Like Sand in an Oyster Shell…

Sorting through a box of old photos last night, pictures I have not looked at for decades, I was surprised to uncover evidence of a past life so far removed from where I am now that the memory of it came back like a shock and left me unsettled.

My movement in the world then had been very physical. My body was lean and I could feel the strength in it as I moved across the land and through my world. It was a time of boundless, mighty and passionate energy focused in outer activity. Years were spent driving around the county helping to midwife new life in the world. Raising kids. Burying myself in the rich, musty loam of the farm, growing food to eat and sell at the market. Grinding wheat for baking bread in the wood fired brick oven. Traveling the world teaching. Sharing birth stories to inspire others, to remind them that they are perfect and powerful and know how to push life from their bodies. I was an earth mother. Life was full and it was juicy. And it was also impermanent.

A death, a fire and a divorce… Seismic life shifts that cracked my frame. Paralyzing sorrow and heartbreak followed, the kind that brings you to your knees and forces deep inquiry into the Big Questions.

I was a mess. My journey led me to the path of the Buddha. To tame my wild mind, open my heart, cultivate loving compassion and live my life in service to others became my compass. It pointed me in a direction that felt true and made sense.

After fourteen years living and serving at a Tibetan Buddhist Retreat Center I felt a stirring, a deep yearning to work in the field of death and dying. I was sixty-seven years old and had been away from active nursing for many years. It was insane, absolute craziness. But the courage came and a door opened. Two years ago I walked through that door and moved to a coastal community to become a hospice nurse.

So… this is where I am now. I am not lean and my body is not strong. I do not live a physical life. I do not resemble those old photos. I am quiet and contemplative. My inner landscape is rich. People reflect to me that I am calm and competent, but that is not always my felt experience. I feel anxiety sometimes. I have doubt. I worry that I do not know enough to do a good job. I am being stretched and constantly ride an edge that is not comfortable. I dance everyday with the reality of change and transition. It is difficult and it is wondrous. I have a job where I can be tender and touch people. Sometimes I cry with them. It is intimate, skillful work and I love it.

I do not fully understand why I am where I am other than it feels like I am in alignment with my soul’s journey, and I trust that. And at times when it is edgy and gritty, like sand in an oyster, I wonder. Perhaps someday a pearl will appear…

Chapter 27 – A Father’s Bond…

     They lived in a small cabin next to a turbulent creek. The only access to their homestead was by a two-mile hike through the woods up a narrow trail. They had to pack in all their supplies. Kerosene lanterns provided their light. They cooked on a wood stove. It was a hardscrabble life, but they were miners on a small claim, so they stuck with it, hoping to strike pay dirt and get rich.

     She hadn’t wanted to get pregnant. It was not part of her plan. “One slip of the birth control and BAM,” she moaned. “Now a baby I don’t want is coming.” You could almost smell her unhappiness, like a cheap perfume that filled the still air of the exam room. It overwhelmed the small space.

     Her partner did not share her feelings. He was shocked, but pleased. “I’ve always wanted to be a dad. We’ll make it work. You’ll see. I feel hopeful,” he countered, trying to antidote her negativity.

     As the pregnancy progressed, his growing excitement pushed around the edges of her misery, but could not penetrate it. She suggested they put the baby up for adoption. The very idea made him shudder. He wanted it… they struggled.

     She seemed untouched by the lively movement within her body. He couldn’t keep his hands off her belly when the baby was kicking. “I would trade places with you, Hon, if I could. Seems so trippy to be able to feel life inside of you like that,” he said.

     As her delivery date approached, he convinced her to move into town to a little apartment, “just till we get settled in with the baby and get the hang of things,” he reasoned.

     Two weeks later she went into labor. As the contractions swept over her, she did not call out or even moan. She seemed distant and removed, indifferent to what was happening. He gave her cool juice to drink, wiped her face with a wet cloth and provided steady support with his encouragement.

     When it came time for her to push the baby out, I said to him. “Go wash your hands. Would you like to deliver your baby?” “Oh my God! Can I? Oh yes, I would love to be a part of the birth,” he stammered.

     As the baby descended, dark, wet, matted hair appeared at the opening of the vagina. “Here’s some oil. You can gently massage all around the baby’s head,” I suggested. Tenderly, he touched the baby’s head, tears filling his eyes. The baby delivered slowly into his hands, a little boy. His eyes opened wide and he stared one-pointedly at his father. Their eyes locked as they held each other in their gaze. It was silent. Then he began to murmur little loving sounds to his son, reassuring him.

