Lessons from Rwanda

This is not my story. I am simply a vessel, a way for a story to be told. I am merely a fragment of the story which I pray I can find the right words to tell.   It's a story of violence, anger, sadness, loss, strength, pride, love and faith all at once.

Ethiopian airport

As I was traveling toward Rwanda, I felt my material comforts were slowly being stripped from me.  Upon arriving in Ethiopia for a layover, I felt small and lost. Gone were comforts of an American airport, no familiar food vendors, dirty bathrooms, my language only spoken by my team members. No TV, no music that was familiar to my ears and my cell phone was useless. I was a minority and a stranger.  I was free.  Free of all things that we think make us American, and it was amazing. 

 

 

 

 

Our hotel

Rwanda welcomed us with open arms, literally.  Smiles and hugs were given easily, our guide Pastor Peter welcoming.  Our hotel seemed extravagant given the surroundings and I found myself feeling guilty.  Ezekial was the manager of this hotel and went far above expectations to make us feel comfortable. I have never stayed anywhere in the U.S. where I have experienced this much hospitality.  Given the friendliness of its people, I found it even harder to imagine the gruesome history of Rwanda.

Graves at genocide memorial

In April of 1994, Rwanda experienced a mass genocide where over 800,000 men, women and children were murdered.  I remember being 20 years old and this was simply a blip on my radar as Rwanda was a world away and did not affect me.  Our first day in Kigali, we had the privilege of visiting the Genocide Memorial museum.  I thought I knew the history, the story, the suffering.  What I found in that museum proved me horribly wrong.  The images of the violence will forever be etched in my memory.  Horrific details that we were spared by our American journalists were glaring.  I found myself crying out loud at the disbelief that so much hatred had occurred and we stood by.  Simple observers half a world away, I was ashamed.  We were given this opportunity to learn from their history and to see the miraculous change that has occurred in Rwanda, giving us even more appreciation of the people.  Along the streets of Kigali, we would see beautiful gardens with statues being tended to constantly.  These gardens mark the spot of mass graves and the ground considered sacred.  Driving by them was a somber reminder of what once occurred along these bustling, vibrant streets.  Rwandans express pride in how far they have come in 19 years.  They are not dwelling in the past but growing from their experiences.

Outside walkway and bedrooms

The orphanage at Kimisagara

Our first visit to the orphanage was the afternoon after visiting the Genocide Memorial.  I was already raw with emotion as I'm sure my team members were.  The climb to the orphanage was hard and consisted of three separate steep hills, the last one being the steepest.  My thoughts along those hills were of what I would see and how I would react once we reached our destination.  I knew I would see hardship and living conditions far below most standards. I felt I was ready for what was ahead and as we finally reached the top of those long hills, I quickly learned that I was not at all.  The building was very small and literally perched on a cliff.  There was no outdoor space except a dirt courtyard about the size of my living room for the children to play.  Smoke was billowing out of the small kitchen where the children's meal of rice and beans was being prepared.  As I entered the courtyard with my team members, I felt tears come to my eyes and I began to doubt I had what it would take to participate in our mission. 
                                                                              

Then I saw the children, so many of them at first wary of our presence.  It did not take long before we were all surrounded by children who were so excited to see us.  My fears and doubts quickly dissipated when little arms were reaching up and wanting to be held.  Without hesitation or
reservation, my team members and I held children, hugged older children and played games on the dirt floor.  We saw past the dirt, runny noses and stained clothing.  Instead we saw beautiful children who needed love and attention.  We were so ready to give it. We spent our days playing games, doing arts and crafts and singing songs.  The children were without so much but able to smile at the littlest things.  Bubbles and balloons entertained even the older children and little fuzz balls became prized possessions.  I left with my team every evening tired and covered in dirt.  It wasn't until I was away from the children that the enormity of the situation would overcome me and I would succumb to tears.

The days spent at the orphanage went by at lightening speed. Every day we became more attached to the children and their caregivers. There is so much love at Kimisagara as the older children love and tend to the younger children.  Our mission was to hug, hold and love on as many children as we could.  Whenever the opportunity arose we prayed with the children.  I tended to stay near the younger children and would often sit on the floor so that I could hold as many on my lap as possible.  Sometimes I would whisper a prayer in a little ear not knowing if it went unheard or understood.  Then one day I had my answer.  Jesus was already at Kimisagara.  The children had as much faith and love of Jesus as anyone I have known.  It all became obvious because of a little sidewalk chalk.  All over the walls they wrote affirmations of Jesus.  Some even wrote wishes for God to bless us.  I was overwhelmed with emotion as a person new to faith.  The children had so little, material things virtually nonexistent, but they were so rich in faith and love.  I felt as if we were suddenly somewhere so holy and that we were given the gift of sight.  They had nothing.  Nothing to stand in the way of their faith.  I couldn't help but think of our society and how when we don't get what we want we tend to lose faith or doubt God.  I was humbled by what the children showed me.  Something I will carry with me forever.

All too soon, it was time for us to go home.  I was definitely ready to see my family but so sad to leave the children of Kimisagara.  Each of us had a child or a group of children that "claimed" us each day that we were there.  The bonds were strong among all of us.  The last day, Pastor Peter spoke to the children on our behalf, telling them that we were going to be gone but that we will continue to work at home for them. Together we bowed our heads in prayer, tears flowing, hands held. We were a family.  Leaving the orphanage was probably the hardest thing I have ever experienced.  Sabina, who had become my little girl during our time there, would not let me go.
I noticed that my team members were having the same troubles.  When we walked out of the orphanage for the last time, we were sobbing out loud.   Once again we were sweaty, smelly and covered in dirt and hand prints, yet none of us were ready to wash it away.

My heart still hurts today.  I have been home for a couple of days now. I have not been able to talk about my experience with anyone besides Adam and those who were there with me.  My team and I have forged a bond that will last a lifetime.  What we experienced together was hard and amazing at the same time. They get it.  I feel as if verbalizing my experience will belittle it somehow, make it less important.  I hope writing conveys what I am feeling better than spoken words.  I went to Rwanda to help the broken.  Turns out it was me that was broken and the children of Kimisagara have left me whole.

I would like to send my love to Kara, Ryan, Molly, Lynett, Julie, Craig, Dieudonne, Lonnell, Martha, Manya, Peter, Kayla, Brad and Abigail. You will forever be in my heart.

