Today we had our audit. It went well except the caseworker asked for her chart and if we had heard. Her baby was in the critical care unit. She lost custody of both her children. The dad is in jail. The baby apparently has fractured ribs and collar bone that were healing. She may never see her babies again. The baby may not even live through this. And I didn’t answer the phone. Is it my fault? NO. Could I have prevented this? NO. Could I have made a difference in this outcome? Yes. Could I have gotten that baby medical attention sooner? Yes. Again, I am at a place of privilege and authority and I didn’t help. I am a bridge to healthcare for these people who need healthcare and may not know to go or can’t afford to go or whatever. Should I have answered my phone? YES. Now I am sitting here feeling sorry for myself when this baby is fighting for his life at a nearby hospital alone. His dad is probably never going to see his kids again. Who knows where the mom is—I can’t imagine she is doing well mentally, physical, or emotionally. And I can’t even call her nor do I deserve to talk to her. No one ever said that for as many happy happy wonderful amazing births that I will cry over, I will have as many equally as difficult, heart-wrenching, sobbing experiences. I want to say midwifery is balanced but I would rather say that it is bipolar. Going from one extreme to the next is exhausting. Holding it together for our clients is frightening. But being there for them is what makes you able to call yourself a midwife. Did I want to be a hero? No. just someone they could count on—just a midwife.
My preceptor said it’s a good thing I didn’t answer my phone and get in the middle of this mess, but what I feel like saying is how I’d rather be in the middle of it making a statement to the police than an excuse why I didn’t pick up the phone. Sigh. These lessons in midwifery are either going to make or break me. On top of all this, it is bike week here. It’s like a swarm of bees took over. Sigh. I can hardly hear myself order dunkin donuts when I roll down my window. We had two moms in the office this week who are giving their babies up for adoption. Wow. I asked my husband if he wanted to adopt one of the babies. He said he was glad I didn’t become a veterinarian. Emotional? I feel like an absence of emotion is abnormal. We had to take blood out of a primips ankle today. She wouldn’t let us do it anywhere else and it took 45 mins. To convince her it was all right. We went ahead and ordered the glucose screen even though she didn’t eat the standard breakfast. This was her first visit at 25 weeks. We saw 3 moms in a rows with cuttings on their arms-some relatively fresh. The mom we saw the other day who vomited 3 times in the exam room is miscarrying. She thanked me for caring about her and offering some crackers and apples. A primip urinated on herself and she thought it was amniotic fluid. She asked me to be at her birth. I had to give 2 rhogams shots and a B12 in the deltoid. I hate giving shots. Tomorrow I get to check a mom who lost her mucous plug at 19 weeks and see if she is dilating. I’ll swab her for cultures. I have to call in progesterone suppositories for one mom with a threatened miscarriage. She has to insert these messy beasts twice a day until 12 weeks. Lab core will need to be called and I will have to put the box out for them. I saw a cyst in the vagina. Looked like a pearl. I wish I was drinking wine every night. Need I say more?
My Journey as a Licensed Midwife in Louisiana 