I walked into the room.A young woman lay in a bed recovering from a caesarean section.Two infant cots were parked beside the
bed.Healthy twin baby boys had been
delivered the day before.
They both had a poor suck from the start so the little ones
had small tubes inserted in their stomachs to help with feeding.That is what I was doing in the room.As a midwife I was there to help with the
feeds.
I could sense the new mother was nervous and unsure of
herself.I started some small talk in an
attempt to help her feel more comfortable.We honestly didn't have much in common with each other and I was
struggling for something to say.Then
seemingly out of nowhere she piped up with a conversation starter - the litmus
test question for midwives, "So have ya got little ones at home?"
My heart sank.Despite
being asked the same question many times before I still had not come up with a
short enough or 'right' enough answer.So I replied honestly, "No, not yet unfortunately".
The young mum proceeded to offer commiserations and even
some suggestions. "Ya just have to
not worry about it.When I stopped
thinking about wanting to get pregnant, it just happened ya know..."
So much wisdom from a 19 year old I thought.
A great man once
called irony 'that hard crust on the bread of adversity'.If only I had a brumby's hard crusty loaf on
hand to throw at my wise friend.
Infertility can feel so personal and so, so unfair.As a midwife the pain sometimes feels so much
more acute and the challenge so ironic.'Her body works like it should, why doesn't mine?'.
But, in the end we all have holes and gaps in our lives we
wish were full.We ALL experience
crusty irony but some of us (read: me) are so much more brittle.Tests and challenges by their very nature are
unfair - but in the words of my 2nd choice husband Mike Rosenberg, "... WE
CARRY ON".
Yesterday I had the opportunity to attend a ‘women’s circle’
as part of an indigenous awareness program.
Our circle of women included an aboriginal elder, midwives, academics
and my group of student midwives. As we
brushed ourselves with eucalyptus leaves, removed our shoes and stood in a
circle clasping hands, I felt an overwhelming surge of emotion - of sisterhood,
of motherhood and of womanhood.
Once I started crying, it became difficult to choke the
emotion that had been released as a flood of tears. So instead of fighting it, I allowed myself
to ‘feel’ my experiences of the last 8 months and to remember them. To be honest, it was a healing experience for
me. So, in the spirit of a new beginning I thought
I’d share a few things I have learnt as a student midwife:
“There is
secret in our culture, and it’s not that childbirth is painful, it’s that women
are strong”
I don’t think I will ever forget the experience of my first
birth. Everything was so new - it was
hard to process it all.
I remember there was a woman on the bed, giving birth.
It must have been sensory overload because I didn’t feel a
thing, no emotions.
My background in surgical nursing had exposed me to many
things, but not THIS. Namely, a baby’s
head was coming out of THIS woman’s vagina!!! As the head crowned, the baby did a little head turn (restitution) and
then all of a sudden a child was born.
Starting out, I believed that women can give birth - that
our bodies are designed for it. In my naivety
I assumed that all women felt the same. It was eye opening for me to come to
understand the anxiety and sometimes fear that many women carry. However, the real education has come in
being with these same women in labour and coming to know that they are, in fact
– strong.
-One woman worked so hard to push her baby out
after experiencing the loss of her first child at 6 weeks
-One woman decided to carry her baby to term and
birth him, despite knowing that the likelihood of his survival outside her womb
was very slim
-One woman birthed her baby alone on the couch in
her home as her husband packed the car, ready to drive her to hospital
-One woman waited days in hospital for an
induction – and then gave birth within 50 mins
-One woman, after enduring IVF treatment for
years – had a failed induction and an emergency caesarean section
And the list goes on…
What is clear from this list is another truth that I have
learnt along the way: the most predictable thing about childbirth is its unpredictability. Although childbirth is a universal
experience, it is also one of the most unique.
No one birth is the same. Coming
from a nursing background where everything is black and white – this required a
change in my thinking.
In Ursula K LeGuin’s science ficton novel The Left Hand of Darkness, Genry comes
to a world in which some can tell the future.
He asks Faxe, one of those who can, why he does not use this gift more
often:
“The
unknown,” said Faxe’s soft voice in the forest, “the unforetold, the unproven, that
is what life is based on. Ignorance is
the ground of thought. Unproof is the ground
of action. Tell me, Genry, what is
known? What is sure, predictable,
inevitable, the one certain thing you know concerning your future and mine?”