 

Coming Home

"And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears,
And Love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With Grace in your heart..." ~ Mumford and Sons

I have gotten over my hill.  Yes, I am getting older, but that is not of what I am speaking.  Today I signed a Statement of Faith.  I first laid eyes on this statement shortly after I accepted an invitation to visit orphans with Visiting Orphans, which is a Christian based organization.  My first hurdle was the application process, which I struggled to bring myself to fill out.  Of course, I have always wanted to go to Africa, and my heart longs to serve those in need.  What was stopping me was the request, "Describe your walk with Jesus."  I had nothing to say.  I did not feel worthy to answer the question as I watched my twelve-year-old daughter answer the request with such ease.  My heart was heavy because though I wanted to go on this mission, I did not want to go as a fraud.  How could I share the love of Jesus when I didn't know that love myself?  Conflicted, I wrote the only answer I could think of..."seeking."  And then began the most incredible journey.

I have always been a skeptic, perhaps even cynical.  I have always relied on my own strength to get me through life, though I would acknowledge a higher Being, but could not (would not) give myself over completely.  Honestly, I viewed faith as a sign of weakness, but mostly I did not feel I belonged.  The few times I have attended church I felt uncomfortable, an outsider trying to get into an exclusive club.  I prided myself on not needing this Love, this community or their compassion.  I felt that if I was meant to be a Christian then I would already have faith and that it would come easily.  I believed that Jesus was merely a great man, philosopher and teacher.  Then I received a book that would forever change my life.  "Mere Christianity" was written by C.S. Lewis.  He was an atheist that became one of the greatest Christian advocates of our time.  I accepted this gift with an open mind, but it was what I read inside those pages that opened my heart.  Lewis quotes nonbelievers as stating, "I'm ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don't accept His claim to be God."  He refutes this by stating, "That is the one thing we must not say.  A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher.  He would either be a lunatic-on a level with the man who says he is a poached egg-or else he would be the Devil of Hell."  Wow.  I had never thought of that way before and suddenly I found what little foundation I had shaking under me.  There were so many parts of this book that I felt reflected my thoughts, my struggles and yet made having faith seemingly attainable. Where do I go from here?  I had a choice.  I could completely let go of the teachings of Jesus and hopes of faith.  Or I could do what I stated on that application, I would seek Him.

I was invited to join a small group that attends Christ Community Church of the Nazarene.  Annabelle has been attending this church with the Braatzes for many years.  I accepted this invitation with some trepidation.  I knew the Braatz family loved and accepted me despite my faults, despite my doubts.  I was afraid of being scrutinized for my lack of church attendance, lack of biblical knowledge, my lack of faith by the other members.  Instead I was greeted with love and understanding.  We began discussing "The Good and Beautiful God" by James Bryan Smith.  I enjoyed reading the book and was amazed by what I found.  I had expected to hear words of living up to God's standards, why I am a sinner and how I should be ashamed and repent.  Instead, I heard nothing but words of love.  Love!  How incredible that even someone like me could be loved by God. That God so loved us so much he gave us Jesus. To save us from our sins, to be our salvation.  That Jesus seeks me like I am seeking him.  That He came for the weak, the weary and the broken. That He wants us to live in peace.  To live as we were meant to by God.  Nothing more, nothing less.  I did not have much to offer during our discussions those first few months. There were no human words for what I was feeling.  I was afraid to put my growing faith into words, that it would make it meaningless somehow.  I felt my growing faith was fragile and if I spoke of it, it would shatter.  I knew I had to keep feeding this faith to allow it to grow.  I continued to read books about Jesus.  I reread the "Case for Christ," and it was as if I were reading it with new eyes.  I believed the arguments for Jesus. I read passages of the Bible, especially the Gospels.  I began to feel a peace within me and at times would be moved to tears when I least expected it.  Yet, I could not bring myself to say it aloud to anyone and was still unsure of where I stood.  I began to wonder how I would know that I believed.  Would I wake up one morning and just know?  Would there be some kind of sign?

It took a national tragedy to solidify my faith, but not without first testing it.  The shooting at Newtown was hard for me, as it was for many.  I couldn't stop crying; seeing patients that day was difficult and I often had to leave the room to go wipe the tears away.  I couldn't understand how God could allow this to happen. I returned to my readings looking for solace and answers. I was shaken and was afraid that all that I had gained would be lost. Then as I was discussing it with my husband a few days later I said: "I have to believe that Jesus was there. That He was taking those babies into heaven.  It's the only way I can get through this."  A revelation!

I confessed my love of Jesus to a friend at First Watch.  Not a church, not to a pastor or even to my small group.  It was not planned and it was very unexpected.  My friend was asking me about the spiritual journey I was on and for the first time I finally felt I could put it into words.  I told her that faith does not always come easy, that Jesus wants us to seek Him.  That with seeking Him and believing in Him, we will have all the answers we need.  I confessed, "I am a Christian and I hope to be baptized in His name."  True story.

This past Sunday, I was driving home after making rounds at the hospital.  Instead of taking my usual way home, I took a path that led me past Christ Community Church.  I felt compelled to enter those doors, to hear more of Jesus and to feed my soul.  It was after the service had started so I had to park at the farthest point of the parking lot.  As I got out of my car, the church greeter spotted me and starting waving to me.  It was as if he knew I was coming and was waiting for me.  When I entered the church I was overcome by a sense of peace and tranquility.  I did not feel awkward or uncomfortable.  I looked toward the cross, fought back tears of relief and knew I had come home.

I would like to thank Kara, the Braatz family, my small group and especially Adam for supporting me on this journey.  I thank God for believing in me..

A long December..

..and there's reason to believe maybe this year will be better than the last. ~ Adam Duritz

Now before I get started, I would like to acknowledge that many others have suffered great losses, homes and jobs.  My struggles are mine alone and by no means do I mean to compare or belittle anyone else in their personal experiences.  I am merely grateful that my hard won lessons were learned without extreme damage to my family, especially my children.

As many of you know, one year ago Adam and I came across "a deal of a lifetime."  We had an opportunity to move to a bigger,"better" house than the one we live in now.  We made a deal with a builder that sounded too good to be true.  As it turns out it was..  We lived in that house for seven months, looking back they were the longest seven months of my life. How can that be you say?  I lived in a house that had a walk-in pantry, huge kitchen, a jacuzzi tub and enough bathrooms and space that we never needed to cross paths in the crazy morning.  The space was blissful and yes, I miss it.

It's what happened in those seven months that give me pause to this day.  I became increasingly uncomfortable in my own skin.  I felt like I was trying to live up to an image that wasn't me.  Adam and I made numerous trips to lenders, trying to find that perfect loan so that we could officially buy our "dream house."  Every rejection only stressed us out and made us feel imperfect.  It became increasingly evident that to keep that house I would have to continue to work two jobs.  Teaching at KU had been a for fun job, I never wanted it to be a requirement.  That made me bitter.  Our children became increasingly aloof and Zach became prone to extreme tantrums and anxiety.  To top it off, we became stuck in this house as the summer led to a horrible drought and heatwave.  It's like we were in hell and we had made a deal with the devil.  It became more and more apparent that we had been lied to and that we were naive in thinking this was meant to be.  It also became more apparent that our new mortgage payment would be nearly twice what we were used to paying and we were crunching numbers to try to make it work.  I refused to leave that house, it was my dream and I had worked so hard to get there.  Or so I thought..

