CRISTINA
ANNA: Where did you grow up?
CRISTINA: I grew up with my grandmother and my father in Campogalliano, near Modena. My mother left when I was four years old; she decided she had made a mistake and went on to build her own life. When I turned 18, I moved to Milan and stayed, but I still have my roots there. Every time I visit the cemetery in Campogalliano, I’m overwhelmed with emotion—they have my last name, they have my face.
A: Why did you decide to become a midwife?
C: I didn’t have a connection to the maternal side. My grandmother’s care was very practical, mostly focused on nurturing through food. I chose to become a midwife because of the bond you create with women, the care for their children, and to make sure that care helps them not abandon their baby.
A: Have you formed any deep bonds at work?
C: Absolutely. One of the strongest bonds is with my mentor, my midwifery teacher. She has always seen the good in me and appreciated who I was truly.
A: What was your journey like?
C: I needed to leave home and gain financial independence. Back then, if you came from a dysfunctional family, society gave you more opportunities to straighten yourself out. My mom had left, my dad was manic-depressive, and at some point, I just knew I had to get away.
I started working in a hospital before I even turned 16. I began as a nurse, things were different then, and it was easy to get a job right away. The head physician suggested I pursue midwifery, though I never imagined it for myself, especially since I fainted during the first birth I witnessed! But that’s how it happened, and it turned out to be my calling.
A: Do you see big changes in your practice compared to when you started working?
C: Definitely, it’s constantly evolving, like everything else. When I started, we still followed the old methods: women had to give birth in a specific position, babies were taken away immediately, and there was no skin-to-skin contact, it was overly medicalized. When I moved to the hospital in Sesto, I realized things were starting to change. We initiated a revolution, telling women to get out of bed and find the position that caused them the least amount of pain because that was the position that helped their baby. We followed them instead of imposing on them.
A: How has midwifery evolved since then?
C: Slowly, I’ve seen it all fall apart. This city is hostile to children there are no services anymore. A child is born, and no one even knows. Sometimes they’re like ghosts...when I started working, we used to get a list every month of the babies born in the neighborhood, and we’d visit all of them, caring for the new mothers. Now, there’s so much bureaucracy that I often feel buried under it all.
A: Do you feel you need to approach your work differently now?
C: I’m a bit of an anarchist, I couldn’t stand not seeing my mothers for ten days just because the bureaucracy says so, I know they can’t go without me for that long. I’ve never gotten along with people who lack empathy; regardless of new regulations, I always try to give my all.
A: Do you hope for another revolution?
C: Of course, though I sometimes feel a bit alone in my thinking. Young women now feel distant, a bit rigid. But for these last years before retirement, I’d like to bridge the gap, to create connections, to help them understand that before the paperwork, there’s a need to pay attention to detail to offer deep, sincere help.
A: How did you feel about becoming a mother yourself?
C: Giving birth is the easiest part; the real challenge is what comes afterward. I saw myself as a child again and thought about my mother, how I didn’t want to be like her. It’s an immense journey of growth.