Genesis
When I was 11, I met my midwife. She had thick, grey hair that fell in waves all the way down her back. She was gentle and motherly. Her name was Kristin, and, for me, it was love at first sight.
It is hard to explain the feeling of meeting the person whose hands were the very first ones to ever touch you. And most people never get that chance. I felt the most special connection to her, and a deep sense of wellbeing, because she had been the one to ensure that I made it safely into the world very, very early on a Friday morning in 1981.
I was my mom’s second kid. My older sister, Deena, had been born in the hospital 11 years earlier. Now my mom was in her late twenties, and had decided to have me at home in my family’s tiny rental house in Austin, Texas. The house was tucked away behind the Austin Books & Comics store on a cul-de-sac called Capitol Court (the store is still there today). Only a handful of people would be at the birth — my dad, my sister, Kristin, and a family doctor who was also a close friend. So it was an intimate affair — and it turned out to be a quick one. After four hours of labor, at 1:53 am on October 16, I slipped out calmly and without drama.
My parents told me the story of my birth many times when I was a kid, and they talked about it like it was truly a miraculous experience. I think my birth had a profound impact on them. And not just in the way that the birth of a child changes all parents. That is to say, it wasn’t really of my doing; it was the experience itself.
There is no doubt that the way I entered the world affected me. It shaped my worldview in such a deep way that I actually became a midwife. My beginning — a story of peace, trust and intimacy — laid the foundation for my vision of who I was and what I represented, and I took it on as an identity.
That’s why when I met my midwife at 11, I was awestruck. She had been at my birth too! And not only that, but she had helped orchestrate that experience for me and my family. She had welcomed me here and made sure that my journey was safe, peaceful….even… magical.
I’ve looked for Kristin since. I lived in Austin again as an adult from 2011 to 2013, and I asked around about her. Some of the older midwives remembered her, but didn’t know how to get in touch with her. By this time, I was a midwife myself, and I really desired to come full circle and connect with the woman who had inspired me. I found her on Facebook and wrote her a long email. No response. I guess a hippie midwife living on a commune in central Texas probably doesn’t check her Facebook all that often.
Even though I haven’t been able to connect with her, I feel satisfied. I was eventually able to connect with the family doc who was at my birth (interestingly enough, he ended up helping me with some of the paperwork I needed to obtain my California midwifery license). I feel like I was given an immense gift for my very first birthday — better than any gift I’ve gotten since. My very first moments in this world were protected. My transition was gentle. And the first hands that touched me were hands that loved me. For me, that has made all the difference.
Love,
Firen
Originally published at www.nightingalebirth.com.
