When I left the Birth Center a few years ago, I was emotionally drained. I had taken on a new role as a clinical coordinator and after a year of trying to appease the masses, I knew in my heart that it was time to leave. The job had become all consuming: a constant stream of telephone calls during the night, multiple resignations and lack of support from my administrator had worn me down. In effect, I'd lost my soul. I had taken a new position in management, but eventually realized that it was the art of nursing and caring for people that was my passion. I loved working in tandem with an expectant couple, encouraging and guiding them through the birthing process, then celebrating their joy at the time of the birth. Each birth was magical, life affirming and special. I viewed my role as empowering women to nurture their family, as well as themselves.
I was ultimately drawn back to the Birth Center after a two year hiatus. I re-connected with old friends, formed new relationships with enthusiastic, young nurses and re-honed my skills. I learned to master the OB Tracevue computerized documentation system, along with juggling patient care. It proved to be the ultimate challenge: focusing on entering data into the computer, clicking here and there, while trying to establish a rapport with the patient and family. A bit of a stretch for my ADD tendency. During the transition back to the Birth Center I can recall a few momentous encounters with patients and their families.
One situation in particular involved a couple, Amy and Ken who were in the throes of losing their 19 week old son, Adam. An ultrasound had revealed that Adam had multiple anomalies. Ultimately, the die was cast when Amy's membranes ruptured and labor ensued. Adam was delivered and I gently wrapped him in a blanket and handed him to his parents. Amy held the baby tightly to her and vocalized how much she had wanted this child. Ken stood quietly by her side, with one hand on the baby and the other on Amy. They asked pertinent questions that I carefully answered. Some questions I was at a loss to answer. Why did this happen? A few misaligned chromosomes is hardly a satisfying answer. I took photographs of the family, then stepped out of the room to allow them some privacy.
The next day I was assigned to care for Amy and Ken: my task was to prepare them for their discharge to home. When Ken stepped out of the room to run some errands, Amy confided in me that it was Ken's birthday and that she wanted to honor his day, in spite of their loss. She wanted to celebrate a new year in the life of her partner and friend. Amy's mother smuggled in a birthday cake and I rounded up a few nurses to wait in the room for Ken's return. He saw me enter her room hurriedly just as he rounded the corner. He later shared with me that his first thought was that Amy had suffered a complication related to the birth. When he opened the door he was startled by a room full of nurses shouting: " Happy Birthday, Ken!", followed by a rendition of the infamouse song, Happy Birthday. Ken was overwhelmed and quietly pleased, knowing that his wife had risen above her grief to support him on his day.
It's time for me to move on again, to leave behind my passion, my community, my calling. I am happy to report that Amy and Ken were waiting for me two years later when I arrived at work one morning. This time they were able to share the happy news of the birth of a daughter. I immediately recognized the name and rushed to room 202, knocked on their door, and asked for permission to enter. "It's Karen", Amy shouted when she saw me. Amy was in her bed and Ken was seated in a chair. I rushed to the bed and hugged Amy, telling her that I was so happy for them. And between them was their beautiful baby daughter asleep in her bassinet. I leaned over and smiled at their precious child. Life had come full circle. I told them that I would be leaving the Birth Center in a month and of my plans to enter the Peace Corps with my husband. I was so grateful to be able to finally see them holding the child they so dearly wanted. I feel the loss of leaving the Birth Center behind, yet again; not un-like the grief that Amy and Ken felt when they lost their son, Adam. I am ever hopeful that my new calling will give birth to a productive, new chapter in my life. After all, isn't feeling hope and giving the gift of hope, really what life is all about!
