GOING HOME

Today I went home. It was wonderful and heartbreaking at the same time.

To me, home isn’t a perfect place. It’s where you feel loved, comfortable, accepted, encouraged. You love the people you spend time with there, but you don’t always agree with them, or sometimes even like some of them terribly much! Home is the first place you want to get away from when you want to assert your individuality, but the first place you want to go back to when you need the comfort of the familiar. You may disagree with some of your loved ones…heck, you may drive each other nuts sometimes, but you always love them…and they love you.

Yesterday I went to church, for the first time in months. In the past year, I’ve gone from a fairly regular church-goer, to a “Holiday” that is, “Christmas and Easter” Christian. Mostly, I’ve just chosen the path of least resistance, choosing not to leave the warmth of my bed and softness of my husband’s arms, in lieu of fiddling with the hair and makeup, and the aggravation of goading the rest of m y family out of bed. It’s just so much easier to snuggle back down under the covers, or to head home after a long Saturday night shift rather than detour to church on the way, sacrificing another couple of hours of precious sleep.

Or is it? I seem to go through a period like this every few years, although I think this has been one of the longer strays. Each time, after a few weeks, I begin to feel a little more irritable and restless than usual, and the tiniest bit isolated. This takes its’ toll on every relationship I have…with my spouse, my boys, my coworkers, my friends...even my patients. I am more in a hurry when I needn’t be. I am more prone to worry about things that either I can’t change, or that I don’t want to put the effort into changing when I can. When I finally get myself back to church though, my perspective seems to bust out like a swollen river through a dilapidated flood wall.

My congregation is huge…we are considered one of the six or seven “super-churches” in my area. We have I don’t know how many thousands of members, and probably just as many more casual visitors on any one given event . We encompass three distinct buildings, the original “traditional” one , the newer “contemporary” one, and the newest of our congregations, but the oldest, smallest building, in a decidedly “urban” area. The common pastoral staff over these three “campuses” is a group of people who are amazing in the way they manage the administrative and spiritual needs of this multi-faceted congregation. Even more amazing is the sheer vibrance of this place. It is filled with the most loving, caring, compassionate people I know…people who possess a faith so solid I can only hope to grow into.

Like any “family” though, there are problems. Suffice it to say, for now anyway, that I am a somewhat liberal woman who is a member of a rather conservative congregation, where the recognized leadership is mostly male. A few of my personal beliefs, particularly those on human sexuality, are in direct conflict with those actually outlined in writing as the core teachings of my congregation. This is difficult for me…who am I to disagree with individuals so highly educated in religious history, practice and principle, and whose support, counsel, and yes, wisdom has always been a mainstay of my support system?; but there it is…I just can’t accept every core teaching, no matter how hard I try; but the one thing I am certain of is that I love this place, these people…and they love God, His creation, and I am humbled to know that they love me. This place, these people…are my home.

I wish I could say that this grand love I speak of was how I conquered my laziness, and got out of bed on Sunday morning to attend worship, but I can’t. I slept until noon , enjoyed a long, hot shower, primped in front of the makeup mirror, got dressed, and headed out in the early afternoon with my family to attend the Celebration service for the life of my friend Steve, of my most recent post. Steve died peacefully just over a week ago. This is a tremendous loss…not only for his family, but for many people. Steve was an incredibly loving, optimistic, accomplished man. To “meet” this wonderful man go to http://www.marriagejunkie.com/ (scroll down to the June 24 entry), and http://www.royalgazette.com/siftology.royalgazette/Article/article.jsp?articleId=7d8588f30030018&sectionId=118. Be sure to read his online journal as well, at www.caringbridge.org/visit/stevejudah.

So Steve, as he had been doing for most of his life, brought me, and I’m sure others, “back home”, even after his earthly death. During the service, his beautiful daughters and their husbands spoke of him, as did several of his friends and accomplished colleagues. What was central during each of these tributes was not only what an incredible man Steve was, but how many people whose relationships…with their spouses, their families, their children, their coworkers, their God…he guided towards wholeness, not only during his illustrious career, but during his dying as well.

