There is a special class of people, who support us as women and mothers, during one of the most life-changing events of our existence.
In the best of times, they witness birth. And in the worst of times, death too. They experience both the beauty of childbirth and the pain of it, right alongside us. But they do not stand by, idle, gawking. They work to ensure our comfort, our safety, our well-being. They work to care for our most precious gifts – our babies. And they work hard. They sweat. They get their hands dirty. They set aside their needs and respond to ours. They labor with us.
They are our Labor and Delivery Nurses. And I thank God for them.
They get up close and personal with the most intimate parts of our bodies, unfazed by what they see and touch. They aren’t afraid of a mess. They aren’t alarmed by the sight of blood, or urine, or, dare I say, poop. They step in, when our husbands, with a face colored a certain shade of green, must step out.
They are our steady calm when emotions whirl within us. They are gentle enough to guide us through intense pain, yet stern enough to keep us pushing forward when we feel like giving up. They are unafraid when we are not. They anticipate the birth of our babies just as much as we do.
They are our Labor and Delivery Nurses. And I thank God for them.
They take care of us, whether we are new or experienced mothers. They invite us to lean on them – when breastfeeding is harder than expected, and walking to the bathroom is too. They take care of our babies, when we can’t get them to stop crying or need help changing that first meconium filled diaper.
They are the first to congratulate us when our newborn baby’s first cry rattles our eardrums and sets our heart aflutter. And they are the first to commiserate with us when there is no cry, when a baby has no breath, when a piece of us has died.
They celebrate with us and sympathize with us, depending on whether our pregnancy coin has landed on the side of life or death. They rejoice with us as we watch the rising and falling of a living baby’s chest. And they mourn with us when a baby’s heart rate has fallen so low that it has stopped – when the silence of death surrounds us.
They are our Labor and Delivery Nurses. And I thank God for them.
They scurry about, working so quickly that their work often goes unseen. They stand still just long enough to inhale the scent of life or gaze into the eyes of a precious newborn. And perhaps a bit longer as they memorize the features of a baby who has stopped growing, the precious soon-to-be-buried body leaving them forever in awe of both the fragility and beauty of life.
In the best cases, they send us out into the world, encouraging us as we snap the car seat onto its base, assuring us we are fully equipped for motherhood. And in the worst cases, when we leave the hospital empty-handed, they acknowledge our heartache and assure us that the short life of a gone-too-soon baby is no less remarkable than any other life.
They have been called to help us and to hurt with us. To carry our babies in their hands and in their hearts. They were created with compassion running through their veins. They were created to serve.
They are our Labor and Delivery nurses. And I thank God for them. For their helping hands and their open hearts. For their strength and their vulnerability. For their commitment to keep showing up when the job gets heavy.
The most breathtaking and heartbreaking moments of our lives are etched into their hearts. And I thank God he gave them the capacity to carry the weight of it all.
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