An Early Start

The day began earlier than usual, leaving our farm in the early morning, slightly jaded from a busy weekend on call. After spending four hours bouncing around in an ambulance until 'horrible' o'clock with acute cases and managing three pediatric calls, the long valley drive to see a new baby provided an opportunity to reflect on the weekend's events.

With the 'baby box' full of tricks already in the car, I kissed my husband and kids goodbye, grabbed my coffee to go, and set off. It was a particularly foggy morning, and my head was still in the clouds when I suddenly encountered a temporary electric fence across the road, guiding a herd of dairy cows leaving the milking shed on the opposite side.

I stopped, donned my 'red bands,' and went over to give the farming dad a hand. We caught up briefly; I had stitched his hand the week before after an incident in the 'man cave,' and it had healed beautifully. I gave him a matronly chat about not wearing gloves but commended his cast-iron immunity.

Life was a bit crazy for them at the moment, with a 14-month-old 'Houdini' and a four-week-old baby. We talked for a few minutes, setting the world to rights, before the last dawdling cow finally made it across, and I continued to their house.

A Mother's Meltdown

Upon arrival, I found Mum in the midst of a meltdown. She'd had a hellish night with a very hungry baby and a troublesome teething toddler. She had just been cutting up meat for the working dogs and had nearly sliced the top of her finger off. When I arrived, she was silently crying on the couch, a pressure tea towel in place, with a very confused toddler staring at her.

And a beautifully peaceful baby finally sleeping in the Moses basket.

I went over and gave her a good hug. When she finally sighed and let go, she told me where the first aid box was, and I patched her up. It was simply a case of right place, right time. I briefly looked over the thriving baby, doing the essential measurements, and ensured she had the tools to deal with a teething child.

I then asked her what she was planning for tea that night, which, of course, she hadn't even thought about. I went over to the freezer, got out some meat for tea, and proceeded to peel the potatoes and organize what was left of the vegetables in the pantry. She stood next to me at the sink and poured it all out emotionally.

It was much harder than she had thought it would be. She had an awesome husband and father, but they were struggling. I listened, and then we looked at what we could do to organize the rest of the day. She promised me she would try to have a sleep when both children went down for their naps.

By the end of the conversation, she had decided to call her mum and ask her to come down for the week to give them a hand. She had previously stoically turned down the offer of help, but today she realized she really did need some assistance—and some more groceries!

Unexpected News

I drove back to the health center just in time to meet the mother of a young baby, there for the baby check and vaccinations. She was breastfeeding after the vaccines, and while I was updating the computer records, we chatted.

It was predictably uneventful until she mentioned that she hadn't been feeling well for a few days but couldn't really pinpoint what was wrong. There weren't many obvious symptoms apart from a bit of a 'squirmy' tummy. I asked if she'd had her first period yet, to which she shook her head. I then inquired if there was any chance she could be pregnant, and she said, "No, of course not."

Her pupils then dilated, and she said, "Oh my god." The urine test confirmed her very early first-trimester pregnancy. I provided her with a pregnancy info pack and discussed the essential antenatal considerations she needed to think about. She was obviously very shocked and needed time to process the news, so I made her an appointment with the GP later in the week.

After the 20-minute post-vaccination period had well and truly passed, I helped her and the now-sleeping baby back to the car and smiled as I heard her say to her partner as she sat down, "Please, don't freak out; you're not going to believe this."

Afternoon Rounds

Time for a well-deserved belated coffee and a muffin in the staff room before attempting to write up the day's events. Then, one more baby check before lunch, thankfully much less eventful this time, plus some problem-solving with the duty nurse regarding a complex case that had just arrived in the clinic.

After lunch, I had a scheduled visit to a very elderly resident living at home. I've been visiting her for quite some time, checking in regularly to see how she's been. She'd had significant anxiety during periods in her life, something she'd managed to hide very well. She attributed it to her postnatal experiences with a difficult birth and a sick baby. We'd talk, reminisce; I'd tell her about my world, and she'd share hers. Today, there was nothing major to plan or sort out, so I wrote in her diary when I would call next time, took her cat off my lap, got her post from her letter.

Life in the Rural Muster

Driving back down the valley, I reflected on what it means to be a rural health nurse. It’s not just about the medical care—it’s about being part of the fabric of a community. Whether it’s stitching up a farmer’s hand, checking on a newborn, or offering a hug and reassurance to an overwhelmed mum, every interaction matters.

Rural nursing is unpredictable. One day, you’re navigating cow traffic on the road, and the next, you’re bandaging a working dog’s paw because it’s “practically part of the family.” It’s equal parts exhausting and rewarding, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

These valleys and farms, the people and their stories—they’re why I did what I did. They remind me that health care is about more than treating symptoms. It’s about connection, understanding, and showing up for each other in the big moments and the small ones.

It had been a typically untypical rural day, and I truly wouldn’t have changed a single thing.

A Final Thought

Rural nursing isn’t just a job; it’s a way of life. It’s about adapting to whatever the day throws at you, whether it’s cows on the road, sleepless nights, or a panicked phone call from a family who needs you.

For every moment of exhaustion, there’s a moment of gratitude—a reminder that being a part of these families’ lives, even for a short time, is a privilege.

So, to the mums, dads, and families out there juggling it all: You’re doing better than you think. And to my fellow rural nurses: Keep showing up, because your presence matters more than you know.

Your Story Matters
If you’re navigating the challenges of rural life and parenthood, I’d love to support you. Whether you need guidance, a listening ear, or practical strategies, I’m here to help.

👉 Learn More About My Services
👉 Book a Free Discovery Call

Because sometimes, all it takes is a little support to feel like yourself again.