     After the cord was cut he offered the baby to the mother. She stirred a little and reached down to bring him to her chest. Instantly he latched on to her breast and began to suckle. As he nursed, her eyes gazed out the window—empty, detached.

     I did home visits for the first six weeks and the baby seemed to flourish. While she fed the baby, the rest of his care fell to his father who attended his every need.

     I did not see them after that. They never returned. Then, one day in a supermarket, I saw him with his son who was now about two years old. “Hello. It’s so wonderful to see you again. Your son is beautiful. How are you?” I asked.

     His eyes became sad. “She left us when he was four months old. Said she couldn’t do it any more. It’s not her fault. She just wasn’t cut out to be a mother. She disappeared, and I don’t know where she is,” he said. “It was so hard. I thought I would go crazy. But you know…when he was born and my hands were the first to touch him, and when he looked into my eyes like he did, something happened to me. He captured my heart. I knew then that we would make it somehow. I knew that I would give up my life for him. Thank you for that gift—for letting me deliver my own child. We formed a bond in that moment that has held us together through these difficult times. Who knew what trials we would be given to bear together. I have never loved anyone like I love my son. Our bond will never be broken.”

     Then he slowly walked away. Laughing. His eyes sparkling once again.

    

     

Through Death...A Priceless Gift

      Her son greeted me warmly at the door. As soon as I entered the house, I felt like I had stepped into a sanctuary of grace. It was very calm, and the energy in the room was not heavy with sadness. An old dog was curled up, basking in the sun streaming through the patio window. Classical music was softly playing. The fragrant smell of fresh bread came from the kitchen.

     I quietly slipped into her room. The light was dim with just candles burning. I walked over and sat in the chair next to her bed, taking hold of her frail, outstretched hand. She was surrounded by soft, fleece blankets and big pillows which cushioned her gaunt, eighty-pound frame. Though her body had almost dissolved, her radiance filled the room, drawing us in. As I sat beside her, her soft eyes looked deeply into mine and we sat there for a long time, not uttering a word.

     Finally, her surprisingly firm voice said, “Hello and who are you?” she asked.

     “I’m Candace, a nurse from hospice,” I replied. “I’ve come to see how are you feeling today?”

     “Wonderful. I am just wonderful. I feel like I am at a posh resort. They take such good care of me here,” she beamed, looking at her son and daughter-in-law.

     Then she fingered the turquoise pendant hanging around my neck. “That’s beautiful,” she said. “Yes, it is,” I responded. “Would you like to have it?” 

     “Nah…I’m dying you know. No need for bling,” she replied with a twinkle in her eye.

      “How is your pain,” I asked.

      “It’s not bad. They have good drugs in this place,” she replied, laughing.

     “I’ve also come to change the dressing over that pressure sore on your bottom. Would you mind if I did that?” I asked. “I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t want anyone else looking at my bony bottom,” she teased. I’m very vain, you know.

     Her son crawled into bed with her and gently and tenderly turned her over on her side where he held her close to him while I carefully replaced the dressing. “Isn’t he the best!” she exclaimed, as they nuzzled each other.

     When we turned her back over, her eyes closed. It didn’t take much to tire her out. I continued to sit quietly by her side. She had whammied me and I felt caught in her spell. I realized that I did not want to leave.

     Reluctantly I returned to the living room to finish my notes. Her son joined me. “She is always like that,” he said. “Everyone who sees her can’t leave, and when they do they feel like they have been given a priceless gift.”

     “She has been the best mother anyone could have ever had. There is no unfinished business between us. Now in these remaining days we just enjoy and love each other. When she isn’t so tired she sings me songs that she used to sing me when I was a little child. I have taken a leave of absence from work. The most important thing I can do in my life right now is to accompany her on this final journey. It is an opportunity for me to repay her kindness,” he said with tears in his eyes.”

     The visit was over and I bid them goodbye. One week later I received word that she had passed away in the arms of her son and daughter-in-law. They asked that we not call the mortuary until the following day. They wanted time with her body as they had promised her they would carry out some ceremonies after she passed.

     Twenty-four hours later they called me. “You seemed to have had such a strong connection with my mother,” he said. “Would it be possible for you to come and help us bathe and dress her before the mortuary comes?” “Yes, of course, I would be honored. I’ll be right there.”

     When I went to her bedside I was struck with how peaceful she looked. We bathed her in rose scented water and rubbed her favorite lotion all over her body. Then we dressed her in a silk, turquoise dress that she had worn to their wedding last year. They picked flowers from the garden and adorned her as a final touch. Now it was time to let her go…

      I have received some very precious advice as a hospice nurse. When you take time before entering a house to pause and empty yourself of personal agendas and expectations, you can more readily receive what a family is ready to give you. She and her family generously showed me that it is possible to face death with humor and a loving heart, without fear—indeed, a priceless gift…

    

     

     

Chapter 25 - A genteel birth...

