I am learning amazing things at this clinic. Nothing is ever the same. Fifty million things going on at the same time. The only things consistent are that we eat Thai food all the time. I continue to learn that I must be super organized at all times. My car looks like a hobo and horse trainer have collided (the birth tub is in there and I keep clothes, towels, blankets, books, food, etc. all in case of births or beach time). I have the ability to sleep anywhere, think on my feet, and plan ahead, for the most part, at least it is getting easier. I am gaining confidence and managing births, families, outcomes. Although I do like to sit back and watch birth unfold, I am getting over my illusion that birth is going to happen on its own all the time. Women have too much baggage, too many issues, too many expectations, too much money, too many STIs…. I could go on.
This birth is about Celeste, a continuity of care client. She had met me once before, but as we got closer to the birth and we were seeing her weekly, she made sure I was in an appointment. She had to meet me because a friend of hers had a terrible assistant at the birth and she was petrified of this. I met her and guess I passed the test. It was awkward. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what she was looking for. It was this mother who taught me that I have to learn to read people better and put myself aside. If their birth is important enough for me not to micromanage it—I better know this woman inside and out. Now, I can be as organized and together as the best of them, but unless I am clued into what this woman needs and wants—it won’t matter if I have all my shit together and yours too.
She really wanted a water birth, but I swear she was pushing off her one knee cap, so we got her out of the tub. Plus, she was afraid of pooping and practically crapped all over my hand for half an hour as I held in her hemorrhoids. She had a wickedly short perineum. I should have gotten her out of the tub and onto the toilet, but was afraid to move her as she was so fragile seeming and honestly I didn’t want to rock her boat, but we had to do something. As soon as I stopped directing her, the clouds disappeared and all was clear. It turned out that I was better suited to manage her other child whom she desperately wanted to be part of the birth scene. I finally listened!!! And found out where my role was in this birth story. It wasn’t about all the knowledge in the world or acquisition or demonstration of skills, it was about holding her daughter, comforting her, and making myself available for her family. So, in essence, by me getting out of her way and in the way of her child, it was then that she could do what she needed to. The dance of midwifery, trying to figure out where to poise your hands or who to wrap them around takes none of the skills I have learned thus far. It seems like the more I grow—the more layers are placed, folded, enveloped around existing ones—creating this beautifully complex and confusing, but comfortingly so, origami of birth.
My Journey as a Licensed Midwife in Louisiana 