During all of this, I had been invited to visit orphans in Rwanda with one of my favorite people.  I also had the opportunity to take Annabelle with me, an opportunity of a lifetime.  I knew I had to work hard, save and fund-raise to be able to go on this journey.  One day, during our many financial discussions where Adam kept telling me that we had made a mistake and we should go home, and me refusing to leave, he made a profound statement.  "If we stay here, Sarah, we will not be able to send you to Africa.  There will simply be nothing left."  That was like a dagger to my heart.  How could I live in excess when there are many with nothing?  How could I sacrifice a chance to hug, hold, show God's love and give the gift of time to an orphan?  What kind of example would I be showing my children?  That was enough for me and the decision was made to return home. 

We moved home on our 14th wedding anniversary and it was not easy.  We were raped by a moving company that took full advantage of our situation.  The day was long and full of heartache.  What had I done to my children?  Would they be alright?  I couldn't help thinking about all I could have done with all the money and time wasted on trying to stay in that house.  My children's reaction to being home was what healed my heart.  As we came into the doorway, they each started talking about memories they had shared here.  We have lived here for 11 years, all of their lives.  What was I thinking by trying to "improve" their lives by moving them to a "better", bigger house?  They had all they needed all this time and so did I.

Our decision to move back became even more validated for me yesterday.  We were putting up our Christmas decorations and I thought I could put the tree in a new spot.  Annabelle reminded me that it had always been on the other side of the room.  I was going to not put up the cheesy, light up Santa that sits on the mantle, until Amelia asked for it.  My heart was full when Zach stated, "I'm happy that we came back in August, so that we could have Christmas here."  This is their home. 

So this Christmas, I challenge you to think about what you really need.  What does this season really mean to you?  Practice living in contentment, I'm doing it now and I feel richer than I ever have before. 

Merry Christmas.

A letter to my mother

The call came in early on Monday morning.   I have always wondered how I would feel when I found out you died.  I figured I would feel indifferent and often wondered if anyone would remember to call me since I had not had contact with you for ten years. My sister had called me a little after 5 in the morning.  I admit I ignored the the ringing phone when I saw who it was.  Nothing good ever comes from random phone calls from my sister.  I waited for it to go to voice mail so that I could decide when to call her back.  "Sarah, our Mom died, please call me."  I was surprised by my child-like tears and wails that poured out of me the moment I heard of your passing. I felt like a small child that had lost her mother, then I realized I was a child and I had lost my mother.   That day it was forever and that hurt so much, there was no going back since I had already lost you so long ago.

I became frantic.  I began trying to grasp memories of us together, GOOD memories and nothing would come to mind.  I gathered what few pictures I could find of you that I had and announced to the world that I had lost my mother.  I needed to get it out and over with so that I could do what I have been doing all my life..moving on without you.  I couldn't do it, I couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop feeling guilty that I didn't reach out.  Feeling sad for opportunities lost.  I'm glad you will never know that I was within 20 miles of you in June.  I was attending a conference in Long Beach, the same town you lived in.  The whole time I was in Long Beach I thought of you.  I had my daughter with me, my Amelia.  My mini me.  I watched her playing on the beach and imagined you watching me playing on those same shores.  Did I once make you happy?  I wrestled with the decision to call you, let you meet my daughter but feared rejection for me but mostly for her.  Now I will never know.

Then came the condolences.  I felt like a fraud when people offered hugs and support and, "sorry for your loss."  While I appreciated all of the outpouring love, I couldn't shake the feeling of being something I'm not.  I am a grieving daughter but not in the sense anyone else might grieve.  I grieve that I cannot remember anything exceptionally happy about what little of my childhood I spent with you.  I feel guilty that I feel I should write a tribute to you and can't think of what to say.  So I'm going to be honest.  Mental illness or not..you were a horrible mother.  I know some of it you couldn't help but it doesn't make the hurt any less.

This is the house that we last lived in together. It's less than two miles from where I live now.  I pass by this house frequently and think of our time there.  You had left your husband in California, my step-dad.  It was just you, me and my sister.  You worked at a bar and was gone a lot.  I remember you yelling at us to get out of bed on school mornings, screaming at us to be quiet while you continued to sleep.  My sister and I would get ourselves ready for school.  Often, there would be no food in the refrigerator and we would go to school hungry.  I'm guessing that this hardship was what led you to your next decision...

The picture is grainy but if you look close you can see the steps outside of the house by the front door.  Remember? This was my grandmother's farmhouse, it is also about 2 miles from where I live now.  When I was six, you started dropping us off there on weekends to reacquaint with my Dad and his new family.  Every Sunday you would come back to get us and while our lives in that little house was hard, it was our life.  One Sunday, I sat there for so long and you didn't come.  You had decided that it was best if my sister and I lived with our Dad.  You didn't say good-bye... my six year old heart still aches sometimes when I drive past this house.

After your death, I became desperate to know that you thought of me sometimes.  My sister had talked to you the night before you died, the first time in two years.  She does not say that you mentioned me.  I asked my step-father if she ever talked about me.  You would think a white lie would be appropriate at a time like this, but to no avail, he said no.  I asked him if she ever regretted leaving me that day at the farmhouse.  According to him, she had not, she had moved on..wow.

My comfort came to me a few days after you died.  I was talking to my sister and she was telling me that she was already up the morning that you died and she got the call.  I too, had been awake it was 430 am and I thought I heard a sound, felt something.  I got up and wondered around trying to figure out why I was so awake while 500 miles away my sister was doing the same thing. We later found out that this was around the time they think you died, 230 am, California time.  I believe you were healed at the moment of your death, Mom.  I think you came to tell us that you were okay and that we are loved. I am grateful for that moment. I will see you again and all our grief will be erased.  Until then, rest in peace.

My kind of midwifery

Future Midwife?

Recently I was in a parking lot waiting to get into my car.  I proudly display a bumper sticker that declares my passion to serve women as a midwife.  I was eavesdropping as a woman getting into the car next to mine was explaining to her daughter what a midwife does.   I was glad to hear her speak so highly of midwives, but when she stated that midwives deliver in a home birth setting or birth centers, I felt I had to enlighten her.  "We also deliver in hospitals."  She turned to me with what seemed to be scorn in her eyes and stated, "Not if you are the right kind of midwife."  Ouch.  What does that mean?  How can there be a right or wrong kind of midwife?  Doesn't the word itself imply that if we call ourselves midwives we believe in caring for women?  I know, I know ... there is the age-old argument about training, education, certification and location.  That is all worthy of debate, but that is not what I'm here to discuss.  It's what midwifery is and can be regardless of location.  For me and many of my sister midwives, it goes beyond the birth experience.  Midwifery for me often has nothing to do with birth.

