Jas: Comfort and care
When Jas arrived at the hospital, she looked every inch the ‘Yummy Mummy’. She was neat as a pin and had even matched her red lipstick to her baby changing bag. Jas had given birth to her baby via Caesarean section 18 days earlier and was complaining of exhaustion. ‘You’re probably surviving on a tiny amount of sleep,’ I said when I examined her, ‘but the doctor seems to have done a beautiful job with your wound.’ A single perfect tear slid down her cheek. ‘There are just too many hours in the day,’ she whispered. ‘I’m an accountant; I’m used to being busy. Now, time seems to drag. I clean the
house three or four times a day just for something to do.’
Her emotional state was complex: a knot of anxiety, disappointment, with a slender strand of post-traumatic stress, impossible to unpick in an afternoon.
‘I’d like to give your wound an antimicrobial soak, to soothe the scar,’ I told her. It would have minimal clinical effect, but I knew that the ‘treatment’ would do no harm. Tenderly, with a deliberate sense of ceremony, I dressed her wound. Whenever I provide this care, I remember it’s an act of loving validation – the midwife’s way of saying, I hear you, I believe you. ‘That felt good,’ Jas said sleepily when I returned to her bay 10 minutes later. ‘Thank you.’
At times, as the hospital struggled under an increasing workload, I wondered whether my presence was making a difference. To know that I could still offer comfort and give a woman 10 minutes of precious pause – this was my greatest reward.
‘It’s a way of saying I hear you, I believe you’