll be told, "no worries, there's no hurry on the Murray". Feel your mind clunk into a different gear. Ahh, thats better....

Step four. Find a comfy spot without the sun in your eyes. This may be harder than you think. Scour the boat for signs of other midwives, prepare to be friendly with them. Lay your preparations aside as you realise that there are 10 other people on the boat and not one of them is a midwife. Sigh. Oh well, one may as well look interested in the sights and sounds of a genuine paddle steamer.

If you are a Steam Punk you might be interested in seeing this (dammit, its sideways, sorry). It was similar to the workings of the Riverboat Natchez which I went on in 1991 on the Mississippi River, but that was a much bigger vessel. Still a SteamPunk's gotta dream, eh?

Step five: While away an hour or so steaming slowly up and down the river, noticing the height of the riverbanks and the wharf, and the high flood marks. There are birds, and fish, and other paddlesteamers to admire, and people to wave to on houseboats. Have a coffee on board and try not to fall asleep as the paddlewheel turns with a rythmical shushing sound. Return to port.

Step six: Drive around the town a bit more, find an Aldi (my first time in an Aldi store, it seemed a bit random to me, avoid gummi bears as I am trying to be good) and get some supplies for breakfasts. Realise you are running a bit late for the welcome function and drive back to the caravan park, have a lick and a promise wash, change clothes and drive across the border to another. whole. state (like you do it every day, except if you lived there you would, but it was kinda fun as a novelty.) Try not to woo-hoo as you do it, its lowers the cool quotient. Mental thrill notes are OK.

Step seven: Arrive pretty early for the function. Realise it has been at least 12 hours since you actually spoke to anyone apart from customer service folks. Gradually wander around looking for a familar face to break ones silence. Find a friendly looking face on a stranger, respond. It pays off. Phew.

Eat delicious food while juggling drinks. Talk some more. Realise you have hit the wall with fatigue and must drive responsibly to another state to find your bed. Do this. Curse while reading caravan park literature that promises electric blanket on bed, while finding no such appliance in residence. Lie in bed only in the small spot you have warmed. Sleep well, but feel too cold to accept turning over and warming another spot. Wake up with a sore hip. Freeze ass off while getting washed and dressed. Attend conference with excellent food and company and speakers.

Return to cabin to get changed for dinner and hunt up the park manager for an electric blanket. Make the bed again. Resist urge to leave the electric blanket on while away. Return to venue in upper left of map and have a great dinner, with excellent singers and entertainment, dancing and chatting. Return to cabin in farthest right corner of map and sleep much better in a cosy bed.

Step eight: Repeat much of previous day, and give thanks for the profession of midwifery. Talk with a woman who has a disabled child who is tube dependent if possible, as this will enrich your experience, and hopefully hers as well. Hear some more great speakers. Order books from a learned person far, far away. Say goodbye to colleagues, and have dinner with a few more. Return to cosy bed.

Step nine: Next morning, to round out your experience, you will drive to Melbourne the long way, phoning complete strangers and introducing yourself as a distant relative. Be welcomed to their homes, drink their tea and find your photo in their genealogy albums!!!! Take photos with them, and marvel at family ties. Learn new things, share info and scandals in turn. Drive a really long way to breathe the air of your grandfather's hometown and birthplace. Drive farm roads in the middle of nowhere to see your family's name on a street sign. Get stared down by curious sheep. Buy a souvenir postcard for your Mum. Buy yourself a piece of fabric from a craftshop in the town to include in a special quilt (if you plan to make one that year). Get a teensy bit lost, but marvel that south is south and all roads eventually lead to Melbourne.

Step ten: Drive straight to the airport carpark at exactly the right time to check in easily for your flight home. Sigh with contentment that you have had such a great day with 'relative strangers' and be happy that you made the effort to meet them. Fly home in a cramped plane. Be greeted by loving family and head home to your own bed.

