For K

(Note...for those who, for whatever reason may be reading this blog, and think that I'm in a mass "catch up" mode because it's been waaaay too long since I've made any entries...you would be correct ;-) ).

A couple of weeks ago I was going through my email and opened a notice from a national list that I belong to. In one entry, the poster left a url to her Utube documentary of moments during her pregnancy and birthing. Lo and behold, when one picture captioned "My midwife" came across the screen, I actually clapped and cheered (a little...I mean, I was sitting alone at a keyboard in front of a computer monitor...didn't want to look like I was...emotionally challenged).

The picture was of a very special woman...a midwife who I met nearly 10 years ago when I was a brand new L&D nurse, and she was a "vet" nurse, having been on L&D for over 20 years.

That job was one of the most miserable jobs I have ever had. I had just put in my obligatory year of med/surge nursing where I had been very very successful, fresh out of college, when I transferred to where I had planned to be all along, labor and delivery.

First day out of the gate, I went into a total state of shock.

This was the late Nineties...I had "come of age" in the Seventies, in the era of "Our Bodies Ourselves", Ina May Gaskin, fighting for our rights in the hospital to have our partners at our side, to birth our babies naturally, without the fog of Scopalamine or Demerol, of immedate bonding and breastfeeding, of Bradley, Lamaze, and VBAC. Although I didn't give birth myself until nearly fifteen years later, I totally absorbed that mind set. I had pretty much gotten what I wanted when I gave birth for the first time in the late Eighties. I had no idea how much things had changed (read that regressed) in the "Self Empowerment in Birthing" school of thought. I was stunned at all the planned inductions, the "epidural as norm" attitude, and the relative ease with which the decision to perform a Cesarean Section was made. Honest to God, I even remember a physician sitting on the edge of the bed of a newly admitted, beautifully laboring multip, with a history of two vaginal births , then a c/section, and finally a successful VBAC, trying with all her might to convince the mother that it was too dangerous to "attempt" another VBAC, and that she should immediately prepare for surgery! She didn't, thank God, despite what was essentially a temper tantrum by her physician...the same physician who had attended her VBAC!!!!!

Needless to say, things didn't go well for me. I was simply aghast that mother's seemed to just accept drivel like this, few if any took childbirth preparation classes, or if they did, they managed to squeeze them in during an 8-hour marathon Saturday class, and that most of them wanted to "stop being pregnant" by 39 weeks, so they gladly scheduled their inductions, and the first question out of their mouths upon arrival was not "How soon can I breastfeed my baby", but "How soon can I get my epidural"? My sense of shock must have come across loud and clear, because I was not a favorite of the Assistant Nurse Manager or the Nurse Trainers on that floor. We butted heads over and over again. The Nurse Manager and I got along well...she knew where I was coming from. She was a woman who truly cared about both the patients on her unit, as well as her staff, but even she was struggling. Turns out that Ms. Assistant Nurse Manager had applied for the job, but had not gotten it because she didn't have the required Master's degree. The Trainers were her "homies" from years and years of working together. Together, they had as their mission in life to make the Nurse Manager's life miserable. Did I say I hated that Job? I hated, hated, hated it!

Three months into the job (I don't know how I even lasted that long) I was diagnosed with a serious surgical problem, and took a long (about another three months) sick leave post op. Somehow I managed to drag myself back to the unit after my leave, only to learn that, in my absence, the Nurse Manager had left for a position in the hospital I now work in, and Psycho Assistant Nurse Manager had inherited the job because no one else was willing to even apply for it!.

Crap. No, make that Shit! Shit, Shit, Shit! Sometimes, there's only one word that fits, and this is the one!

It took about three days before I was a complete basket case. PNM (Psycho Nurse Manager) decided that I needed to be "reoriented", since I had barely finished my orientation to the unit before I became sick. In other words, she wasn't going to let one of her predecessor's allies stay on her unit if she could help it. At the same time, she was making life miserable for her other "targets", many of whom decided to resign, and with each new space that opened, she brought in one of her "homies" from her former employer, a decrepit unit downtown that still practiced like they were in the dark ages. It was becoming a unit of battleaxes.