It was a time filled bittersweet tears and almost raucous laughter, both a mourning and a true celebration. It was also a tremendous personal gift. Call it what you will…Coincidence, Divine inspiration, or simply enough of an emotional release to break open the “blocks” I’ve been experiencing...in my writing as well as my spiritual, physical, emotional, and professional well-being...when I left the service Sunday all confusion about my own earthly “transitions” seemed to have melted away. Decisions I had been wrestling with seemed to have suddenly become “no brainers”. I knew exactly in what direction I wanted to go, and I had some pretty reasonable ideas about how to get there. More importantly, I got just enough of a spiritual “kick in the backside” to realize what was most important, regardless how many twists, turns, and backslides my path will inevitably take...indeed, even if I never reach my anticipated goals. If I value , nurture, and above all love the people with whom I am in relationship, whatever the outcome, my life will be a good one…not easy…and certainly not without pain… but satisfying. Goals are good things; but it's the journey that counts.

What a relief; and what a tremendous blessing.

METAPHOR FOR STEVE

Years ago, my husband and I discovered a wonderful place to unwind and regroup at a rustic inn located in a hiker's wooded paradise an hour or so by car from our home. While we were there, I had the most profound conversation with the owner of the inn, Ellen...

Ellen had taken over the management of the inn from her mother, Ann, who had died several months before from mouth cancer. The inn had long been a dream of Ann's, one that she had been able to bring forth in spite of countless obstacles; and just as her dream was coming to fruition, she became ill. During her transition from life on this earth to whatever "hearafter" she, I, or anyone reading this might believe in,she wrote a short book..."A Journal of a Dying", that chronicled her last weeks, and the love, support and care she received from her daughter and woman-friends as they accompanied her to that door through which only she could pass.

After learning that I had once worked with a hospice organization, and was at the time, both a doula and a nursing student hoping to study midwifery, Ellen gave me a copy of her mother's journal to read. I spent three hours of a rainy Saturday, snuggled in a chair by the wood stove in the common room of the inn, and devoured the book. Ann spoke clearly to me, and whoever else had the opportunity to read her words, "hear" her voice through the pages she wrote while she waited to step into eternity. The last chapter of the book was written by Ellen, as Ann had lost the strength to write. It was a bittersweet ending, but one filled with the joy and hope brought by knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that this life is not the total of our experience...it's just the beginning.

I was so overwhelmed by the book, that I sought out Ellen to tell her how much I loved it. She responded with the most amazing thoughts. I can't remember her words exactly, but they were something like this...

"I knew you would appreciate it. I remember having my own children; and while my mother was dying, I remember thinking how similar dying seemed to labor...it's unimaginable pain; it's incredibly hard work; the people you love do everything they can to help you through it, but you know that, ultimately, the only person who can do this is you; and just at about that point, a "peace" comes into the room; a laboring mother seems to become unaware of what's going on around her...she's moved inside of herself, accepting the inevitable, gathering all her will and power to get this done; the dying person begins to seem as if they have one foot in this world, and one in the world they are about to enter; and then, just when you think you you can't take another minute, not another second of this, a life tumbles into the room, or through to the next dimension, and there is sense of profound relief. No more pain, no more struggling. Lots of tears...but also a sense of joy...as bittersweet when a loved one dies, as it is a celebration when a loved one is born. It's two poles of the same experience".

I was speechless (and if you knew me, you'd know how extraordinary that is). Ellen's metaphor was so profound to me. I've never forgotten it. Indeed, I'm privileged to see this miracle of transition several times a week as I nurse mothers through their labors; I remember seeing it when I worked in hospice, and I saw it when I held vigil with my mother, my brother, and my sisters as my father died.

And now I'm seeing it with Steve...a wonderful, anointed, learned man, a special friend, someone who my husband and I, although we don't see him often, will miss dearly when he dies. I wrote this entry for Steve, his beautiful (in every sense of that word) wife Sharon, and their three equally beautiful daughters. Steve is dying. He's fought his disease with all the strength and resources at his disposal; and now he's accepted, probably more fully than anyone else, the inevitable outcome of his journey.

It isn't fair! He's too young. He and Sharon were just getting back to that "just you and me, kid" phase of their marriage when the responsibilities of parenting give way to more time for each other, and a future filled with grandchildren, travel, and many more happy expectations. He's well-known in his field...his contributions are huge...and there were many more to be made; but those are my gripes. Steve seems to have made his peace with it. Here, I want to share parts of the last few entries he's made in the online journal he keeps to communicate to his family, and to scores of friends, clients, and colleagues who love him dearly...

+++++


Wednesday, April 30, 2008, 10:22 PM, CDT

This is such a strange and surreal time - standing in the gap between earth and
eternity. I feel that all I need to do is
take a nap or exercise and then everything will be
normal. Then I recall that I'm wearing a powerful pain
patch, taking anti-nausea medications, am getting IV
fluids for advanced and terminal cancer. I'm blessed
to have wise medical counsel so that I can experience
these beautiful though surreal days of quality.