There ya go - do you reckon you could manage it? Add in a dose of hubby with a very bad back in your absence, which persists. Add a dash of large son hopping in with a badly sprained ankle 24 hours after return that has required a trip to hospital, doctors, x-ray, CT scan, bed nursing, chairs in showers, and much medication and driving around, 4 shifts, 2 meetings, housework and washing and driving of hubby and son to all points. Garnish with despair and frustration at the state of midwifery led care in this state, and resolve to keep plugging away at changing the state of affairs. Finalise preparations for a major practise review I am undergoing that will help me in my ambitions to practise more autonomously as a midwife. Make phonecalls to all and sundry, and not enough people, all at the same time. Planning, planning, planning. Cook, cook, cook, read, read, read. Just to stop oneself going completely insane, pick up a quilt that you made 10 years ago and continue handquilting it. It will get finished one day. You're not dead yet.

Tomorrow I will go back to the radiology place for the fourth day this week!

I'm pooped! I'll be grateful to go back to nightshift this weekend!

Silver

Exactly twenty five years ago I was having this photo taken.

Then I got into a car and went and did this.

Then this photo was taken.

Then this one.

Then this one. Regrets? Not many, in fact most of it I would do again. Some of it I would do better, sooner, and more frequently. It turned out I made a good choice. And so did he.

I am especially aware that some others are not so lucky. My sister should be sharing this 25th anniversary year with her beloved late husband, but as she reminded me today, he would certainly want us to celebrate, even though he can't be with us.

We plan a small dinner with family and friends on Saturday night. There will be an intimate dinner a deux at a favourite French restaurant tonight. There were gifts in bed this morning. I gave him a second wedding ring in silver and a book of quotes about love and marriage. I received a silver bracelet with a heart locket, and some silver set amethyst and pearl drop earrings in a reproduction style. We have our trip planned for June. By the end of this year I will be working on a quilt for our bed (if I put it in writing you'll all have to hold me to it, OK). I have selected the pattern based on the storm at sea block, but it will be titled something related to weathering the storms and seeing the silver lining.

We are very fortunate, and feel just a bit proud of ourselves too.

So, I suspect, this year, silver will be my new style. However....this will NOT be extended to hair colouring. Just to be clear on that....OK?

Hearing the call

Did I ever tell you how it was that I became a midwife?

photo from National Geographic August 1999

I had always been interested in birth. I watched my cats give birth to their kittens. I noticed pregnant bellies. I avidly watched nature films with birthing. As a high school student I saw a birth film in year 10 and clearly recall the crowning, and seeing a small tear occur, but knowing that I was seeing something sacred, and mysterious, and rarely seen.



When I had my first child I didn't understand what a midwife was. I have recently reconnected with the midwife who attended that birth, and my son turned 24 last week and we reminisced together. With my second child I had a friend who was a midwife and I read some of her books and came to better understand the role of the midwife.

As you know, that second child led me to a whole new world of discovery. I began to attend women's weekends for mothers of children with disabilities and special needs, where I was introduced to journal processing. This has been a tool to having a life, an inner life, all of my own. It is where I learned to love the questions in my life, rather than feeling I had to have all the answers.


On November 3rd 2001 I did a session where we looked at the personas we held within. The idea was to have a dialogue with one of these inner selves and uncover truths.


Now, a caveat here. Journalling is a very private experience. I have always been taught that it is never to be shared except with ones own voice. It is a private thing that can be shared with others, or done in a group, and the opportunity exists to share through reading. Listening deepens the experience, we often find resonance in other's words. Hearing oneself saying the words that have come out the end of your own pen is confronting, and affirming, and scary sometimes. It deepens the understanding, beyond just having written the words. It is a message from your soul. It is often moving beyond all measure. I have had some of the most profound experiences in my life in a journal room. Journal is secret and respected and a safe place.


So ... This is my blog. This is my erstwhile voice. And I choose to share with you some of this session, and I trust you with this sharing.

******************************************************
My Secret Selves


My list: the dancer, the midwife, the counsellor, the clear thinker, the love force of the Universe


Come out, come out, whomever you are


Here I am, coming as you have called, inside you, waiting for my time to begin, talk with me, come to know me, name me, put me up as a goal in your life, DO something to reach me.


Who are you? What is your calling? Will I like you? Will the path to reach you be long and hard? Will I have to make the journey alone?


