This One's Not About Midwifery

Most of midwifing is about joy, whether subtle or overt – the excitement of a new pregnancy, the welcoming of a new life into the world, the beauty of a woman as she blossoms throughout the stages of life. The days when things aren’t so easy – long, drawn-out labors, difficult clients, or struggles to understand vague symptoms and nagging ailments – pale in comparison to the wonder of a mother gazing into her firstborn’s wide eyes.

This post, though, is about those days, few and (thankfully) far in between… as a nurse, a friend, and a family member, I’ve seen grief. Grief that sneaks up alongside you, taps you on the shoulder, and then takes you out at the knees; finally helping you up and keeping pace with you, step for step, until you feel as though you can no longer take it. I’ve worked with families who’ve had babies born still – babies born fully developed, perfect in every way; other babies have been lost far too early, months before they were expected to arrive, yet already eagerly anticipated and much loved. I’ve known and cried with families as they mourn the loss of babies diagnosed with terminal illnesses, not compatible with life, and supported them as they honored their loved, tiny infants the best way they knew how. As a midwife – remember, I have only been able to claim that title for two weeks – I have yet to embrace women and their families in those desperate, dark hours… but I will be there.

My grandpa died.

When it comes down to it, that’s what this post is really about. Barely two months ago, my grandpa – my Mini’s “Puppa” – was diagnosed with Acute Myelogenous Leukemia – and given a prognosis ranging from moderate to poor (depending on the treatment regime chosen and the response of the disease to it, of course). One dose of chemotherapy didn’t significantly improve Puppa’s counts, but didn’t drag him down at all, either; he still fought like hell. Even a nasty, raging infection to his IV port didn’t take the fight out – it was only when his oncologist really explained why he had recommended hospice care (rather than continued chemo treatments) that he just gave in, and let go… within a week, he was gone.

To me, Puppa was larger than life – he wore Brut cologne, farmed his entire working life, fished and hunted like a “real man” in the Midwest would, and ate headcheese and liverwurst (ewww). My memory is flooded with treasures from my childhood; this is the man who taught me how to bait a fish hook (and get a fish off the hook, once caught), climb up on a tractor to ride beside him, play cribbage, and to open a glass bottle of Sun-Drop with a bottle opener. I could go on and on – like any good granddaughter – but I’ll keep those memories as seeds to plant for the Mini’s, or if nothing else, for a day when I’m a little more awake, and it’s a little earlier. Memories that they may lose (or have never experienced) like how Puppa always had a teeny Tupperware container in his shirt pocket for them, with just two jelly beans or marshmallows in for them, or how on birthdays, he had a special card just for the birthday kid with exactly the number of crumpled dollar bills as years old you were turning, the envelope and card addressed in his loopy writing… his love of Diet Sun-Drop – but *only* in the old glass bottles, not in cans, and not in the ‘new’ glass bottles. And the dimes – always the dimes…

When death comes, it’s amazing how fast/slow things move. I swear it was just yesterday that my grandpa walked into my living room, showed me the lab results from his recent hospital stay, and asked me what I thought of them (as my heart dropped to the floor). And, just a few days before that – it had to have been – we were all out on the pontoon boat, with everyone healthy and happy. But it seems like it’s been months and months of watching him slowly fade away….

I can’t imagine the pain of losing a child, or a spouse, or a parent… yet I can’t fathom thinking that I’ve “only” lost my grandpa. How do you compare this hurt? I feel selfishly grateful that this is really the first time in my memory that I have lost someone close to death; I’m also so grateful that my family is so close to begin with, and that the Mini’s know their greatgrandparents so well. The very last words that my grandpa really said to me, a few days before he passed away – looking me right in the eye, with a squeeze of his hand – were, “Thank you.” When I asked what he was thanking me for, he said, “For it all.”

To everyone who has gone through this grief, whether the loss of a parent, grandparent, spouse, a sweet child, or the whisper of a child yet to be --- let yourself be embraced by the open arms of those who care. Open yourself to the friends who can offer words of comfort, hope, and love; to the family that shares your memories and knows stories outside of your own. Realize the true beauty of the people who will forgive you when you 'disappear' for a few days or weeks, lost in your own world of clouded thoughts and reminiscences. I feel so blessed and have so much appreciation for everyone who made the last few weeks, especially the last few days, easier than they might ever have been otherwise.

Thank you… for it all. XOXO

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

(P.S. This post formed in my head as I finally took a hot, hot shower, letting the past few days and weeks rinse over me; as I got out and wrapped myself in warm pajamas, I was overwhelmed with the scent of Brut…. *tear* Things always end up all right, don't they?)

I have been blessed...

I started to write this post last week, and never got around to finishing it. The title was different, and the whole tone of it - it was a little more playful, with an undercurrent theme that mirrored Tigger's theme from the classic Pooh cartoons (for those of you familiar with Pooh's adventures... and aren't we all??) - was meant to be a light-hearted-yet-deep reflection of the wonderful thing about blessings in life.