I believe that shortly I will be called into eternity. I will be
called by a new name and go to a place that has been prepared for
me. I will recognize my new name when I hear it. When we
encounter God, there's always a change. and often a struggle accompanies this transformation (ed. emphasis mine)
I'm living the struggle, encountering God in
new ways, being changed...


Friday, April 25, 2008, 04:37 PM, CDT - Greeting Friends and Family,

An interesting thing has been happening. Various persons have
responded to our current circumstance by saying that they feel
called by God to show love in a special way to us. I'd like
to put this in a larger context. Think of the words like
calling, promise, covenant. One way God calls us to serve is
by specifically laying on our hearts something that we can
promise to another person. For example, someone could say, 'I
promise to look out for you in your dating relationships with
young men in the absence of your father.

So times like this transition between earth and eternity
provide a special summons to think through these
opportunities. I want to challenge you to think about how
God may be calling you to make a divinely inspired
commitment, promise, or covenant to someone's needs that
you are keenly aware of and you are equipped to serve. Is
God speaking to you?

In this simple and practical way we are loving one another.
And that's what it is all about.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008 10:38 PM, CDT

Greeting Beloved. This is the most important message I've yet
sent to you from my perspective. This morning I h ad a most
surpassing spiritual experience. I want to place it into
three parts (1) the context, (2) the message, (3) and the
experience.

(1) The context is that we had just decided to pursue hospice
care in order to have quality of life for the remainder of my
life rather than furter treatments or interventions since my
diagnosis is terminal. I see th is as an opportunity to
celebrate the transition between earth and eternity. So with
this backdrop I went to sleep at 12:30 AM and awakened at 5:30
AM with an incredibly crystal clear message. The message
follows:

(2) Peace.
Life Death
Live a good life.
Do Good.
Accept Salvation through Christ.
Die.
Live Eternally.
Peace.

(3) Lastly let me convey the experience. I had the most
overwhelming experience of PEACE that I have ever had in
my life. So my wish for you is that you too find Peace
as God calls unto you.

I love you. thanks for your ceaseless prayers and support.
Steve.

+++++


This is the best way I could think of to pay tribute to such a
remarkable man, and his beautiful family...to share his words in context with the words Ellen shared with me all those years ago. In response to Steve's
encouragement to make a "covenant to someone's needs"...that I am "equipped to
serve", I'm blessed with several, at least. My estranged friend Kathy will be getting a bouquet of yellow roses on her 50th birthday this month (she's from Texas); I'm seeing my husband, and my love for him in a whole new light...and my life in a perspective that, while it is full of potential and possibilities I now
remember to remind myself is a gift, just as it is in the here and now; and I'm blessed
to be "equipped" to provide nursing care to women as they labor to bring their
babies into the world. I'm blessed to be able to say that this is my calling.

Steve's calling was to help people heal their relationships...with their partners, their families, their God, their selves. He continues to do so in no less
a profound way than he did while he shared his gift in countless books, journal articles, or, most importantly, face-to-face sharing with those he felt called to serve...and who felt called to reach out to him. His work has "given birth" to renewed marriages, healed relationships, and a unique form of therapeutic communication that is being taught and used with great success all over the world.

I can't quite bring myself to say the the words..."I will miss you, Steve". Because your presence will always be strong in your written works, and in the love you shared with the people you guided through pain to healing. It will be strong in my memories of your voice, your smile, and yep, that little sigh of frustration I could just barely hear, and that oh, so subtle quizzical look on your face when I just wasn't "getting it".

Steve, I "get it" now.

And I thank you.

Thanks. It seems like such a tiny word relative to all you have done for us.

That is how you loved your God; that is how you loved everyone who ever had the
privilege of meeting or knowing you.

And yes, that is certainly what it is all about..

WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN......

??? I've been asking myself, at least in terms of this blog. After all my "talk" about needing to get back to writing, I should think I'd have been back here many times since my last post.

I suppose I shouldn't be too hard on myself. At the time of my last post, my family and I were in the process of moving to the most amazing house we've ever lived in. We absolutely love it. I do not, however, love the piles of laundry, and the piles of "stuff" in my dining room and garage which have yet to be unpacked and placed in their new "homes". I so look forward to the time that the house is organized, and I can return to making meals in my non-chaotic kitchen (we've become fast food junkies these past few weeks of transitioning), get back to swimming, which has gone on the back burner as of late, and especially get back to writing and working towards whatever future may present itself to me.

