Remember that feeling during your senior year of high
school, the urgency to treasure every last?
The last pep rally, the last home game, the last bonfire- so much effort
to remember and preserve the moment. The
last before everything changes. I feel a
bit like that with my birth work. I am
in the home stretch, closing in on crossing a threshold.
When that 4 am call came, “Can you come? She is laboring and it will soon be time.” I
knew I had to go. It is one of these
lasts. Not any different than the other
30+ times in many ways. Sweet Amish
couple working to welcome their first child in their home with my favorite
midwife. I couldn’t, wouldn’t say
“NO”.
It was dark still on my early morning drive across two
counties. The roads full of first shift factory workers
reporting for duty. As I pulled into
Earl and Eva’s Bremen home the spectacular sun was just breaking over the trees. When I looked back to the east, the farm
fields and silhouetted treetops softly wrapped in a low fog. The sun
pushing up, orange and yellow- the new day arriving. I stopped and took a picture. Because that’s what you do when it is a last,
capture the moment. A perfect symbol for
how I was feeling.
The midwife greeted me with gratitude for my willingness to
leave sleep to come help her. Weariness
hung on her like a soft t-shirt. “This
is my third night birth in three days.” She says with a palm to her forehead
and a sigh. I’ve worked with Laura long
enough to know what this means. My role
at this birth will to be the fresh eyes, the active hand (or in this case foot)
holder, the energizing encouragement for both the midwife and the birthing
couple.
Once briefed on the setup of the home and the progress of
the client’s labor, I took some time to listen to Laura catch me up on all that
she’d been doing for the last few days.
I am her Listener. I have been
for years, but not until recently did I realize how important a role it is for
us both. I love to hear the inner
workings of her job, the agony as well as the joys. It makes me feel connected
still to the clients and birthwork that seem to be drifting away from me.
Laura needs a Listener.
She has a wonderful group of friends and family that support her, I
don’t mean to say I stand alone. But I
think I am different. I know the
clients, I know birth, the local culture and religion and I know Laura. For seven years I spent 8-12 hours a week
working for her practice. During that
time I had many opportunities to observe her at her best and worst, and all
that is in between. Words cannot express
what I have learned from Laura.
Medically she is so sharp, spot on in her intuition and decision making. Not afraid to tell her clients the truth of
their situation even if it is not what they want to hear. I love to hear her processing through a
client’s care.
Sure she has a rough exterior. Those of you who have had a 3 am conversation
with her know she can be a bit short and gruff- ok not just at 3 am but any old
day. But what others don’t see is that
underneath that tough shell she has such a soft heart. She loves us.
The women she serves, the women that work along side her, the babies she
holds. She loves us all. And I fear the price of that love is so
high.
A midwife’s life is often glamorized. Saccharine sweet moments of welcoming new
babies mixed in with her role as protector, guide, friend, and confidant. It is no wonder midwives often are put on a
pedestal, worshiped. A midwife plays
such an important role in the life of a woman.
She is the one ushering her through the pregnancy and birth. And while there are many wonderful moments
dreamy and ideal- there are also long lonely times, difficult decisions, bad
outcomes, clients that text and call intruding into her personal life,
all-consuming responsibility and a never ending list of client’s needs. By the nature of this job, one can easily
lose their footing and find themselves in need of some serious time off. I understand her need to make a change.
We are all perched on top of a cushy queen size bed. I am sitting on my knees in the middle of the
mattress at the mother’s feet. Laura
sits on the edge of the bed, head down in her hands resting until the next
contraction. The mother and father are
huddled together at the head of the bed.
Her eyes are closed, their hands clasped together but relaxed, waiting.
The contraction takes hold, mother tenses breathes-relaxes and then
pushes. Laura and I each hold onto her
feet, helping her curl around her belly.
The bed is made up in anticipation of the birth, a waterproof plastic
drop cloth covers the mattress under the fitted sheet. It shifts and crunches with our movements.
Once the push passes, the mother flops back onto her pillows and we all resume
our waiting.
At that moment I take a mental picture, all in our places
waiting. Laura so tired, so ready to
sleep, yet patiently waiting. Eva unsure
and exhausted, sweating and glowing with Earl by her side. And me, fighting the nagging notion that this
may very well be the last time I am privileged to assist Laura at a birth. Soaking in the moment, breathing gratitude
for all I have learned about midwifery, birth and myself in my relationship
with Laura. Holding the moment.
Sure enough the moment passed. Baby girl was born. I made coffee and eggs. Mom nursed baby. Laura slipped up stairs to sleep. I cleaned up.
Everyone stable and satisfied I left.
I drove home. I cried. I know it was our last.
