I have twice thought about being a doula, once for births and once for deaths. What ‘job’ could be more meaningful?

Birth and death are big events with lots of emotion swirling around where a calm practical doula can offer useful tips and emotional support. I have twice thought I could be that steady, sturdy person.

I had two beautiful home births in my thirties and attended two births. I thought, for a short second, that I wanted to enter the field. At the time I knew a few friends training to be midwives and doulas so I wondered if I should train to be a useful person within the caring profession, helping women have good births.

Then I thought about the reality. Doulas and midwives carried beepers (it was the nineties) and they had to be ready to jump out of bed or leave a party at any moment. I also pictured all the worst scenarios: birthing women being stressed by family, birthing women being encouraged to accept unnecessary medical interventions. I saw the difficulties and the complications and honestly appraised my impatience with crying and whining and decided against it.

Now I am in my sixties and guess what? I have no interest in birthing anymore. Not surprisingly I have become more interested in death. Who would think it!

I have acquired experience in death, having attended a good death and learnt what went wrong during bad deaths. I have thought and read about death and I began to think, for a hot second, that I could be useful to families struggling to care for their dying beloved.

I got pretty close last night to signing up for a program that teaches the practice of a death doula. It was a small flirt with the work of death that ended mostly because of the hard sell and my examination of the name of the practice.

The free webinar I took was informative and convincing. The training looked thorough and the cost was not terrible. I thought seriously about committing myself to the studies and the practice. It’s possible! I could make a go of it in my sparsely populated rural area. Possible. Though I know my rural people, and they don’t have any extra cash for luxuries, especially now with the crazy high cost of living.

But still, being a death doula is a generally a good idea for paid work, if you think about it. I mean, there will surely be work. People keep dying, death rates are surprisingly high (can’t imagine why). And boomers are likely to want the best deaths they can get, whatever the cost. And the overwhelmed health care system is not set up to provide ‘good’ deaths. There is a need for death doulas.

A trained death doula will know how to keep dying people safe and comfortable. They can explain what is happening to the traumatized loved ones and they get to be part of one of the wonders of existence. Just like birth, death can be calm and beautiful, and at home.

I was half convinced, finger on the enroll button, as I listened to the impassioned talk from the nurse who has set up the program. I believe that her ‘calling’ is genuine, as is her enthusiasm.

But as I watched her smiling broadly, her eyes heavy with make up and her seemingly ‘botoxed’ lower lip drooping a bit, I wondered about the heavy sale pitch: sign up tonight and get this free booklet or program valued at $1, 169.00!

Nothing makes me back away faster than a frenzied sales pitch. As I listened to her stories about the work I casually picked up my phone and googled ‘doula, root language’, wondering about the origins of the word. What did I read? I read: Modern Greek, doule, female slave.

Charming. Slave. The second definition is a tiny bit better; the one who mothers the mother. The female who tends to the physical and emotional needs of others. Historically a slave.

That was a kick in the head as you can imagine. As you know, I am primarily a writer, both in my mind and as I actually exist. It is what I mostly do, for better or for worse. So, let’s face it, a word like ‘slave’ is going to make an impression on me when I am trying to make a decision about investing in a program.

I thought about what a day would look like, the details of the work and how much money I would make in our rural area, considering the cost of gas. I couldn’t help thinking that having a background in nursing would be appropriate. Even if I could learn all the ins and outs and be useful to the family I think people might question my ‘bone fides’.

Years ago I did not become a birth doula, continuing to write articles for magazines and newspapers while caring for my beloved babies. And today I don’t see myself becoming a death doula. I am exactly the same person as I always was, thinking seriously about the caring profession and then quietly rejecting it.

All this reminds me of my recent well intentioned attempt to work at a local elder care home. I did eight hours and practically had to exit the building in a body bag. Dehydrated, exhausted, I drooped home.

This cozy home is run by a loving couple, and it is wonderful care home. I would send my mother-in-law there in a flash. But, what they left out in the job description was that I was to care for the nine elders while making them two meals and doing all the dishes.

The smiling, the multi tasking, the chatting, the cooking, the cleaning. The wiping of tables, the wiping of tables, the wiping and cleaning and cooking and chatting, and wait a minute. Hold on! Didn’t I just do this for the last thirty years?

My life work amounts to bringing up three fabulous human beings, dreamers who are smart, ethical, resilient and powerful. I wanted children more than anything else in my life, ever since I was very young, and I was given the chance to indulge this passion with the support of my loving partner. I loved being a parent and gave my all. When I worked for money, I worked at art administration jobs until I couldn’t stand it anymore, waited on tables and wrote.

Sometimes I think I want to be immersed in these emotional, intimate experiences with other people but I have done that, and done it fully. I think what I want now is quiet and solitude, just as my ten year old poet self wrote once wrote in a poem.