She sits on my exam table.  Her eyes are sad, her shoulders sagging and her demeanor darkened.  I pull up a chair and look at her.  Most times, I don't have to say anything.  She just starts talking, weeping or getting angry at whatever situation is bringing her down.  I don't counsel, I just listen.  I hold hands, hug or offer a shoulder on which to weep.  I midwife her the best I know how.  Sometimes their sadness becomes my burden for a short while, but it's worth it to me.  I cannot solve the emotional pain or tough situations that some of my patients are going through, but when they stop to thank me for listening ... that is midwifery.

I get to talk about sex.  A lot.  More than most people would think. I suppose people think since I know how to get babies out, I must be the expert in the act of conception.  I am glad women feel comfortable asking me the tough questions about libido, orgasms and proper lubricants.  I just wish I had all the answers!  The freedom to discuss sex and contraception should never be taken away from women, and I feel my job is to protect women's sexual freedom ... that is midwifery.

The above picture is Louise.  Her father took this picture, and her mother said I could use it.  She is one of my mini-midwives.  I love siblings.  Forget sibling classes, I feel the best way to prepare siblings for the arrival of a baby is to bring them to as many appointments as possible.  I love to include children in measuring Mommy's belly.  I take their little hands and show them where to feel for head, feet or bottom (I often get giggles when I say "bottom").  The best part is letting them try to find the baby's heartbeat. And sometimes I feel sibling rivalry starts young, as the babes in the belly will wiggle as in protest to their older sibling finding them.  If I get caught up in my routine of questions and concerns, and start the exam without the help of my mini-midwives, I am quickly reminded.  "No, Midwife Sarah, that's my job..."  By allowing children to be a big part of the prenatal visits, we help them welcome their new siblings into their routine ... this is midwifery.

The woman in the parking lot made a snap judgment about me based on a location.  Midwifery is so much more than location, so much more than birth.  Midwifery is about sisterhood.  Midwifery is about humanity.  Midwifery is "with women" no matter where they are in their lives.

A Family Affair

Dear Baby Girl,
It's me, your midwife. I first met your mother when she came to me suspecting she was pregnant. An ultrasound showed a 10 week little you with a strong, steady heartbeat. While you were a little unexpected, you were very wanted. Over the next 10 weeks, your sister Hannah prayed you were a girl. I had the pleasure to watch the video of your sister cutting a cake that would be either pink or blue...the squeals of joy were priceless as she yelled, "I'm having a sister!" I have grown very fond of your mother and your siblings, as they were able to come to a few prenatal visits. I did not get to know your Dad very well until your birth day, but I can tell he is an awesome father. Now let's talk about that special day.

Your Mom opted for a natural childbirth. She also wanted your brothers and sister to be present during your birth. She prepared your siblings so well by describing the all the sounds and sights of a birth. She had them watch a few birth videos so that nothing would too much a surprise. This would be a first for me having a 10, 8 and 6 year old in a delivery room. It takes a very poised Mom to pull off giving birth without scaring her other children...something I did not feel I could do almost six years before with the birth of my own son. Your Mom made it look easy as she rocked on the birth ball and would become silent with each contraction, then flash a reassuring smile to your siblings when it was over. Your oldest brother Jacob, would come over every now and then to whisper into her ear, "Are you okay?" He would also be the one standing outside the bathroom door and peeking in while I sat with your mother while she labored in the tub. At this point, we knew you were close. Your brother would look at me with a little man's eyes full of concern but amazing calm.

All the births I attend move me and I feel so lucky to get to be a part of something so beautiful and miraculous. Your birth is one I will not soon forget... Your mother had moved back to the bed to birth you. She was surrounded by so much love as your siblings and Dad stood around her head. You did not take long to appear but in that short time there was enough love to last a lifetime as your sister whispered to your mother, "You are doing so good, Mommy" as your oldest brother put his hand on her forehead as if to comfort. Your other brother William made me chuckle as he looked on through his fingers as he covered his eyes. Your Dad of course, was the rock that held you all up. There was not a a dry eye in the room as you made your grand appearance and I had to choke back my own tears so I could focus on my tasks. Your new little cries were met by laughter from your siblings, as Hannah exclaimed, "That's my sister!" As I placed you on your mother's abdomen, you were enveloped by eager arms and hands. So much love and joy.

Happy Birthday Lucy, you are one lucky little girl.


As always, this was written with permission.

Darby three

This time of year is exciting, new and sometimes a cause for anxiety..mostly for the parents. It's the return to school. While I am ready for more of a schedule, earlier bedtimes and structure, my heart is slightly heavy. I know I am not alone in my feelings, many mothers will be sending their children to school for the first time or as in my case also to a new level of school. As some of you may have read on Facebook, I had a major meltdown when I enrolled Annabelle in junior high a few weeks ago. As the summer days wind down I catch myself looking closer at my children as if I am trying to capture moments to sustain me for the fast years coming at me.

Annabelle~ This morning I snuck into your room while you were sleeping. I hardly recognized the woman-child sprawled across the bed. Your feet are now bigger than mine and your body is beginning to reflect the woman you will become. I lay down beside you, curling my body around yours noting how your length is so close to mine. For a few moments I listened to your breathing and remembered a time when I could hold you close to my heart your little body laying across my chest..today as I folded your body next to mine for a few stolen moments of snuggles..I shed a few tears. I am so excited for you and your new journeys but often wonder where the year have gone.

Amelia~ You are an amazing girl. I feel like I am still getting to know you while feeling like I have always known you. Everyday it seems I learn something new about you.. This summer has been a huge summer of growth. You are able to speak your mind and choose to do more often of which I am pleased. You bless me with hugs and words of love at moments when I seem to need them the most. I am excited for you to have a few years of school without the shadow of your sister around. I know you have struggled and sometimes feel like you can't compete or succeed against Annabelle's accomplishments. I hope you know that you already have in your own way...

Zachary~ Six years ago as I dropped your oldest sister off at kindergarten, my heart was happy knowing you were on your way. In fact, that first day of school was when I saw your heartbeat and was reassured that you were fine. You were my security blanket of sorts since I was losing your sisters to school, I knew I would at least have a little you. How you have betrayed me. This year we will send you to kindergarten and I can hardly believe we are at this moment already. You are so ready! You are already reading and I worry that you may be a little bored at school but I'm sure your teachers are used to busy little boys. You have a smile that warms my heart and you proclaim your love numerous times throughout the day. Sometimes you will slow down long enough for a few cuddles but mostly with your Dad since you seem to worship him now. That's okay...you will come back to me someday.

I have taken the first day of school off mostly so that I can be there to celebrate their big moments. A little so that I can celebrate the end of summer and gaining a little freedom. Mostly, so I can privately shed a few tears...