And I have. Truly, in so many ways, my life and my family, are lucky. As I (finally) sit down to type this, though, I just don't quite have the same levity as I did a week or so ago when I started composing this in my head. I was going to recite the list of changes that have happened over the past two months (comps, graduation, etc, etc...). Instead, I'm quiet; the Warm One is battling a fierce cold, the Littles are runny-nosed and cranky, and I've passed my boards exam. I am, officially and with no holds barred, a certified nurse-midwife.

The colds will clear up, and the Kleenexes and textbooks (and highlighters and scattered notepages) that have overtaken our home will eventually be cleared away as well. Some will be recycled, or tossed; others may be stored in the office "just in case" - who knows if I'll need that text again, or maybe I'll decide to 'recycle' it to an incoming student?

The other blessings in my life are just as clear: my family, who have been so close and willing to step in whenever needed during this journey. The Midwife, even when things became rocky, was a blessing in disguise; I learned things, personally and as a midwife, that I needed to know, from her. From D, and from all of the women and families along the way. From so many close, wonderful friends - some nearby, and some far away... women who I may never have met in person, and yet who I can (and have) shared so many of my deepest fears and funniest moments; these are my sisters and peers, both fellow students and mothers.

And, of course, the Warm One and the Littles (one of my proudest moments so far? When the Bigger Little 'corrected' the younger, who had thought that "Dimbo's" - Dumbo - mommy was being 'naughty' in the movie. The elder of my daughters explained that Dumbo's mother was upset that the other elephants were being mean to the baby elephant and making fun and picking on him because of his ears; that sometimes mommies had to stand up for their babies. It was a touching conversation for a mother to overhear between a 5 and a 3...)

*~*~*~*~*~*

Some blessings are a little harder to understand... in the months since my last post, my family has been stretched apart, and pulled together in an even stronger way. My grandfather, the "boss" of the family, was diagnosed with an aggressive leukemia just before Labor Day, underwent one round of chemotherapy, and has become progressively weaker since then. After a bout with a massive infection and complications due to the infection and its treatment, hospice - and the care that goes along with it - nurses are a daily reminder of the change. It's so hard to see the difference between the strong, capable man that taught me how to bait a fish hook and tossed hay bales into a barn loft, and the saddened man that cancer has made my grandpa. The thought of saying goodbye - along with the pain of seeing my grandfather this way, as well as how it hurts my grandmother - is only soothed by the idea that the time we are gifted by this allows for storytelling, memories, "I love you's".... my family has been together much more in these past few weeks than in the past years (we've always been close), although I don't know if this outweighs the pain that my grandparents are feeling. At this point, all we can do is "Let go and Let God..."

A shout-out for some sweet creativity...

This is a shameless post to thank some folks who are amazingly more creative than I am (thank goodness). As part of my clinical requirements, I need to have a certain number of "continuity" clients - ones that I follow throughout their prenatal course, welcome their baby, and then visit after the birth.

Now, the last part is the part that has bothered me ever since I found out about this requirement. Home visits themselves don't scare me; I've been doing them as a maternal/child health nurse; no sweat! But the thought of basically inviting myself into the homes of these mothers because I need to (not because it is specifically a part of their standard care regimen) - well, that seems awkward to me. The same part of me that feels like I've been imposing on them by being a student "outsider" all along doesn't want to intrude on their home as they are adjusting to new parenthood; I tell all my new moms (as a nurse and as a SNM), "No visitors unless they bring meals or plan to do some housework or laundry for you!". New babies = not having to have a spotless house or put on makeup or entertain company. I worry that if I ask to come visit, that is exactly what these new mama's (and papa's) will feel obligated - consciously or not - to do.

I'm crossing my fingers, of course, that they won't feel this way, and honestly - I don't think it really will be so bad at all. I have a few couples in mind - they are lovely, and we have great rapport. (In fact, I think I will call one of them tomorrow morning to see if I can stop in and say hello!) Buuuuttt..... just to soothe my own silly self, I decided that bringing a little something - totally not indicated by the requirements (and not something that I will use as a a bribe when asking if I can stop by!) - to thank mama and babe both for letting me share in their intimate journey in the first place, and then for allowing me to have another peek into their precious first few days at home. So, I asked the freakishly fantastic folks on etsy.com (check out the "Alchemy" tab) to help me come up with the perfect, sweet little - but yet inexpensive, for my poor student budget! - somethings... here's what I found:

Thanks to Corrine & Kelly at Nesting Project (http://www.etsy.com/shop/Nestingproject) for designing these *spectacular* and funky onesies for 'my' babes, who will no doubt wear them with pride. Soon I will (hopefully) post pictures of the fuzzy, soft little beanies and cozy little earflap hats that a few other Etsians - JadedFlower (http://www.etsy.com/shop/jadedflower), I Crochet Creations (http://www.etsy.com/shop/elizabithroze), Precious Elaine (http://www.etsy.com/shop/preciouselaine), and My Friend Ginger (http://www.etsy.com/shop/MyFriendGinger) all were excellent to work with and made the sweetest little baby head-warmers you could imagine for me --- thank you to them! I will try to get some pics up!