I t’s the start of my shift as a midwife in a New South Wales hospital. I feel like I am doing a lot for my $45 per hour. I am caring for a woman in the throes of labour.
Her eyes are glassy, her vocalisations frantic. She is in transition, a time in labour you can feel terrified and out of control. I hold her and ground her with my well-practised voice, refined from more than 10 years of experience.
I set up a baby Resuscitaire in case it is needed. I document heart rates and clean up body fluids while also educating a student working with me. We write down vital signs and draw up drugs ready to administer.
Do you know that midwives can initiate dosages of morphine, antibiotics and other drugs without having to bother a doctor? My $45 per hour also means that I get to see a life emerge. I get to see the dark hair of this new person before anyone else. I get to gasp.
Crow. Delight. Whoop.
Blink back tears as I hold a new life. I pass her to the mother, my second midwife passes me a warm towel to rub this baby into life. It’s your birthday! Take your first breath little one.
But suddenly, things aren’t running as smoothly. There is more blood than I’d like to see. But that’s OK.
If this was someone you loved, I’d know how to keep them safe. For $45 per hour, I can put a cannula in so we can give life-saving medications. I can hang fluids, I can birth the placenta and I can reassure the woman as to what I need to do to stop the bleeding.
Luckily I am not alone in th.