     She was gracious and lovely—a southern woman. Her clothes swirled in soft folds around her petite body. Auburn, smooth hair fell straight to her shoulders. A true lady, as my dad used to say.

      Her husband was a gentleman—mannerly and cordial, always dressed in a tie and white shirt when he accompanied her. He called her missy. She called him darling.

     During her prenatal visits I found myself seduced by her lyrical, South Carolina accent. I could see her on the porch of a stately manor sipping ice tea on a hot summer afternoon.

     I wondered…Labor can be such a noisy, sweaty business, and she was so delicate and gentle. I was trying to picture it.

     She called me one Sunday morning. “My pains have been coming over me for some time now, and I think I should come into the birth room,” she said calmly.

     She didn’t sound like she was in very active labor, but I said, “Sure, I’ll see you there in a few minutes, and we’ll check things out.”

     She and her husband entered the room in a hush—like they were being held in a protective bubble. I gently examined her. Seven centimeters!

     They crawled up on the bed, spooned together. Quiet. Sometimes whispering.

     I sat in the corner of the room, watching over them. I entered into her stillness and stayed very focused and present, not saying a word.

     They were entwined together—riding the waves of her contractions as if in a small boat bobbing gently in a rough sea, barely disturbed by its turbulence.

     Her breathing quickened, her face was flushed, but not a sound did she make. She didn’t move either, but lay on her side, embraced by her husband.

     I began to hear little grunts in her breath and knew that she was close to pushing. I lifted her top leg and let it rest on my shoulder. I felt her bearing down.

     The bag of waters appeared at the opening of her vagina and gave way—the water trickling down onto the bed. Soon after, the baby slipped out. She reached down and lifted him to her breast. He was alert and pink and breathing, but he did not cry out. He was quiet…like his parents. They tucked him into their private bubble.

     Sometimes people are surprised by what comes out when giving birth, by what they discover about themselves. But like this couple, sometimes the birth just provides a deep reflection of truth already evident. Honest and perfect.

    

    

     

Chapter 24 - Midwifing the Dying

      Five days ago I was so sick, it felt in some way like I was dying. I had a raging fever. Weakness and fatigue clogged every cell in my body, making it impossible to surface into any functional level of consciousness. I felt buried in a stupor I couldn’t climb out of. I was sinking. I faded in and out of awareness, and in my oppressive fog I imagined—if I were in fact actively dying—how would I be? What would I need at that moment?

     I knew… A midwife. I would need and want someone with the qualities of a midwife… to sit with me, to bring their strength and wisdom to my bedside, and to hold me with their calm, fearless presence—someone unafraid to bear witness to my suffering.

     I am a hospice nurse now so I am with the dying almost every day. I see them move through the various stages of their final journeys, each in their own unique way. I watch them struggle, as they come face to face with the raw truth that they will soon leave this life.

     Just as in giving birth, there comes a time when this struggle usually gives way to surrender. They go to a place no one else can go—tucking in, letting the wave take them. At this time they are crossing over—whether giving birth or dying— because both are dramatically leaving the known and opening to the unknown.

     It is my experience that to accompany someone at that time is to enter into their dance, to ride their ride, and to match their courage with our full attention. It’s all about them. It’s their time. They need us to support their letting go, and to help ground them with our presence until they do.

     Midwives do this extremely well. I believe that’s why so many are called into hospice work.

     I am on the mend now, but in the peak of my illness, I had the gift of a very tiny glimpse into what it might feel like to leave my body. And knowing what I felt I would need, I hope, will make me a better hospice nurse who can provide that for others.    

     

Chapter 23 - The Treasure Box...

     “I’m a wuss,” she declared. “I have serious doubts that I can do this. When things get tough in my life, my habit is to change my mind and walk out. Well, I won’t be able to do that in the middle of the birth now will I. There goes my escape plan!” she laughed nervously.

      “Every woman comes to a point in her labor when she wants to give up,” I explained. “You will too. You will feel certain that you can’t go on one more minute—that you have come to the end of your resources,” I told her.

     “That is a significant moment. It is a sign that you are almost there, and it is then—when you feel you have nothing left to draw from—that you are given the key to open your treasure box. Inside you will behold the wonder and depth of your capacity to reach far beyond anything you thought was possible.”

