Blog Tour - Silencing Anna
Book Spotlight
Silencing Anna
by Sadie Mitchell
On my blog today I have the pleasure of sharing with you.....
Silencing Anna
I would like to thank Rachel Random Resources and Sadie Mitchell for inviting me on the blog tour
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Book Information
Voices surround Anna as she lies on her hospital bed, but she cannot answer them. Her voice has been taken, along with her mobility and her sight. She can hear the nurses chattering and her family that come to visit. Her mum cries a lot and her dad struggles to deal with what he sees. Life used to be good for Anna, but life can change in a heartbeat, as she knows so well.
And then there are the people we think we know. When the smile hides the anger. When the beauty hides the beast.
Only Anna knows the truth, but Anna cannot speak.
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Author Guest Post
What’s it like to be a midwife?
I wanted to be a midwife for a long time before it happened. I didn’t have a clue what it would really be like. Not at all. I imagined shifts caring for women who popped out their babies after a few hours of labour. I imagined giving antenatal care to smiling women who were happy to be pregnant, and postnatal care, where I helped with the feeding issues and the tearful hormonal days, with patience and kindness. And those things do happen, they happen a lot. I just didn’t imagine the rest of it. The reality, the bit that makes me stop and wonder why anyone would willingly put themselves in this situation over and over again. Being a midwife is a little bit like being a mother.
Before my children came along, I, like most childless people, had a fair idea of how it was going to go. I was going to eat the most amazing healthy diet during pregnancy, then when the baby had been born (I blanked that bit out) and it was in my arms, I would feel an amazing rush of love and my baby and I would take to breastfeeding like a duck to water. Then after a few months, when my baby was in its routine (sleeping through the night) I would prepare a freezer full of amazing organic food that my clever little baby would love to eat. As my little one grew and developed, I would cherish every moment, playing for hours, taking them to the park, reading to them, being patient and wonderful. I was definitely not going to shout, or lose my shit at all, because my baby was going to behave. It would not be filled with e numbers and junk food and I of course would have tended to its every need and taught it how to behave.
What actually happened was I found out about the baby after a particularly heavy weekend of drinking. I hoped that it would be okay, and started to eat healthily. This lasted for about a week, then the sickness came and my amazing healthy baby building diet became dry cream crackers, dry melba toast, muffins and salad cream and the occasional rich tea.
It was okay though; the baby grew and after twenty weeks of pregnancy I could eat almost normally again as long as I had a bottle of Gaviscon to swig from. Then came the birth. I had not thought much about this bit because it was so scary, but it went well, it was quick, it was normal and I was high on pethidine. When I looked at my baby I felt mild fondness, not the overwhelming rush that I had been expecting. I thought maybe there was something wrong with me. I put her to my breast and she fed well. At least I could do that bit, but after three days, my nipples were in tatters, my milk had come in, I was a hormonal sobbing wreck, I was shattered and sore. I wondered what the hell I had done. I looked at my crying baby and she stuck her bottom lip out, she looked sad and vulnerable, and there it was, the huge rush of love that I’d been waiting for. Like a tsunami washing away everything that I had ever known. This was it. The meaning of life. My purpose. I have since had a few more babies and each one has brought its own set of challenges. Currently I have a crazy three-year old boy who is seemingly sustained by a diet of Oreos, waffles and Weetabix (so much for the healthy organic diet). I watch in despair as he wrecks every piece of furniture I own, leaps, climbs and breaks his toys - he likes taking things apart, he also likes throwing things - I wonder what I have done, but then he looks into my eyes, puts his little arms around me and squeezes me tight and I just know that it is all worth it. And this is how motherhood is like midwifery.
When I started out as a student midwife I was naïve, but now I feel that nothing would shock me. Some shifts are harrowing, I have had my eyes opened to poverty, abuse, mental illness, drug addiction, obesity, tragedy, disease and everything in between. I have felt the weight of the overworked NHS. I have done the work of two people shift after shift, I’ve been pushed to the brink by the system. I’ve been shouted and sworn at by visitors who think they should be able to access our wards. I’ve had people sob in my arms, thank me, praise me and tell me that they’ll never forget me. I’ve seen people have their babies taken from them by the authorities, I’ve played social worker, referee, friend, advocate. I’ve broken bad news. I’ve stayed late to do my paperwork, I’ve worked on an empty stomach, missed school plays, parents evenings, nights out and sleep. Sometimes it seems absurd. That I’d do that, without a gun to my head, do a job that makes me cry, gives me migraines, makes my feet burn and ache, leaves me anxious about my decisions. That I go home and can’t switch off because I am thinking about someone that I looked after. But then a woman will walk in, and I’ll look after her, and I will support her, form a bond, fight her corner, be her voice. And then the most beautiful perfect thing will happen. The fetus whose heart beat I have been carefully listening to, whose head I touched when I examined its mother, will become visible. Just a tiny little bit of the top of its head will appear and the woman will push, and I will guide her and be the most privileged person in the world as I lift her baby into her arms and get to witness the first seconds of a new family. There really is nothing like it. Except maybe motherhood!
