The only regret that I have after this, my last pregnancy and birth, is that I didn't allow myself the extraordinary experience of the care of midwives for my first two children. I somehow was under the very false impression that a midwife operated outside of the high standard of medical care that I desired for myself and my unborn children. I couldn't have been more wrong.

Each of these wonderful women in this practice endured this pregnancy with me made difficult by incessant morning sickness and fear surrounding previous losses and preterm delivery. When intervention was necessary due to low hormone levels, first trimester bleeding, and regular contractions in the 29th week, they ordered it. When a little tough love and encouragement was needed when my fear started to get the better of my faith, they gave it. When we made it safely to the ninth month, we were all relieved and waited anxiously for the birth.

Cindy and I knew instinctively we would partner in my birth….I had promised her an easy delivery after all I had put her through in the past nine months. Together with her, I was able to deliver on that promise. Having seen me twice in the week, she preemptively slept at the hospital during an ice storm, knowing I would be in. (Somehow, she always seemed to know.) I came to the hospital within thirty minutes of my water breaking at home at 3:28am and delivered my first little girl at 5:58am. This is how I described these hours in my personal scrapbook: "It was night. The room was dim, shadowy, quiet. We chatted in between contractions and were silent during them, just my breathing. Our midwife, Cindy, checked our progress - it was time. The pushing was hard and long. Very quietly you were born. 'Is she alright?' 'She's fine.' The first miracle. Then I distinctly remember peeking between Hannah's legs - a girl - the second miracle. Just as they thought, just as we prayed. You were laid in my arm on my right side. I held you. We quietly considered each other for a long time. You were born and I was made whole."

I'm changed forever. In a gift to Cindy I asked the rhetorical question "How do you thank the woman who guides an angel from heaven into your arms?". There are not enough words, not enough gifts, not enough money to adequately repay all that she has given. The best I can do is take my own passion for the care of women and babies and follow in her footsteps in their care.