Thursday, June 03, 2010

now 3

Right now I feel like dredging up the past. Every six months of so something akin to the following rattles through my head as I try to fall asleep and then I work through it and move on. Or not. I don't know. I suppose distance helps but its' not going away. This is not the rationalized, balanced version of anything. This is the dark, raw emotion that doesn't seem to fade.

Dear miserable midwife,
You are a self-absorbed narcissist who likes to hear yourself talk. You are a miserable care provider and after having a difficult first birth during which I didn't feel supported or taken care of by you, God only knows why I solicited your help a second time. I suppose a known quantity seemed less daunting than the unknown. Besides I thought I knew what I had in store and could make the changes I wanted. Instead my health declined throughout the pregnancy and you added a huge degree of stress to my life. You are more judgmental and disconnected from the people right in front of you than you will ever know. When you finally made false statements to the Dr. in the hospital to make you sound knowledgeable (which you later denied outright when I confronted you) you destroyed my hope of anything even close to the birth I wanted and needed. Abandoning me after chipperly discussing her perfectly progressing home birth with another client in my hospital room for 5 minutes should have been the last straw but I figure that came a few days later when you told me how complicated my birth was and that you should have been paid more for it when you weren't even fucking there. This is after I paid your full fee and still faced HUGE hospital bills just days after major surgery and trauma. You have huge balls, that I can say for you. Why I didn't scream and tell you to fuck off in that moment is beyond me (and Jason). Politeness can be a liability. You over-committed and took on too much. You failed me. I have since run into several women in town who are all too happy to recount tales of terrible births under you care and a former colleague of yours told me she thought you went crazy. If only I had known sooner.

Dear despicable doctor,
You have absolutely the worst bedside manner I can possibly imagine. You may be a knowledgeable doctor but your interpersonal skills and lack of empathy are so horrendous it would be comical if not so traumatizing. Likening a birthing woman's labor to a "dead horse" is unforgivable. You withheld information to cover your ass and gave me no credit whatsoever for having any knowledge about what was going on with my own body. I believe you actually don't trust women at all and can't imagine why you are in this line of work. My skin crawls to think of being in the same room as you. I'm sure you think I should be thankful that my daughter I are alive and fine thanks to your all-but-forced surgery. Sadly, you have no clue the affect you have on women's lives every day and how your decisions and communication change the course of our histories.

This may not stay up. Hell, I may not even publish it. It feels like the kind of thing I should print out and burn in a ceremony but maybe putting it on the internet is sort of the same thing these days. Updated to note that I removed the names and feel much better about it. I'm not delusional and I have a ton of perspective on the issue, nonetheless I think this was as cathartic as I hoped it would be.

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