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ParentsMay 25, 2017

When love aint enough: Are we about to lose another rural maternity centre?

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Lumsden Maternity Centre in rural Southland, where Bill English was born, is in imminent danger of closure. Southerner Victoria Crockford explains why it would be a devastating loss for the community.

I must admit, I really questioned myself the day that the pigs broke into a multi-million dollar building site down the road.

Pinky and the Brain were their names. The genius one got stuck behind the fence and just ran up and down it squealing while I wildly shook food at it. The insane one tried nibbling at my toddler, who was strapped into the bike seat and leaned against a gate as I made my vain attempt to ‘muster’ his mate. She thought it was a game. I had other ideas: I’ve seen the film Snatch.

There was no-one around to help me as I yelled to the boundless Otago sky, “I just wanted to go for a fucking bike ride like a normal peeeeerrrrson!”

There have been those sort of moments.

But, everything that is weird about being a displaced North Island urbanite in rural ‘somewhere near Queenstown’ pales in comparison to the sense of community that I have living near my in-laws, with a tight-knit community of friends – many parents – who give, and care, and share.

And that sense of a community knitting itself around young families is what is at risk as primary care units in rural areas face closure.

I’ve previously written about my love of rural maternity units on the Spinoff Parents.

The birthing room. Practically a day spa. Credit: Lumsden Maternity Centre

Between then and now, I have had my second baby. He is pink and hefty and smells of freshly mown grass and baking biscuits and rose gardens after the rain and all the smells of our very best dreams.

He arrived in this world at Lumsden Maternity Centre in rural Southland – the same place his dad was born. He was delivered safely and with confidence by a midwife who held my hand and made me feel strong and ready; who gently guided my son through warm water and into my arms, into his future.

It was a relaxed atmosphere. My partner was scoffing chili lime cashews between my contractions (and I mean handfuls). There was fresh air and humour. And just like with our eldest, there was most definitely a massive bowl of ice cream and chocolate sauce for after (that is after the pork chops, mash and buttery silverbeet).

The proof is in the pudding – Lumsden Maternity Centre serves food that is actually edible.

I am not alone in my love for Lumsden. Comments on the Lumsden Maternity Centre Facebook page are, quite frankly, gushing.

“An amazing unit with so much love and care from all the staff. Words cannot express how grateful I am to have been able to spend three nights here introducing my husband and I to parenthood!”

“Such a fabulous asset to our community!”

“A home away from home!”

“Amazing place with wonderful caring staff…”

These comments have been backed up by recent media profiling of the unit. New mother Sarah Phillips recently told the Southland Times that, “I had good care in Lumsden with delicious meals, monitoring of visitors so I could get rest, help and encouragement with breast feeding and was able to stay for six days to get the help I needed.”

Delicious meals. Rest. Six days. Enough said.

Not only does Lumsden provide a valued community service, its location on the way to Invercargill means that it provides an emergency service as well.

I have heard more than a few anecdotes from women based in Queenstown-Lakes, Te Anau and Northern Southland along the lines of “that time when I was on my way to Invercargill to birth and my labour started progressing really quickly and we were speeding and a local cop pulled us over and redirected us to Lumsden and the midwife met us and I gave birth in the hallway after she just yanked off my tights”. Seriously.

Lumsden, and its counterpart in Winton, provide waypoints along the 1.5 hour plus drive to Kew Hospital in Invercargill for many expecting parents. I myself thought I would have to pull into Winton to have my first baby. As it was, I was fully dilated and ready to push by the time we got to Invercargill and my partner had to wheel me from the entrance to the maternity unit.

Now Lumsden Maternity Centre – this place of well-being and emergency assistance and so many exclamation marks – is facing an uncertain future.

While I canvassed the threats that rural units face in my previous piece, this imminent threat to the place that has meant so much to our family over two generations spurred me to delve deeper into the specific issues that primary care units are facing. Who are the stakeholders? What are they saying? What does this tell us about the future of other units?

