The future’s bright, the future’s Hospital Grey

“Nobody gets to live life backward. Look ahead, that is where your future lies.” 

Ann Landers


I think it’s important to acknowledge that this time last year, my life was slowly emerging from the epic shit show of a catalogue of poor decisions.

Boy-related, obviously. 

My life is full of strong women, and they raised me up; because it’s true: strong women build each other up.

I managed to complete my student practice hours, against a few apathetic obstacles; I finished my course; I was awarded with a PIN; I was added to the register and permitted to legally call myself a Midwife. R effing M.

Now I’m leaving my home city for pastures new and exciting and…have I ever told you how much I hate moving house? No? Well it’s a lot. A very lot. Since 2009 I have moved house SIX times. 

I accumulate shit like I’m auditioning for “Hoarders”. I need to streamline. At some point.

Anyway.

So a friend told me recently that I should just “rip the band aid off” and start my new life in a new city etc etc etc. She was right but it’s so hard to do; it’s not just the people I will miss but the scenery, the coffee shops, the familiarity, the triggers for childhood memories. It’s a bit of a wrench.

This weekend I’ve popped to New Pasture (NP) to head to Occupational Health, and to hand over all the most important documents in my collection for my DBS scrutinisation. I was also scrutinised by the efficient elfin woman in Uniform Fitting; the interim job at McDogald’s places me firmly in “Size Pie” dress. 

I decided after the appointments to pootle about NP; I drove through the areas and streets on a bit of  Brownie Trail, until I decided to do a little bit of shopping, and pop into a museum for some comedy genius level dicking about. Oh and some learning. I did learning.

I’m not sure if it was the beautiful weather, the strength of the city’s history communicated through the museum, or seeing just how close and accessible the nearest Drag venue is, but it started to feel comfortable. I started to feel comfortable.

So aside from the packing, and the moving, there’s a strong possibility that I’ve started to actually look forward to putting on my Hospital Grey dress, entering and saying:

“Hi, I’m Heather, I’m your midwife.”

Remind me of this when I’m bitching about boxes and parcel tape, please

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