The admission packet for midwifery school arrived and I eagerly poured over every detail. A required reading list was given, and I immediately called Barb to ask about books that she might still have. Other books I ordered from the local library. The Midwife’s Tale, Witches, Midwives & Nurses, Babies in her Saddlebags, Active Birth, The Birth Partner, I read them all. Some stories were inspiring, of midwives that created great joy in the lives of women and were revered in their communities. Other stories invoked sadness and anger, with the movement of birth into hospital wards where women were given ether and other drugs to sedate them and then restraining them in beds, developing puerieral fever and dying as a result of the physicians carrying diseases and germs from other patients to the birthing women. I had to know more. Women had to know more.

It is said that midwifery is not a job, it is a calling, and every book that I read helped to solidify that midwifery was calling me. The women that I talked with in my family and community that had young children or were starting their families told stories of substandard treatment by their obstetric care providers, but no one questioned the system. It was just seen as the way it was. “They are the doctor, they know what’s best for me,” seemed to be the thought. Why were they so certain of that? Birth was present long before doctors. Midwives had been around since the beginning of time. The old testament has many references to calling the midwife for births. What had happened that had convinced my and my mother’s generation that men in white coats knew more about birth than the birthing women? There were women that died in childbirth, babies that died in utero or in childbirth before doctors were common. But weren’t there still? The more I read and talked to women, the more I became frustrated. We had become detached from our bodies, ignorant of the decades of birth stories passed down from our ancestors. My generation had just accepted the fact that we needed to be taken care of, and told what was best for us, by outsiders educated in medicine. Birth had become a medical procedure that we needed a doctor to perform for us. Where was the strength of our female ancestors?

Our financial status did not afford me the option of school without a job. Student loans were again obtained to cover the cost of tuition and books, and my schedule at work was adjusted to allow time for school. My 90 mile commute to Lexington for classes 2-3 times a week would be spent listening to recordings of classes, time available between and after class would be spent in the library researching and working on papers. Many times I would drive from school to work, working 3-12 hour night shifts each week. I arranged for my clinical rotations to be primarily at Ireland Army Hospital in Ft. Knox since it was only 45 minutes from home. This choice gave me some comfort since I was familiar with Army obstetrics. At Ireland, I would meet Mary Carol, a Lt. Colonel in the Army. Mary Carol was the Chief of the Midwifery Service. I had actually met Mary Carol a couple of years before when I was present for the birth of my niece, Alex, and Mary Carol was the midwife caring for my sister-in-law. Many hours awaiting births with her were spent talking about her experiences, as well as my own, her plans to retire from the Army, and her hopes to one day open a freestanding birth center for the community. She retired from the Army after my first year of the midwifery program, and became the director for the U of K midwifery program I was attending. I admired her. Her gentle demeanor, trust of women’s bodies, and her way of empowering women to trust their own body and the birth process made a lasting impression on me.

There were 9 women in my midwifery class. Each had their own unique history and story of what brought them to midwifery, but each of us were bonded in our mission to improve birth for women. Study groups were developed and support groups were formed. We checked in on each other to make sure everyone had what they needed, and we shared our experiences in clinicals. Most stories involved beautiful, enpowering births, of the strength of women, and support of the birth community, while some would be of struggles for power between the women, their providers, and the hospital system. All of the stories helped to paint a picture of the status of midwives in this area of the country, struggling to mark their place in the hierarchy of the system, while trying to improve birth experiences for the women they serve. What was happening in other parts of the country? Were other midwives having similar struggles?

The instructors recommended that the students join the national organization for midwives, American College of Nurse Midwives. As a student member, you could attend the national convention at a discounted rate. I longed to attend the convention, to learn about midwives in other areas, and what was happening at a national level to help midwives with the struggles they were facing in their communities. The next convention was being held in Palm Desert, California, 1700 miles away. I invited other students to attend with me, and we developed a plan to drive to the event. After an appeal to the college, permission was granted for an excused absence from classes for a week, and with Loma and Tracy accompanying me, we loaded up my car and headed out for California. It was quite the adventure! We packed food, and stopped at rest areas and parks to eat. We traded off driving, sticking to a strict 2 hours driving, 2 hours talking with the driver, and 2 hours sleeping to avoid issues with driver fatigue. We worked on our group project along the way. We planned a stop in Rosebud, Arizona, an Indian Reservation with a midwifery practice, and the site that Loma would be going for her integrations clinicals. After a short visit at the hospital there, we determined that we were ahead of our schedule, and that a visit to the Grand Canyon would be workable. We arrived at the south rim just at sunset and sat on the edge of the canyon in amazement of the beauty. We acquired a room at the lodge, had a bite to eat, and had a restful night of sleep. Awaking near sunrise, we grabbed pastries at the deli, and ventured out to amaze in the sunrise over the canyon. That night would be the welcoming ceremony for the convention, so we set out on the final leg of our California adventure.

