A Nurse Named Seleste

Blog # 24 -- Monica Rae

May 8th, 2022

My leg was in the air. I couldn’t feel it, but I saw it -- being held by the nurse who had been by my side for hours. I was numb from the waist down. The lack of sensation and sight of my bare backside hanging out was terrifying. I laid there, unable to move. But honestly, where would I go if I could?

I was in shock; I knew that much.

Stitches.

Too much blood.

Relief.

Fear.

A baby wrapped in mucus fresh from my insides.

Tears ran down my face.

I clung to my baby and glanced at my husband on the screen an ocean away.

Shaking and exhausted.

She was wiping me, cleaning the remnants of the birth that just occurred.

I looked at her, the nurse named Seleste, and I whispered in my broken voice, “Yours is a thankless job.”

She smiled. Even though I wasn’t her mother I felt a sense of pride as I looked at her. In words I no longer remember, I relayed how her choice to selflessly care for me when my vitals were unstable and my emotions a wreck was a gift.

Tears fall down my face as my friend greeted me the next morning. She understood, it was ok, to feel this brokenness and gratitude at the same time. I showed her the new life that lay still and wrapped in a blanket. And for a moment I didn’t feel alone.

In motherhood, there is a stripping of our pride, our ego, our confidence that leaves us as helpless as the babes we hold. And somewhere between pushing a life out from between my legs and watching an angel in the form of a nurse wiping me, I realized what I knew of pride and humility was being transformed.

Pride.

What do we think of when we hear that word?

And why, regardless of our age, do we feel such confidence when our parents acknowledge our efforts and accomplishments with, ‘I am proud of you?’

Growing up a Catholic I recited prayers declaring my guilt and shame and need for God. There was no room for pride—it got in the way of repentance.

As a teacher I have said to numerous students, including my teenage daughter, to ‘take pride in your work.’

For much of my life, the definition of pride has hung somewhere between determination and vanity.

The older I get, the greater the bruise when I fall from the shelf of assumption.

How did I get there?

The place where I assumed pride was a lone wolf. That it couldn’t coexist with being helped.

How do I unlearn that pride isn’t meant to stand alone?

I can start by taking a lesson from the lions.

Why is a group of lions called a pride? Scholars believe this word-play originated in the 14th century in an attempt to describe this grouping of animals with a human quality. Pride is associated with fierce devotion and determination and therefore a fitting a label for a grouping of mostly females and cubs who coexist and work together to care for their young (with a few dominant males depending on the group). It is formed out of instinct—females carrying for all the young as though they are their own, protecting the pack and never leaving one to fend for themselves.

The ironic labeling of pride to a group – the symbolism and coincidence --- is not lost on me. As I arrived home from the hospital my newborn in toe and my teenager and dogs a welcoming committee—we all were left wondering how our lives would change with the arrival of this new life? Friends and family have poured into our lives in unexpected ways, making us feel the warmth of connection—a reassurance I am not alone.

The nurse who helped me in my raw nakedness taught me that pride can be redefined by circumstance and perspective. And the lions remind me of the purpose and necessity of others.

But I’m still left to wonder how do I define pride?

I used to despise it when my teachers in high school and college assigned ‘group projects.’ As a type A personality with stellar organizational skills, I assumed there wouldn’t be a fair balance of tasks. It would default to me to make sure that it was polished and turned in on time. Well, I am now knee deep in the ultimate ‘group project’—motherhood. Sometimes we are the one who picks up after another and other times we are the ones who are late.

The role of motherhood is both terrifying and soul quenching. I swing from teenage mothering (support without smothering) to the all-consuming role as food source of a newborn. All the accomplishments I thought meant I had ‘made it,’ don’t compare to the lengths I will go to provide for, protect and care for my children. My confidence is stripped when I can’t console my newborn in the middle of the night or understand the fears of my teenager. I am made humble by spit up on my shirt, tardiness because of the 3rd diaper change in the last hour or forgetting altogether whether I have paid a bill on time.

When asked ‘how are you doing,’ I default to a summary of how my children are. As many mothers will attest, it’s easy to get lost in the demands of the role while simultaneously being filled with immense happiness. The role changes me and not just because it leaves me with stretch marks, sagging skin and puffy eyes.

When I was having my first daughter in my 20’s, I was more concerned with what I needed to purchase for her arrival, how I looked or feeling like I needed to apologize every time she cried. Fifteen years later I wake to the gurgling sounds of my brown baby as she watches the light dance through the window. A tear arises—maybe from fluctuating hormones—or maybe just because I am made humble by the moment. I am proud of the two lives I have been given.

I want my girls to be confident and pursue their dreams. Yet, my pride is not in what they accomplish, but in the fact that I am given the opportunity to watch them become who they are meant to be.

I thought the definition of pride was the enemy of humility. I thought it meant a race to fill a trophy wall and material purchases to show the result of my accomplishments.

I realize now.

When the pendulum of pride swings from arrogance to embarrassment it can only find the balance in the humility of pride.

When vanity is replaced with gratitude, and we realize the world exists not to serve our need for accolades…but as an opportunity for us to find the numerous gifts we are given including the souls who participate beside us.

It’s in the truth that my pride hasn’t been depleted, erased or even bruised by the demands of motherhood or changes in routine.

I am not in a performance, seeking an award—

I am immersed in the piles of gifts that are shaping my story.

I like this new revelation about pride.

My worth isn’t found in what I have done or what I have acquired— honestly my errors are as numerous as my accomplishments. Pride comes not in myself…but in what I have been given that shapes, fills, and stretches me!

An endless list of gratitude.

I am proud.

DEDICATION: The friends and family near and far who have chosen to be fully present in moments and in countless ways!! I am grateful. Lara, Annie, Cathleen and Peg who have come along side me in ways I can never repay. To my girls—my pride and joy. And to a nurse named Seleste.