Sounds a little "new agey", doesn't it? "whatever future presents itself to me". Well, actually that is not an original idea of mine. I've started reading Eckhardt Tolles book that is being discussed by Oprah (yes, Oprah). As far as her online "class" goes, I have yet to participate live...I started behind and I hope to catch up to them by the last two classes...but I am enjoying the book. I'm not certain I agree with every idea that is presented in it, but that is precisely the point of the book...finding what works for you. In the first weeks' discussion between Mr. Tolle and Ms. Winfrey, Mr. Tolle, talks about his writing, and how the words just would not be written until the timing was right. He knew he wanted to write...but something just did not click until one day he received the thought "move"...and he moved from England to the West Coast of the U.S., at which time the words for his book began to tumble from his heart, to his head, out from his fingers onto the page. When he would return to England, he wasn't able to write new material...he could edit and proof, but new words wouldn't come to him.

Another point from the first chapter of this book was look at your life not as what you wanted to do with it, but what life wanted from you. That thought appealed to me. I love what I do right now...despite all of its frustrations; but I've always wondered if I want to continue it indefinitely. I don't think so. For one thing, the energy, both emotional and physical required by the job is tremendously stressful and tiring. For another thing, the frustrations of watching women submit themselves to a system which doesn't seem to respect them as rational, thinking, responsible human beings with the right and ability to make choices about their birth-giving times is overwhelming sometimes.

And then there is serendipity. That is the only word I can think of that describes so many of the things that have been placed in my path recently. Our new home, for example. Right now, for a number of reasons that may or may not come out in future posts, we are renting, rather than "buying" (if the way we "buy" our homes in this day and age truly constitutes ownership), our home. A year ago, when we thought our lease was about to expire, we went looking for, and thought we had found the "perfect" home to rescue us from our tiny, run-down half-double with it's growingly psychotic landlord and deteriorating neighborhood, we found out, much to our dismay, that a clause I missed prior to signing the lease required three months notice prior to the expiration of the lease date, in order for the lease not to automatically renew for another year! I was crushed! Although the clause was very unusual (that is to say, unheard of), according to the legal research I did, getting out of that lease would have been a nightmare of what was already a nightmare of living next to a landlord who was quickly becoming insolvent, and who would do just about anything to keep from losing one of the only renters (me), who paid him on time. We decided to "table" our house-hunt, waited out the year, gave our three months notice, not knowing where we would end up, and one day my husband walked into the door and said I've found an amazing house. You have to see it. I did, and I loved it...it's practically perfect for our needs, and we never would have found it if we had been able to follow our origial plan for our first "perfect" prospective home.

Another perhaps serendipitous occurrence happened a few nights ago at work. Things were a little slow, (unusually so), and I took the opportunity to ask a Nurse Midwife who happened to be on the floor that night what made her risk getting her CNM when she needed to stay in a town that had so little openings for them. Her response was that at the time, her family would have been able to move with her upon graduation, but she "lucked out" and found her current position. She then proceeded to tell me something that I was not aware of, that the opportunities for CNMs in our city are opening up, and began to name them....

And off I went, once again considering the huge step of going back to school at my age, to get a masters. There are a lot of things up in the air regarding that quest...and a number of things I feel I should do before I seriously pursue it...get organzied at home, get certified in Women and Infant Nursing, and as a childbirth educator, study for, and take the GRE (it will take a high score for me to be considered a truly competitive candidate), and to take the local Community college up on its offer of a part time teaching job. Each of these steps can be accomplished in the next year and a half, and, with the exception of the GRE, each will serve to provide me with additional knowledge and "fall back" skills, whatever I end up choosing...rather, whatever Life (or God, or the Universe) chooses for me to do.

Who was it that said "The journey of a thousand miles begins with but a single step"?

Time to take that first step.

Why am I "in Transition"?...

...For a lot of reasons. I'm not willing to say just how old I am yet (early midlife will have to suffice for now), but I am getting to that point in my life where the transitions are more about getting older than they are about growing up. My boys are teenagers now...the older of the two will graduate from high school in a few months and head off to Marine Corps Boot Camp (reservist for now), and then start college. My youngest will graduate in two and a half more short years. The empty nest looms.

