Dear Reader,
First and foremost, let me start by expressing the deep gratitude I feel that you have taken the time to even consider reading my words. I am unsure of how I could possibly even begin to convey the shock and immense pleasure that I feel at the idea of my writing reaching someone. If I’m able to help one person I will consider this foray a success. Mostly, I hope to be able to identify kindred spirits out there in the vast world- to cultivate a sense of comradery and strength in knowing that there are those who are like-minded and to not lose faith so easily in such a patriarchal and difficult landscape.
You may be wondering what is the purpose of all of this? Mainly, I just needed an outlet for my thoughts, and I needed it to be in a seemingly organized and accountable format. It is my strongest notion that I cannot be the only one sensitive to and aware of the vast pitfalls in the care we provide to pregnant persons and our most vulnerable consumers of healthcare. Rather than continually ranting to my husband on the topic I have come up with this site. I figured that before I get too far into the juicy stuff, I would provide a little background – just in case you happen to be someone who doesn’t know me or how I got here. Lofty goal, as the highest likelihood is that my husband and sister make up the bulk of my viewership.
Journey to Midwifery
Now is when I dazzle you with my awe-inspiring, bordering on storybook tale as to why I wanted to be a midwife. The truth is I don’t have one- and trust me, no one is more disappointed than I am. I don’t know how or why I decided to go into Midwifery. I find this absolutely befuddling because my entire identity is wrapped up in being a midwife. I can remember being young and saying I wanted to be “the nurse that takes care of the babies in the window”. Apparently at some point in my youth I witnessed a highly impressionable TV scene in which a person was taking care of a baby in a hospital nursery. I did not grow up around a lot of pregnant people, and had absolutely no exposure to birth. In fact, I’d never actually seen a nursery or set foot on a maternity ward when I was a kid. The first birth I witnessed was in nursing school, and trust me- it was not beautiful. (I’ll share that later). I was directly admitted to the WVU nursing program, but had set myself up in a manner to allow me to apply for medical school at the end of my nursing school journey. I always joke that while I thought caring for the baby was cool but realized that “if I just pivoted 90 degrees I could catch it myself”, but the truth was I just knew that my passion wasn’t with babies. My passion was with caring for women (and pregnant persons). Around my 2nd year of undergraduate nursing I realized I didn’t have to go to medical school to accomplish this. Having done a psychotic amount of research in the difference in nursing a medicine, I knew the holistic model of nursing care was more in line with my personal beliefs in how care should be. I also knew that I was consistently more comfortable when I saw a nurse practitioner than I was when I saw a physician. In being an empathic person, I also realized that I needed more than bedside nursing had to offer. I needed the whole story- not just one chapter. What happened after they left the hospital? Who were they before and after my encounter? I wanted to be there for all of it. I needed that connection and relationship. So, without having ever met or seen a midwife, I knew I was going to be one. I’m perpetually glad that I happened across Midwifery, because I cannot even fathom my life without it. I wanted to get my foot in the door in the hospital and wanted to know all the ins and outs of the place, so I applied to be a Housekeeper at the hospital I knew I would one day catch babies in. I really thought I was hot shit walking into orientation on my first day. Much to my dismay, I soon learned that as a nursing school student I was eligible to work as a Clinical Associate (CA, or nurses aid), and that this is the pathway most of my classmates had pursued. For almost a year I pushed my supply cart and cleaned rooms while they had a clinical role. I was jealous, but in retrospect that was folly. I may have been scrubbing toilets, but that was so much better than wiping ass (and washing dirty penises). They gave me the L&D pager so I was mostly designated to my preferred unit cleaning the OR after c-sections and generally keeping the unit looking neat. I took a lot of pride in it, but was squirrely as hell. I was terrified of being in the way so I scurried around with my head down. Most of the staff who still work at the hospital do not remember me as a housekeeper at all. In the summertime a new position as a CA in the Children’s Hospital Resource Pool opened up and I jumped on it. I bounced all over the units (NICU, PICU, peds, and L&D) filling call offs, short staffing, and vacations. At the end of the summer I asked to the L&D manager if I could stay on and she said no. She was only interested in full-time individuals. If I couldn’t commit to 40 hours per week she didn’t have a spot for me. “But feel free to apply when you’re finished with school” she told me with a pompous expression that is still burned in my mind to this day. I transitioned to the main hospital resource pool and quickly confirmed that I do in fact despise all other realms of healthcare and have no desire to ever work in another specialty in my entire life. I tried to stack my deck with as much labor and delivery experience as I could. I applied for a Nurse Externship in the summertime and was lucky enough to get placed on L&D. I also had to do a rotation on a medical surgical floor, but the L&D time made it worth it. For my final semester of nursing school we completed a leadership rotation (which is when you literally pay to provide free labor). L&D was a heavily coveted leadership rotation for nursing school, and by some miracle I got placed there. My preceptor accepted a job in the clinic which opened up a position. I eagerly applied as soon as it was posted and I started working and a labor and delivery nurse the summer after I graduated.
