Chapter 18 - In My Own Way...

     This was her third pregnancy. It was unexpected and she was devastated by the news. “What am I going to do!” she cried. “Abortion is not an option for me, and yet, I can’t imagine having another kid,” 

     A deep sadness permeated her pregnancy. She tucked away into a sorrow that no one could reach. Even after she felt movement she could not connect to her child. She went through the motions and her baby grew well, but she remained emotionally distant. Nothing anyone said or did seemed to bring her solace.

     I expressed my concerns, as did her husband and pastor. Her bond with her other two children was strong and she was a wonderful mother, but with this pregnancy she was on complete disconnect.

     She said, “Trust me. I can not explain why I have fallen into this chasm, but I will get through it in my own way.” Still… I worried. I had never seen her like this. 

     When her contractions eventually began she labored in silence, as if her heart was separated from her body. I watched over her as a mother would when her child has lost her way. She sat on the edge of the bed, eyes closed, her husband and I sitting on the floor at her feet, each of us with a hand on one knee forming a triangle, providing a ground to keep her tethered.

     An hour passed. The sun was setting and the light was golden in the room. When the next contraction finished I felt a subtle shift in her energy. I looked up at her. It was eerie—like she wasn’t in there. Was she checking out! I felt my breath quicken and I became anxious.  My hand slid up to her wrist to feel her pulse. It was strong and steady. Her husband sensed that something was different and we looked at each other. Her contractions had stopped. I took a deep breath. I was in uncharted territory. I don’t know why but I sensed that she was going to be okay. We sat and we waited. I kept my hand on her pulse.

     A long ten minutes passed. She sat there in utter stillness. Then, she shivered and her eyes opened. They were soft and clear. She was back…

     “I will be pushing after three more contractions,” she prophetically announced. “It’s another girl. Everything will be fine.”

     She nestled back into a mound of pillows on the bed and started to gently massage her belly. She smiled. “Okay little one,” she whispered. “You can be born now. I am here and I want you to come into my life.”

     Exactly—in three contractions—her body began to bear down. After a few pushes she reached down to feel the head as it eased out. As the shoulders delivered, she lifted her daughter to her breast. She massaged her back as a warm blanket was laid across her wet body. 
     “I listened and I heard you. Do not worry. Your mommy is here,” she murmured.

     I sat back and watched as this mother and daughter bonded to each other. What had happened in those ten silent moments?

     Later, I asked if she wanted to talk about what happened, but she just smiled mysteriously and replied, “Like I said…in my own time, in my own way...” 

     

Chapter 17 - Noel Baby

     We were just starting to unwrap our presents when the phone rang. “Lisa’s water broke and her contractions are five minutes apart,” he said. “We’d feel better if we were in the birth room because we live so far out, what with the weather and all. Sure sorry to ruin your Christmas. Say…why don’t you bring your husband and daughter along. We wouldn’t mind at all. We could bring enough food from my deli for all of us.”

     Tony was a big bear of a man—a gregarious Italian, originally from San Francisco, and while I didn’t doubt his sincerity, I did not believe for one second that Lisa would appreciate having my family in attendance at her birth! I chuckled. “Go to the hospital and get yourself settled. I will join you soon.” I replied. “Maybe after the baby is born they can stop in.”

      I kissed my family goodbye and stepped outside. It was silent and still—the kiss of gently falling snow caressed my windshield. My car left virgin tracks as I slowly drove down the winding, mountain road. Christmas lights twinkled in houses tucked back into the trees. It felt like a magical morning. It had been a few years since I had had a Christmas birth.

     I walked quietly into the room. He was hovering over his wife who clearly did not want to be hovered over. “ Tony, PLEASE…I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. I don’t need a cold washcloth on my head…No, I’m not thirsty…Yes, I know you love me. I love you too, but could you maybe just go and sit on the couch for a while?”

     Sitting on the couch was a big problem for Tony… He’s a hands-on guy who cares about people. He hovers over the customers at his deli and he hovered over his wife throughout her entire pregnancy. It wasn’t possible for him to NOT hover. It’s what he does.

