I recently found myself making lists of things I wanted to do. I was making lists because I was terribly bored and attempting to find fun things to do in town. Also, the lists get my mind to focus on something other than Netflix for a couple hours every once in a while.
During this list-making obsession, I decided I needed to read some "fun" books again. Oh how I love to read!... for fun. Give me a textbook about med/surg nursing and I will either fall asleep the moment it is opened or decide that my house, my mom's house, my brother's frat house, and every single vehicle in my line of vision needs to be cleaned spotless. I'm not normally a tidy or clean person, so you can see how "Pulling a Monica" (I know it's used incorrectly from how Friends uses it, but you know what I mean... she's the clean freak!) would be quite worrisome for my friends and family.
So, after my unit meeting today, I went off and signed myself up at the library. We have a surprising number of libraries in town (5-6) considering how small this town is. Even College Town didn't have this many and it was a bigger city! Anywho, I picked up some books after not finding the ones I was after. While wondering through the many isles of unopened adventures and make-believe lands, my eye caught on a book by Sally Hepworth called The Secrets of Midwives. Naturally, this sounds like a book I need to read! Does it not?
I began the book when I woke from a nap at midnight and I'm already halfway done with it at 0500. This author is an incredible writer and the story really has me engaged. I can imagine myself in each of the lives it depicts, and as being the midwife in these situations. By the way, the book is about a grandmother, mom, and granddaughter; three generations of women who are all midwives and how their various life circumstances intertwine.
What I was not expecting, however, is an underlying story plot of domestic violence. Which, of course, brought me crashing back to earth, to reality, to my story.
When I read, or journal, or blog for that matter, I often find myself wishing I were better at writing so that I could write books. I want desperately to somehow have my story mean something. For the things I lived through to make a greater impact on the world than people hearing I am recovering from rape, domestic violence, and the complex PTSD that followed. I want people to be able to somehow find hope and perhaps be able to avoid situations like mine, by reading or hearing about my story.
I don't want my circumstances and memories to simply fade away and die with me. I figure, if someone has to survive shit like this, those stories need to be remembered and used as warnings for others before it's too late. Before they say yes to a date that they should be wary of. Before they get in to deep with a person who is digging in their evil tentacles from the very moment they meet. Before a person even begins dating, way back in middle school, so they are taught what is absolutely not okay so that the next generations of children have some sort of hope of having higher standards for what dating and love is actually supposed to be, not the sick and twisted version I and so many other have to suffer through.
Today my desire to continue on to be a Nurse Midwife is stronger than ever, as is my desire to potentially find a way to tell my story in a fictional way. Maybe, BedpanAlley could be a published writer of both midwifery, neonatal care, and fictional books someday... Y'all, it'll take a miracle, but how many other miracles have occurred already for me? I'm not even supposed to be here today.
Folks, regardless of where you are in your journey, or whether we walk similar paths or not, I think some of our hardest sufferings, along with our greatest triumphs, deserve to be remembered. Think about maybe keeping a journal to chronicle such events. Perhaps I'm overly sentimental, or odd, or whatever, but I don't think such things should die with us. I enjoy listening or reading about the things my grandparents got to experience, and I often listen with a heavy heart as they explain the pains hey endured. However, it brings a sense of understanding and greater closeness between us. It also helps the new generations not forget the happenings of the past. We lose so much by not looking back. Look at midwifery and obstetrical care: many providers have lost the ability to deliver breech presenting babies. We've lost the basic knowledge of how to build fires and keep them banked for the night so that we don't freeze in our sleep... Many of us have lost the ability to hunt, or if we do hunt we don't do it without a gun or pre-made, specialized bow. Moral of the story: you have stories, don't let them die with you. Tell them to someone who will pass them on or write them in a journal. We don't necessarily need to pass on our Facebook and Instagram accounts, but pass on the deep, meaningful and very real occurrences, both happy and sad, that occur in your life.
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