Good day--
This is what happens when I am trapped in the hospital on trauma call with no way to communicate to the outside world, bombarded with situations in the ED that would make even the most acrid person dab away a tear--or in this case, sip a Diet Sunkist and maul their keyboard.
Allow me to start out by saying that, for the record, mothers are the original nurses. Mothers were doing nursing long before anyone had the idea that it was a separate job. Kissing it and making it better? Yeah, that right there is the original fentanyl, my friends. That kindly wrist placed to a sweat-dampened forehead in the deep of night? The best thermometer ever made.
So these are my ramblings, by a nurse, for nurses/mothers everywhere. Because I can.
I regret nothing. And as always, I thank you for listening.
Regards,
Your Friendly Neighborhood Sociopath
I am not a mother.
I have never held a hand to my womb, to the fluttering, turning, living being within and wondered, hoped, dreamed, planned. I have held a life in my hands, but never within my own body. I have never known the spike of euphoria at the whooshing whisper of an in utero heartbeat. I have never felt the clamber of emotions that comes with the knowledge of pregnancy and parenthood.
I cannot imagine the feeling of hearing the first lusty, gurgling cry of an infant, knowing that it belongs to my son or daughter and knowing that nothing will ever be the same. I have never struggled to make changes and sacrifices and done so gladly all for the sake of a tiny, helpless person just starting out in life.
I have never wanted to give someone the world.
I have never been part of the eerie transformation that takes over all mothers: from gentle and caring to a possessive mama bear on the rampage all because "No one makes my baby cry!".
I have never spent hours painstakingly deliberating over proper names, worried how each would shape the future of someone yet to draw his/her first breath. I have never struggled to contemplate the proper disciplinary structure or fretted over a child out past curfew. I have never cursed the day the word "No" was created. I have never thrilled and scrambled for a video camera or phone on that one magical afternoon or morning when the word, "mama" wasn't said by accident. I have never looked into a pair of eyes mirroring my own and known that this individual was going to drive me batty, off a cliff crazy and I was infinitely grateful to be part of the ride.
I have never juggled a job, "Mom, look what I can do!", a spouse, "Mom!", cooking, laundry, "Mom!", cleaning, soccer practice, laundry, "Moooooooooooooom!", violin lessons, "Are we there yet?", more laundry, "Mom, are you looking? You're not looking!", dishes, a few precious seconds in the shower, still laundry, and tackling the gauntlet of bedtime, "But I'm not tired!".
I have never known the desperate pain of having a wounded or ill child. I have never been part of the agony, despair and bargaining of choices and the knowledge that no parent, anywhere, ever should have to bury their child regardless of the child's age. I have stood close and watched mothers weep for the pain of their child and the cruelty of never having the answer to the eternal question of "why?". I remember my own mother's anguish at losing her son and knowing that, for her, she was burying a part of herself.
I have been near in the presence of a woman's awesome strength and determination to stay alive, stay awake, stay here for just one more moment--just until the baby comes. I have watched mothers put themselves between a perceived threat and their children with understated courage and a matter of fact movement that hints at instincts older than time memorial; I have held, healed, and worked with mothers suffering from gunshot wounds, third-degree burns, and broken bones upheld by them as badges of honor, secure in the knowledge their children were safe.
Though I have never experienced it, I have witnessed the awesome power and divine force that courses through women and even more so through every mother. Each and every time, I am awed. Each and every time, I come to the conclusion that heroes, as a matter of fact, do exist.
So on this day, your day, I recognize you--each and every one of you as the incredible beings you are. I stand in amazement and offer gratitude on behalf of every child.
Thank you.
~~Happy Mother's Day~~
leslie :-D
11,191 Posts
i agree, in that i purposely logged in, just to thank you...
for once again, sharing your amazing writing talent.
wonderfully written.
you really do have an amazing gift, cp.
leslie