I hate saying this, but I can't stay solely a Labor nurse indefinitely. I love what I do, despite its frustrations and the tendency to burnout; but it's taxing work, physically and emotionally. I wonder sometimes just how long my back and knees will hold out. Losing weight and exercising will help that tremendously, but there has to be a limit. There are a couple of nurses on my unit who have worked until retirement (over age 60), and even come back in a limited capacity...a shift or two every week or so. They inspire me. Emotionally the work can be rough as well. I know this sounds sexist, but it's unfortunately true...wherever the work force is dominated by females, witchiness happens. I get tired of the constant bitching and gossiping. Not that everyone is that way, nor do the ones that do it do it all the time; but it does affect moral on the unit, and for me, tends to burnout. Hospitals being what they are (a business as well as a service), dealing with the "corporateness" of it all can be frustrating; and finally, particularly because I work on a unit that deals with a lot of high-risk situations, and a lot of patients who live in not-so-good situations, the work can be emotionally taxing. Optimism can be hard to come by sometimes. Having said that, I do work with some amazing women, incredibly skilled and experienced nurses from whom I have learned much; and I have experienced many rewards in working will all kinds of families.

I need to generate more income. I didn't graduate from nursing school until I was 40, and I still have the student loan debt and lack of retirement savings to show for it. I'm looking at ways I can do that...teaching, consulting, maybe even writing. Teaching, particularly looks like it will happen before long; I've been talking with a local community college about becoming a part-time clinical instructor and occasional lecturer in their program; that will entail reducing my hours in my current job, and working during a different time of day during the part of the week I'm teaching (I'm a confirmed night-shifter), and that will be a big, if welcome change. Change can be challenging...even the good changes.

Finally, I still think about getting an advanced degree. At my age, I wonder if it will be "worth it"; but there is so much I want to do that a Masters or even higher degree might open the door to;and there is so much to learn. I just wonder if there is time enough to do it before retirement. I can't imagine ever being completely retired...I'll always want to stay involved in my field as long as I can, in at least some small way...but the reality is that the older you get, the less opportunity there can be, in terms of employment, unless you're in upper management...and even then ageism can get you, even if it technically is illegal. Financially, it will be difficult to justify the extra expense of another degree if something doesn't change drastically in my finances.

There is always hope.

Why Blog?

I used to think blogs were goofy; I mean, who cares about what Joe or Josephina Schmoe or anyone else out there thinks about anything? I thought bloggers were just lonely, dysfunctional people with nothing better to do, or extremist types who were using the internet to spew their venom (I respectfully exclude Arianna Huffington from either group...I've always liked her blog). Furthermore, who could possibly care what I have to say about anything?

Shame on me.

I've found there are lots of blogs out there that have good information...many of them I've listed on my front page. I think you have to be careful...there are a lot of good and not-so-good motives for blogging; but being a discerning and reasonably intelligent person, I think the blogs I've been reading have been well worth the time I spend on them.

Take Navel Gazing Midwife for instance; the stories she shares renew my faith that we can find a way to make birth less clinical and more woman-centered; that women will stop being afraid of the awesome power of their bodies and celebrate, rather than shrink from that power. Barb is willing to talk about when she changes her opinion on a belief, based on life experiences that have matured her...even when those experiences have been born of her own mistakes and misconceptions. She's willing to share her anger and her joy, literally pour her heart out about her feelings about her experiences...and I identify with so much of what she says that I feel validated about my own feelings...i.e., there are women out there, women of more experience, that feel the way I do...I'm not crazy after all (neurotic, somewhat...crazy, no).

The writer of At Your Cervix amazes me; she is willing to share such personal things about herself...her weight, her decision making process about turning to weight loss surgery, and her subsequent success after that surgery; she posts pictures of herself...I'm not ready to put myself out there that far yet, but I appreciate her being able to...it's encouraging for a woman who also struggles with obesity; I love to read what she writes about her experiences as a Labor and Delivery Nurse...particularly her cynical but humorous accounts of patients with their myriad of silly complaints, the abuses of the public system (taking ambulances to the hospital for little things like a cold, when a friend or neighbor was available to take them but just didn't feel like it for whatever reason), inappropriate behaviors (why, oh why do people bring dozens of people with them to the hospital in the wee hours of the morning, including sleep-deprived toddlers who are unsupervised and into all sorts of places they shouldn't be?), outrageous expectations (no, we aren't going to pay for your cab-fare home, and no, we don't provide free meals to your family), and amazing ignorance about what is happening to them (no, you can't get pregnant again if you're already pregnant!!!). She tells stories of women and families that are bringing children into the world under painful circumstances (teen mothers, addictions, abuse, crushing poverty). Again, she validates my frustration; but for every nut-job out there there is a woman or family who do not abuse the system, who do behave appropriately, whose expectations are realistic, and who will provide a loving, secure home for their child; At Your Cervix shares some of the most heartwarming stories of them, and how she served them (as well as the not-so-lovable patients). She inspires me to be the best nurse I can; and isn't the title of her blog the funniest play on worlds? Hilariously creative!

