The Secret Life of Midwives - Their Family

A phone call brings news that a baby is ready to make his/her appearance. Cathy listens, asks questions, and makes a quick assessment to determine how soon she needs to get to the birth home. Sometimes the call comes during the middle of the night, during the quiet hours of deep sleep for the regular population. Cathy may try to get some more sleep, so she's well rested for the birth, but once the call comes, her mind begins to race. Sometimes the call comes mid-morning, possibly during a time when Cathy is getting ready to share time with someone in her own family. The call could find her in the middle of a family party, a quiet moment with one of her own grandchildren, or a rare moment of peaceful alone time being shared between her forever husband and herself.

It doesn't matter what is happening in Cathy's personal family life. When the call comes and it's time for her services, she throws on her Midwife Super Hero cape, calls "Li'l Red" into action (hopefully, already full of gas), packs her miracle equipment, and darts off into the horizon, leaving behind her loves, who watch her sail away to unknown places, with no return time determined.

While she is away, her loved ones adjust, but sometimes big sighs slip from their hearts. They understand and they have great pride in what their mother, wife, sister, and/or daughter does for other families. But, sometimes the disappointment about plans that need rearranging, overcomes them. Plans can continue, but there is a missing element, a sense of imbalance, because Cathy is missing.

I mentioned in an earlier post, that birthing time does not elapse parallel to regular time. Back at home, Cathy's family is feeling each minute, each hour. Dinner is eaten. Conversations exchanged. Dishes done, TV time or some Wii games enjoyed, but as her family starts to slow down and tire out, one by one, everyone goes to sleep with a wonder of when she'll be home. I experienced this on one of the nights she was at a birth. I woke during the night, realizing I hadn't heard her return. I was equally concerned for the mother she was tending to AND Cathy. I got up from my bed and peaked down the hall at Cathy's bedroom. Oh good. Her bedroom door was closed, that meant she'd come in during the night and she was getting some well earned sleep. I was able to return to bed, and a sigh slipped from my heart.

I am the chameleon reporter. I know what it is like for Cathy when she is at a birth, and I know what it is like to be waiting. At the first birth, I took my inexperienced time expectations with me. My cup was not empty. I watched the clock and estimated what time we should be getting home. Cathy serves at a birth with her clock cup empty. She is there until all matters are complete. Her time is on it's own speed. Sometimes she checks in with her own people and gives a report. Even though they know the routine, they know Cathy can't rush anything, a piece of them looks at their own clock and creates a private estimation of her return. I will admit my guilt to doing this.

Cathy loves her job. She loves families, babies, and birth. It pumps her. She loves her family. She loves the gathering of her tribe around her table, in her kitchen, exchanges, laughs, little ones, music, food. When called to leave one to attend another, she may feel a twinge of sadness.... but it is fleeting. She's off to join in another growing tribe. And her own tribe loves her. Understands. Waits. Patience is tested. Pride. Her family shares her with other families. Finally, the garage door is heard opening. Majestic takes her position as first greeter. A happy, sometimes weary Cathy walks through the door, and she's home. There are two separate families who have needed her and shared her that day. And Cathy's life is full in the giving of herself to both.

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I think Donovan should have written a song about midwives. Cathy, this is for you, sing it to the tune of "Isle of Islay"

Off drives the midwife
In her car.
Away to a family
far, oh, far.
When will she come back
to us?
When will we see her
again?

There is a mother
needs her skill.
A baby arriving
at his will.
Holding the space
is her call.
Time standing still
through it all.