I cannot answer that question. Any path is hard. Nothing will fall in your lap. But if you want to hold the shape of a ripe belly beneath your hands you will have to give up some things. To be a midwife will be 4 years of dedication. Set a date. start towards me, you know you want to. The coursework is not beyond you.


You were born to use your hands in this way. The power of birth, the hovering of life yet unbreathed is calling you. You talk of wanting a job which encompasses all your unique set of skills...this could be the thing. It is the sensuousness of the dance, the skills and knowledge of midwifery, the feminism, the ear and shoulder and warmth of counselling, the celebrator of life and the deliverer of fully formed perfection wrapped in death. The midwife births not only joy, but sometimes sorrow and you are well equipped to accept that challenge with grace and wisdom. Be an empowerer of women, deliver them to joy and peace, treasure their bodies and their new life, nurture the family, comfort and share with them.
******************************************************

Does that sound like the universe giving a wake-up call? Yeah. I thought so.


A few weeks later I told Don, and his first words were "you'd make a bloody good midwife". And the rest is history.


I love being a midwife.

waving in my sleep....

Remember me?

I barely do.

I've been on nights for 3 weeks, finishing with a run of four nights, which were all BIG nights.

Now I have 27 hrs til I start 4 day shifts .... no time for blogging ..... so apologies for the unexpected blogbreak. I'm off to bed now.

I promise I'll be back, OK?

A few baubles for you

So.... its nearly Xmas. Had you noticed?
I'm getting in the mood now. The tree is decorated.
The pressies are chosen, wrapped and under the tree

The MRI is all clear. The dizzies are mostly gone. The medication is working.

I am wearing Xmas earrings and a tinsel halo to work most days. Its fun. Work has been lovely. Interesting and brave Mums. Sweet babies. I've even had two thankyou cards and chocolates this week! That never happens! One was from the family I met before my holidays. The other twin is doing well.

Why do funeral companies have cookie cutter services with patronising overstated sentiment? Am I a bitch for asking? I attended the funeral of our colleague who died. It was about as wretched as expected, there were so many people there. Naturally there was a very notable turnout from work, nearly all the ward were there, and half the rest of the hospital. Her Dad spoke, heartbreakingly, followed by her sister, stoic and loving. They were a markedly smaller group as a family of 3, compared to the family of 5 they had been only 13 months ago. There is no easy or un-trite way to say goodbye in these circumstances. It all just sucks.

Is there such a thing as turning up to heaven uninvited? I'm sure she would be welcomed anyway, she was a kind girl who earned her wings in many ways. Her death, and the circumstances of her death have been very confronting. Once again we are starkly reminded, depression is a serious illness. How desperately 'not-thinking-straight' must she have been to make that choice. Such a waste.

I haven't been so active around this blog of late, but it doesn't mean I'm not thinking of you. Swings and roundabouts. Most bloggers I read report slow patches, and I am fascinated to realise that I have been blogging, and blog-reading, for more than 2 years now.

In case I don't get to post again pre-Big Day may I wish you all a very happy Christmas season.

A toast: To old friends who have weathered the years, and to new friends who were strangers but yesterday. Merry Christmas.

I just know that 2010 will bring good things.

Holiday activities

Spend four nights with favourite husband in a cosy and private beach-side getaway. Tick.

Spend a day of getaway baking beloved Christmas cakes. Best. Batch. Ever. Tick.

Play Bingo with hubby. Tick. I still don't win.

Tackle Xmas pressie shopping with a relaxed hubby by my side. Tick.

Get bathroom door and dining room wall painted 6 months after bathroom renovation. Tick.

Attend Xmas parties in blistering heat. Tick.

Host Xmas party in blistering heat, wondering why people say they are coming but don't. Tick.

Eat leftovers. Tick.

Read on FB that a young depressed work colleague has died tragically. At work, with colleagues finding her. Reel in shock. Make many phonecalls to distraught colleagues. Grieve the loss of a lovely young midwife. Sadly, tick.

Value life even more preciously and vows to love and support even more. You betcha.

What do I know?

