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Obstetric Staff Reassigned Across the Tejo Amid South Bank Crisis

Health,  Politics
By The Portugal Post, The Portugal Post
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Expectant parents on Lisbon’s south bank woke up to fresh uncertainty this week. The Portuguese government is preparing to sign an emergency order that would send obstetric teams from the Barreiro-Montijo hospital across the river estuary to reinforce the Garcia de Orta maternity ward in Almada, a unit that has repeatedly shut its doors for lack of staff. Unions call the plan illegal and threaten court action, while residents fear longer journeys in labour.

A peninsula squeezed between geography and demographics

From the tourist’s perspective, the Setúbal Peninsula is an easy hop from the capital—just 25 km of motorway or a quick ferry across the Tejo. Yet for the 780 000 people who actually live here, the stretch of water can feel like an ocean when the nearest maternity ward closes overnight. The region is served by two main public units: Garcia de Orta in Almada and Barreiro-Montijo on the opposite bank. Both have seen a sharp drop in obstetricians as Portugal’s medical workforce ages; more than half of the remaining specialists in Barreiro are now over 55 and exempt from night shifts.

What Lisbon’s health ministry wants to do

Health minister Ana Paula Martins says the only way to guarantee 24/7 cover is to “pool resources” into one larger service. Her draft order—expected to be published within days—would oblige Barreiro’s doctors to rotate through Almada while still keeping their home ward open for low-risk cases. Officials promise travel allowances, free motorway tolls and a temporary pay boost, and insist the move will be reviewed once an additional 30 specialists are hired for the peninsula. The ministry points to a pilot system launched on 15 September that requires patients to call SNS 24 before heading to hospital, arguing it has already reduced chaotic arrivals.

Doctors cry foul—and recall what happened last year

Professional bodies are not buying it. The Independent Doctors’ Union (SIM) and the National Federation of Doctors (FNAM) maintain that existing collective contracts block forced transfers beyond a doctor’s municipality. They cite the 2023 episode at Lisbon’s Santa Maria hospital, where a similar order triggered mass resignations and forced the government to backtrack. Carlos Cortes, head of the Ordem dos Médicos, called the new plan “a shortcut that will push more talent into the private sector”. Labour lawyers add that while the 2019 Lei do SNS allows mobility in “manifest shortage” situations, it also grants workers the right to contest the measure in court.

The legal tightrope: mobility, incentives or requisition?

Portugal’s public-sector statutes do let ministers redeploy staff, but normally within a 30 km radius and with prior negotiation. Anything harsher would require a rarely-used tool known as requisição civil—a civil requisition decree that the cabinet can issue only in national emergencies. The last time it was invoked in healthcare was during the 2012 nurses’ strike. Government sources stress they are “nowhere near” that step, yet unions warn the threat alone undermines trust and could prompt senior obstetricians to resign before the order lands.

What it means for foreign families expecting a baby

If you live in Almada, Seixal, Barreiro or Montijo and have a due date in the next few months, keep a close eye on official updates. Under the pilot model, you must ring 808 24 24 24 for triagem before heading to hospital; operators will direct you to whichever maternity ward is staffed that night—sometimes Setúbal, occasionally Lisbon. Health insurance with a private clinic in the capital remains a popular backup among expats, but note that many Portuguese insurers impose a 12-month waiting period on maternity cover. Public ambulances have priority on the Vasco da Gama and 25 de Abril bridges, yet traffic can still add 40 minutes to an already tense ride.

A symptom of a wider maternity map in flux

The showdown in Setúbal is only the latest sign that Portugal’s network of 39 public maternity units is struggling to match modern demographics. Births have fallen from 122 000 in 1995 to just 79 000 last year, yet staffing rules remain geared to the baby boom era. In 2024 the government introduced a hiring bonus for hard-to-fill regions—€60 000 spread over five years—but so far only 6 private-sector obstetricians have taken the bait for Almada. Until more do, the south bank’s newborns will depend on a delicate shuffle of doctors, political will and a telephone hotline that everyone hopes will hold.