I am strong.
I have helped thousands of babies enter this world.
Too many times it was close.
I wasn’t sure which way it would go. I wasn't sure if I was the right person to be there.
I questioned my ability to help. Surely, there is someone more qualified to handle this situation.
On a few critical occasions I wanted to turn around and run. It was so stressful and I was in such a vulnerable state myself, I wanted to sit on the floor and cry. I somehow pulled it together each time and realized I was meant to be no where else. It's an emense pressure feeling resposible for life and death of a baby.
I take it entirely too personal trying to make sure no other mother hears "I'm so sorry. There's nothing else we can do."
I’ve worked to exhaustion keeping babies alive until someone comes to relieve me...
Until death relieves me...until death relieves us both.
Mind racing.
Feet aching.
Belly empty.
Bladder full.
Suddenly, silence.
I have helped dozens of people leave this world. Babies, in particular.
I’ve said so many goodbyes through the walls of a plastic isolette. Uttered the name of Jesus through the arm port holes. Prayed for God to comfort them and their family as they are taken peacefully. Held it together as I handed a baby to its parents for one last cuddle.
Gone home, given only the drive to my house to process what I just witnessed and did.
Only to come back the next day and act like this is "all part of a day's work."
I watched my fiancé battle cancer.
Accompanied him to chemo.
Regulated his meds and meals.
Vacuumed his hair.
Cleaned his vomit.
Bathed him.
Left him at the departing gates of the airport.
Swollen and bald.
Not knowing in what condition I would see him again.
...if I’d see him again.
The love and dedication I have to give got me through a long distance relationship.
5 1/2 years I waited to be together with him. 800 days I wore a ring and waited to be his wife.
Postponed a planned wedding for a year not knowing if he'd be healthy enough...or alive.
Said "Goodbye" to him 27 times in an airport with tears streaming down my face about to puke from devastation.
I’ve adapted to a new country.
Uprooted and replanted.
Flourishing now, some would say.
Lots of thanks to others.
Lots of thanks to myself.
I am resiliant. I am flexible. I am adaptive. I can bend while simultaneously sticking up for things that I feel are just.
I learned my career in a foreign language.
A toddler's vocabulary in a professional, intensive workplace.
I’ve proven myself to be competent and trustworthy in two worldly hemispheres.
I made friends, again. Started over at 26. Found a circle where I fit.
I am worthy of love and respect.
I have so much to give to others in my life.
I bring joy to others who choose to be around me.
I’ve given myself hundreds of shots at just the chance at having baby.
More blood draws, meds and scans in 6 years than my cancer-surviving husband.
I've been riding a hormonal rollercoaster for almost a decade..."Look, Ma, no hands!"
We waited 4 years for our son.
My pregnancy wasn't only difficult for physical reasons but mentally. I had seen too much in my career. My prayers were answered and we were deserving of this miracle.
I was stripped of my last month of pregnancy.
Watched as they took him from his crib next to my bed into the ICU.
Missed his first meconium, bottle, bath...
Eventually went home without him. I survived my newborn baby being on a different unit than me and then in different buildings/cities.
I visited him daily.
Pumped every three hours, religiously.
If I am given a task. I will complete it to my standard of perfection.
I breastfed for 14 months.
Only stopped because I thought he was getting a sibling soon.
We were worthy of other miracles.
I’ve been told “there is no more heart beat.” And “there’s nothing we can do.”
I was told it again a year later.
I was told it again a year after that.
I carried a dead baby in me for weeks without anyone knowing. Went to work. Carried on with life. Didn’t speak of it.
Can’t upset others.
Hemorrhaged with less than an hour to spare for my life and went home the next day. Refused a blood transfusion. Had to be home in time to accompany my husband to his hip surgery the day after.
I’m a working mom with a four year old.
Went back to work after 4 months. The average is 1 year here. I’m the bread-winner.
Heard from friends/family/aquaintances "I could never!" Heard from Americans "Lucky!"
Currently raising a hilarious, tolerant, sweet, intelligent little boy to the best of my abilities.
He fills my lungs with air.
I’m in a multi-cultural marriage with my closest blood relative being 8,000 km away.
8 1/2 years - going strong.
Throughout all of this, I'm still acutely aware of God's love for me. To say my faith never shook would be a lie. But it's still there - there's something to be said for that.
So the next time you even think about saying something bad about me, you remember those things.
You remember what I've been through. What I've overcome. What I've accomplished. You will not bring me down.
“Read ‘em and weep!” I’d tell you.
"Don't forget them!" I'd say.
"Read 'em...and weep..."
I’m talking to myself.
I’m talking to you, Rachel.
When you're feeling down about yourself or your situation, go ahead...
Weep...
Then read these words.
Weep.
Then read them again.
Repeat as needed.
