Approximately 24 hours before flying back to Walla Walla for my final semester at Whitman, I watched the sun rise from a hospital’s labor and delivery room. I’d decided to work a night shift as a doula (non-technical birth attendant) so close to my departure because being present for births usually motivates me. New life gives me hope, and I feel vicariously empowered by seeing what women are physically capable of. I wanted to harness that energy to jump-start my last semester.
Birth is part of a duality and, as cliché as it sounds, where there’s life there’s death. Despite working as a birth doula for almost two years, I’d only ever thought about stillbirths or other fatal complications as statistics rather than realities. When one of those things happens in my hospital, we draw a picture of a fallen leaf on the call board next to the patient’s name. This is a code indicating to other staff members that something went wrong and that room is a solemn place of mourning, not a celebration.
There were two fallen leaves that night. I returned to Whitman one day later, utterly heartbroken over what I’d seen.
Facing mortality is scary. We have to live with the knowledge that everything we encounter is temporary, including our own corporeal bodies. As I grow older, I grow less comfortable with that idea. When I complain about aging and growing, I know my underlying thoughts can be traced back to fear of the ultimate unknown. The closer graduation gets, the less I can stop thinking about it. There’s no going back to childhood at this point, but looking forward presents a void of uncertainty and anxiety.
Many of the books I read as a kid were centered on a kind of fleeting magic that can only happen in childhood. The stories acknowledged that going on magical adventures was an ephemeral phase with a finite end that happens when kids inevitably grow up. I began to believe that growing up was a process that kills the imagination. I tried very hard not to become a grown up, but somehow I did. Now I can drive, vote, go to bars, and in a couple weeks I will have a bachelor’s degree. While characters in books and fairy tales can stay wide-eyed and impressionable forever, I can’t. I now realize that’s a good thing.
Children are supposed to grow up. Having a close encounter with the grim alternative to growing up put it into perspective, because there are some who don’t get the chance to grow up at all. I am lucky that I have the opportunity to grow, learn and develop my full potential. I’m glad to see friends from the class of 2015 growing up together.
I’ve thought about that night frequently throughout this semester, and I’ve come to realize that I’m glad I was there. My role has always been to support the laboring women, and by supporting them that night I ensured they were not alone. Systems of support are crucial to growing up gracefully. At Whitman, we provide a strong system of support for each other. Being united with like-minded, passionate people is the only way I have found solace as I face the darkness of the unknown.