How many times does a human heart beat in a lifetime?

Today I found myself in the position to count them. Almost literally.

One little sweetheart lived his brief life in my care today.

I know Miracles exist. I thought he had slipped away, after twenty incredible minutes. But his little heart beat on feebly and slowly, for another hour or so of bonus life. Cradled by his brave Mum and Dad, skin to skin with his mother in life, with his father later, in death.

It was one of the most beautiful, incredible days of my life as a midwife. From taking the phonecall, to receiving the couple. From listening in and finding two heartbeats, to seeing one falter. From phonecall to the ward they were in my care, as well as the care of superb specialists . Together, the work we did today was a work of art. An oasis of beauty in a forecast that was never going to be good.

Today, for one day only, I was their midwife.

What a privilege.

Once again, I know, I love being a midwife.

Bag lady

Well, the Stuff continues to loom, but I had a rare weekend+ off so it felt right to do some craft.

On Friday I took myself over to Lesley's place and sat companionably with her as she pottered and planned another papercut, and I got stuck in to assembling a bag I had cut out last week. It is from a pattern by Kathy at Pink Chalk Studio, called the Mail Sack.

The base is a wool/silk mix that I got in an op shop somewhere for about $1, and the top part is a vibrant purple linen from a recycled skirt. It is designed to sit scross the body. Whaddya think? I tried to get photos of it on me, but sigh, no. Trust me, I'm sparing you. I haven't decided yet where it will go. It may go in 'the shop'. Or it may be a pressie. I had so many buttons to choose from for the flower, but Steff liked this quirky cow button, so we went with that.

On Saturday hubby and I headed to the city for an impromptu grown-up getaway. I feel like I haven't seen him for a month! It was lovely, away from the phones and the emails and the Stuff.

We went out for dinner (Globe, at the Hilton, mostly wonderful, and the good bits were Incredibly Good) and breakfast (King St Cafe, really good) and had a wander around this developing part of the city and just enjoyed ourselves in general. Comfy room, soft sheets. Exactly what we needed.

On Sunday when we returned I felt like tackling a smallish craft project, that I asked Les about on Friday. She had re-lined a bag that was shabby, or yukky, and I had a lovely bag that had frayed lining. See? It is as an Olga Berg that I bought about 3 years ago, but the original lining was shabby. So I gutted it. The pink bit here is the external zipped pocketliner that was not frayed.

Then, using the old lining as a guide I cut a new liner with a pocket, and reused the zipper for a new pocket, and reused the darted pocket opposite.

Then I hand stitched the new lining in place.
Et voila! One refurbished bag!
I have one more day off now, which is filling up quick, so I'd better fly!

Happy October

Its the first day of October. How did that happen?

I have two announcements.

First - I missed my blogiversary on September 28th. Gasp! Very few of you would remember this, my first post, two years ago. But looking back at the posts from the end of 2007 they are not too appalling, probably better then the whiny dross I have dished up lately, but with less Wild Women.

This (above) is Marina, she lives with Kelly now. Below is Jaune, who lives with my sister Helen. In response to a question....Jaune is legless, as is Marina if one looks carefully. Thanks Kelly for looking carefully.

If I were better organised I would have a draw or something, with a prize. But as I haven't yet sent the de-stash prize won by Victoria in February- because I never actually DID the de-stash and therefore never identified the said goods- I feel bad, because you couldn't be said to be at the head of the queue. Yes that's right, it means I am still sitting in the same craft room mess (the very same) as I was in February. Was that TMI? Deal with it.

Anyway, I'm sure I could be persuaded to have fun with a creation of a random small gift for a commenter, and whatever it is I will send an identical-ish item to you, Victoria. One that won't clutter up your 'packing to move house' dilemma. Making small items is a pleasure, and is the only way I get to craft much these days.

So, it seems this IS now a giveaway situation (can you see this evolving before your eyes? Yeah, me too) with the leaving of a comment as the entry point.

In other news, as of today I am registered as a midwife in private practice.