I have helped thousands of babies enter this world.
Too many times it was close.
I wasn’t sure which way it would go. I wasn't sure if I was the right person to be there.
I questioned my ability to help. Surely, there is someone more qualified to handle this situation.
On a few critical occasions I wanted to turn around and run. It was so stressful and I was in such a vulnerable state myself, I wanted to sit on the floor and cry. I somehow pulled it together each time and realized I was meant to be no where else. It's an emense pressure feeling resposible for life and death of a baby.
I take it entirely too personal trying to make sure no other mother hears "I'm so sorry. There's nothing else we can do."
I’ve worked to exhaustion keeping babies alive until someone comes to relieve me...
Until death relieves me...until death relieves us both.
Mind racing.
Feet aching.
Belly empty.
Bladder full.
Suddenly, silence.
I have helped dozens of people leave this world. Babies, in particular.
I’ve said so many goodbyes through the walls of a plastic isolette. Uttered the name of Jesus through the arm port holes. Prayed for God to comfort them and their family as they are taken peacefully. Held it together as I handed a baby to its parents for one last cuddle.
Gone home, given only the drive to my house to process what I just witnessed and did.
Only to come back the next day and act like this is "all part of a day's work."
I watched my fiancé battle cancer.
Accompanied him to chemo.
Regulated his meds and meals.
Vacuumed his hair.
Cleaned his vomit.
Bathed him.
Left him at the departing gates of the airport.
Swollen and bald.
Not knowing in what condition I would see him again.
...if I’d see him again.
The love and dedication I have to give got me through a long distance relationship.
5 1/2 years I waited to be together with him. 800 days I wore a ring and waited to be his wife.
Postponed a planned wedding for a year not knowing if he'd be healthy enough...or alive.
Said "Goodbye" to him 27 times in an airport with tears streaming down my face about to puke from devastation.
I’ve adapted to a new country.
Uprooted and replanted.
Flourishing now, some would say.
Lots of thanks to others.
Lots of thanks to myself.
I am resiliant. I am flexible. I am adaptive. I can bend while simultaneously sticking up for things that I feel are just.
I learned my career in a foreign language.
A toddler's vocabulary in a professional, intensive workplace.
I’ve proven myself to be competent and trustworthy in two worldly hemispheres.
I made friends, again. Started over at 26. Found a circle where I fit.
I am worthy of love and respect.
I have so much to give to others in my life.
I bring joy to others who choose to be around me.
I’ve given myself hundreds of shots at just the chance at having baby.
More blood draws, meds and scans in 6 years than my cancer-surviving husband.
I've been riding a hormonal rollercoaster for almost a decade..."Look, Ma, no hands!"
We waited 4 years for our son.
My pregnancy wasn't only difficult for physical reasons but mentally. I had seen too much in my career. My prayers were answered and we were deserving of this miracle.
I was stripped of my last month of pregnancy.
Watched as they took him from his crib next to my bed into the ICU.
Missed his first meconium, bottle, bath...
Eventually went home without him. I survived my newborn baby being on a different unit than me and then in different buildings/cities.
I visited him daily.
Pumped every three hours, religiously.
If I am given a task. I will complete it to my standard of perfection.
I breastfed for 14 months.
Only stopped because I thought he was getting a sibling soon.
We were worthy of other miracles.
I’ve been told “there is no more heart beat.” And “there’s nothing we can do.”
I was told it again a year later.
I was told it again a year after that.
I carried a dead baby in me for weeks without anyone knowing. Went to work. Carried on with life. Didn’t speak of it.
Can’t upset others.
Hemorrhaged with less than an hour to spare for my life and went home the next day. Refused a blood transfusion. Had to be home in time to accompany my husband to his hip surgery the day after.
I’m a working mom with a four year old.
Went back to work after 4 months. The average is 1 year here. I’m the bread-winner.
Heard from friends/family/aquaintances "I could never!" Heard from Americans "Lucky!"
Currently raising a hilarious, tolerant, sweet, intelligent little boy to the best of my abilities.
He fills my lungs with air.
I’m in a multi-cultural marriage with my closest blood relative being 8,000 km away.
8 1/2 years - going strong.
Throughout all of this, I'm still acutely aware of God's love for me. To say my faith never shook would be a lie. But it's still there - there's something to be said for that.
So the next time you even think about saying something bad about me, you remember those things.
You remember what I've been through. What I've overcome. What I've accomplished. You will not bring me down.
“Read ‘em and weep!” I’d tell you.
"Don't forget them!" I'd say.
"Read 'em...and weep..."
I’m talking to myself.
I’m talking to you, Rachel.
When you're feeling down about yourself or your situation, go ahead...
Weep...
Then read these words.
Weep.
Then read them again.
Repeat as needed.
I am strong, after all.
After all that, I am stronger.
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