Good luck to all of you sending your babies off to school!

Dancing Mommies

"Just because I'm hurting, doesn't mean I'm hurt." ~ Coldplay


These words resonated so loudly to me just recently. I was labor - sitting with a patient who was having her first baby after many years. Her husband had brought music to distract her and during her labor she danced to many different songs..dancing her baby down into her pelvis. In the midst of a contraction, this song began to play. I watched in awe as my patient started dancing to the beat with her contraction and the words seemed so appropriate. I mean, that is what labor is, pain without harm, pain without hurt or suffering. She was beautiful to watch and such an inspiration. Labor-sitting is a privilege of my job that I try to do as often as I can. I am a strong believer in being present for a woman during labor. By doing so, the woman is made to feel safe thus allowing her body to do the work of birthing. Since I am unable to be in the patient room all the time, I strongly encourage my patients to hire a doula. The hospital I deliver at has amazing labor nurses, but with the title RN comes many responsibilities often pulling her away from the bedside. Having a doula allows my patient and her partner to have someone with them constantly that they have come to know and trust. When I know my patient has a doula, my mind is at ease during those moments that I am in the clinic or with another patient.

Recently, I had a couple that was going through an especially long labor process. Their doula was tireless and kept their spirits high. I would watch as doula and partner would move together, seemingly effortless to work with the mother through each contraction. At times, I sometimes feel like an observer and a little unsure of my place but always grateful for the constant support. As I was sitting quietly watching the team at work, my patient reached for me and inviting me into her circle of trust. Without speaking she wrapped her arms around my shoulders, put her cheek against mine and we swayed with the contraction. I could feel her abdomen tightening against mine and for a moment I was taken back to my own births and though I could not take her pain, I shared that contraction with her. Our breathing was the same, our movements in sync, sisters in labor.

I think when I retire I will become a doula in hopes for more dancing..

Grace like rain

Author's note: It is with permission that I share details.. "Grace Like Rain" is the title to one of my favorite songs. Surprised? So am I. I first heard the words to this song at the most unexpected place and at a time when I needed to hear it. I was at a meeting at a birth center downtown, I had just returned to school and beginning my three year journey toward midwifery. I had three young children at home and was sure I had made a mistake. I was attending this meeting to acclimate myself into midwifery in hopes that I would leave with a sign that I was making the right decision. Then an Angel appeared.. I'm not kidding. That was her name and she could sing. This song she sang was beautiful and for some reason moved me to tears. I felt like I had my answer and had truly found my calling. I ran into Angel again a few years later when I was attending a conference in Seattle. I learned she was singing at the Christian Midwives sermon and I attended in hopes she would sing that song again..."how precious did that grace appear.." Those words ring true to me and I feel humbled by their powerful meaning, for I have been looking for grace my whole life. Thankfully, it finds me where I least expect it. I struggle with my faith sometimes, feeling like an outsider trying to get into a secret society, though I have been welcomed with open arms. I cannot identify with one religion easily or put a name to my beliefs. But I do know this: I have a strong faith in God. I believe He is guiding me in all my life exeriences both good and bad. I believe God is gracious in that he has given me moments of clarity when I seem to need it the most. The most obvious being through Annabelle's spiritual journey. Annabelle began asking about God when she was five and leaving notes around the house asking God for His presence. She began attending church with our close friends Kreisa and Brady Braatz and after a few years asked if she could be baptized. On Easter Sunday a few years ago, my daughter was submerged into a tank of water, baptismal words bestowed upon her. When she came up from the water, that's when I saw it... pure joy, belief, faith and love of God was shining on my daughter's face...the hour I first believed.. Of course it is easy to feel God's presence in every birth I attend. Birth in an incredible gift and truly miraculous. At times I feel I am made more aware of His presence by answered prayers. I pray at every delivery I attend, sometimes without realizing that I am doing so until the birth is done and I whisper a thanks to God. I pray for the mother to have strength to birth, for my hands to do no harm, for that first cry from a new baby and for all to be well. Recently, I found myself praying in earnest while experiencing my first obstetrical emergency as a midwife. What could have been a scarier, more tragic experience was tempered by the fact that my doctor was in the next room and an anesthesiologist walked in just as I was calling for an emergent delivery. Was it coincidence or God's grace that the necessary people were readily available for my patient? Or how about my lovely couple whose sweet baby's head I am cradling in my blog photo? Due to religious beliefs they choose to refuse blood transfusions, which thankfully most mothers do not need while giving birth. This patient was strong, labored and pushed for many hours but the baby would not come. In her c-section, the doctor and I both noted that she was not bleeding much at all, especially in a circumstance that usually would have heavy bleeding. I murmured, half-jokingly "must be a God thing." A few days later I was given clarity again when I was discussing the lack of bleeding to my patient and her spouse, and how amazing it was to see. The patient replied, "Yes, well my husband prayed for me just before the surgery." "Hallelujah, grace like rain falls down on me.."

Just Breathe

"If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me,
Threatening the life it belongs to"~ Anna Nalick

It's the eve of my birthday. I am pensive today, feeling quiet and somewhat withdrawn. It's not the aging that is nagging at my mind..it's the history. I am sitting here thinking of my mother and wondering if 37 years ago today she was having signs of my impending arrival. I wonder what was going through her mind. Was she excited or scared? I was to be her second child, the hopeful son that my father always wanted. A disappointment from the beginning.

I once asked my mother about my birth. It was back when we were speaking, just before the birth of my first child. It was not a happy, peaceful event. It was fast, furious and angry words were thrown about. My mother was laboring quickly and there was not time for pain medicine and so instead of comfort she was told to "stop screaming" and "just push." The doctor, as my mother remembers, was rude and impatient. My father was left in the waiting room to wonder about his wife and child. Not allowed to be present, as I entered the world. It was a nurse that curtly told him, "You have another daughter." I can't help but wonder if our relationship would be different if he had been allowed to be in the room and share in the wonder of birth.

My birth also signified the beginning to what would be a life-long struggle with mental illness for my mother. Shortly after my birth she began to have signs of depression and was put on one medication after another. I imagine that since my mother was only 20, the mother to two young children, that her symptoms were diminished and she was left to fend for herself. As it turns out, my mother struggles with schizoaffective-disorder which was discovered when she began to perceive things that weren't happening. As part of her illness, she thought I was causing her distortions as she later shared with me after the birth of my second daughter. In her mind, she was warning me of the dangers of second daughters as leading to mental illness. Thus ended my relationship with my mother..

I wonder now, if this is part of why I became a midwife. Do I believe that the tone, words spoken and atmosphere of a birth room can set the tone for a relationship parents have with their child? ABSOLUTELY. While I can't prevent bad parenting or mental illness, in my small corner of the world I can at least set a family off on the right path with words of praise, quiet, and with nurturing. I also find importance in not minimizing the struggles a new mom may be having with bonding or depression. I know firsthand, that getting help early can prevent a lifetime of struggles...I just wish someone had been there for my mother.