I have no clients, have not advertised, and no particular plans, but have assembled some equipment so I can do antenatal and postnatal visits only at this stage, and I'll take it from there. It was out of a sense of solidarity with private midwives that the govt was threatening to outlaw homebirths and claiming it only affects about 200 midwives. Dammit! How dare they remove women's choices like that and ignore the wishes of women to choose homebirth with a known midwife, I thought, I'll make it 201 and stand with them........and besides, it never hurts to ruffle a few feathers. I know the Australian College of Midwives is working very hard behind the scenes to turn this situation around. I truly believe this battle will be won in the medium term. The evidence is just too strong. So . . . I filled in a form to notify the WA Health Department of my intention to practise as a midwife in private practice as of this date. and. sent. it. off. Many others have done similarly with less experience. I have people to guide me. I have trust in my knowledge and women's bodies. Antenatal and postnatal I can do. Its a start.

Gulp.

Whattup?

Hello? Anyone still there? (sounds of crickets chirping)

I have had some more plane related mishaps and hiccups. As a consequence I have had only one day at home in the last 9 days...yeah, yeah, excuses excuses, and a to-do list a mile long. .. in the next 2 days before I work for 5 further days. I really do have a lot to tell you. But typing time. . .. . is short. I met Kelly and her family and had a delicious dinner (see her account of it here). I attended 4 full days of information about national registration, MidPLUS, Midwifery Practice Review, MBS and PBS, and other practical midwifery stuff. I talked, I schmoozed, I ATE, I shopped, I danced, I laughed and cried. It was really super. Photos WILL follow, I promise.

Check out this you-tube clip for an upcoming video....it looks really interesting. I saw it on Public Health Doula, a little blog I have just started subscribing to. Its about how the media shapes one's view of birth, but this film shows the real deal. The real site it's from is here. It seems you can order a DVD.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V9Gd7pqeESE&feature=player_embedded

See if you can guess my favourite birth moment in the clip. I'd love to hear which snippet strikes you. (ooh, you commenters are good! You have picked two of my three faves, go for gold now and complete the trifecta)

And....Tomorrow is a special day. That's all I'm saying.

A week in dot points

• If you're looking for something midwife-y and moving today...sorry...I don't have much However.....I've seen some yummy babies born.
• Father's day was really lovely at both ends, with young Dads greeting their first-borns, along with both Grandads in the labour room until it got intense i.e. time for pushing...then I cheerfully turfed them out to the waiting room with a hearty "Its time to go guys, next time I see you it will be with congratulations!" They were quite happy to go, while the young Dad jigged with excitement by the woman's side. He was soooooo happy to be meeting his son, and his 19y.o. partner did a lovely job of pushing the baby out. Both so accepting of the role ahead, breastfeeding promptly, then taking the baby out to meet his two grandfathers on Father's Day. Really sweet.
• Night shift. The work is good, the staff are great, the workload ridiculous at times, with barely a lull in proceedings, (trying not to) rush from room to room, turning on the charm again and again to butter up a new room of folk, just waiting, waiting, trying not to make any promises one can't keep. Coping with emergencies. Hooley dooley, we had one really big one last weekend, there were just two midwives present and my colleague saved a woman's life, literally, with bimanual compression. She kept it up while I called in for help again after the initial stuff had seemed to work, then I lifted her onto the bed so it sould continue all the way to theatre. It was mind-boggling, but she survived. Its never dull in our place, but a bit more peace would be very welcome.
• At home, my daughter has now spent her second week home alone since her workplace closed unexpectedly. BUGGER! She had made such a lovely start and was really gaining confidence, now she is job-hunting again, back to filling in heaps of forms and getting to know a new bunch, and they her. Sigh. And she needs company alot so I am unable to get any time alone to craft etc. Sigh. It gives me cabin fever, but she suffers it too, especially when I am sleeping on night shift. Double sigh.
• My hubby has been unwell with a bad elbow joint, septic bursitis they are calling it. He was admitted to hospital for IV antibiotics yesterday and is now home, although the area of redness and swelling is re-growing (i think) since he came home. He still feels quite unwell, but as he hates hospitals with a passion he was very keen to be discharged. He unfortunately won't let me fuss over him too much, much as I want to. I hope he doesn't have to be re-admitted, cos that might mean surgery.
• While he was in hospital I got to visit a friend who has been in for a fortnight and I have barely been able to see her due to nightshift. She needs a bit of TLC, and I feel bad not being available to provide it except by text.
• While Don was being ferried back and forth and admitted etc, I took Steff to swimming, and then attended a fundraiser I had committed to helping with a month or more ago. My mind was not quite with it, I must confess.
• And then we (Steff and I) went out to my sister's for dinner. We had a roast which was very yummy, and Steff had made a dessert while Don was being diagnosed. My brother-in-law was disappointed to be missing his drinking buddy. I came home just after 9.30 and couldn't settle and went to bed way too late, sleeping heavily in the end alone in the bed.
• Don is home now, and still not terrific, but on oral antibiotics, and sleeping currently. We have made cake to feed to visitors who will NOT find him in hospital and will drop in at home. He most determinedly spent the day prowling around his garden, revelling in the sunshine, and now he is knackered. I'm off to take his temperature and be his nurse and give him drugs.
• Its been a strange weekend, after a lost week on nightshift.
• 
  Sorry about that. You can fill in the blanks....

