Countdown

In four days time I'm officially a student midwife. I can't believe it's actually happening.

Exactly a year ago I made the decision jump on the school wagon into midwifery. I had been on maternity leave for nine months and I hated who I had become. I gave all my time and love to my son Alfie and lost myself in the process. It was summer but I didn't leave the house most days, I didn't see any of my friends, I didn't get dressed or brush my teeth until just before Nick came home from work. I didn't want him to pity me. I felt so low and completely apathetic towards life and so distant in my relationship with Nick.

I am what they call "a lost soul". I grew up in a small town in Sweden called Falköping and all I wanted was to leave. When I was 16 and the time came to apply for college I searched for a programme that was fun, but more importantly, located in another town. I chose a four year programme to become a hairdresser combined with general studies to get access to university in the future. Already in my first year I noticed a small spot of eczema on my on my right hand. It spread quickly and despite various creams it worsened and at the end of my third year most of my body was covered. I only had one year left of the course and I moved to my boyfriend in Stockholm to do the last year in a salon as an intern. Being a teenager is difficult for most but being covered in eczema is not something I would wish my worst enemy. The skin on my face, neck, chest, back, arms and hands was red, thick, flaky and sometimes infected and weepy. I woke up in the night by scratching my skin until I bled. I took cold showers and cried. No creams in the world seemed to help and I tried various alternative treatments without success. I regularly woke up with such swollen eyes I couldn't open them. I was very conscious of the way I looked, I felt ugly, and working in a salon all my customers seemed to wanting to talk about was my skin and their own experience of eczema. I found it hard to get dressed in the morning as the bend of my arms cracked and bled when I stretched them and my fingers were so stiff I couldn't bend nor straighten them without bleeding. One day, a couple of months into my fourth year at the salon I was doing my placement at, my tutor took me to one side and told me what I already knew; enough is enough, I couldn't go on any longer.

In a way it was a relief; someone else had made the decision for me. But now what?
I got a job in a nursery school and during the next year my relationship with Martin got worse and one day in the summer we sat down and agreed that it was best to go separate ways. I still lived with him for another few months but I had to make a choice of where to go next. I was 20 years old and desperately felt the need to be independent. I also wanted to aim higher, I wanted better. I wanted to leave Stockholm but no other town in Sweden appealed to me. Without really telling anyone but my closest, I went on the internet, booked a one way ticket to London and a hostel for three weeks. In January 2003, just before my 21st birthday, Martin drove me to the airport and we said goodbye. Boarding that plane I had never felt so free. I had the world before my feet, I was about to start living my life, the way I wanted. I had no education that counted, no real life or work experience but I was not scared at all. What an adventure!

I checked in to my hostel late on a Sunday. I shared a room with two Italian girls in the basement. The next morning I got dressed, went out and bought a sim card for my phone. The sun was shining and it was so warm I had my coat undone. The feeling of euphoria and excitement flowed around my blood and I loved it. I called my mum and told her about the amazing weather and how happy I felt. Then I bought some breakfast: rolls, philadelphia cheese, tomatoes and turkey slices, and went back to my room. When the evening came everything changed.

It all of a sudden dawned on me. How lonely I was. I had no one. The girls in my room could hardly speak any English and felt I couldn't connect with them, or anyone else in the hostel. What had I done? A rushed decision at a low point in my life, and here I was - in a foreign country with no friends and no plan. The tears came running down my cheeks. My mum tried to comfort me, saying I could come back, not to feel like I'd failed if I did. Martin took a different viewpoint: "Don't come back, of course you will feel lonely now, you have only been there for 24 hours. You WILL find friends, it will be ok, just hang in there, don't give up". And that was true. I WOULD feel like I had failed if I turned back. This was my plan, my decision, and I was going through with it.

I had heard that a girl I went to secondary school with, called Amanda, also lived in London. I asked my mum to find out her phone number so I could contact her. A couple of days later I met up with her and her boyfriend Henrik in a pub and the calm that came over me is hard to describe. I was so happy to be with them. It turned out that a girl was just about to move out from their flat and they had a spare bed that I could have. I moved in with them and another bunch of swedes and my London life could begin. I had landed!

The years to follow was totally and completely a carpe diem of the highest kind. There was no worrying of the future, no looking back at the past, only living here and now. It was like time was standing still and I was so happy in all of that. I worked in a clothes shop six days a week, got paid cash in hand, and spend it all on drinks and nighttime fun. Living a true rock n roll lifestyle me and my friends were on the guest list to the trendiest night clubs, after that - the after parties, in our flat or elsewhere, were endless. They could go on for days and I never wanted those to end. I partied like every night was the last one and I guess deep within, I knew this wasn't going to last forever. There was a sense of desperation there too somehow. In hindsight I can see why I loved this so much. It was the only thing I had ever done that I was really good at. I mean REALLY good at.

My skin cleared up more and more and after a couple of years here to take care of the spots that just wouldn't go I went to a dermatologist who really took care of me and subscribed the strongest steroid cream there is. I am now problem free, apart from the odd little spot on my upper lip. I am not sure why my eczema cleared up when moving here. The slightly more humid air? The sense of freedom inside me? Or did I just grow out of it?