     “You will enter the stream of all women who have gone before you and pushed life from their bodies. Together—you and your baby—will reach into reserves of courage and strength that will amaze you.”

     “We rarely look into this box…none of us,” I confessed. “It’s too easy to quit what we are doing when we don’t want to do it anymore—when life feels too difficult. We can just basically ‘drop the course’. We hold back.”

    “One of the gifts in labor is that we don’t get to do that. We get to see what we really are capable of, and that is a treasure you will take with you for the rest of your life,” I said.

     “There are few things more powerful than a woman giving birth,” I said. “It is a time when she transcends her limitations and soars into a greater possibility of being. It’s a time when you get to go for it, holding nothing back. Trust me. You are about to enter into an indescribable adventure!”

     “Well, that’s a heroic perspective,” she laughed. “I’m very curious now.

     She went into labor a month later. Excited, she dug in and worked hard. The hours passed and her labor intensified. She began to feel very discouraged.

     “I can’t do this. I need drugs. Can’t you just do a C-section? Do something!”

     “You’re eight centimeters…almost there,” I encouraged. “You’re doing a great job. This is the moment to go into that treasure box. The strength you need is there. Call on your baby to help. We are all here with you. You can do it.”

     “The damn treasure box moment, eh!” she cried. “Okay, little one—let’s do this!”

     Standing with her legs spread wide apart, she began to rock her hips. Sweat was pouring from her body.

     She gave voice to the intensity ripping through her. She roared and shouted, “Come out, come out, come out!”

     Eyes closed, she tucked in—to a place none of us could fathom. We stayed close to her, whispering words of encouragement, moving with her rhythm, in awe of her power.

     She was mighty as she pushed her child into the world. “I did it. Oh my God, I did it.”

     Later, as the baby was quietly nursing, she looked at me—incredulous. “Who was that woman who just gave birth?” she asked. “I never thought I had it in me. I was really something, wasn’t I?” she said with a dreamy, satisfied smile on her face.”

     “Yes, yes indeed…you were amazing!”

    

      

Chapter 22 - A Sexual Awakening...

     It was three o’clock in the morning. My car weaved its way home through pockets of low-lying mist along a desolate mountain road. As I turned the corner, I saw a bobcat silhouetted against the moon lit sky. A Bach concerto was playing loudly on my radio and I rolled down my window to let it serenade the night.

     I knew that sleep would not come easily to me—I was still deeply stirred. It was a birth where my presence had not been necessary.

     Earlier in the evening she had called to tell me she was in labor. “It’s time for you to come. Perhaps you should not dawdle,” she said.

     I drove quickly to her home, and slipped gently into her room. The lights were dim. Candles were glowing on the bedside table. Soft music was playing. She was lying naked on her side in their big bed with her husband cuddled in beside her. Their two-year old son was sleeping beside them.

      I quietly sat on the floor near their bed. Her contractions were coming frequently—her breath, deep and sensual. She moaned softly.

      “Oh, this feels so good,” she whispered—her face flushed. I nodded, not saying a word.

     “It won’t be long now,” she let me know. “Soon it will happen.”

     Her husband kissed her neck and massaged her body with sweet scented oil. Little Joey stirred and snuggled closer to his parents, his hands reaching out to touch them in his sleep.

     I sat very still and quiet—waiting—trying to not disturb their intimacy.

     Her breathing deepened. She looked at me and smiled. “Oh yes, I feel the baby coming.”

     As she turned over in bed, her husband curled behind her, pulling her close to his chest. Joey woke up and draped himself over his mother, rubbing her arms.

     As she gently pushed, her moaning became erotic. I dribbled some warm oil over her perineum, and her hand reached down to massage the baby’s head as it slowly emerged.

     Yes…unmistakable...As the head delivered into her hands, she climaxed.

     She leaned forward. The shoulders slipped out, and while holding the baby under the arms, she giggled, “Oh my, little one, I feel your feet still wiggling inside of me. Who are you? A boy? A girl? Are you ready to meet your mommy? Shall I have you come to me?”

     She then pulled him out and brought him to her breast. Immediately their three sets of hands embraced and caressed the baby.

     I stayed seated quietly at the foot of the bed, tears streaming down my face.

     “My placenta’s coming,” she said after a few minutes.

     “Yes…I see." Another push and the placenta slipped out. I gathered up my things and tiptoed from the room, leaving this loving family to themselves.

     She told me later that with this birth she had a sexual awakening. I had heard that birth could be orgasmic, but this was the only time I had been witness to such a moment.

     She went on to have a third child, but delivered effortlessly before I could arrive. She must have known that she would not really need me this time either…