Midwife With a Knife helps me understand the reasons why obstetricians make some of the decisions they do...she shares a lot of the medical knowledge she has. Sometimes something she writes about piques my interest and I head out to the medical library at the university to get more information about the topic.She shares the thoughts of a woman getting through residency, and helps me understand what residents are up against; I still get frustrated about some of the things I see out of the residents I work with, but more and more, thanks to MWWAK, I realize that I don't always have all the information I think I do when I pass judgement on a particular behavior or decision by a resident; MWWAK has helped me learn.

My friend C's blog is sort of like a journal...I imagine my blog will serve that purpose for me as well. Things that C might not say out loud she puts on her blog...and I learn more about who she is and what drives her. My guess is that that C is learning the same thing, just from organizing her thoughts and writing them down in a tangible place...and I'm pretty certain that I will do the same thing. Again, just like the other bloggers I read, I'm amazed, and grateful for how C puts herself out there. She, like most of the other bloggers I read, places quotes, pictures, music and other downloads on her blog, and I want to do that eventually as well. Already in building this site, I've learned things about manipulating my computer that I didn't know before...and I'm looking forward to learning more

It looks like blogging can be a way of meeting and communicating with others who share my beliefs and passions...and that is always fun, and often life-enriching. Amazingly enough, someone far away from where I live has found my blog and left a lovely comment (I'm so excited; my first comment!!!). Several years ago I stumbled on a site on the internet where women with similar interests shared their experiences with each other. Over the years we've become a real community. I've talked to several of my internet friends over the phone, corresponded with several of them privately, rejoiced with them when children were born or adopted, wept with them with shared disappointments, got into some pretty heated (but ultimately respectful) disagreements with them, encouraged and been encouraged by them when things were tough for one of us; I get a kick out of "talking" with women from all over the world. I wouldn't stop logging into that site for anything; and now I have another way to meet people. I'm enough of a cynic to know I have to be careful; you never truly know who is on the other side of those communications...unseen to whoever is reading your posts, a person can make themselves out to be anything they want to be; but over time, you can, if you are cautious and judicious, pretty well determine who is genuine and who is not. Interesting world we live in, isn't it? It seems that nearly as much communication is happening over the internet with people we've never seen, as with friends, coworkers, neighbors and aquaintances in a face-to face encounter.

So I decided to start a blog myself; If I've nothing of value to say to anyone else, It will be of value to me; already I've busted that writing block wide open, and I seem to feel more energetic about other parts of my life as a result. This is a release for me. I think it's a good thing.

Did I say in my last post I was going to be more succinct in the future? Guess I'll have to work on that. Looks like I also need to work on those run-on sentences!

For Anyone Who May Still Be Out There

Ok, so the first post was a little (!) wordy. I'll get better. More succinct. You get the picture. Coming soon, my discourse on what used to be my opinion of blogs and bloggers.

Just Do It!

I used to love to write...maybe it was because I was younger, less jaded, and so passionate about things I thought I knew a lot about; maybe it was because it organized the myriad of thoughts buzzing around my over-occupied mind; and a little, well maybe just a little more than a little, a few people, including one very special professor, told me I did it rather well. For the past couple of years though, I have done very little writing. Burnt-out maybe? Overloaded with work and stressful life changes? Probably.

Then I met my friend C.

C. is a young woman almost half my age, but more my equal than anyone my own age I know. A woman with a passion for many of the things I also love, a woman with an amazing future, and a huge contribution to make to the world that I'm looking forward to watching unfold.

C. and I run loosely in the same circles...but they're circles that I mostly float around the periphery of because for the past three years I've immersed myself in my job and my home-life; I managed to keep abreast of what was going on in the field by lurking on chatboards and email lists, occasionally posting to them, and the occasional email or telephone call to or from friends and colleagues I had for too long neglected in my tunnel-visioned life.