At a public meeting on May 9 it was laid out to the nearly 100 members of the community in attendance that there is a very real possibility that Lumsden will close on July 31 this year, when the contract between the health company that runs it, Northern Southland Health Company, and the Southern District Health Board is up. To stay open, Lumsden needs a “reasonable increase in funding”, according to Carrie Williams, who chairs the NSHC.

At this point, the SDHB has offered a 1 percent increase to the funding Lumsden Maternity receives (the offer expires in September 2018). All signs point to this figure not slotting into the ‘reasonable’ category.

This despite the fact that the use of the unit has actually increased over recent years, and that primary birthing rates are about 12 percent for all births in the southern district – placing it among the highest in the country.

What about central government’s role? Living near Arrowtown, I share an MP with the Lumsden community – Todd Barclay. He has been quoted as “following the process… with great interest” and is scheduled to meet with the other stakeholders soon. Soon is also when a report is expected from the SDHB, which was commenced in March 2016 and is still being finalised.

I get it, it’s a circular thing and one entity can’t act without the other. I get it, Todd Barclay is getting crap flung at him from Gore to Glenorchy as his electorate both booms and struggles. But this level of inaction by the SDHB and the government on a fundamental community service seems inadequate.

Call me naive. Or call me a mother living rurally who relies on funders to have their shit together. Call me someone who would rather give birth in Lumsden than be holding in a baby in an emergency helicopter. Call me eternally grateful to my stellar midwife and the staff in Lumsden. Call me concerned that they will be forced out of the community where their entire lives are because their jobs have evaporated. Call me sad and just a bit pissed about the characterisation of the decline of small communities as inexorable in the face of rationalisations.

I know health funding is complex, and I will not pretend to being any sort of expert. I understand that birth rates have been falling at other rural maternity centres. But, as a parent and a citizen who cares, I am fearful that we are going so far down the road of putting a dollar value on the wellbeing of new families that we will lose the opportunity to turn around. Lumsden is just one example of how we are turning new parents and babies into units of spending.

We know how it takes a village to raise a child. It seems as though our institutions are slowly dismantling our villages, one “amazing unit with so much love and care” at a time.

Donald Andrew with his grandson, Cormac Kahu. Because it takes a village. Credit: Richard Andrew

Victoria Crockford is an Arrowtown-based researcher, writer and analyst. She lives with her partner, daughter and a sheep dog that is probably smarter than her. Find her tweeting @VicLeeCrockford and online at Coronet Wordsmith.

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ParentsMay 24, 2017

How to talk to your children about terrorism

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In the wake of the devastating attack on children in Manchester, many of our little ones will be asking questions that we will struggle to answer. Counsellor, school teacher and mum of three Louisa Woods has some advice on talking to your children about terrorism.

Anyone who’s ever had more than a passing interaction with a three year old knows one of their favourite activities is asking questions, the curlier the better. Mine likes to throw questions you’re not ready for, seemingly devoid of context or connection, but with an absolute expectation you’ll catch the ball and chuck a decent answer back.

“How does the moon?” remains one of her best, lobbed from the backseat of the car while driving home one afternoon. “How does the moon…what?” was the incorrect response, made patently obvious by the shrivelling look and deep sigh accompanying the exact repetition of her enquiry.

There weren’t any parameters for the question; she wanted to know everything there was to know.

If we’re doing our job right, the questions never stop. Where does the wind come from? How did the baby get into your belly? Why would someone set off a bomb at a concert?

Surely one of the best attributes we can foster in our children is a sense of wonder, of curiosity, a thirst for knowledge and deeper understanding. As much as we may come to dread those hows and whys from our children, silence in the face of the quirks and intricacies of this world we live in is a pretty terrible alternative.

Most conversations aren’t too difficult. It might be a bit awkward explaining the particulars of human reproduction, and the answer to some of those “How does the moon?” questions might push the boundaries of your own understanding and stretch your creative muscle somewhat, but you’ll almost always manage an answer (and you’ve got Google to help you out if need be).

