Maura Manktelow Sweeney
St. Anselm and St. Clare of Assisi Writing Groups
Sheridan checked her watch and groaned internally as she hurried down the quiet hall of the administration wing. Ordinarily she liked these meetings with her mentor Jeanne, whose experience and encouragement had been reassuring throughout her nurse practitioner training. But these last few days had been harrowing, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to discuss them.
As she entered, she found Jeanne sitting in one of the rocking chairs near the window, framed by a stunning sunset. Jeanne welcomed her warmly and reached over to pat the opposite chair. “Come, sit down. I hear it has been quite challenging down on the maternity ward lately. Would you like to take a few minutes to catch your breath before we begin?”
“Yes. Please.”
As Sheridan tried to make herself comfortable, she noticed that Jeanne had sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. She wondered if that was part of Jeanne’s secret for handling the difficulties of her work. By contrast, Sheridan felt overwhelmed and didn’t know how to put her thoughts in order. What she really wanted to do was cry. But no time for that, right?
After what she assumed was way too much silence, Sheridan cleared her throat. Jeanne opened her eyes and leaned forward, peering at her with concern. “Tell me about the good you saw unfolding before you today.”
The question dumbfounded Sheridan, who thought Jeanne would be more sensitive after acknowledging the rumors of what had been happening. She blurted out, “Today we had to sign two death certificates, and I can’t help thinking everyone involved would have been better off if those women had never gotten pregnant.”
“Why don’t you tell me a bit more about each case and why you feel that way?”
Sheridan let her pain and frustration gush out. “There was a mother of six who came in from their homestead with her husband and all the kids in tow yesterday. She’d stopped feeling movement a few days ago. After testing, we determined the fetus had died and she needed to be induced. That was long and hard for her. She finally delivered early this afternoon, but that was a lot of labor for no life.
“Then there was a girl who’s been living on the streets who had zero prenatal care. She claimed that she didn’t even know she was pregnant, though she appeared to be around 36 weeks. We confirmed her pregnancy and that she was in labor. The delivery went quickly enough, but the baby had anencephaly and died.”
“Those sound like difficult circumstances for both families,” acknowledged Jeanne, “but you didn’t tell me about the good you saw.”
“What good could there have been in either situation,” shot back Sheridan. “Wouldn’t it have been better if neither child had been conceived?”
Jeanne closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Sheridan thought perhaps Jeanne was counting to ten like her mother would when they argued. She knew that her outburst was contradictory to the values of this hospital, where a cross hung over every door and women like Jeanne had once been addressed formally as “Sister.”
When Jeanne spoke it was to calmly ask, “What happened after each birth?”
Sheridan thought for a few minutes. What had happened? Her first impulse after doing the best they could to make the mothers comfortable had been to search for someone or something to blame for the painful events. After all, wasn’t their job as healers to prevent pain? She looked back now, beyond the pain and grief, to consider the actions of the others in each room.
“Well, the dad of the large family had been with his wife most of the time. His mother had come to take care of the children. When the fetus was delivered, they brought all those children in to see. The children wanted to know if it was a boy or a girl and what name their parents had chosen.”
“What name did they give their child?” asked Jeanne.
“Clement. They said it was because he was an innocent.”
Jeanne nodded, “How did the family seem?”
“They were sad of course. There were lots of tears.” Sheridan paused as if surprised by her next thought, “But they seemed to be accepting too. They wrapped him in a blanket the grandmother had just finished knitting, and everyone took turns holding the baby before the staff brought him down to the morgue.”
“And what about the other delivery, Sheridan?”
She sighed. “That one was even harder. When that girl arrived, it was clear she didn’t want anything to do with a baby. She asked to speak to the social worker practically the moment her pregnancy was confirmed. She wanted them to help place the baby for adoption because she felt a child wouldn’t fit into her life. The delivery went relatively smoothly, but we knew as soon as the baby was born that she wouldn’t need to worry about arranging a placement.
“As usual, we asked if she wanted to see the baby. Truthfully, I was shocked she said yes. It might have been easier if she hadn’t. We had to explain what anencephaly was and that the baby wasn’t going to live. I guess I should give her credit though. She stepped up. She wanted the baby baptized, and named the child Sojourner. Then she insisted on cuddling her daughter until she died. Afterwards she asked to see the social worker again. I hope she wants help getting off the streets, but with cases like that, who knows.”
Jeanne sat back and gazed at the picture on the opposite wall, a peaceful meadow with sparrows soaring above it. Sheridan had once been curious why that had pride of place instead of framed diplomas like those that graced the other offices on this floor. However, today she was more concerned about the question she suspected would be coming after her earlier outburst.
Jeanne asked it without judgment: “Do you really think it would have been better if those babies had never been conceived?”
“I don’t know. I guess it depends on your perspective. On one hand, there would have been no pain and no heartache . . . ” then she drifted into silence.
“But on the other hand, no love,” murmured Jeanne.
After an awkward moment, Jeanne seemed to make a decision. She looked Sheridan in the eye and asked, “May I share something personal?”
“Sure . . . I guess.”
“Almost thirty years ago, my sister’s youngest child was born with Down syndrome and a serious heart defect. It was evident that she would die without surgery, but the surgery was new and experimental, so there were no guarantees of success. After a lot of prayer, my sister and her husband decided to go ahead. It meant going back and forth from their small town into the city an hour away to visit Vivian every day at the hospital while trying to juggle work and their older children’s schedules. Vivian had the surgery and was able to go home, but within just a few months, her little heart gave out, and she died.
“Some people whispered, ‘It would have been better if she hadn’t been born.’ My sister believes Vivian’s life was full of love and purpose.
“A few years ago, a girl who went to school with one of my nieces adopted a baby who had the exact same diagnosis. The only difference was that little Sophie’s surgery was a success. I have to believe that what doctors learned from surgeries like my niece’s so long ago led to Sophie thriving now.”
Jeanne paused before continuing, “Sheridan, I want you to know that it isn’t unusual to ask these questions. When I was a student and first struggling with questions like yours, one of our older Sisters gave me that painting and wrote a quote into the grass at the bottom of the picture as a reminder to me. It says, ‘Not a sparrow is forgotten in God’s sight . . . you are of more value than many sparrows.’ Sr. Mary Elizabeth believed that the saying didn’t just apply to us but to all of our patients, regardless of their diagnosis. I have come to agree with her.
“When I look at that picture, I am reminded that our profession calls me to care for others with the same love with which I am cared for, even when it seems like I am not making a difference.”
They lapsed into contemplative silence. Jeanne reflected on the mystery of how her life had been blessed by all those she’d cared for through the years, while Sheridan wondered what her future might be like if she dared to care for patients with Jeanne’s kind of love.
Finally, Jeanne broke the silence. “You must be exhausted after the last few days. I suspect you’d be better served by getting some rest than by listening to me. Feel free to stop back next week if there is anything else you want to talk through.”
Sheridan rose and thanked Jeanne for understanding. As she left, she heard Jeanne’s gentle reminder, “Keep looking for the good unfolding before you. That’s where you will find hope.”