I don't know why I kept fighting. I'm very stubborn. I keep thinking that if I just try one more thing I'll be ableto "fix" whatever is going on that is not working. I have an uncanny way of making myself (and anyone close to me) nuts that way. Stupid, I know.

Enter K...othewise known as, "She Who Introduced Me to the Sanity of Hope and Knowing Myself".

One long, late, dark night on the unit I was working in the newborn nursery all alone (for of course, all mothers were encouraged to "rest" by leaving their newborns to cry it out in the nursery all night). I had just managed, as a new L&D nurse, to get the entire nursery (that night about a dozen babies) bathed, vaccinated, fed, tucked in and charted for the night (I came to find out later that this was both unheard of and discouraged for nurses of my level of inexperience, but PNM was working very hard to get me to dig myself into a hole, and she didn't care if she put any or all of the infants on the unit at risk to do it). As I stood looking out over the parking lot from the (now quiet) nursery's window, K. walked up beside me, put her hand on my shoulder and said "nice job...you're going to be good at this...if you can stand it much longer".

I almost (almost...I'm too stubborn to otherwise) cried.

As we continued to talk, I learned that K. was as unhappy with what she was doing as I was...I remember breathing a huge sigh of relief hearing her say she hated seeing women being "treated like cattle" - finally someone acknowledged how I felt!. When I asked her why she was still there, she told me she was apprenticing as a Direct Entry Midwife, and wouldn't be there much longer. She had thought about going back to school for a CNM, but she knew that she would be forced, in that capacity, to work within this system, and the system stunk. She was willing to give up her nursing license to do it.

That morning when I got home, I did my usual "tears on the pillow" dance with my husband, who had finally had enough. He demanded that I quit the job. When I said we couldn't afford it, he pretty much threw a temper tantrum. "God Damn it, I just got the rest of your life handed back to me back on a surgeon's knife, and I'm not going spend it with you miserable. You should have learned by now that life is too short, and not to put up with crap like this. Quit! We'll manage!"

I quit the next day. Took a letter into human resources regarding the situation, and got them to agree to let me use my vacation in lieu of notice (heard later that PNM got nailed for some of the behaviors I described in my letter...I was also congratulated on a "very professional" resignation letter - I had included rebuttals to demands that had been made of me regarding standard of care, and backed them up with references to research articles, quotes from the State Board of Nursing, etc...typical for me, couldn't just write a simple, one-page resignation letter...had to write a tome...but it worked for me). When I went back to my unit to collect my things from my locker, not one head lifted from whatever they were doing...the experienced nurses because so many of them were the complicit cronies of PNM; the new nurses because they knew not to piss off PNM by seeming to sympathize with me; certainly I got no acknowledgment from my new (or old) Preceptors, or the unit Trainers, and absolutely not from PNM; but I did get a warm, tearaful hug from K. "I'm happy for you, honey. You've made the right decision. You'll be a great labor nurse when you find the right fit. Keep the faith. Go be happy."

That soft, warm hug kept me buoyed for weeks until I landed my next job...which was wonderful, and which led me to my current job. I did keep the faith, because K. had faith. No, things have not been easy...I "live and learn" every day. PNM isn't the first "Nurse Ratched With an Agenda" that I've had to deal with...and she won't be the last...but each time I come up against one, I recognize them earlier, and quickly beat them at their own game. I now practice on my own terms, those that are supported by good research and established Standard of Care.

K. is now a practicing Certified Professional Midwife. The state board of nursing has made a few underhanded threats about taking her nursing license from her for "practicing medicine without a license", until finally she gave up that license...something she had worked very hard for...something she was rightly proud of...and that was valuable to her...so that she could not be challenged by them any longer.

Unfortunately, K. and so many other midwives like her have more to fear than the state board of nursing...but they keep the faith. They support my faith. K. supports my faith. I have the opportunity now, to run in to her from time to time when she transfers a client, or when we attend the same event. It is always wonderful to go get my next "hug" from her.

Thank you, K. You are a blessing among blessings,