It’s taken me all evening and night to process how to write the impact of a caring medical person on a nervous to-be mother. But when I walked into my midwife’s clinic yesterday, I knew from the moment I met the first nurse that this was it. I had found the place I needed to be as long as we are here.
I went a bundle of nerves, and when the nurse asked me to pee in the cup so she could dip the stick, I had the thought, “Oh my, what if she tells me I’m not pregnant? How embarrassing would that be?”
I still am. Since the paralyzing morning sickness wasn’t enough to convince me.
Once in the room, I met a midwife in training who was so sweet and told me all about what she did, what my midwife did, how much she loved being there, how much she loved the hospital we are going to be in. She explained how they have tubs, birthing balls, a birthing bar (not to be confused with tequila shots while in labor – an actual bar for gripping), and are there to let the mom have whatever birth she wants while encouraging as little medical intervention as possible.
In short? I died of happiness. I can have a judgmental free epi if it gets down to it again, but I can also try for a pressure free natural birth.
And no one will care either way.
Then she took my history with Bella, who was in the room with Sam. I told her about charting and having 25 days till I ovulated both this and last time, hyperemesis, 90% effacement at 31 weeks, 6 weeks of bedrest, preterm labor 3 times, and an old placenta when Bella was born at 37.
And you know what she did? She looked at me with concerned eyes, wrote it all down, and said, “So tell me more about this, let’s get this all figured out so we can set up a great plan to monitor it all the next 7 months.” And I heard her tell it all to my midwife, who came in and wanted to know more. Wanted to talk. Wanted to share her knowledge and tell me that while they would push for 40 weeks, the chances of it were slim – which no one had ever said. I was glad to know this. That they would prescribe Zofran and then watch to see how long the hyperemesis lasted this time. That she wanted to see me in 2 weeks instead of 4, and they would do a dating ultrasound on me so everyone was on the same page. That they wanted a detailed-as-it-gets birth plan around 6 months so they could make sure I got everything I could and wanted, and they’d help to make this pregnancy the best it could be.
No one rolled their eyes. No one cut me off. There was no time limit or acting like I was being dramatic.
I held back tears as I watched their faces reflect empathy and true concern for what I had dealt with. They made the fears that so many others had brushed off or said, “Luck of the draw,” real to me. To everyone. I had a right to be worried this time, and they were going to make sure I was taken care of.
Then we got to hear the heartbeat. Knowing I’m only about 6 weeks 5 days, I thought we might not and wasn’t going to worry about it. But both of the midwives heard it, ever so faint and fleeting but we all got a good listen for just a few seconds each time. The little whoosh, the reason that being so sick is all worth it again. Sam and I grinned at each other from across the room.
We tried to get Bella to listen but she was too busy freaking out at why Mama was in a pink crunchy gown with people poking me on a table.
I left with all of them excited to work with us. I have an ultrasound in 2 1/2 weeks, an appointment in 2.
I’m so glad I switched. So very glad I didn’t stay with the first Dr we saw here who never asked me one thing about myself – and shrugged when I told her what had happened last time. I feel so comfortable and accepted at this place. I know this is going to be a wonderful pregnancy.
It’s pretty amazing what taking a few minutes to listen to someone can do for them.