     “Tony, for God’s sake. I can’t talk to you right now…”

     “Yes, yes, sorry my love. I’ll just go sit on the couch a little bit, and then I’ll be right back. Are you sure there’s not something I can do?”

     “NO!”  “Sorry, sorry…”

     It went like this for hours. Up—down—up—down.

     When it came time for her to push, I had an idea. “Tony, go wash your hands and come here. Would you like to deliver your baby?” Oh my God, he was needed! He was back from the sink in seconds.

     With simple guidance, and his unwavering focus, his son slipped into his hands, as he wept, overcome with joy.

     Some time later there was a soft knock on the door. My husband and daughter tiptoed in. “Can we see the baby?” I looked around. Tony and the baby had disappeared.

     Puzzled, I went outside in the hallway and looked…nothing. I walked up and down the corridors. They weren’t anywhere to be seen. Hmm…I wandered over to the convalescent wing.

     There he was, grinning, coming out of a patient’s room. “They think it’s the Christ Child come to see them on Christmas!” he exclaimed. I stood by and watched as he placed his wrapped-up son into the arms of every single elderly patient on that ward and wished them Merry Christmas. It was his gift to the elders. He let them kiss and cuddle his son, and when they were all done, he returned to the room to break out the wine and food in celebration.

     I doubt they’d let a newborn child come into a convalescent ward these days, but back then, it seemed the right and natural thing to do on that magical Christmas afternoon.

     

Chapter 16 - A Family Affair...

      “We’re going to do this as a family. Right, gang!” announced the mother with a booming voice. She was a formidable woman at 250 pounds, her hair pulled up into a bun on the top of her head. They had all piled into the room, and were gathered around her like little chickens— grinning and nodding their heads. Mary, the oldest child, was twelve—then JR, who was ten. Last came Frank who was seven.

     Her husband, Cecil, was a small, quiet man. He stood next to her as she sat on the exam table, holding her hand, fidgeting. Suddenly he blurted out with uncharacteristic passion. “Our kids were born at a military hospital, and those darn doctors never let me in with my wife. Said it wasn’t a man’s place to be there—that I’d just be in the way. Well, I’m not in the military now, and by God, nobody’s going to keep me away this time. No way!” he said, “And not just me," he continued. "We want our kids to be there. I was raised on a farm. There ain’t nothing wrong with kids being at a birth. It’s just a normal part of life.” He squeezed his wife’s hand and pumped it up and down, as if to make a point.

     They came to every prenatal visit as a unit. The first part of the exam the kids sat quietly in the waiting area on the couch. Then, after the preliminaries were out of the way…

     ”FRANK, JR, MARY,” she’d shout. ”You all come in now. Time to hear the heartbeat!”  They’d march in single file, like stair steps, youngest to the oldest. They put the stethoscope in their ears, each patiently taking a turn. First, they’d look serious—concentrating. Then as they heard the soft thumping of their sibling’s heart, a big smile would beam across their faces. It went like this, month after month. They never seemed to tire of the routine.

     As the birth approached, each child was given a job. Mary had the assignment of standing by with the apple juice. JR was to be ready with a cool washcloth to wipe his mother’s brow when she needed it. And Frank…he was to stand by the tape recorder, and as the baby was being born, he was to push the start button so they could record the whole event.

      By the time she went into labor, they were well rehearsed. The three kids sat kneeling at the foot of the bed…waiting, responsive to their mother’s cry.

     “MARY!” She’d leap up and bring the apple juice.

     “JR!” He’d leap up and wipe her forehead.

     Frank waited in the wings—excited—waiting for his cue.

      As she was having a lot of back pain during her labor, I suggested she get on her hands and knees. Her husband jumped on the bed and turned himself into a human ottoman so he could support her. She draped herself over his back.

     After a period of time I started worrying about him. His arms were trembling. When I suggested he might want to take a rest, he looked me in the eye firmly and enunciated slowly and clearly— “I’m helping my wife. This is the first time I have been able to be important to her in this way. I am NOT moving. If I die here, I will die a happy man!” And he didn’t move…for a long time… Finally the baby turned and began to descend down the birth canal.