So tomorrow I will celebrate another year gone by and relish in all my accomplishments. I feel very blessed to have my husband, my children, some family, and many friends to share in my day. I struggle every year with the knowledge that my parents will not call or write. I try to remind myself of their struggles, reach for inner peace and forgiveness. I know that good or bad, my experiences have shaped me and perhaps have made me a better person, wife, mom and midwife.

Six months later..

Tomorrow is a big day. January 19th (not 18th) marks the sixth month of me working as a CNM. It went by so incredibly fast. Last year at this time I was just beginning to learn how to deliver babies and never dreamed that I would be where I am today. As I ponder over the last six months, I feel compelled to share the lessons I have learned. Especially since I know a new midwife class is beginning integration and may travel down a road similar to mine. Here you go...

1. You will NOT know everything when you graduate. It doesn't matter how great your education was and how good your grades were. Midwifery is a learning process ALWAYS.

2. Since you won't know everything, say so. I have found that my patients are okay when I say, "I don't know, but I will find out." One of my biggest fears was looking incompetent. Incompetency comes with making mistakes you could have avoided by asking for help.

3. The anticipation of the pager going off at 2 am is worse than when it actually happens. I spent my first few months unable to sleep because I was anxious about maybe getting called for a delivery in the wee hours of the night. I mean, didn't we become midwives just to get these calls?? The anxiety does go away as does the fear of not sleeping. I have found I can survive on little sleep and that for now sleepless nights are few and far between (check back in March when I have 10 patients due )

4. Trust your gut. You know that little voice that says "stop, listen, act?" Don't ignore it.. I have listened and have gotten patients referred to physicians or specialists as needed and may have changed outcomes. It's an immense responsibility, but so worth it.

5. Be open-minded about how you practice as a midwife compared to how others practice. I have found that we all have something to learn from one another. I learn everyday from my doctors and fellow midwives but would like to think I have enlightened them in some way too.

6. Love your job. I have to admit that for the first few months I drove to work with dread and extreme nausea. I was perhaps letting my fear and anxiety get in the way of me enjoying what I do. There are still days that are more stressful than others but each day I try to remind myself that it was my passion for women's health and the birth process that brought me here. I can now say that I do love what I do and really mean it.

7. Don't forget to live your life. Okay, so the last few months were mostly in survival mode. I realize that six months went by and my children have grown six months older. I have to admit there were nights that all I wanted to do was eat and sleep. I may have neglected family and friends.. Now I am striving to be more outgoing, be more involved and go on dates with my husband.

I have quite a few patients that are in their sixth or seventh month. I feel a certain kinship with them as they have been with me since the beginning of my journey as I have been with them on theirs. We share amazement as to how fast the last six months have gone by. While I am settling into my role, they are preparing for a new one.

So for those students that may be reading this and know me personally. These next six months may be the hardest months of your student career. Learn all you can and keep an open mind about all of your experiences. It is difficult at first, but it does get easier and it's so rewarding on the "other side."

Gratitude

With the approaching holiday season, I like many will stop and reflect on all things happy and for which I have gratitude. Of course, I am grateful for my family, our good health and our home. I am very grateful for my job. Though not for the reasons some would think. Yes, it's nice to have income in a time when so many are struggling to find jobs. My reason for gratitude with my job goes beyond income, it comes from the feeling of satifaction and happiness that moments in my job give me...

One such moment in particular has been a pleasant surprise to me. I became a midwife so that I could be a bigger part of a woman's journey into motherhood. While I enjoy the moment of birth and the awe of the first glimpse of the baby, I have found being a midwife gives me a glimpse into what I feel is an even more amazing moment. Hearing the heartbeat for the first time.

My favorite OB appointment with my patients has become the 10-12 week visit. As a student, I don't think I had these moments as I usually encountered patients mid-way into their pregnancies so that I would be able to attend their births. Now that I have been with my practice for a few months I have had the privilege of return visits from the very beginning.

There is something almost magical about hearing a baby's heartbeat for the first time. The anticipation on the parents' faces speaks volumes as the doppler moves slowly across a still flat belly in hopes of hearing the faint sound of a small heartbeat. When that sound is finally heard, fast and strong, the reactions are amazing. In that brief moment, all is right with the world as parents and midwife alike share a thoughtful silence to better hear the new heartbeat. It's like a moment of hope and peace, for new beginnings. I love the laughter, the smiles, words of praise and the tears of joy. Sometimes I feel intrusive, like I'm stealing a private moment of happiness that isn't mine. Fortunately, my patients don't view it this way and for that I am grateful.

God Bless and Happy Thanksgiving!

Undercover "Boss"

It all began the Friday before Halloween. Many of the office staff were dressed up in various costumes including Waldo, a butterfly fairy and a few other costumes of sorts. Of course keeping with professionalism but still fun nonetheless. One of our doctors walked by me, in *gasp* "nurses" scrubs with a stethoscope around her neck. She was not wearing her white lab coat, so thinking it was purposeful, I asked, "Are you supposed to be a nurse?" She stopped, looked astounded and wondered why I would think such a thing. Well. Let me tell you..doctors typically wear dingy, blue scrubs that don't fit anyone with a white lab coat that practically screams, "I'M A DOCTOR!" That day she was wearing black (cute) drawstring scrub pants with a hot pink and black fitted scrub top. Much like I wore during my short stint at Centerpoint Medical Center. She didn't think that she looked like a nurse and I chuckled to myself as I knew the "fun" she would have dressed "like a nurse." I playfully "warned" of what to expect being dressed as a nurse..such as being asked to find a chart..etc. I don't think she believed me. Okay, this should be interesting...

Well I was not disappointed...One day, this doctor was mistaken for a nurse while a disgruntled patient, upset with her care at another location came to us..she assumed Doc was a nurse and decided to confide in her how much she disliked most doctors..Fortunately, this doctor was able to laugh it off and shared a chuckle with the patient when the truth came out. Then she was given a chair to sit on in a patient's recovery room after a very long surgery and got an odd look from one of the staff members. He remarked,"Oh, I thought you were a nurse.." (Remember, nurses aren't allowed to sit, pee or eat.)

It does go both ways, however. When I wear those dingy, blue scrubs and my white lab coat, I am sometimes referred to as "Doctor." This happens most while I am making rounds on patients that I had not met in the office. I am always quick to correct them as I am NOT trying to be a doctor nor do I wish to be. But as my doctor got to glimpse these past few weeks, dressing like "a nurse" is not always ideal...especially when she got handed a dirty diaper by a patient while making rounds the other day. She was astounded that anyone would hand a dirty diaper to a nurse to throw away..yep, nurses get to clean up all the yucky messes.

