Worst day, cursed day
The worst day of my career happened a year ago and started much like any other. I took the kids to the childminder and headed to clinic. Then the world fell apart. I palpated a woman’s abdomen and the baby rolled from side to side. Lolloped. Flopped. I’ve never heard a silence so loud or all-consuming as that which met me when I switched the Doppler on. Nothing. The swirl of a snow globe. Listless, lifeless. The fear and panic palpable and rising, engulfing us, drowning us. My face calm. Serene. A mask. A woman, a man, a mum, a dad, a baby, a daughter. Wanted. Gone, but not. Loved. Forgiven for changing her plans.
The worst day of my career was in fact the worst day of their lives. Not my life. Theirs. We eventually shared anger, tears, resentment, love, laughter, dark humour, kindness, sadness. I’m sorry you had to be the one to find her. Those words sliced through me, they slice through me. Even now. I think your baby might be dead, but I can’t utter those words because I don’t know. Not for certain. Likewise I can’t reassure or console you, I can’t cry with you or for you, not just yet. I can’t find your baby’s heartbeat. Go to day assessment unit. A room with a midwife, a doctor, unknown, nameless, now forever etched in your memory. Wait for those words. Your baby has died. Go home. Wait. Come back and birth her. Bring her into the world, dare alla luce, bring her into the light. Perfect and yet not. Hearts shattered. Hopes, dreams, plans obliterated. In the blink of an eye.
The anniversary brought tears. And even more sad news, not for you but for another family. Tragedy struck again. Tinged with sadness and regret. Ruin. A family destroyed. A midwife, woman, mum, me, filled with sadness for someone else’s pain. A shift full of woe, marking the day accordingly. Nothing restorative. Bad experiences piling on top of each other. Bitterness and hurt and illness ensnaring us, horror crashing over our heads. The unpredictability twisting and turning, tripping us, testing us. Tearing us apart, insides out, back to front, but throwing us together as a team. Unaware of where we end and our sadness begins. The team encircling us, softening the fall. A safety net. Hearts burdened. A team. A tribe. A life guru who sometimes forgets I still need her as the life guru, very much deserving of the accolade. Letting me rant and hurt and grow. Seemingly just there, but never ‘just’ anything.
A run of horror broken by a perfect home birth. Two years qualified and my first one ever. Oxytocin flowing, still supported by an incredible team. Midwives supported by midwives to support women and families. A baby brought into the world, into the half light, into waiting arms, outstretched. Kicking, screaming, writhing, a shock of hair, a flash of new life. Breathing. Tears spilling onto my own baby’s blond hair, tumbling down her shoulders, grateful for all that I have and for all that I don’t. The life guru still there, a debrief, proud, supportive, caring. Listening. To the highs and the lows. A safety net. My safety net. The one that never lets me fall, but is always poised to catch me, just in case.
The team, the tribe, rarely fails me. Even so, next year I might might spend this seemingly cursed day in a far off land hiding from the world.
