Nonnatus House’s newly minted midwives are put to the test in this episode. These are memories and lessons maiden midwives accumulate, creating wisdom and sometimes wounds. And veteran midwife Trixie (Franklin) Alyward continues to be tested. Her old wounds are being poked.

Trixie struggles to do her job and be the midwife she wants to be. She is befuddled as she navigates her change in fortune. The anxiety of what the future may be with her husband is making her nearly nonfunctional.

Meanwhile, Joyce Highland, like an experienced pro, remains focused on Gerri Godfrey as she manages a seriously threatening obstetrical emergency, despite her blackmailing husband stalking in the shadows. Her secret is also taking its toll.

Rosalind Clifford is presented with a disturbing mystery. She makes her way through the case of Alison Casey using expert observation and empathy. As she uncovers the heartbreaking truth of sexual abuse, she finds her confidence and voice, advocating for her valiant and fragile patient. It causes her to exclaim, “Most of the time I adore this job, but sometimes I can’t bear it.”

Midwifery is, most of the time, a joy. Despite this, sorrow seeps in. Every midwife must navigate the ups and downs of their own lives while maintaining enough emotional energy to deal with the gritty realities in the home lives as well as the birth rooms of their patients. We learn to muster the will to put aside our personal heartbreaks, anxieties, and wounds so we have the energy and mental stamina to navigate the heartbreaks, anxieties, and wounds of others. It is not always easy or even possible. Nonnatus House midwives, in past seasons, have taken leaves of absence to heal, and it happens in real life as well.

I have learned that midwives and their patients are most often brave and valiant. We can also be fragile. I offer a poem to express the burdens midwives hold.

Invisible Wounds

by Deborah McBain

Just an old midwife

With everything

And nothing to lose,

Except memory.

Trauma hidden

To those met face to face.

But not for oneself,

For the unseen.

Inappreciable mothers

But to us who stood

Staunching the hemorrhage

Then stooping,

Mopping blood

From shoes.

Making it

Invisible.

Except

For the

Well worn

Trail

Of

Hurt

And

Memory.