Perfectly Imperfect

I'm taking a break from writing about my writing to breathe my thoughts onto the screen about something that's been bothering me lately.  Forgive me if this is a rambling collection of nonsense.  I've been trying and failing to make it more cohesive, to narrow down a main point and stick to it, but apparently that's not my strong point.  Moving along....

As many of you know (and it so succinctly puts it in my "About Me" thingie over on the side of this page), one hat I wear is that of a doula.  No, it's not a part of the brain, the part that alligators are missing, according to Billy Madison's Mama.  It's not round and you don't have to gyrate to keep it from bouncing onto the ground.  Quite simply, I support a family as they prepare to give birth to their child, attend to their emotional and physical needs as the baby makes his or her way from the womb, and help ease them into the adjustment from couplehood to parenthood or from parenthood to three-ring-circushood.

This year has been trying for me in my doula practice.  It has been a series of strange events and decisions made based on poor or shaky information.  I have jokingly (and not-so-jokingly) referred to 2012 as "The Year of the Induction" because I've had more than I care to add up on my fingers and toes.  While most have been medically-indicated, at least a couple of those weren't.  This isn't judgement, it's just me hitting my head against the wall for the hours these families spent trying to make something happen when clearly no one was ready for that birth.  A stumbling heart rate, a failing organ, fear--those things were ready.  A mother's mind, her natural hormones, BIRTH--those things were missing.

I'm supposed to trust birth, and I want to, I do.  Where does that idealistic trust meet and meld into a healthy respect that things have changed in our bodies and our environments?  Perhaps it's not so much birth I distrust, but the myriad of factors that make up a perfectly imperfect individual, a pregnancy, a birth.  That fall she took off her bicycle at age 12; the chemical cocktail of convenience foods and sodas she's been ingesting for 30 years; the baby who has decided to run back and forth through his umbilical cord while doing laps in utero; the doctor who is weighing a recommendation on a borderline result, fearful of litigation.  We can't take our time machines back and make better choices or coax our baby into cord awareness.  All we can do is do the best we can with what we are presented with.... and it isn't perfect, and at the end of the day we're still left scratching our heads.

Is this talk of "your body was designed to birth this baby" and then women ending up with c-sections or without babies in their arms stealing away confidence and trust in themselves, in this process?  Women are walking away from birth feeling broken and inadequate, and fingers point in all directions.  Certainly, the medical model of care is to blame for much (not all), but at times, it is a mysterious recipe and maybe nobody's the clear culprit.

In the several years I have worked with families, I have been drastically altered as a person.  I can feel it deep inside, and I know that my closest friends can feel it, too.  Is it from the tears of frustration and heartbreak when plans slip from fingertips?  Is it the betrayal women sometimes feel from their own flesh, blood, and sinew?  I don't know.... but I wish I knew how to make it stop.  It is a heavy weight on my heart when I cannot save the world--and I usually can't.

Most of all, I wish I could shout out loud that you aren't broken, no matter what you've been told and what you've told yourself.  You are just an individual, perfectly imperfect, doing the best you can.