It's just news.

What a morning in an antenatal clinic taught me about the stories we tell ourselves.

Photo by Kate Macate on Unsplash

Back in 2002, as a student midwife, checking my timetable for the next term, I noticed a whole afternoon devoted to ‘breaking news’. Surely, I had read it wrong? – surely it should be breaking bad news. Breaking good news is easy, well kind of a joy.

‘It’s a girl’ to the mum of three boys that was giving it one last shot. Or ‘it’s all ok, Mum and baby are doing fine’, to the dad waiting anxiously outside of theatre. Joyous. Best part of the job.

‘Breaking news’ seemed like something news reporters do. Not midwives. Common sense is all you need. What a waste of an afternoon!

I was far more excited about another shift in the real world of midwifery – the clinical stuff. I think I can tell the difference between ‘good and bad’ news, my cocky self thought.

And so, the universe tested me later that term. I was assisting in an antenatal clinic one morning. It was a new clinic and my supervisor Jaz explained that at each appointment we would the pregnant woman the result of their nuchal scans (a scan that estimates the chances of chromosomal conditions like down syndrome).

‘We have to give them the result, let them have a think about it, see how they feel and then they see the consultant’ Jaz told me.

Sounded relatively easy but Jaz was nervous. More experienced than me, she knew breaking news was rarely straightforward.

Lisa was our first service user. She attended with her husband Trevor. Jaz informed Lisa that her result was 1 in 15 (meaning there was a 1 in 15 chance that Lisa was carrying a baby with a chromosomal abnormality).

We waited for the couples’ response. I had attended many nuchal scans before, and results were nearly always in the 1 in 1000 to 3000 range. These odds were significantly shorter.

Lisa took a breath.

‘Oh that’s good’, she sighed.

‘Yeah good’ she continued. ‘But to be honest we don’t really mind either way. We only came up here because our hospital wanted a second opinion. We just want our baby, that’s all.’

Lisa and Trevor were having a nice day out, up here, in central London, and were a little perturbed by having to wait to see the obstetrician.

‘We were hoping to squeeze in a bit of afternoon tea, weren’t we Trev?’, chirped Lisa. ‘We have left the other two (children) at home with my mum and we wanted to make the most of our freedom’, she laughed.

Lisa and Trevor left giggling and Jaz and I breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Well, that was easy’, I breezed. And it was. Far easier than we had both expected. But the clinic was not over yet.

Next came Miriam and her partner John. Miriam was 39 and John was in his late is fifties. They had not been together long. This pregnancy was a complete surprise and for a career woman like Miriam, the pregnancy was unplanned and her feelings towards it were ambivalent

We had news for her. Her scan result had come back. Her results were 1 in 1000.

‘How does that make you feel’, Jaz gently probed a silent Miriam.

‘It’s not good enough’, a tearful Miriam cried.

Miriam was a statistician. She knew statistics inside and out.

‘That result is statistically not in the range it should be’ she continued.

By now Miriam was in floods of tears and John’s head was in his hands.

‘Whatever you said, she was going to take it badly’ he sighed.

‘I need another test, today, I can’t wait, this is awful, oh God this is awful’, she went on.

Poor inconsolable Miriam. She was still crying when she saw the obstetrician later that day.

I was confused. Not so cocky anymore. This breaking news business was not as straight forward as I thought. Good news, bad news and everything in between – maybe I did need some help after all?

Luckily, my sage midwife tutors stepped in. That, once maligned, much needed afternoon of ‘breaking news’ lectures, seminars and debates helped me understand the concept of ‘news’ much better.

News. The world and our lives are full of breaking news. Micro, macro. It’s all news.

You have been picked for the team.

You have not been picked for the team. Again.

You got the promotion.

We are not going to renew your contract.

I love you.

I never loved you.

You have got all clear.

The test is positive.

News. It’s just news. News is data. News is not opinion. News is not judgement. News is not a guarantee of things to come. News is information. To do with it what we will. It may act as a guide, or it may misguide us. It has the power we assign to it.

Like giving birth, the experience is individual. No two individuals will react the same way to the same piece of news. News means to us what it means to us, not what it means to others.

Even the worse news, the life changing and life ending news is still ours. We get to own it. To embody it in any way we see fit. What have we got to lose?

This week I received some news. It sent me spiraling. It felt out of my control (because it is). It set me on a path ruminating about events that have been and events that are to come. It wasn’t even my news. I am fine (and my catholic guilt is punishing me for that).

I thought back to my wise midwifery lecturers. Sage women. It is just news. It is what we do with it and what it means to us that counts and we have time to at least work with it, if not change it.

We have time to make the best of it, to frame it as we chose. To grieve, to rage, to question and at times to quake at the enormity of it. We can’t control it, but we can control our reaction to it. Authentically, bravely, painfully and powerfully. It is just news.

So that is what I am doing (or at least trying), along with struggling through exam season for both my girls and my husband flying here there are everywhere and (unavoidably) leaving me to it.

I am processing some news and although it’s not appropriate that I share that news here, I want to thank you for letting me share my feelings about it (and for reading one of my midwife’s tales).

If you have got any news to share, I would love to hear it. It is, after all, just news….

Thank you so much for reading. I write to help people feel something, to be heard and seen. Please consider liking, commenting or restacking to help my words reach the people who need them most. I support myself through my writing so please consider buying me a coffee if you could to help me keep writing. With love, Rebecca X