So continuing, my lifestyle was care free and not looking at the future. But the future was looking at me, and there came a day where I felt I had to do something. I was tired of earning minimum wage in a shop, I was tired of London. It was dirty and horrible, I was living in a flat next to a prison, we had  fluffy green carpet throughout, even in the bathroom, a kitchen decorated so ugly that we had covered most in gaffa tape. So I made the decision: I was going to move back to Sweden. Cause the grass is always greener, right?

Turns out that's not the case, surprise, eh? So guess what - I decided after eight months to return to London. This time with a plan. I sorted my CV out, applied for various office jobs and got one. For the first time I was earning a proper wage, I could afford to live in a nice flat, could afford a higher standard of living. I met Nick and fell in love straight away. Not long after I was pregnant and we moved in to a pretty little flat in North London. By this time I had been at my job for three years and I really didn't like it. My colleges were lovely, hence why I stayed for so long but the job was unfulfilling and I always felt I could do better, I just didn't know what? Going on maternity leave was an excuse for leaving in a way.

Being pregnant gave me a new look on life. This was so exciting, a little person was growing inside my belly. A mix of me and Nick. It was kicking me and had hiccups, and apart from the girdle pain I suffered, I loved it! I felt beautiful and loved my growing bump. I became obsessed with pregnancy and giving birth. I watched every episode of 'One born every minute' and every single youtube clip I could possible find of labouring women. And there are loads, I tell you, and all kinds, from documenting episiotomies, pulling babies out with forceps, c-sections, women screaming in pain, to women reaching orgasm as the baby's head crowns, and beautiful hypnotic births where women are in complete harmony with their body. And by seeing so many different kinds of births I could decide how I wanted to have mine. I felt like a mother of nature, I wanted to have a quick, pain free birth, without drugs. And, luckily, that's how it went.

During my pregnancy I met lots of midwives. In fact, I don't think I met the same midwife twice. I was not happy with this service at all, and didn't feel supported by most of the midwives I met. I was happy in my pregnancy, maybe that was why? I also belonged to the biggest hospital in London and I'm sure the schedule is tight and I understand they don't have much time for each client. But even if I was happy in myself and trusted my ability to give birth, I didn't trust the hospital to take care of me in the way I wanted. I was scared they would be full and have no room for me, as once, while waiting for my appointment I started talking to a woman who was waiting for a taxi with her new baby. She said the labour ward was full when she arrived so she had to spend three hours in the toilet. I asked about this at one of my appointments and the midwife laughed and said that sometimes they do have to deliver babies in the corridor. She was so blase about it. This made me even more upset and worried. I wanted her to reassure me!

I was surprised at the midwives I met. No one talked to me about giving birth or asked me how I wanted it, I had to do all the research myself. They didn't seem to have any passion. I had read about famous midwives who fight for women's rights but there didn't seem to be any here. Until I went to a workshop at the midwife-led birth centre at the hospital. Here was passion! These are the midwives I had been looking for, these women were so inspirational! After that meeting I was so full of joy I was almost welling up when I went up to them and thanked them for a wonderful meeting.

I went on maternity leave and had my son. But no matter how much I loved him and wanting to protect him, I had no time left for carpe diem. All I could think about was the future, the past, and a different life. I had in my mind that I wanted to stay at home for a year and a half but when he was eight months I couldn't do it anymore. I looked into becoming a midwife and what I needed. I found out that my college education was at no use so I would have to do a year access course first. It was already August and the enrolment day was only a couple of days away. But Alfie was only eight months old. How could I possibly leave him to go pursue my own career? After speaking to my mum who reassured me and told me "Just do it!", I went to enrol. I was amazingly lucky with childcare as a friend had just left her job to spend more time with her soon four year old son before he starts school, and she was more than happy to take care of Alfie as well for the year. Alfie loves her and her son and I couldn't have asked for a better solution.

Being back at school after so many years was challenging but I learned so much. I went to university open days and decided on my five choices. The excitement rose after every open day by talking to current student midwives. I could identify myself with them, I wanted to be one of them! I was thinking of my personal statement and what to write in order to get called for interviews. I was always carrying a little book and as soon as I thought of an idea or a sentence I scribbled it down. I re-wrote that statement so many times before submitting it together with my choices, in November last year. It was a horrible wait after that. My fellow students got one "unsuccessful" after the other. It looked bleak. No one is getting any interviews, so why would I?

But then one day in February a bunch of girls in my class had been called to my first choice uni to to a literacy and numeracy test. I went to check my email and there is was. I had also been called. The test was extremely stressful, the tasks were easy but the time limit made it difficult. It turned out only me and one other girl from my class passed and were called for an interview. I knew this was make or break. This was the only university I wanted so I had to give it my all. I knew they had something like 900 applicants and only 60 places. I don't think I could have prepared any more than I did, researching loads, and asking Nick to give mock interviews with me, over and over again.

They said they would let me know in a week. After 10 days and checking my email hundred times a day I couldn't stand it any longer. I called up and the person checked my file and told me "Congratulations! You've got an offer!"

I couldn't believe it. I made it. I made it! Tears were flowing down my face and I was jumping around. I was going to become a midwife!

So here I am, four days before the whole thing starts. I thought it would be fun to write about my experience, for me to look back on and for you to read, if you wish. I started to write in Swedish but changed my mind: It's good for me to write in English as I will be studying in English. (I apologise now for any grammar errors.) And it's nice for Nick to be able to read this too.