Correspondent's report

Hi Laura,

Time is flying past. Tom-Tom now 2.5yo. Still cute, fun and full of energy. He's talking very well now.

I hope these don't take too long to download for you.
cheers

love Jo

***********************************************************************************

OOOHHHHHH JO!

Thankyou so much, I actually ACHED with longing when I saw that child in the photos and now I'm in tears cos I miss him (and you, my darling) so much.

I want to get on a plane right now and bring you all HERE!!!!!

Why don't you live next door? Why has my sister moved back to Perth so I don't go through Melbourne or nearby lately!!!!!! Dammit!
I am heading to Adelaide on Sept 21st for the conference, and wish you were coming too. Rats.

We truly need to live closer together so I can smooch your lovely children. (throbs with longing for those gorgeous kids....) Tom is unbearably beautiful, I bet he is such fun chattering away and dragging cats around. The photos of him with Darwin are gorgeous, and Georgie is looking like a mini-you. I'm sure Andy was just moving too fast to be captured on film! I just can barely believe how much I love that Tom-Tom, and am especially thrilled to be the first to have seen his sweet face. This midwifery deal is a pretty special gig.

I have just surfaced today after a stint of night shift so will rejoin the land of the living...the work on LBS at night is very absorbing but can be torrid at times, last night was one of those, just pulled from room to room with IOL left right and centre, and the previous night's ones still lingering and only just producing the goods 24 hrs later, or failing and having CS. I had a nice baby at 5.53am by vacuum, compound presentation which meant the Mum's epidural wasn't as effective while she was pushing - you know how they really hurt that extra bit with a hand as well. OUCH. The Mum was so loving and gorgeous to her baby as soon as she was out, it was beautiful to see. Three minutes later, at 0600 was a birth (with another midwife) to a multip who I had cared for initially that night before being moved, and as I left at 7.40am I stopped by theatre to see another primip who had not gone into labour after a tough 24 hours of trying, and was about to meet her babe by CS. I had been caring for her as well last night, and she headed off to OT just as I was in the thick of things for the vacuum, so another midwife took her up. Its all go I tell ya!

Has it really been 9 months since you moved in? Time flies! Any further midwifery work for you? What else you been up to?- as if those gorgeous monkeys aren't enough to keep you fully occupied.

Anyway...I will call you soon,

Thanks again so much for sending those pics (get Georgie to take one of you too!)

Much love, dear friend, I really miss you

Laura x x x x x

Laying low

I am here, alive, just on night shift, and quite absorbed in the other doings of life.

Thankyou all so much for your kind words about my memories of my Dad. He was quite a man. I have enjoyed seeing that photo on my blog.

I am reading everyone else's blogs, dropping comments here and there, I just haven't had much chance to post as I am sharing the computer with the boy wonder currently as well. There's fierce competition.

What else have I been up to?

I have had a sister turn 40.