During that time, I also applied to Georgetown University School of Nursing and Health Studies. There was so much negative talk and energy among my colleagues about nurses who went straight into grad school. My more experienced counterparts felt that you had to be at the bedside first for a few years before it was appropriate to apply. Most of them quite frankly didn’t have kind things to say at all. Many schools agreed- requiring up to 2 years of experience as a prerequisite. I almost pulled my application so many times. The recruiter for the program really deserved a raise because she gave me the most profound advice and is the only reason I went through with it: “you’re not applying to our program to become a super awesome labor and delivery nurse. If you’re planning on that as a career there are other ways to do that with less commitment. Quite frankly, the ones who have been nurses for years have the hardest time breaking out of that mindset. You have just enough experience to give you a good foundation and make you comfortable, but not so much that you will have to fight against the bad habits and instincts left over from the bedside. I think you’re a great candidate and if you want to pull your application that is fine. But I can tell you that I really think you’ll get in, and that you’re ready”. I know it was literally her job to get me to apply, but hot damn she gave me the confidence boost I needed. I started my program August 2014 and kept it secret from most of my coworkers for almost an entire year. Only when I left my position there a year later to move to Pittsburgh did I finally fess up. I moved to Pittsburgh, worked bedside at one hospital in labor and delivery and completed my clinical rotations at another facility. In December 2016 I graduated from my program having already accepted a position at WVU. At the age of 23 I returned home to start my journey.
It was so weird when my embroidered white coat (which I’ve never actually even worn in the clinic setting) arrived with “Kelly Lemon, CNM” on it. I was acutely aware of the absurdity of a 23 year old being responsible for catching someone’s baby… but someone was dumb enough to think that was a good idea. So off to work I went! I had made it and was living the dream. Literally. I bee-bopped into work feeling like the luckiest girl on Earth. Every day was a privilege to go to a place to do the work that I was made for.
That was five years ago. If you’ve ready any of my bad lemon-related puns that I have plastered on this site (sorry, not sorry), then you know this all turned sour at some point. The bubble popped and eventually it seemed more like my privilege was a plight. Dramatic- but it was admittedly pretty bad. Many do not know that Midwifery is a career with one of the highest rates of burnout and individuals leaving the profession after five years. This previously unimaginable phenomenon became a very understandable (relatable) reality. I’ve quite a few ups and downs in that span- ranging from the joy of being a part of one of my best friend’s births to the harsh reality of burnout and the burden of a pandemic.
Where do I stand now?
Midwifery and I had a very unhealthy relationship for a span. It can be equally fulfilling and devastating to tie your entire being to your work. When it is good things are indescribably joyous and fulfilling. However, when the negative aspects overshadow the good it can push you to a very dark place in which you question who and what you are. More chilling- when you equate your self-worth to your work it is easy to question your value when bad outcomes occur. It begs the question “If something bad happens, it was my fault and because I was not good enough to change the outcome. If I am not good, I have no business being a midwife. If I am not a midwife, then what am I? Nothing. The answer is nothing”. It’s been hard lately to tease apart the pieces of my passion to ensure that the joy I find in Midwifery is not directly transactional to good births or bad births, but rather a reflection of the pieces that it entails. To be clear, the small things that I do on a daily basis, like talking to someone about depression, teaching someone about birth, or advocating for someone who needs it. Overall: to know that I am contributing to the safety and sanctity of caring for women and pregnant/postpartum persons. As the bliss of the newness of fulfilling the midwifery dream has faded I have become more aware of the pitfalls in our system. The pandemic managed to take all of those weakness and expose them fully to the world without any sense of relief, and initially the exposure felt very raw. More on this later. I’ve had time now to contemplate some of the strengths and weaknesses in our system and am ready to draw awareness and intention to them. With any hope, I can add a little of my strength to the areas that need it most. Outlets like this- that are related to my work but not something that is an “on the clock” activity, are an example of that.
So there you have it. The prologue to my passion project. And now- the fun begins.
Sincerely,
Kelly Lemon