“That we shall die.”
“Yes. There’s really only one question that can be
answered, Genry, and we already know the answer...The only thing that makes
life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty: not knowing what comes
next”
Another thing I have learnt is that the birth experience is
special and watching it unfold is an experience like no other. After my first experience of birth, I
gradually started to see things as a whole.
I cried and I hugged the women’s
husbands J I
felt angry when some women suffered. I took
photos and then left the couple to experience their first moments as parents
together.
Whenever I watch shows like ‘One born every minute’ (the American version) - I cringe. The women sit there in bed strapped
to a machine, while their husbands eat chips and play on their iphones. The nurse enters the room chewing some gum
and checks the clock.
Where is the
celebration of birth as a rite of passage?
There are so very few things in life that remain unknown –
for example: we don’t actually know how
labour starts. I like that.
Bridgitte Jordan said:
“…if we consider the sparse ethnographic record, we find
that there is no known society where birth is treated, by the people involved,
as a merely physiological function. On the
contrary, it is everywhere socially marked and shaped”
Five years ago... when I became an Aunty for the second time :)
I can’t do a cartwheel.
Try as I might – I will one day go peacefully to my grave without ever
achieving a single cartwheel. If you
must know, there are many fine motor skills that I never picked up on as a
child.
The list could go on. Needless to say I have failed to thrive at
every, and all of the random sports I’ve attempted to play both at school and
as an adult beginner. Recently I tried
my hand at squash. I had a few lessons,
then started attending a Tuesday night tournament. I was not only beaten by a 12 year old girl,
but also a significantly overweight gentleman and an asthmatic. True story.
Just goes to show, you don’t have to be an athlete to play squash, just
better than me.
I’d never really thought too much about my lack of sporting
prowess until a recent conversation I had with my mum when she casually
mentioned her parental fail of leaving me as a wee toddler unattended near a flight of concrete stairs.
That would explain my weird shaped cranium.
Then it all came together…
… and I
thought it was just in the genes.
I’ve long believed that something is wrong upstairs. It’s mainly the social awkwardness that
stands out like neon lights. Just to
illustrate: Recently I found myself in a
group situation filling an awkward silence with the sweet sound of my personal
rendition of ‘kumbayah’. Not only did my
new friends not join in – but my beautiful singing had the effect of killing
softy any further conversation. Maybe
they never went to scout camps. Their
loss.
The good thing about having cats as friends is that they
never care. About ANYTHING. Richard wouldn’t bat a single eyelid if I sung
‘kumbayah’, if I laughed too loud or if I sung ‘sound of silence’ off key. In fact – he probably wouldn't care AT ALL
enough to even be in the room.
So if lately you have been feeling like even the asthmatics
are beating you at squash and you fear your socially awkward charm will leave
you hopelessly forever alone. I have two
suggestions:
1.Make some cat friends and
2.Embrace your inner ‘kumbayah’ - (Just like Judith)
I have some bad news to share. But don’t worry or think the worst. Richard is not Dead (You can all breathe a
sigh of relief now…)
Do you remember in the early years of high school when your
friends were your World. When if one of
your best friends crossed you, you would say “You’re soooo dead to me right
now!” And you’d put your hand up like
you were directing traffic.
No?
Well, neither can
I. It must have been one of those
catchy phrases of the 90s.
Maybe the
Spice Girls said it.
Anyway, I digress.
The point is that I don’t think I LIKE Richard anymore. The CAT-CAT LADY relationship might
be over.
It all started when I got a job. Suddenly I didn’t have time to devote to Him
and to write about Him on this very blog.
I must admit the honeymoon was over very quickly.
But I don’t think I’m ALL to blame for this. About one month after moving in here, Richard
started bringing ‘presents’ into the house.
Small birds, field mice, lizards.
Some of them came in the dead variety, some in the almost dead variety,
and some still hanging on.
I must
admit when it comes to little creatures, I can be a bit of a girl about it
all.
Screaming and dancing on the spot
is usually how I cope with a creature in the house. So, needless to say I didn’t really
appreciate Richard’s ‘presents’.
So we talked about it.
I told Him how I was feeling. He
said nothing and stared out the window.
Sigmund Freud once said:
“Time spent with cats is never wasted”
Breakups are hard. But I'm sure Richard will get over it soon enough. After all, cat's have an amazing ability to not care what anyone else thinks.
