Beginning of Midwife Apprenticeship
This is an excerpt from a new book, A Midwife in Amish Country: Celebrating God's Gift of Life (Salem Books, April 30, 2018)
Eighteen months passed before Jean (an accomplished and experienced midwife that was allowing me to be her apprentice) called me to attend a birth, but, while I waited for that day to come, I unpacked the books and study materials I'd accumulated prior to our marriage and formulated a plan to tackle them. After I finished Becoming a Midwife, I picked up Carla Hartley's Helping Hands. My journal from that season brims with the wisdom and advice of midwives with similar faith, values, and priorities I was eager to absorb.
I was reminded that midwifery truly is a calling. So many of us would say we were midwives long before we became midwives.
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Yet, I was admonished that midwifery is not about us midwives. It's about the families we serve, and their hopes and dreams. So, it's about inspiring confidence and autonomy, and about education and encouragement and empowerment – never about accolades, never about reward – never about shining, but about rescuing – never, never about delivering.
I was advised midwifery is also about having a clear head and solid footing. It's about being ready to love and respect, to accept and serve folks as they come.
I was warned there will be highs and lows. While the highs are so gloriously high, the lows of midwifery are about as low as low gets.
I was exhorted to mind the needs of my family amid the extreme demands of midwifery, and cautioned to take care of myself, too – for, if I run dry, I'll have very little to give.
I read through those words again in preparation for writing this book and was touched to tears as I did. The way they helped me lay a healthy foundation for my years of midwifery study and practice is plain to see.
The next winter we moved from a cute bungalow in to a shabby, drafty, dramatically less-expensive spot across town. Once we were settled there, my husband Brent and I crafted a schedule that would allow me to both study and attend appointments with Jean.
I felt as though I had things well in hand until I attended my first two births.
Laura and Gary's birth was a mind-blower, and in so many ways.
I don't know what I expected from my first homebirth, but it wasn't exactly what I experienced that sticky, humid morning in July. To that point, I'd filled my young head with idyllic tales of Amish families and earthy hippies giving birth in environs of peace and beauty and dignity. My own birth at home served to reaffirm the images summoned by those tales. Looking back upon that inaugural event from the vantage point of twenty-some years and better than five hundred babies, I can say it was unlike any birth I've attend – still, in the moment, I had no way of knowing.
I returned home from Laura's birth just in time for Brent to leave for an afternoon shift at the police department – the night shift he worked right before I rushed off to Laura's was a bit of overtime. I picked up the house and made supper, then, after I bathed Hannah and put her to bed, I retreated to the back deck to think and write about the birth of Laura's tiny baby as the heat of the day dispersed with the sinking sun.
8:37 p.m., 3 July 1993. I attended my first homebirth today, and it was a thrill and it was too much and it was gorgeous and it was frightening and I still can hardly believe it happened! The parents were a trip and their house was trashed and the birth was magic – and then the baby was born pale and silent! Jean had to resuscitate her! I was scared – frozen – but something inside me just knew she'd be okay. Babies are made to breathe!
On the drive back to Battle Creek, I marveled at how, even while I'd waited so many years to begin my apprenticeship, it seemed the most normal, natural thing to have spent the morning helping a woman birth her baby and wash up her dishes. I'm a little worried about the way the smells and what-not affected me, but, surely, with time, I'll grow accustomed to all of that ....
Tired as I was – wiped out, really – I was excited to see Brent and Hannah, and more eager than ever to care for them again after Jean dropped me off. They were fine without me, too, which was a relief. I think this will work. I hope this will work!
When I returned home from the second birth, I was more than a little worried about my reactions to our clients' environs. They sprang up unsolicited and unwelcome, yet with such force! I felt like Miss Huddleston in Christy with her impossibly sensitive nose and aversion to dirt and disorder, and the matter became the recurring theme of my prayer times as I moved into the substance of my apprenticeship.
I was a confusion of conflicting thoughts and emotions through that season. Even while I was overjoyed to have finally embarked upon the fulfillment of my calling, I was plagued with doubt as to whether I possessed the strength and stomach required of midwives, and I was disheartened to discover I was far more immature and self-centered than I realized.
It became clear that if I wanted to tend well to both my family and my studies, I'd have to make some serious lifestyle adjustments.
It became clear it was time for me to grow up.