We have lost a dear cousin to lung cancer after a brief illness. As this branch of the family are Tassie there have been many phonecalls, and flowers sent, and notices lodged. It is not fair to lose such a lively witty man, who had such depths that he hid so readily. He follows his late son, his only child who died in a car crash about 15 years ago. He was loved by many.

Stephanie has finished work for now, as her site closed unexpectedly with short notice. She is now going to pursue open employment (gulp) as the alternative supported placements are probably not for her, sadly. We're all putting a brave face on it but it is disappointing after she was settling in so well and experiencing some success. The new phase involves MANY appointments, not always easy to fit in with shift work, or her Dad's work commitments.

I have worked 20 hours, and been flat tack with some very messy and tricky cases. Had a birth just in the nick of time 7 minutes before knock off yesterday morning, that kept me busy for a further hour or more. This was after a pretty torrid night, but we were grateful to see this baby and end his Mum's suffering ... she really suffered, quite unusually given the numbers of measures in place for her comfort, but it happens sometimes. Her little one really needed to be out for complicated reasons and finally he emerged in a fragile state, into the arms of paeds who resuscitated him very well and he is doing OK in the nursery where he can finish growing without relying on an abrupting placenta!

And today a new baby was born into the Tassie family, another grandchild to dear cousin Susan and her husband Richard, after the loss of her elder brother last week. They will welcome two more grandchildren by Xmas, one from each of their surviving 3 children. They too lost an adult daughter in a separate motorbike accident over a decade ago. They are stoic and brave, but I know they all miss seeing her become a parent along with her siblings.

Welcome to the world Abel Craig, named after your Mum's cousin. Babies are such a treasure.

And finally in the midst of it all I have been quite obsessed with playing Bejewelled Blitz on Facebook. It is VERY BAD. And VERY ADDICTIVE. The chink-chinking sound of the jewels clicking into place sends me into a trance and I spend waaaaay too much time developing RSI in my tapping-the-mousepad finger..... I am fairly disciplined with it, and set myself a time limit but I have been known to exceed it. I'm doing fairly well though....

Today I have been a housefrau staying in to see the refrigerator repair man...who informs me that I need a new fridge. When I think about it the old one is 21 years old! Its done very well, but I'm sure there are much more energy efficient ones available. We kind of chose one this evening, with a 5.5 star rating, but then came home to rearrange the kitchen a bit to accommodate it, so I'll go back and buy it for real tomorrow. Isn't my life scintillating?

Well, I'm off to bed, very late but I'm between night shifts and its barely worth retraining my body clock after 2 shifts on with 3 off before 4 more nights, so I've been staying up late. Sigh.

Thanks for feeding the fishies!

Dennis' daughter

Eighty years ago today my father was born in a little place called Wylkatchem, Western Australia.

From what I know of it he had a tough early life.

He was a young boy in the Depression. The second of three children, much later there was a fourth. Life was hard. I don't know when it was that Grandma became a single parent after the breakdown of the marriage, but I know times were tough.

Dad talked of living (as a child) on the banks of the river in a tent. This was in Perth. He talked of being in a reform school in his teens in Sydney.

He was a man's man. Largely self-taught. He valued education but was wary of the arrogance of class privilege that often came with an educated person's lifestyle.

He was very intelligent, with an easy grasp of most subjects - especially in the science engineering and physics field. He could do fantastic technical drawings. He could make anything structural of steel to any specifications. He could weld.

He drove taxis. He rode motorbikes with sidecars at the Speedway. He drove trucks, including big prime movers. He could repair any engine, on any machine.

He was a Mason. He valued service and integrity. He valued family. He could hold a grudge.

He preferred plain cooking, but appreciated good slow Italian cooking, a bit of Chinese and a good Singaporean chilli crab.

In his later years he worked as a mechanic, an engineering estimator, and a security guard.

He respected guns, and taught me to shoot. He took me out driving in every vehicle my license would allow me to drive, so I could be confident to drive anything I got behind, except somehow he never taught me to back a trailer. Oops. Still, I've driven tractors, trucks, stick shifts, column shifts, automatics, vintages and you-name-its.