The ACNM convention was everything I had hoped. Education sessions were held to keep everyone apprised of new research and ways of managing both normal and abnormal OB and GYN conditions. Business meetings were conducted, introducing us to parlimentary procedure, and the slow nature of making changes even within our own organization. Motivational speakers reviewed the history of midwifery, problems created by the increased use of interventions, and the direction we needed to move to give birth back to the women. We attended midwifery circles, where midwives sat in a circle on the floor and shared birth stories. We were invited to lunches and dinners, and spent hours listening to experienced midwives talk about midwifery in their area, schedules, conflicts, gains and losses. We left both inspired and disheartened. Would we be able to create change if these seasoned midwives were struggling? Returning to school we shared all that we had learned with the others, telling of our adventure as well as our feelings of despair over the trevails of midwives before us and today. We hoped that our story would inspire others to become involved in our national organization and work to effect change in the broken system.

The juggling act between home, work and school continued, and for my family this journey seemed without end. I was constantly fatigued and grumpy, angry with my family for not doing their part to help at home, angry with myself for putting myself and my family into this situation. Once again I was in the position of having loans and needing to finish this journey. My girls started to act out, hanging with the wrong crowds, fighting among themselves. Calls would come to me each night I worked to settle disputes they were having, leaving me to feel angry and frustrated, and like the worst mother in the world. One morning when I arrived home from work, I noticed one of their cars missing. I went to the bedroom to find that Tara had not come home. I awakend the others, and they had not spoken to her, no one knew where she had gone. Calls to her friends did not provide any answers. Where was she? Should I be concerned? I was angry and worried. I dozed througout the day, awaking several times to ask the other girls if they had heard from her to no avail. When she hadn’t returned in the evening I started to panic. More intense calls to her friends, this is serious now what do you know? Finally a call came that someone had seen her car. We immediately drove to the location to find her car at a mobile home, but no one was there. The police were notified and a report was made to the missing person’s organization. I provided pictures of her, names of friends, her usual hangouts. I called in to work, notified the school that I would not be attending class, and sat at home and waited. For 2 days. A call came from a friend of hers, informing me that she had spoken to someone that said that she had gone on a trip to Texas with a group of friends. I was given a phone number, and was finally able to get confirmation that my child was alive, and just being irresponsible. Upon her return she was arrested for running away from home. She didn’t understand, she had just gone on a trip, she wasn’t running away. The next semester both Tara and Cara decided they had already learned enough for life, and they dropped out of high school. After several appointments with the guidance counselor, attempts to get them back into school, it was determined that they would not be readmitted. Cara ran off to Florida to live with her boyfriend. Strong parents might have been able to find solutions for this, I did not have those parenting skills.

My final semester of school clinicals were to be at Blanchfield Army Community Hospital at Ft. Campbell, Kentucky, the very hospital I had worked in as an Army Nurse. Ft. Campbell was 200 miles from home. I decreased my work hours to 32, and arranged my work schedule to work Thursday 11pm to 7am, and Friday/Saturday 7pm to 7am. Clinicals would be Monday through Thursday 8am to 4 pm. It was one semester, I could do anything for one semester. My friend Carla lived at Ft. Campbell and was gracious enough to again provide me a place to stay. My clinical days consisted of working in the clinic 2 days, and working in labor and delivery 2 days. One day while in clinic I received a call from Tara, informing me that Cara was getting married, in 2 hours, in Florida. She was now 18. Sometimes we just compartmentalize things in the moment that we don’t have the capacity to process at the time. This was one of those times. Graduation day couldn’t come fast enough for my family.

I scheduled a meeting to meet with the physician group I was planning to work with after graduation. I was anxious to talk about marketing, schedule and salary. I received an email just prior to the appointment date from the practice owner, letting me know that he didn’t feel that he was in a good position with the hospital at this time to introduce midwifery to the hospital board. “Perhaps another physician would be better suited for this,” was his suggestion. I was devastated. All the work, the sacrifice my family had made, all of the compromises I had made to accomplish this, with the promise of a job at the end, and now the realization that there is no job, and I may have to work as a nurse in labor and delivery after all of this. I dropped into a place of deep depression, crying at home, crying at work, crying in clinicals. From the time I started school a couple of the nurses I worked with had voiced their doubts that midwifery would ever be accepted at the hospital. Perhaps they were right all along. One of my good friends at work, Renee, talked with one of the other physicians at the hospital about what had happened. One evening when I was working he came in to delivery a baby, and asked me to come to the doctors lounge to talk to him after. He asked me what I was planning to do, and I was honest, “I guess what I’m doing right now, labor and delivery.” “What if we try it for a year. You come work for me for a year and we will see how it goes. We will have to see how the patients accept it, the nurses, the other doctors. What do you say?” I was jubilant! I was offered a job as a midwife! Hallalujah! Where do I sign?

Graduation day did come! Blessing of the hands is the ceremony to bless the hands of the graduating midwives. We were each allowed to give a short speech, and I had mine all prepared. I wanted to thank all of the people that had sacrificed for me to accomplish this, my familly, but all I could do was blubber and cry. My emotions were spilling out, and I’m sure no one could understand most of the words I was saying. But I was finished. I had graduated with a Masters in Nursing, certificate in Midwifery. With a 3.89 GPA. Despite it all.

Our group met once a week in Cincinnati to review for boards at Loma’s home. We sat for boards at U of K in one of the classrooms there. Board results took weeks to return, but in the end I earned my Certified Nurse Midwife designation, and I had a job.