The humanity of training

This is a love letter. I wrote many of them in my childhood and in my teens but I think this may be the first one I’ve written as an adult.

The thing about love letters is that they leave you feeling vulnerable; ill at ease and exposed. Still, when you’re close to 40, have made the decision to re-train and stepped into a world you know little about – you can just about cope with vulnerable. When you’re close to 40, have made the decision to re-train in a world you know little about, and it’s clinical – you know all about feeling vulnerable.
 
Learning something new is seriously scary and sometimes being the least qualified and knowledgeable person in a room full of experts is absolutely terrifying. Imagine terminology you don’t fully understand, a pace that is hard to keep up with and the blur of activity that comes with (in my case) an obstetric emergency. And then imagine a mentor, who slows it all down afterwards, who walks you through every step, decision and action. The person who makes it all make sense.

Mentors have the power to make or break a student’s experience. Their influence can shape an entire career, affect a person’s future responses under pressure and can serve ultimately to impact on the way that we care for our patients. 

I’ve worked with two mentors during my current placement and I look forward to every shift because, no matter what lies ahead I know I will be supported. I know that if I make a mistake they will explain it to me without judgement and with respect. They are the midwives I aspire to be; competent, courageous and kind.

Coming from a non-clinical background, I’m the first to admit that I found some of the ‘basic’ skills difficult. Patience from mentors however has helped me to get better, I can see the improvements…they can see growing confidence. Exposure to challenging clinical situations is so important – but learning is also about the utilisation and demonstration of softer skills; the humanity of training.

As a student, it’s commonplace to move around a lot. New trusts, new teams, new environments…all fabulous and still, you never seem to fully find your feet before you move again. Handovers are different everywhere and can be daunting; especially as a first timer and a smile and a ‘hi’ can mean the world. Basic kindness when you’re lost (literally and metaphorically), a joke about the contents of your lunch box and the loan of a pen when yours doesn’t work all have a value that cannot be overestimated.

Theatres, like the handover room can similarly be scary places to those not yet settled into their new clinician’s skin. Whiteness, masks, concentration. Communication in theatre is vital in so many ways, and thanks to campaigns such as the #TheatreCapChallenge we know that the single most important thing to improve non technical skills in the operating room is to know the first names of the people in the team. It’s highly likely that a student doesn’t know people’s individual roles, never mind their names. The “does everybody know each other,” question always needs to be more than a token gesture.

There are things that seem obvious in a mentor/student midwife relationship, scenarios such as just being introduced to a woman when you walk into a room behind them, a positive response when you ask for a ‘fresh pair of eyes’ on a CTG trace, or even the fact that you’ve been included in the team coffee order. They are the things that seem obvious, they are the things that are easy to forget and they are the things that students will think about as they sit for up to two hours on a bus journey home from their 12 hour, unpaid shift.

Love letters are honest and the other thing  about them is that by the time the recipient has finished reading, they are in no doubt about how the writer feels about them…

And so this is a love letter to you…if you have ever mentored a student with kindness, empathy, joy…

The little things are very often the big things…the humanity of training is career defining.

Thank you mentors.

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