     She flipped over. Lying on her side with her one leg balanced on my shoulder, she started to push.  But first… “FRANK, FRANK, GET READY SON! IT’S TIME,” she shouted. “HIT THE BUTTON NOW. HERE IT COMES…”

     A little girl pushed out into the world. They called her Lily. She let out a little cry, and then opened her eyes wide, taking in this big boisterous family. The kids started cheering and whooping and hollering. Cecil whispered in his wife’s ear, tears streaming down his face. “My beloved, we did it…our family did it together.”

     Even though they eventually moved away, every year they returned in the fall.  They would come to visit me to take a picture of all of us for their annual Christmas card. I had become part of their “family” that “did it together”.

      

    

    

Chapter 15 - A Virtual Birth...

     RING…RING…The phone shattered my sleep. Rolling over I fumbled for the receiver.

     “Hello,” I mumbled.

     “IS THIS THE MIDWIFE?” The voice was hysterical.

     “Yes.” I groggily responded, pulling the phone back from my ear. “Who’s calling?”

     “Uh, You don’t know me and I’d rather not say…” he muttered.

     “I see…pot grower?…maybe on wanted posters?...Why are you calling? Do you have an emergency?”

     “WELL, MY OLE LADY’S HAVING A BABY RIGHT NOW AND SHE’S SCREAMING. SOMETHING’S NOT RIGHT. A FRIEND HERE GAVE ME YOUR NAME AND I LOOKED YOU UP. CAN YOU HELP US?” he shouted, his words tumbling out of the phone.

     “First, try to calm down. I can help you better if you don’t shout. Where are you?

     “We’re way the hell out here in the southern part of the county.

     “Do you have anyone with you who knows how to deliver babies?”

     “NO—We don’t know what we’re doing. I looked at a book and it didn’t seem like it was going to be this hard. Some friends came over. We boiled some shoelaces to tie around the cord. She’s hollering her head off. WE’RE ALL FREAKING OUT!

     I could hear the panic in his voice—and the deep, low-pitched screaming and moaning in the background. She sounded close. I knew transport was out of the question.

     “Tell me. Did she see a doctor or midwife during her pregnancy?”

     “No. We lived pretty far away, and we wanted to do this natural like.”

     “Do you have any supplies there, like gloves?”

     “Yep, we got those.”

     “Okay. I’m going to help you. You can deliver this baby. You’ll be just fine. I need you to wash your hands, and then put on the sterile gloves. We need to determine what part of the baby is coming first—whether it’s a head or a butt. Put a friend on the phone and I’ll have them relay my instructions…When he was ready I proceeded to guide him through the exam.

     I could hear shouting. “OKAY, OKAY, IT”S HARD… I THINK IT’S A HEAD… AND IT FEELS LIKE IT”S READY TO COME OUT. SHIT, MAN, I THINK IT’S RIGHT HERE!”

     “Good. Good.” I reassured him. "The baby is almost ready to be born. Make sure the room is warm. Place some towels under her bottom and coach her to just let the baby come on its own. If she feels like pushing, tell her to be gentle—little baby pushes. Have a blanket ready for the baby.”

     His friend’s voice became my voice—calm and steady. I could hear the tension and excitement in the room, as the baby’s head slowly emerged—followed by the shoulders as they dipped beneath the pubic bone. The baby slid out onto the bed and let out a big cry.

     HOLY SHIT, HONEY, WE DID IT. WE DID IT…

     I stayed on the phone and waited until the placenta had been delivered, being sure there was no bleeding. From what I could tell the baby was doing fine—had already started sucking at the breast.

     The father came back on the phone. “Thanks lady. You were really cool. This was unbelievable. Man oh man. I sure want to thank you.”

     I made him promise to get the baby and his lady to a doctor to be checked the next day, and call to let me know how they were doing. “You owe me that, buddy.” I said.

     When I hung up I tucked back in my covers, feeling rather pleased—rather like an airport controller. I’d never “talked a baby in” before.

    

Chapter 14 - In the Zone...

     I was being interviewed. She leaned forward in her chair, a page full of notes on her lap. She began to tick off her list… “I want someone to take care of me who will know what to do if something goes wrong, but basically—if things are cool—I want them to stay out of my face!  “How do you feel about that?” she asked, throwing down the gauntlet.

