Six months ago I was scrambling to find a midwife who would take me. I believe strongly in midwifery care. I think it is loving, practical, and time-tested. I was desperate to find a midwife who could squeeze me in.
I was on three wait lists. I waited.
Then I was off three wait lists and had the luxury of choosing whichever practice I wanted.
I met with them all, had awkward conversations where I had to say that I liked so-and-so better than you. And I chose one.
Now between moving practices, moving cities, and a severe thyroid problem, the midwives are trying to figure out what to do with me and all of their other August moms. The temporary midwife will be here until an undetermined date, don't worry they'll find someone from a neighbouring clinic to cover, they're sure it will all work out, and "all midwives are very nice. I'm sure it will be fine."
So much for emotional security and a long-term relationship that supports a woman in this most sacred and vulnerable of times.
Did I mention that my husband will be gone and unreachable for ten days (until two days before my due date)?
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