Where it does get hard is when we’re faced with situations for which there are no good answers; events and attitudes that shock and shake us, and make us despair at the state of the world. The sorts of things filling our screens and news-feeds on a daily basis, threatening to overwhelm any goodness there might be out there. The things that, not so long ago, children would have been protected from unless they happened in their own backyard, are now inescapable in a world saturated by images and soundbites of tragedy and despair.

The reality is, our children are regularly viewing and reading things that raise more questions than answers and show them a brutality and ugliness no child should ever experience, but that all too often directly involve children and young people.

The attack at the Ariana Grande concert in Manchester is the latest in a catalogue of traumatic events with the potential to leave our children feeling anxious and frightened.

Adults find these sorts of incidents hard to deal with. We picture the terror, torture ourselves with imaginings of our loved ones being in that foyer, mull over the political and social repercussions, and worry about what may come next. But most of us can distance ourselves; we can separate our own lives from the events we see unfolding on the other side of the world.

Children, vastly imaginative and less capable of rational thinking, find it much more difficult to draw a line between their lives and events in the wider world. While adults may feel a general sense of sadness, waste, or worry, children may become genuinely anxious or frightened for the safety of themselves and their families.

It’s a bit of a balancing act to support children as they work through those big emotions.

On the one hand, you need to reassure them about their safety and security, but on the other, it’s crucial not to minimise their feelings. If you’re looking for an efficient way to alienate and devalue a person, tell them what they’re feeling is wrong. It’s as true for children as it is for anyone else. It’s a bit of a hallmark of the Kiwi condition to feel uncomfortable in the face of raw emotion and celebrate those who battle on, stoic and silent. We’re not doing ourselves any favours (as our shameful mental health and suicide statistics will attest) and we do our children a disservice when we try to stopper their emotions.

A bomb at a concert is a terrifying thing.

If your child is frightened by the thought, that is not an unreasonable reaction. Particularly when most of the images include young people in pain and distress. Approach any conversations from a place of empathy. We want to teach our kids to be caring and kind, to find appropriate ways to deal with emotion, and to support others as they do the same.

You are the model for how to do those things, and the way you respond to their feelings and needs will likely be the way they respond to other people’s in the future.

Children might need considerable reassurance about their safety. Factual information can be comforting for some as they can draw a clear line between their own life and whatever is causing them distress. Depending on the age and understanding of the child, you can decide how much detail to give but it could be as simple as showing them separate locations on a map. Remind them how safe they are in their daily life and about the people, rules and routines designed to keep them that way should anything bad ever happen.

Especially in situations such as this where someone has set out to deliberately harm others, it’s important to emphasise the fact most people are good and don’t want to hurt anyone.

Believing people can’t be trusted feeds fear and anxiety and stops children being open to meeting people and enjoying social interactions. Make sure they know most people are safe and kind – within the parameters of awareness and keeping safe.

One way to refocus is to make a point of commenting on people helping each other, to celebrate the heroes and shine a light on the way people are there for each other even in the worst of times.

I’d be careful to limit children’s exposure to media coverage and adult discussions around traumatic events as much as possible too. You don’t need to add any fuel to the fire and the less they see the more quickly they will be able to distance themselves from what’s happened. It’s not a terrible idea to take a break from the news ourselves every now and then for much the same reason. Even so, be prepared to talk about it over and again and again.  There’s bound to be some difficult questions when kids are exposed to things we’d like to believe, even as adults, are unthinkable and impossible.

It’s perfectly OK not to know the answers to some of these searching questions. Be honest, give yourself a break, let your children see there are limits to your understanding of the world too.

Most of all, be there for extra hugs and stories and warm Milo and cosy bedtime songs. The happier and more loved a child feels, the more insulated they are against the storms blowing in the big, wide world.

Louisa Woods is a high school teacher and counsellor, currently filling her days looking after her own three children, writing a bit, singing a bit, and reading as much as she can.

Follow the Spinoff Parents on Facebook and Twitter.


This content is entirely funded by Flick, New Zealand’s fairest power deal. In the past year, their customers saved $489 on average, which would buy enough nappies for months… and months. Please support us by switching to them right now.

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