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  • Writer's picturejodi

Leave Your Judgement at the Door

Updated: Oct 8, 2023

I have a friend who recently had a baby.


A gorgeous baby.


Such a pure miracle.


In listening to her tell me her story,

her experience of the childbirth journey,

it triggered my mind to reflect onto my own.


If you’ve been reading this blog from it's very beginning,

you would have learned that I had my children very young.

And that life would later prove that there was a much bigger reason for it.

A deeper and greater reason than I had ever realized at the time.

Because if you've been reading this blog since it's conception (see what I did there) you would know that at the age of twenty eight I was no longer physically able to have children.

That decision, that choice, that potential future of bearing any more children was taken from me.

From Us.

Twenty Eight.

I was only Twenty Eight.

Looking back now I see how incredibly young that truly is.


Did we think we'd have more children?

Did we want another?

Did I?

Well that's neither here nor there,

at least not for today.

Those questions,

those truths,

are really not a part of this story.


When I had my daughter I was very young.

That was a momentous experience is my life,

as it is for any pregnancy,

for any child birth.

And that experience in My life is Mine.

I own it.

I own the feelings, the challenges, the joy and the judgement that came with it.

I own the gossip and the rumours.

But only I know my truth.

I was a girl with feelings and emotions. And I was judged, harshly. In ways that were not warranted.

In ways that would not be tolerated in society today.

And sadly enough, the people that made me feel the worst and judged me the most (at least to my face) were the nurses who cared for me during my labour and delivery. The cruelty that I endured from their actions and words has never left me. And years later when I myself became a nurse, it was those women who inspired me to never be like them. As a professional or as a person.

It seems like a juxtaposition, finding inspiration from toxicity ~

but that's the way it works for me,

unkind people educate me on who not to be.


And before you get spicy and shake your head at me for saying something negative about a group of women that are part of a profession that I greatly respect, I am going to do a 180.


This is where I switch gears and talk about my pregnancy with our son.


I believe at some point over the past 22 months since the conception of this blog (see, I did it again),

I mentioned that I went into early labour with our son at thirty weeks gestation.

For those of you who do not know, a full term pregnancy is forty weeks in total.

SO this was Early.


That Saturday afternoon when my labour started, I was in denial.

And after a few hours my mother-in-law came to sit with our daughter and

I drove myself to the hospital.

That's right.

You did read that right.

I drove myself.

The song 'Lightning Crashes' played through the car speakers.

The timing of that song airing through the radio waves ~

talk about a song rocking you to the core.

To this day I can barely make it through that song without my eyes burning .

I spent a couple of days in the local hospital while professionals endeavoured to stop my labour.

And they intermittently succeeded but with grave risk to my life.

There was an even greater element of negativity added to the entire experience

but this time it was not unkind and rude nurses.

My husband was away on a fishing trip with his dad & brothers.

If you know them, like I, you can imagine the type of shit show that must've been! And don't raise your eye brows at me for typing that because they wouldn't dispute my thoughts about their boys trip.

They would chuckle at the truth of it.

Because gratefully everything turned out happily & healthily.

Anyway, back to the point.

This was during the time of flip phones with crap reception.

These men were far Up North in a place where cell reception didn't exist and reaching them would take great measures.

Things took a turn for the worse ~

Our unborn child and I needed to be transported out of town.

To a bigger hospital. A hospital that specialized in the advanced care that we needed.

And during that time I had a nurse who sat at my bedside 1:1 with me.

At the time I didn't know what 1:1 nursing care truly meant.

I think that was for the best because it was emotional enough experience without knowing the full capacity of the gravity of the situation.

And this woman, this nurse, she was the biggest advocate for not only our child, but for Me.

She was valiantly willing to take great measures.


Recently, I had the honour of being reacquainted with said nurse, but this time the roles were reversed.

I knew her face as soon as I laid eyes on her, despite the decades of time that had passed.

She let it be known to me that she was a retired nurse herself.

And I let it be known to her that it was her kindness, her knowledge, her professionalism,

her strength and her support that inspired me to become a nurse myself.


What I didn't tell her was this,

that not a day has passed in my career that I haven't endeavoured to be just like her.



Footnote:

Seeing as this was at a time before smart phones with internet, I registered into a nursing program using the beige phone with a coiled cord that sat on the night table beside my hospital bed.





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