I remember your eyes. Your calm, collected countenance, even though you seemed a bit rushed. I wonder if you would admit that now? It was an afternoon appointment and things were backed up. Scheduling, maybe?
In any case, you did give me more time than I thought I might get elsewhere. I loved this aspect of midwifery care. I loved the ability to ask all of my questions. You made me feel like I was safe with you.
How I wish I had been safe with you.
I think about your smiling face and your easy-going ways.
𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘓𝘦𝘵’𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘪𝘵.
𝘓𝘦𝘵’𝘴 𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘺𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 “𝘯𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯”.
“𝘈𝘥𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘨𝘦”, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.
After all, I was “only” 35.
I was only 35 and I was sucked in by wanting everything to be natural, and you made me feel like I could trust you. But when things got hard, you disappeared. Why was it your 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘳 who called instead of you? And why did 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦 of you show up to the funeral? Why did none of you check on me after that first day? How did you take my money and disappear? Are you proud of yourselves?
I remember your eyes at that last appointment. How you looked up at me when I told you he wasn’t moving as much as usual. Was there a question there? Were you worried about me?
I wish you would have said something. But mostly, you seemed in a hurry for me to leave.
I remember your face on that last day, because I was looking for reassurance from you. I had noticed these things that were unusual for me. I was worried, but you were not.
You failed me. You failed my child. You sent me home and told me I was “fine.”
You didn’t give me anything to be cautious of; to watch out for. And only one week later, my child died.
And somehow, I 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 see your smiling, easy-going face.
I wonder what you see of mine?