Monday, October 13, 2014

I want you to know...

I want you to know that your midwife cries for you, hurts with you, and although she doesn't Know the magnitude of your pain, she worries, she stays up late in the night, she holds your head and prays you though each contraction. 

I want you to know that your midwife loves to tell you to see if you can feel your baby's head, and smiles when you do, knowing you'll always remember you touched him first. 

I want you to know your midwife steps back, becomes silent, and basks in the moment as your baby takes it's first breath and cries loudly in the night. 

I want you to know that your midwife thinks about you while she's having her breakfast, wondering if you are getting enough protein. She thinks about you when she's running up The Hill, or doing burpees, or push ups in bootcamp and wants to quit, but because she remembers that you just pushed out a nearly 10lb baby after a 24 hr labor, she charges up that hill one more time. 

I want you to know your midwife loves receiving Christmas cards and texts with pictures of your beautiful family. 

I want you to know your midwife rejoices with you when the ultrasound says it's a boy! It's a girl! It's twins! And when the ultrasound comes up empty and the bleeding starts, she wonders how she will ever say the right words. 

I want you to know when your baby flips, or your labor is long, or heart tones become non-reassuring and it's time to transport, your midwife puts on her brave face and tries to pave the way for a smooth transition of care, so that you can be treated with respect. 

I want you to know your midwife will stand by you, even under the judging eyes of hospital staff and her own peers. 

I want you to know When it takes your midwife a minute too long to find your baby's heartbeat, she feels a lump in her throat, and when she finally finds it, hears angels sing. 

I want you to know that when the doctor tells you your baby is gone, your midwife holds herself together, and tells you how beautiful and precious your baby is as he/she is laid in your arms one last time, then she goes home, crumples to the floor, and weeps. 

When your baby is slow to transition, and the piercing cry that a baby makes that we are accustomed to hearing on a tv show doesn't come, and seconds seem like hours, she holds her own breath until baby gasps with stimulation. When your baby is even slower to transition she gives her own breath to inflate tiny lungs, feels her feet on the floor and counts a steady rhythm. 

When Your midwife wakes up randomly in the middle of the night, she frantically checks her phone, sees she didn't miss a call and wonders if she woke because across town you are awake wondering, worrying, wishing. 

I want you to know, your midwife questions "why" when these things happen, thinks about quitting, and in the same exact breath, knows she never could. Because the next day another baby will be born, another mama will be made, and grace and mercy will meet, when heaven once again, kisses earth. 


How was your weekend? Mine was full. Hard. Long. Beautiful. Full. 

I'll never understand it and I'm figuring out that I don't have to. 

I get to witness how strong we truly are in our weakness as a mama goes through a long labor that seems never ending, says she wants to be done, to run away from the sensations in her body, but never quits. Her baby takes her first breath on her chest. The whole room tears up. I am overwhelmed with the moment unfolding in front of me. 

I have to make hard calls and I sometimes have to be the one who says "I'm so sorry" at an early ultrasound, and when the bleeding begins my heart hurts. Each baby matters, even the very, very small. 

I have collegues and friends who work together, who love, who support, who get it. I am surrounded by powerful love. We all are. The world is full of grace and mercy.