So I will continue to wear my dingy, blue "doctor" scrubs, but will never forget how hard I worked to get here and how hard (and sometimes under-appreciated) nurses work. Meanwhile, my doctor continues be the "undercover boss." Can't wait to hear of her adventures..

Identity crisis

Nurse-midwife. Nurse. Midwife. Hmmm..the age old question was going through my head this weekend while on call. How do I most identify myself and where do I fit in? For the first time, I had a patient and might I add..she was MY patient..in labor at SMMC. While I have nothing but good things to say about the staff I met there yesterday, it was nonetheless awkward as I was not familiar to them as a practitioner. There's nothing like the feeling of being the "new kid on the block" and for me it holds a double meaning. I was asked how long I had been a midwife and when I answered I could sense the apprehension. It's hard not to take that personally but having been a nurse before becoming a midwife, I understand the reaction. I too am guilty of scrutinizing new practitioners and perhaps not letting my guard down until I deemed them worthy. Since I am for now unfamiliar with the staff and physicians, I found it hard to find a place to relax while my patient labored and rested with her epidural. I visited with the nurses for awhile but felt I just got in their way, so I went to the doctor's lounge. I felt just as awkward there as I felt like I had snuck into a secret realm. Trying to be inconspicuous I headed for the ladies room, which of course was being cleaned. I must have looked desperate as one physician piped up and suggested I use the men's restroom as he promised to guard the door. I took that as a sign of acceptance and went along with the plan. (Yep, I'm all about first impressions) As I came out of the restroom the doctor extended his hand to introduce himself and said, "You must be Dr. Darby." Nope, "I'm Midwife Darby." Yep, that's how I answered..identity crisis over.

Now it's for real...

Last Thursday I was informed via an email from one of my doctors that I have full privileges at both OPRMC and SMMC. It came across like this, "You have full privileges." Hmmm..I stood there for awhile looking at that email a little unbelieving and also slightly disappointed. I mean, don't get me wrong I am very excited about being an independent practitioner after working so hard for many years...but where were my flowers and my balloons? Okay, okay I know that's goofy and I know many practitioners get privileges every day, but this was my first time EVER. Oh well, I will just throw myself a little celebration with a glass of wine and a toast to my husband for getting me here.

Meanwhile, I was managing an induction of a woman who was having her fourth baby. The idea was that either a physician or one of my midwife cohorts would be in the room to observe my skills and to help with suturing as needed. When the patient was complete I called my doctor to let her know I would be catching soon. She said she would head over but she had one more patient to see and that she trusted I would be okay and to call if I needed assistance. So I caught...and afterward looked around the room and realized that was truly my first delivery without someone in the room or at the nurses station. I had written the orders, AROMed and caught baby without checking in with someone to make sure I was doing it right. I became giddy with this knowledge and yes, announced it to my patient and the nurses. They were witnesses to the birth of a new midwife. The most amazing part to me that while there is always a healthy dose of apprehension with every birth, I was not scared or fearful. I knew I could do this..what an amazing feeling!

So dear midwifery students (if you are reading this)..know that all your efforts, all that time away from family and all those moments of fear during a birth..will be worth it! You will know what to do and it will be amazing..

Yes, but what does that mean?

Ah, a common phrase that often goes through my brain while at work. Yes...well because I'm usually a very agreeable person. Yes..well because I don't know what else to say and don't want to look stupid. Yes..because that's the only answer I have right now and I need to go look up the answer. Confused? Well, good because sometimes so am I.

Yes, but what does that mean? I often think this when a lab result shows up on my computer desktop at work. If you happen to be at my office and I'm staring at my computer screen and not blinking..no, I'm not bored or trying to sleep with my eyes open. I'm thinking..HARD. I am most likely looking at an abnormal result and am deciding my plan of care and treatment. Fortunately, that phrase is slowly dwindling and while I still count on my fellow practitioners as resources, I am finding that I know what "that" means. Now if only I can get rid of that twisted, nauseated feeling I get in my gut whenever the abnormal result first appears...

Yes, but what does that mean? Yep, sometimes you have to spell it out for me. That's what I was thinking when I was told this last week that I have temporary privileges at both OPRMC and SMMC. Until now, my call days have consisted of me simply answering calls and sending patients in if needed. I was not able to admit patients or make rounds independently. Now apparently, and yes, I had to ask for clarification...I am able to admit midwife patients, give orders and make postpartum rounds. WOW. Are you kidding me? I have waited so long to get to this point that it hardly seems real. I will still need to be proctored through more deliveries as I have only had the opportunity to catch two babies so far. But that's okay with me. Somedays I am suprised by the willingness to let me triage phone calls and make rounds. I have been treated like a trusted colleague since beginning with this practice and sometimes it unnerves me but at the same time it's so invigorating!

Yes, but what does that mean? There it is again that stupid phrase. I was thinking it this morning as I rounded on two postpartum patients by myself this morning. Nope, I wasn't thinking it while seeing the patient or viewing the chart. I was thinking it when I couldn't log into the computer after trying for half an hour and under the curious stares of the nursing staff. You know when you are trying to be inconspicuous and the computer makes that obnoxious sound..well I drew some attention. So much for looking competent, when I had to call my Dr. who was fortunately rounding on surgical patients, to come log me in... Do I take that as an immediate sign of failure or just a bump in the road? That remains to be seen..

So here I sit, my first weekend of call and darn it if everytime that beeper goes off and a message comes across the screen that I don't think..yes, but what does that mean?

Highs and lows..

So I am nearing my second month of being a certified nurse-midwife and while I still have some anxiety and doubt, it is lessening with each day. Last Monday I was first-call for the practice. That means I took all the phone calls and sent patients to the hospital as needed. Since I don't have privileges yet, that was the extent of my call. Easy, right? Well for most people it would be but this is me we are talking about. I only got paged four times..twice before 10pm and then again at 5 and 6 am. For most, that would mean a pretty good night's rest. Nope, not me. I was up nearly every hour checking the pager to make sure it was still on..neurotic, I know. So my clinic started Tuesday at 7am with one self-inflicted, groggy midwife but hey, might as well get used to not getting much sleep!