He loved lollies, and had quite a sweet tooth. He was fiercely independent and very private. We didn't have a lot, but we had enough and I felt rich, and secure. He played Lotto. He had his chair, a recliner rocker that was hotly contested as long as he was not in it. This is how I remember him very clearly. I'm delighted I have such a 'like' photo of him, and although there are others of him around, this is a beauty. Cropped out is the cat at his feet.

He loved to fish, and I wish I could lay my hands on a wonderful photo of him holding two enormous deep sea dhufish, after a great day of fishing, the cats at his feet. He loved his cats. He loved dogs too, and used to breed dachshunds when I was a small child, but my Mum didn't like dogs, so they had to go.

He was a hoarder, a pack rat. Remind you of anyone? You should have seen his shed when he died. I still have some of his stuff, including his diary from the year I was born, noting my birth. I treasure his handwriting.

He loved his four daughters, and always vowed that he was more than happy to be the father of four girls, with no sons. I was born when he was 32, the last of us a few days after his 40th birthday. I remember making him a card for his 40th. This week I will make a 40th card for that sister.

He was allegedly domestically capable, but this was rarely demonstrated. Instead he was waited on hand and foot, his cuppa quickly fetched within minutes of his return after a hard day's work.

He was a sparse drinker who enjoyed a tipple but rarely over-indulged. Gift bottles of whisky would last for years, eked out in his occasional Irish coffee. He always smoked however, for a few years it was a pipe, later rollies.

I have a treasured memory of him in the last days of his life, in a palliative care unit at the time, sitting outside on a patio, offering me his ancient woollen dressing gown against the evening cold, while he rolled a smoke. We sat together peaceably for a time and then he was tired and I tucked him back in bed. It was the last conversation we ever shared.

The next morning he slipped into unconsciousness, and was taken home where we spent the next 48 hours preparing to let him go. He was barely rousable. The only words he spoke that weekend were of love. "Th'nk you" "Love you" as we turned him, or cleaned him, or stroked him. It was pretty special, and a great privilege to nurse him at the end of his life. He died peacefully on a Sunday at lunchtime, hours after seeing an old friend from Speedway days. We laid him out in his full Masonic regalia, as a Past Master, with family photos in his pocket, his XXXX strong peppermints, money for the paper. The months of his illness had finally seen the grease stains fade from his fingertips, and the undertakers somehow buffed out the welding sparks from his glasses. We were so astonished that we each commented on it at the viewing.

He was a man of dignity and few words, but occasionally he would rabbit on about an unlikely topic. He spoke to all men. He loved children, and called them all Charlie. Five of his grandchildren were born in his lifetime, luckily mine, as the eldest, knew him. The working windmill and swing he built for my kids are still in my yard.

He died one month after he turned 65, from pancreatic cancer, a fast and aggressive cancer that took no prisoners. It is on both sides of the family, and I feel a little daunted at the thought that I may have seen my future end. I hope I have the courage and dignity he showed.

I miss him, and yet I don't. Everything he was to me, he still is. A guide, a mentor, a role model. Steadfast, old-fashioned but interested in innovation. I have his lessons, and he is within me. I often sense his presence. Sometimes I hear myself laughing his throaty deep chuckle. Of course I do miss him, and love him, his acceptance and insights. Even now, fifteen years after his passing, I still have the instinct to tell him something. He was a thinker. I wish he could visit, but maybe he does. I know he would be proud of me, of the Laura I am today. Except he called me Jane. Its a long story. I'm not sure what he'd make of us all now. Things have really changed a lot for our family, not all for the better.

But, today I celebrate the anniversary of his birth. The roast dinner is on. I will raise a glass. Writing this has led to more than a tear or two (where're the tissues when you need them?). This is my favourite photo of my Dad and I together on my wedding day in 1985.And I am proud to be Dennis' daughter.

Learning curves

Just when you think you've got a handle on things...some toughies come your way.

Its been a rough week.

Can't really talk about it.

Some of it is up to God. It was another one that would NOT have been good at home.

But it was topped off by a little boy born 'sunny side up' this morning. Yep, I guess that really was an anterior fontanelle at 2 o'clock on VE. Little devil.