It's taken me most of my life to come to the conclusion that there are very few coincidences. I always used to hate it when people would say "Everything Happens for a Reason". Bullshit (sorry, but that's the way I always internally responded to that drivel); I mean, the world can be a pretty rotten place. People we love die, friends drift away, marriages fall apart...does someone want to give me a reason this happened?????, I would think (or say outright if the mood struck), when something particularly horrible happened to me or a friend or aquaintence....; but what I've slowly come to believe is, that no matter how painful a life event may be, no matter how purposeless it seems, if we're emotionally healthy enough to ride it out, we can eventually give meaning to that pain. So, I still don't believe that "Everything Happens for a Reason"...but I do believe I can learn from whatever happens to me, good or bad...if I give it enough time for the pain to dissipate a little, for the emotional wounds to heal a little, for the scars of cynicism and disappointment to soften a little...and if I just quit struggling to figure out "why" something has happened, and to just accept that it has, and accept that this is going to hurt...maybe for a long time...but I will somehow get through it.

So how in the world does that philosophical soliloquy relate to meeting C., and how does meeting C. relate to my deciding to start writing again, by just putting something, anything, down on paper (or the computer)? Well, it's a long story; but I'm going to try to give you (whoever the "you" is that I'm writing to...I'm still a little ambivalent about blogs...more about that in my next post) the "Readers Digest" version...

Eighteen (eighteeen!...God, how did that happen?) years ago the first big tragedy (maybe the only one, because I tend to overdramatize a lot) of my life occurred. My firstborn infant son died at the age of three weeks after surgery to correct a heart defect. At the time, I though I'd absolutely die from the pain of that loss; but I didn't. And as I slowly emerged from the days and weeks of grief I crawled through in the months after his death, I began realize I had been given a gift from this precious "lost" child. I had loved being pregnant. I was overwhelmed with the sheer power of giving birth to him; I was overwhelmed with the immediate love I felt as I cradled him close and kissed his little face; he made me realize just how much I would love being a mother; and, as time went on, I found my my other calling...one that I might have ignored had I not crossed paths with this precious little soul.

At the time, I was a 30-year old mid-level manager at an insurance company, teaching mostly 20-somethings how to process medical claims. I had done fairly well for myself, but I was bored...B-O-R-E-D. I had gotten away from my initial goal of going to medical school, and, I was getting a lot of "rubs" from my superiors about how "smart" and "talented" I was,; so I, with overinflated ego, decided to go back to college on a premedical track. I got pregnant at the end of my first year, three weeks before I was to sit for the MCATS. Early pregnancy and I did not get along too well, I was exhausted most of the time, so I decided to sit out the testing until after the baby was born. After all, I was planning to quit my job and return to school full time then, and would have lots of flexibility (because...babies couldn't take up that much time, now could they?...Oh, the ignorance of youth). Well, second trimester things felt a lot better, I reveled in decorating the nursery, buying all manner of "crucial" baby equipment, embraced my growing belly and the attention of prospective grandparents, and friends who doted on me with showers, casseroles, and offers to clean my house during my "confinement"; and then Jonathan came tumbling into the world, and after a beautiful birth, and wonderful first two days of life, he tumbled into the pediatric intensive care surgical unit of our local children's hospital, and I began, for the first time in my life, to become an adult...and I was only on the first step, having had that extended adolescence that we children of the Seventies are so famous for.

Well, despite the utter mental and emotional chaos of those three weeks of Jonathan's life, I was aware enough to notice what was going on around the pediatric SICU. The nurses were incredible. I was fascinated watching them manipulate the lines and monitors, start IVs, change dressings, comfort the babies, comfort their families, interpret test results, act fast when a baby was starting to fail, and have everything prepared when the attending surgeons would strut through giving orders for things the nurses had already anticipated. These men and women were hands on. Each morning the residents would shuffle through, examine all of the babies, make copius notes on charts, and take their daily beating from the attendings. The ones who seemed to fare better were the ones who treated the nurses with respect. The nurses would give them tips on how to survive the grilling, educate them on what was going with each complicated case. The ones who dismissed the nurses with that "Me Doctor, You Nurse" attitude got nada...and they were the ones who got tortured the most during morning rounds by the attendings. Each morning and each evening they would glide through the unit and disappear again, leaving the nurses in charge of the precious little souls; and I came to realize that, if I got into medical school and went through with it, I would always regret it. I was a nurse at heart. Ok, so I don't make nearly as much money, or get nearly the respect that a physician gets; but I love what I do, and that's what counts.