While waiting for hospital privileges to go through I have been reinstated "student" so that I can be proctored through some deliveries. So last Wednesday I had the joy of once again receiving babies into my hands..it was awesome but incredibly nerve-wracking. The first delivery was with one of my doctors, who I might say, loves to teach. This was good for me, but as most teachers and preceptors know..this can make it hard for you to step back and be the observer. We literally had just run into the room as this was the patient's third baby, so didn't have time for a game plan as to what was expected of me. Well, duh..deliver the baby right? As we both stood at the foot of the bed, both gowned and gloved, both watching and supporting the perineum..I was beginning to wonder if I was really supposed to "catch" or just observe. Turns out my doc was waiting for me to move her over out of my way, while I was simply waiting for her to move. I finally took initiative and positioned myself to be able to receive the baby easily. I must say..it felt good to be back but was I sweating!! My second delivery was with one of my midwife coworkers (with Doc at nurses station) and it went well despite a very slight dystocia. (yep, lost another five years of my life to stress)

While I am anxious to be part of births again on a more regular basis, I have to say I thoroughly enjoy clinic. Educating patients on their health and simply listening to them is so rewarding. I have gotten to share in tears of joy and unfortunately, tears of sadness. To be able to comfort, educate and reassure is what makes my job so enjoyable. The month or so has been like the last three years of grad school on hyperdrive...abnormal Paps, STD screenings, menopause (which is getting less scary by the day), OB visits, preconception, contraception and vague pains that I must try to find solutions to. It all keeps me on my toes and I literally feel my mind going 100 miles per hour...but I love it. I have now been working long enough that I am having return visits of MY pregnant patients..nothing makes me smile more than my name on the chart under "Patient Provider."

My beginnings...

As many of you know..well, because I announced it via Facebook, I started my new career as a certified nurse-midwife last week. I had waited to be able to say that for so long, but yet as I began my new career I was filled with doubt and honestly a few moments of.."I might have taken too big of a bite." I was trying to figure out in my head how many years more it would take me to pay off my students loans as an RN and how many shifts a week that would take. Okay, okay..so that may have been a fleeting thought, but it was there.

Last Monday, I was working along side on of my physicians. She is an incredible doctor and incredibly busy. So while trying to see a few of her patients, learn the computer charting system, remember how to be a practitioner, including diagnosing and prescribing meds, and not get in her way, the knots in my stomach grew. I felt slightly doomed. On my way home, I called one of my midwife friends to cry on her shoulder. Though she gave great reassurances, I was not really convinced. Upon arriving home, Adam threw open the door to congratulate me on my first day and was anxious to hear all the details, including how exhilirated I was to be finally working as a midwife. Instead I was without words as I could not describe what I was feeling. I kept saying things, like "It was okay" and shrugged a lot. Honestly, I had used all my brain cells for that day and could not talk. I was just immensely hungry, wanted a glass of wine and to go to bed. Poor Adam. He had invested so much of his time, love and support to get me through school and start my new career. I know my reaction was a let down for him.

The next day was not much better. I had to keep reminding myself that this was only day two and that I needed to give myself a little credit. Honestly, I think I put more pressure on myself than necessary, as the physicians and staff kept asking me how I was doing and offering their assistance. I felt very welcomed, but couldn't shake the feeling that they might decide that perhaps hiring a new grad was a mistake. Then a great thing happened..my midwife coworkers both on separate occasions approached me to ask if I was doing okay and that it was normal to feel what I was feeling. In fact, one of them told me that for the first few weeks after starting to work she would go home and not be able to talk. Her brain was just that tired and full. AHA! That sounded so familiar. Now they both seemingly breeze through their days..I felt better after hearing that.

Yesterday, I worked my short day and saw six patients...on my own. My nurse approached me and asked me if I had any preferences. *smile* Not yet, I told her, give me time. It was nice to start slow and be able to make the necessary decisions without too much time pressure. In fact, I had two new OB patients and it felt great to give care, educate, congratulate and reassure. I felt my midwife spirit being renewed as I sat with my patients and listened to their stories as they opened up to me. I did a few well woman exams and was able to connect and educate them my way. I began to feel myself changing as I know my midwife style is beginning to develop. Funny how I feel a certain kinship with my new OB patients, as it may take 9 months for me to really begin to know myself. And many years, to nuture. I know my schedule will be busier (I hope) but relish the idea of being able to build up and gain confidence along the way. So last night, I came home with a smile.

Real life begins on Monday...eek!

So here it is..my last weekend before I start my new career. I have been waiting for this for so long and had hoped to start earlier than the 19th. Due to technical difficulties, I had to wait and was a little bummed. Ironically, now that my start date is only a few days away I find myself suprised at how quickly this day came. I have had some anxiety and a few sleepless hours in the middle of the night..notice how self-confidence never seems to exist at 3am? I have noticed that a knot is developing in the center of my back and my stomach hurts most of the day...

Don't get me wrong, I am very excited and motivated to get started but WOW! I am going to be a midwife..I mean like for real..the enormity of my future responsibilties does not escape me and I think that is where some of my anxiety lies. I have been rereading my textbooks, looking up medications and calling upon my midwife sisters for advice all in hopes that I don't go in looking the fool and that my education will show itself easily.

Last week, I was working what would be one of my last shifts as an RN. The physician I was working with seemed impressed by me and told this to the charge nurse that day. He did not realize that I was temporary and not going to be a permanent fixture at that hospital. At the end of my shift, he approached me and thanked me for taking care of his patient. Then he proceeded to state, "You know, if you are really good at something, maybe you should stick to it." I know he meant this to be a compliment but that has been playing itself over and over in my brain...and self-doubt began to creep in.

Today..I decided that is all going to change. I know that I am not going in as an expert midwife. I still have so much to learn and hope that I always will continue to learn. I know that I am a safe and compassionate midwife, which includes asking for help from my colleagues when needed. I realize that if I didn't go into this with a little fear and uncertainty then maybe I'm a little to conceited to be doing this amazing job. I am going to be okay. I am going to take deep breaths and pull from my inner strength. I am going to keep my eyes, my mind, my heart and ears open to new ideas and knowledge. I am going to trust myself.

And to the wonderful physician...Yes, I was a great L/D nurse..but it took me 10 years to get there.

Se Habla Espanol?

This is a story I shared on Facebook on March 9, 2009. I thought I would revisit it since it still makes me chuckle to this day. It details some of the "joys" of being a student-midwife. Enjoy!

Se Habla Espanol? Okay, so clinicals have been going great. Everyday I get a little more confident and am becoming more independent in patient care. I have even tackled a little Spanglish to get me by in my return OB visits until the interpreter arrives. Today I walked confidently into a patient room who was about 24 weeks pregnant. " Hola! Me amo Sarah, student pardenta." (whatever that means). "Como est da?" (blank look from patient) "Mi ablo un poquito Espanol" (which means i don't know what the hell i just said) Unfazed by the continued silence by my patient, I continue with.."dolor?, contraciones? sanguina bahina? aqua bahina?, mucho mueve bebe?" all the while waving my hands and arms wildly as if to illustrate what I am trying convey. (for those of you who are lost, i was asking if she had pain, contractions, loss of amniotic fluid or bleeding from down there, and if baby was moving a lot) The patient was silent and looked slightly scared, look toward the door a few times as if planning to escape..then she spoke softly, "Please, Arabic." Well, that will teach me to be so confident...