Melissa is 20 years old and works in the St John State Operations Centre taking emergency calls. This week she delivered her very first baby over a triple zero (000) call and she’s been floating on cloud nine ever since.
It’s Thursday night, the start of along 12-hour shift. The phones are blessedly quiet.
Until, of course, they’re not.
Melissa hears fear and excitement in the young male caller’s voice. In the background she can hear moaning.
‘My wife is in labour.’
Melissa thought, two in one week!
‘Where are you?’
‘Karratha. Her contractions are two minutes apart.’
The clinical support paramedic, in the room, approaches Melissa to say there is only one ambulance currently available in Karratha and it’s fifteen minutes away. Melissa understands right then that she will be helping this father deliver his baby.
The mother’s moans turn rapidly to screams.
‘Oh my god, it’s coming, it’s coming, I can see the head!
’Melissa’s eyes scan down the protocols in front of her. She fast-tracks and tells the father to support the baby’s head to slow its arrival. Then she asks him to tell the mum to push.
She pushes. The contraction subsides and the three of them wait for the next one. Melissa asks the father to prepare his partner to push again.
“ALWAYS BRING CALM TO THE CHAOS”
She pushes; nothing. Dad helps Mum change position. Another contraction brings another empty push. They go through five contractions, and then—‘It’s coming! It’s here!’
Melissa waits for the cry, holds her breath. Into the silence, she asks: ‘Is the baby breathing?’
‘I don’t think so.’
Melissa’s heart is a bongo drum. Everyone in the communications room is listening, eyes wide open.
‘Rub the baby’s back’, she instructs as calmly as she can muster. ‘Rub vigorously.’
The waiting feels like an age.
‘Rub again’, Melissa instructs. They wait, but still nothing. ‘Check the baby’s mouth’, Melissa says. ‘Tilt the head back and look for phlegm.’
‘Yes, there’s some green stuff.’
‘Okay, put baby on its side and carefully scoop that out with your finger.’
Melissa hears little noises. Little coughs. ‘What’s that?’
‘Baby. It—she’s—starting to move.’
A girl! But Melissa must press on, needs to hear a big cry, a primal roar, to know this little one is okay. ‘Please clear baby’s mouth again’, she asks.
And then they hear it: a huge wail of life.
The whole room erupts. Melissa collapses into her chair. She has an overwhelming sense of gratitude for her training, and for the opportunity to do this job.
‘Being a part of a family’s life during this moment is something you never forget,’ she says.
Illustration -Jennifer Faulkner