More importantly, what about me? How does this affect my status as “Cat
Lady”.
I can’t be a cat lady without at
least one cat that loves me…
Spinster. That’s what
I’ll be. I can knit you know!
‘Dead to me’
-The expression of such utter distaste for a person or
object that it calls for the personal denial of its worldly existance. Can be
used to express disintrest, hatred, or something/someone that has gone out of
style.
“Torn jeans are so last season. They're dead to me.”
It turns out that I was already into cat attire by the mid 80's...
(Note, I was also into cutting my own hair)
(Here my older sister seems perfectly happy with the idea of my brother stabbing her with a knife. Me: I'm a little nervous about it all)
Even though I could dress like a cat by the time I was 3, I don't recall ever OWNING a cat back then. We had a goat and a dog. The biggest hurdle to becoming a cat family was my dad. He hated, hates and will forever hate cats. One time we actually convinced the parents to take in a stray, but a few months later she mysteriously 'disappeared', never to be seen again. I'm sure dad will confess one day. Around that time we owned a dog and some guinea pigs. Which brings me to this next photo that I've entitled: "RIGOR MORTIS"
I'm probably 10 years old in this photo. Note the red puffy eyes and tears on my cheeks. Yes, the guinea pig is dead. It was just a baby. We thought that 'Nike' and 'Reebok' were both girls, but it turned out that they could produce some babies. I had gone to the hutch to check on the pups before heading off to school when I made the grim discovery. Then the emotional breakdown happened. It was like a family member had died. I didn't feel like I could go to school. I begged mum to take a photo of the little thing so we could remember. When mum looks at this photo she remembers trying not to laugh at me. Such are the feelings of a future cat lady. The closest I got to lots of cats during my teenage years was at my cousin's house. They had Doozer, Louie, Beverley, Felix and Squishy. Here's Felix hanging out in the cupboard:
After years and years of share-housing with no pets, I moved again and now have Richard. One of the best things about being a cat lady is that I'm never alone. Which is why the cat lady criteria exists. People who are in any kind of relationship just don't qualify. When I'm at home studying I don't feel lonely and it's always nice to have the cat to talk to. I teach her Spanish words. Which is nice... ... because we all know that talking to oneself is just a LITTLE bit weird.
Unpacking a few things this week I discovered some treasures. Namely - these amazing cat earrings:
That same day I decided to wear one of my favourite t-shirts with said earrings...
Not so classy, but the common theme pulled the outfit together.
So then I started to think about how a REAL Cat Lady should dress. Is it appropriate, as Dal and Lissy suggest, to don a cat unitard? As a new Cat Lady, am I staring down the barrel of a lifetime of bathrobes and pantyhose? Like with all other questions of import, I went to the internet for answers and this time was sorely disappointed. I searched for: "What would a cat lady wear?" "Cat attire for people" "Cat apparel" The best I got were websites trying to sell t-shirts with cats on them.
Etsy and Frankie had some cute cat accessories and clothes.
But let's be honest. Do you think a REAL Cat Lady would ever wear this dress?
I didn't think so. (Not at least without some pantyhose).
I didn't have any hopes of getting to the bottom of my cat attire question until I discovered this video:
Question answered! Real cat ladies wear RED LIPSTICK! Did you notice how clean her bathrobe was? and that headpiece... very classy. What a relief. Thank you Youtube. It seems that REAL Cat Ladies dress for comfort AND style... ...unitard NOT excluded.
I remember the first time I heard the song 'Seventeen Years' by RATATAT. It was while I was living with Renee and Nathan. Nathan had a record player and the new vinyl album.
The song begins with "I've been rapping for about seventeen years ok..." Back then, the song just made me want to DANCE!!!
Have you ever put a song on when no one is at home, cranked it up loud and just danced?
Inspired by Lissy's comments from last weeks blog and Hannah's favourite book 'Dancing with Cats' (see below), this week I felt I could step up my 'home-alone-dancing' and INCLUDE Richard.
I wanted to become a 'home-alone-rocking-out-with-a-cat-dancer'. But.... did Richard share my dream?
The short answer is: NO. I discovered that this cat doesn't have a dancing bone in her body.
Despite Richard's lack of enthusiasm for the project, I managed to get a few shots of me living the 'home-alone-rocking-out-with-a-cat' dream (artistic licence may have been used).
