Fences

Warning: Placenta-Talk Zone Ahead

For 12 years I have worked in childbirth, either having babies or helping other women to do so. If I had a buck for every time I have comforted a pukey first trimester mama, an aching full bellied mama a week past her due date, or a weepy mama with sore nipples and a screaming newborn, I could pay for new carpet. It is work I love. I love, love, love being the person who gets to throw the life ring into the water. There is probably some psychiatric term for people like me, folks who like to rescue. It's in my blood; my dad was once an ambulance driver, my mom worked in mental hospitals, just about everyone in my family has dabbled in special education, teaching, fostering... rescuing. It feels so good to help someone to feel less... less pain, less fear, less confusion.

And I have a lot of personal experience to lend to the discussion(s). Cesarean, epidural complications, natural birth, postpartum depression, infection, breastfeeding challenges... I can often relate to a mama directly, just by looking in my own back yard of pregnancy and childbirth experiences. It's a regular landfill.

Today I find myself on the other side of my fence. Over here, nothing is familiar. Over here there is going to be a bunch of stuff to learn and figure out. I never imagined I would be on this side of this particular fence.

My appointment at the infertility clinic is at 11:00.