2) More than numbers: The heart of midwifery

 

The Student Midwife

As I begin my second year of midwifery training, I am struck by how much my understanding of this profession has grown and how much is still to come. One of the requirements to qualify as a midwife is to facilitate 40 births. It is one of the first things you learn as a student: 40 births, documented and signed, without intervention. No caesareans, no ventouse, no forceps. Just “normal” births. On paper, it sounds straightforward, even neat. But in reality, birth is rarely neat. And sometimes, reducing it all to a tally of numbers can overshadow the true essence of midwifery.

Recently, I had an experience that reminded me why we do this work and why numbers will never tell the whole story.

 

 

A Change of Role

I was originally supposed to be caseloading for a woman I knew. I had prepared for this journey with her, looking forward to being there in an official capacity as her student midwife. But hospital politics stepped in. I was told I could not do it for a variety of reasons: insurance uncertainties because I was on summer break, the fact that I had known her beforehand, and the absence of a mentor. None of these explanations felt particularly solid, especially since qualified midwives often support people they know. But I did not fight it. Instead, I accepted my role not as her student midwife, but as a supportive birth partner.

And in doing so, I discovered something I will never forget.

 

 

The Power of Presence

I spent many hours with her during her labour. She had another close friend with her, and together, we created a small circle of women who were there solely for her. It was heartwarming, powerful, and fierce.

From the outside, it might have looked like I was not “doing” very much. I was not the one catching her baby. I was not writing in the notes or making clinical decisions. But what I came to see was how much everything else matters, the reassurance, the comfort, the hand holding, the quiet encouragement. These things cannot be measured or counted, but they shape a birth just as much as the moment a baby arrives.

This experience reaffirmed something I think we often forget as student midwives: midwifery is not just about the clinical act of delivering babies. It is about walking alongside women and families, holding space for them, and helping them feel strong and safe.

 

 

Navigating the System

Labour is rarely linear, and hers was no exception. She had gone into hospital because of a small bleed following a cervical sweep. Once admitted, she was linked to the CTG, and baby's heart rate decelerated for a period of time and she was told she would not be leaving without her baby. Next on the list to move to CDS, she was advised to get some rest on the ward. The following morning she was moved to CDS where I was called to attend. At 08:30 her waters were broken, and she was soon asked if she would consent to a cannula “just in case.” My understanding for this is due to the small bleed, they wanted to be prepared.

She stood firm and said no. Twice. Each time, politely but clearly. Eventually, a doctor was brought in to explain risks. By then, the bleeding had stopped, her observations were normal, and her baby was doing well. Still, the pressure mounted. Eventually, she agreed to the cannula, and later, to oxytocin.

As a student, I found this incredibly challenging. We are taught that unnecessary cannulation increases the risk of infection. We are told to advocate for women, to protect normal birth. Yet in that room, with senior staff encouraging intervention, I felt unsure of my place. I did not speak up, and part of me feels disappointed about that. Advocacy is a cornerstone of midwifery, but it is something I am still learning to embody.

This experience left me reflecting on the fine line between supporting and advising, between being a student and being an advocate. It is a line I will cross many times in my career, and I know each situation will shape me more than any textbook ever could.

 

 

The Birth Itself

Once the oxytocin began, labour moved quickly. Within four hours, she was working powerfully through her contractions. She chose not to use pain relief, no gas and air, not even paracetamol. Her strength was incredible.

At one point, she asked me to sit behind her so she could lean against me. It was the most comfortable position she had found so far, and in that moment, I felt the profound privilege of being part of her support system. Her friend captured a photograph of us then, and it remains one of the most beautiful images I have ever seen. It represents the quiet strength of women supporting women, and it is an image I will treasure forever.

When her baby finally arrived, the room was filled with joy, relief, and overwhelming love. And while I was not the one guiding the baby into her arms, I left that room feeling more fulfilled than after many of the births I have “counted.”

 

 

More Than Numbers

That day, I did not add another birth to my logbook. I did not tick off number eight in my journey to forty. But what I gained was something no list could measure.

I witnessed how crucial supportive birth partners are. I saw how the “invisible” work, comforting, listening, encouraging, makes an immeasurable difference. And I learned, in the deepest sense, that midwifery is about far more than the act of delivering babies.

It is about advocacy, presence, and respect. It is about creating space for women to feel safe and strong. It is about honouring their choices, even when systems and policies make that difficult. And it is about remembering that every moment of labour matters, not just the final push.

This experience will stay with me for the rest of my training and into my practice as a midwife. Because midwifery is not, and never should be, a numbers game. It is about people, about relationships, about trust. And that is something no tally chart could ever capture.