With The Woman, Midwife

 

Hi, my name is Ellen MacNamara. The last time you saw me I was standing at my kitchen window with my husband, Henry, before sun-up. We were watching an utterly astounding and frightening sight. We saw the Triangles riding low over our place and heading out to Milltown, over the hill from us. They were so low that they barely cleared the tree tops.  It was appalling. We saw the red sky from the burning too.

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midwife (n.)

"a woman who assists women in childbirth," c. 1300, literally "woman who is 'with' " (the mother at birth), from Middle English mid "with" (see mid (prep.)) + wif "woman" (see wife). Cognate with German Beifrau.

https://www.etymonline.com/word/midwife#etymonline_v_14806

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That’s me.

I have been working as a midwife since my late twenties, which was in the 1990s. I used to accompany the woman to the hospital sometimes just to support her. And I have assisted many births in the woman’s home, and even some here at our place.

Since this whole miserable collapse of our world, there have only been a few children born, but I sense that an uptick is coming. The kids who were only surviving children have grown up. There will be babies coming. I will only speak of my experience here outside of Milltown, in my little world.

How do I know when a woman needs me? Well, that is an interesting question. Ideally, I should see her a few times during the months she is carrying, so I kind of know what to expect when the time comes.

Word of mouth is the usual way now. People talk. If a child is coming, they are going to be looking for help, and will be asking around. Someone will mention Ellen the older lady who does this work outside of town. They will come visit, or I will go see them and we will have a good confab and physical exam. I am no surgeon, so we pray. So far, I have lost no one.

In Doug and Jen Simpson’s case it was different.

I was sitting on the bench in my little garden in between the bean poles covered with immature vines, drowsing in the sunshine. I became aware of a second bright light. It approached me slowly, as if giving me time. It floated gently and stationary, at last, very near me. A voice that came from no location spoke, “this is no cause for fear Ellen. We have a message for you. You must go to a certain house and meet with a man and a woman who are awaiting a child’s birth. We will impart the location to you. Are you willing?”

I came all the way awake and it was still there waiting, rotating calmly. I thought, well ok.

I said, “yes, I am the midwife after all. They will need me.”

I notified Henry and prepared to walk to the house where the Simpsons lived. I always bring my basic medical supplies with me in a special clean pack. I didn’t know how far along this girl was, and it’s just dumb not to bring that stuff, just in case.

Their place was about two miles from ours. Now, I am in my sixties, but I have been walking since this whole thing came down and I am strong. Two miles is not much of a hike. I should get a horse though. Horses are faster than women.

I had no idea if they would be home of course, or if they were expecting to see me. They could have gotten a message also. I got there in under an hour, taking my time. I am not one to hurry much. Waiting for babies is patient work.

This house did not look orphaned. You could see that life went on here. It had been painted one of those mushroom colors that were popular a couple of decades back. The roses and other bushes in the front were in need of pruning, but the lawn had been cut in recent history. There were signs of occupation all over, especially in the back yard. I had knocked on the front door and gotten no answer, so I walked around back to see if anyone was out there.

There was about half an acre of vegetable garden and a nice big chicken run full of multi-colored hens, and one red rooster.

A tall brunette girl about six months along was sitting with a younger blond girl in a couple of old folding lawn chairs on the grass. They looked up together and I wondered what they saw. A thin, greying, motherly person in jeans and a flannel shirt over a t, with the inevitable backpack? I stood quietly and let them look me over.

The girls smiled. Jen said, “the Light told me you would come, Ellen.”

Link to all of it: In the tenth year of the pandemonium.docx