I wanted to be a midwife for a long time before it happened. I didn’t have a clue what it would really be like. Not at all. I imagined shifts caring for women who popped out their babies after a few hours of labour. I imagined giving antenatal care to smiling women who were happy to be pregnant, and postnatal care, where I helped with the feeding issues and the tearful hormonal days, with patience and kindness. And those things do happen, they happen a lot. I just didn’t imagine the rest of it. The reality, the bit that makes me stop and wonder why anyone would willingly put themselves in this situation over and over again. Being a midwife is a little bit like being a mother.
Before my children came along, I, like most childless people, had a fair idea of how it was going to go. I was going to eat the most amazing healthy diet during pregnancy, then when the baby had been born (I blanked that bit out) and it was in my arms, I would feel an amazing rush of love and my baby and I would take to breastfeeding like a duck to water. Then after a few months, when my baby was in its routine (sleeping through the night) I would prepare a freezer full of amazing organic food that my clever little baby would love to eat. As my little one grew and developed, I would cherish every moment, playing for hours, taking them to the park, reading to them, being patient and wonderful. I was definitely not going to shout, or lose my shit at all, because my baby was going to behave. It would not be filled with e numbers and junk food and I of course would have tended to its every need and taught it how to behave.
What actually happened was I found out about the baby after a particularly heavy weekend of drinking. I hoped that it would be okay, and started to eat healthily. This lasted for about a week, then the sickness came and my amazing healthy baby building diet became dry cream crackers, dry melba toast, muffins and salad cream and the occasional rich tea.
It was okay though; the baby grew and after twenty weeks of pregnancy I could eat almost normally again as long as I had a bottle of Gaviscon to swig from. Then came the birth. I had not thought much about this bit because it was so scary, but it went well, it was quick, it was normal and I was high on pethidine. When I looked at my baby I felt mild fondness, not the overwhelming rush that I had been expecting. I thought maybe there was something wrong with me. I put her to my breast and she fed well. At least I could do that bit, but after three days, my nipples were in tatters, my milk had come in, I was a hormonal sobbing wreck, I was shattered and sore. I wondered what the hell I had done. I looked at my crying baby and she stuck her bottom lip out, she looked sad and vulnerable, and there it was, the huge rush of love that I’d been waiting for. Like a tsunami washing away everything that I had ever known. This was it. The meaning of life. My purpose. I have since had a few more babies and each one has brought its own set of challenges. Currently I have a crazy three-year old boy who is seemingly sustained by a diet of Oreos, waffles and Weetabix (so much for the healthy organic diet). I watch in despair as he wrecks every piece of furniture I own, leaps, climbs and breaks his toys - he likes taking things apart, he also likes throwing things - I wonder what I have done, but then he looks into my eyes, puts his little arms around me and squeezes me tight and I just know that it is all worth it. And this is how motherhood is like midwifery.
When I started out as a student midwife I was naïve, but now I feel that nothing would shock me. Some shifts are harrowing, I have had my eyes opened to poverty, abuse, mental illness, drug addiction, obesity, tragedy, disease and everything in between. I have felt the weight of the overworked NHS. I have done the work of two people shift after shift, I’ve been pushed to the brink by the system. I’ve been shouted and sworn at by visitors who think they should be able to access our wards. I’ve had people sob in my arms, thank me, praise me and tell me that they’ll never forget me. I’ve seen people have their babies taken from them by the authorities, I’ve played social worker, referee, friend, advocate. I’ve broken bad news. I’ve stayed late to do my paperwork, I’ve worked on an empty stomach, missed school plays, parents evenings, nights out and sleep. Sometimes it seems absurd. That I’d do that, without a gun to my head, do a job that makes me cry, gives me migraines, makes my feet burn and ache, leaves me anxious about my decisions. That I go home and can’t switch off because I am thinking about someone that I looked after. But then a woman will walk in, and I’ll look after her, and I will support her, form a bond, fight her corner, be her voice. And then the most beautiful perfect thing will happen. The fetus whose heart beat I have been carefully listening to, whose head I touched when I examined its mother, will become visible. Just a tiny little bit of the top of its head will appear and the woman will push, and I will guide her and be the most privileged person in the world as I lift her baby into her arms and get to witness the first seconds of a new family. There really is nothing like it. Except maybe motherhood!
💕📚💕📚💕📚💕📚💕📚💕📚💕📚💕📚💕📚
Author Bio
This is Sadie’s first novel. She has three children and and a rabbit. She works in healthcare.
When she’s not writing or working most of her life seems to involve picking up toys and finding things she’d forgotten she has.
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