Monday, 4 March 2013


I have so many thoughts racing through my head.  Mostly spurred by the opposition, yet again, from the mainstream medical community.  This time though it has struck another chord.

My first fear in midwifery was postpartum hemorrhage.  What would I do?  Would I know what to do when the time came and a mother bled and bled?  Gently, I overcame that fear.  The next was shoulder dystocia.  Once again God led me through the curve to gain knowledge and experience, all the while holding my hand.  My personal fear regarded prosecution.  I read many storied of mother facing charges for illegally delivering babies where the state provided no protection.  They were criminals and faced prison for their actions.  I couldn’t fathom this.  I couldn’t stand the thought of losing my family over this type of persecution, until now.  

Make no mistake, I didn’t long to be a midwife.  I knew nothing of it.  I didn’t seek out the kind of profession that would ensure daily struggles and fights, no, my calling was much simpler.  I don’t question my purpose or calling.  I recognize my gifts and my talents.  They’ve always been there.  I was born a mother.  I have always been nurturing.  I have always loved children.  I have always felt deeply the pain and suffering of others.  I have  always been a perfectionist.  I have always been overly critical of myself.  I have always been willing to self sacrifice, many times to a fault.  I met God at age 12 and from then recognized humility.  I found a desire for integrity and real self worth at age 24.  And then at 30 I found a woman, so imperfect, whom I really liked.

Being a mother, that was all I ever wanted.  I wrote a paper in middle school about becoming a pediatrician, because it was through this that I could work with children and that was all I cared about.  It wasn’t until my first child that I quickly realized my daughter’s pediatrician and I didn’t see eye to eye on some very basic issues.  I attribute a lot of this to my upbringing, with a mother who didn’t hand out drugs for headaches and a father who thought nail polish and McDonald happy meals were poisoning the earth.  She told me, mind you I was 20 years old with a newborn, that babies screamed 4 hours per day and that crying it out was the only way.  When I asked to delay vaccinations until I had had time to research further she became personally offended at my lack of trust.  I think we went back one more time and then we moved on.  They weren’t all that extreme, but they were all doctors in their varying degrees.

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