So, three years, two babies, and one marriage later I went back to school...managed to claw my way into and through the college of nursing, and at the ripe old age of 40 I graduated with my BSN. During school I found my "niche" in courses that dealt with women's issues, and I was introduced to the profession of midwifery. I got involved with the local direct entry midwives in town, and through them met many women who were involved in one way or the other in caring for childbearing women. When I graduated, I went to work as soon as I could in Labor and Delivery, hoping to return to school someday to get a Master's in Nurse Midwifery; as I became immersed in trying to survive as a new nurse, and a newly single mother, I drifted away from daily contact with my college community, but I kept in touch with them over the phone and internet; and every now and then I'd see a post from a doula named C., and they were always thoughtful, insightful posts. Several years after that, I walked into work one night on the new unit I had just started on two months before, and the Charge nurse handed me a chart , rolled her eye and deadpanned "Birthplan. Doula. You're the "Earthy-Birthy" type, they're all yours. Let me know when they're ready for their C-section", snickered, and walked away. I muttered and bitched all the way down the hall, walked into the room expecting to see the usual arrangement of I.V, epidural pump, beeping monitors and sleeping laboring mother, but instead I saw a beautiful young woman sitting on a low "birth stool", arms wrapped around her husband who was kneeling in front of her, and a slender young woman with short, sandy hair, down on her haunches behind the woman, talking softly into her ear, massaging her back, encouraging her, reassuring her husband, and soothing her lovingly through every powerful contraction that swelled through her body. C. literally loved that woman and her husband through a long and painful labor, to its triumphant climax of the birth of a precious baby girl who went immediately to the breast, latched on securely and stayed there with C.'s gentle, confident, non-intrusive assistance. No IV. No epidural. A laboring mother that moved, moaned and swayed through her birth. A baby that went to the breast as if she had been doing it all her life (she had!). I was overwhelmed. After three years of working Labor and Delivery, I was finally beginning to accept what was in the beginning to me, a stunning and disappointing conglomeration of elective inductions, scheduled cesareans, and medically managed "painless" via almost universal use of the epidural, births. I had long since decided that becoming a Nurse Midwife was out of the question, because you couldn't buy a position as one in this major-medical-school-physician-controlled city, and I couldn't move to another city or state, thanks, unless I were willing to give up custody of my two sons to their father. I wasn't. In three years, this was the very first unmedicated, "natural" birth I had seen! C-section, my ass! Take that, Charge-nurse biotch!

So, I had become pretty disillusioned with the world of birthing as accomplished in the 21st century. But when I met C., that began to change. She and I soon discovered, during the course of this lovely birth, that we were indeed the same women who had corresponded sporadically on an email list related to birthing issues. We planned to meet for lunch to get to know each other better, and that lunch turned in to a three-hour gabfest that would have gone on for hours more had we both not needed to get back to our "real lives". Our friendship has grown over the past year (two years?) facilitated by late-night phone calls to discuss one or the other's frustration with some of the outrageous behaviors of certain physicians, nurses, and yes, even midwives, long, "talky" lunches where we shared our lives and passion for our work, our kids (my teen boys, her pre schoolers and teen stepdaughters), my remarriage, her enrollment in college, and her realization that she was "smart" (make that brilliant), her evolution to wanting to study nurse midwifery to, "Hell, I don't want to take orders, I want to give them...the right ones...and I don't want to give up my patients if they truly need high-risk care or a c-section...I'll go to medical school!" And she will, I'm convinced of it. She's gonna be a true, "Midwife with a Knife". And I want to be the first person on her staff (if I don't croak first). C. has refreshed my hope that birth can be more than a darkened labor room that becomes a garishly lit sub-surgical suite with its beeping monitors and pumps. She's reignited my passion; She's given me tips on how to get babies to turn from posterior to anterior and avoid an almost certain c-section for their mother; she's helped me reframe some of my observations of women during labor; she's introduced me to other women involved in the field, she's referred me to books, blogs, and all manner of information that I suck up like water. C. and I are never at a loss for words when we get together.

And C. has a blog. So, I decided, well, if she has time for a blog, what with school, work, husband and kids, then maybe I should start one...that would at least get me writing again, even in an amateurish way. I've got to kick this "block" I've let fester for far too long...and, as whoever might torture themselves by wading their way through this first psuedopsychotic ramble of mine might notice, I think you can agree...

It worked.