In the last few months of my service we began to plan for the next life transition. My husband had begun a job as a long haul truck driver for a company in Evansville, and had made the 100 mile commute to work twice a week for a year. I interviewed for a labor and delivery job at St. Mary’s hospital in Evansville, and began orientation there on a PRN basis pending my release from the Army. We found a house we liked there, and began the loan process. One day while orienting I received a call from my husband. “I’m getting laid off.” I stopped in my tracks. Why? How? He went on to tell me that his company was laying off some employees, and he would either be laid off, or could accept a transfer to a new terminal…in Fort Myers, Florida. Nurses can work anywhere. I called the bank processing our loan, gave them the information about the lay-off, and the loan was denied.

He headed to Florida, while I cleared base and arranged transportation. With our belongings packed and shipped, the girls and I headed out on the 1000 mile drive to Florida. After a few days in hotels, we rented a house on a sailboat canal, with a pool. Labor and delivery jobs were not plentiful in Fort Myers with the majority of people living in that area retired. I was able to secure a job as a home-health nurse for a few months, and then a call came from Cape Coral Hospital for a position in labor and delivery. Cape Coral Hospital was a smaller hospital, but their labor and delivery unit was new, and had an LDRP configuration. Patients were admitted to a room upon arrival, and would labor, deliver, recover, and spend their postpartum time all in the same room. The nurses worked in teams caring for laboring women, as well as mother-baby couplets at the same time. They also had midwives; a group of 5 midwives employed by the hospital, that primarily cared for patients with government assistance insurance plans, and a smaller group of midwives in private practice with a physician group. I loved working with the midwives. These midwives educated women about their choices, and allowed them the freedom to make decisions for themselves. These women were not forced to birth in a specific position, and were allowed the freedom to ambulate in the long hallway and use jacuzzi tubs to labor in. The midwives would sit at the bedside and very quietly talk the women through their contractions, offering encouragement and praise for their hard work. Sister JoAnn, a nun that worked with the hospital midwife group, was a calming soul to everyone she encountered. Her smile was contagious, and had a way of putting all fears to rest in the women she cared for, as well as for the family and staff. Sister JoAnn would take long breaks from her job to participate in mission trips to other countries, and come back with the stories of healing and prayers answered. I longed to become a calming soul such as her.

Family life in southeast Florida was no picnic. Florida is for the elderly, not children. There was a senior center on every block it seemed, but community centers for kids to hang out were non existant. Sheriff’s ranches for rejuvenating problem children were the norm. My girls were now pre-teens and teens, and the influence of the crime and drug culture in the area was starting to creep into our lives. While I enjoyed the beach, the girls would prefer to be home and run the streets with their friends. When my hospital announced lay-offs, I took this as my sign that we needed to move home where my family could have more influence on my girls. Barb, my midwife, was now the director for labor and delivery at a local hospital in Indiana. One call to her and I had obtained a job in her unit. Within a month we packed up and headed back to Indiana.

Working in a hospital with no midwives has it’s challenges. While Barb did her best to try to normalize birth with the nurses, the physicians had their own agendas. Most patients were not allowed out of bed to labor. Procedures such as vaginal exams, breaking water, and augmenting labor with Pitocin were done without an explanation or consent from the patient. Patients were required to have IV’s placed, and most obtained epidurals for their labor. Epidural anesthesia made it impossible for patients to move about, and nearly impossible to push the baby out. It also removed the urge to urinate, so urinary catheters were necessary. Inductions of labor were common, the cesarean section rate was high. Dr. Fleming was a physician that worked in one of the practices. She had been a nurse prior to becoming a doctor. Dr. Fleming was different than the other doctors. Her patients would labor at home for hours, arriving just in time to deliver their baby. A large number of her patients took Bradley method childbirth classes, presenting intricate birth plans to us when they arrived describing all of their requests and refusals. These patients would deliver their babies in various positions, Dr. Fleming never insisting on the standard lithotomy position for delivery. She intrigued me. She would later explain to me that she wanted to become a midwife, but the regulations for midwives were making it nearly impossible for midwives to practice at that time. She went to med school instead, choosing to practice the way she wanted without needing a physician to supervise and control her. I wanted to be her. I spent hours with her, watching her with her patients, listening to her kind, soft voice educating and encouraging them. Her patients loved her. She was patient with long labors, not quick to take them to surgery, retreating to the doctors lounge to quilt, and wait for the labor to progress naturally. She encouraged me to pursue midwifery. Regulations were changing making it easier for midwives to practice, and she felt that the need was here for the midwifery model of care for low risk women. I had conversations with her partner about the potential of a job in their practice as a midwife if I were to pursue this career. We discussed types of contracts, pay structures, work schedules. When I felt like my questions were answered, and a plan was in place, I applied to University of Kentucky School of Nursing for the Midwifery program.

Master’s programs have criteria for acceptance. U of K’s criteria required a 3.0 GPA in undergraduate studies. My GPA was 2.89. I applied anyway, hoping that somehow a compromise could be found. That compromise came in the form of a personal interview about why I wanted to become a midwife. The director of the midwifery program called one morning to set up a time for the interview. Learning that I lived 90 miles from the school, and had 4 children, she arranged to do the interview over the phone. I was nervous when the day of the interview approached. Would I say the right things? Were my reasons good enough? Would they believe that I was better than my grades reflected? Would I be granted admission? The call came. I answered the basic leading questions, and then took a deep breath and poured my heart into the question of why. I rehashed my first birth experience, my healing birth experience with a midwife for my next birth, my experience working with midwives, my admiration for women that achieve natural childbirth, my loathing for the system that takes away choices for women and results in skyrocketing cesarean rates and traumatic births, my desire to make a difference in the lives of women. When I finished there was silence for few moments. “You are in. Welcome to University of Kentucky’s midwifery program.”