     Before I could respond she continued, “Do you believe that women can know things about birth without being taught? Do you have expectations of the people you take care of? Would you insist that I go to those ridiculous childbirth classes? Do you need to be in control, or can we be partners in my care?”   

     Finally, she paused and took a deep breath—looked me straight in the eye—waiting for my reply.

     “These are good questions and I am happy to answer them, but first…I would like to hear the story of your last birth,” I asked her.

     She sighed and closed her eyes, as if remembering. She didn’t speak for a long time, and then…“I had such hopes for a natural birth. I was healthy. I read books. Took childbirth classes.” She hesitated…I waited…

     ”When I went into labor I did everything I had been taught to do, but there came a moment when I felt this primal energy sneak up and rip through me—like out of nowhere. I felt like a mighty, powerful animal. I thought, ‘Fuck all this fancy breathing stuff’…I wanted to roar and shout and strut and throw myself all over the room. I started to go there, but then I thought…what is happening to me? Doubt came in… Trust myself? Trust others? My body was telling me one thing, my intellect another. I felt like there was a fight going on in my brain. I wanted to be a good patient and do what I had been taught, but the urge to do otherwise felt compelling and dangerous. So then I panicked and tried to stuff what I was feeling. My labor stalled out. I thought I was going crazy and started crying. The nurses persuaded me to take some medication to get ‘back in control’. It only made me feel confused and I cried more. It was awful. My baby got born eventually, but I feel that I failed myself somewhere in the midst of it all. I don’t want that to happen again,” she said. 

     She looked at me expectantly…I smiled, ”You have SO come to the right person!” I assured her. “I support women and their deep instincts. I believe that they know what to do when they trust and rely on their innate wisdom. I will keep you safe so you are free to give birth in your own way with your own voice. We will do this together.”

     Throughout her prenatal care our relationship deepened. I came to know and respect her strengths and needs. We developed a trust in each other.

     She went into labor in the middle of the night. I slipped quietly into the hospital birthing room. The lights were dim. She and her husband were dancing cheek to cheek to a Frank Sinatra song playing on a CD player on the dresser. Their eyes were closed. She was moaning—his arms supported her as they moved around the room. Slowly he opened his eyes, smiled, and whispered gently, “This is the prom we never had.”

     They continued to dance. Sometimes she would pull away and drop to the floor. He would sit in the corner, watching her with frank adoration. Sometimes he would lie down beside her, massaging her back and legs. She was completely absorbed in her oceanic rhythms, wave after wave sweeping over her.

     I remained still—a protector in the wings, watching over this family—listening to the strong, steady heartbeat of the baby, captivated by the power of this woman. Occasionally she looked in my direction—checking in. I smiled and gently nodded my head “yes”—letting her know that she was perfect and safe—that what she was doing was working.

     Suddenly—her eyes bolted open. She was kneeling on the floor, bent over the bed. I could hear a deep, guttural grunt in her breath. “Oh no,” she exclaimed. “Damn!”

     “What’s wrong,” I asked.

     “I can’t believe it,” she uttered in dismay. “I’m pushing already. I was having such a great time; now my labor is ending!” After three more contractions, squatting there by the bedside, she delivered a healthy baby boy. I was stunned…I had never met anyone who felt that their birth experience was too short!

     Women continue to amaze me when they are able to bring both sides of the brain together like this—cognition and instinct. They go into the zone, and I think they find a treasure box there that reveals to them a greater possibility to transcend the limits of their ordinary human experience. In addition to a baby…an unexpected gift.

    

    

    

     

Chapter 13 – Like a Hollow Bamboo…

     Headlights pierced the pale light and mist in the early morning before sunrise. Their jeep effortlessly plowed through the eighteen inches of snow on our steep driveway like a Sherman tank—bringing my friend, her husband and their older daughter to our home where their baby was to be born.

     A roaring fire in the big stone fireplace, and the soft candlelight welcomed them into the house. Flames flickered and danced through the big hole in the middle of a special log that had been placed on the hearth for the occasion. Coats and hats came off, revealing red cheeks and sparkling eyes. Snow crusted, wet boots were left by the door. Wet scarves and gloves were hung on hooks in the entryway.

     Her water had broken in the middle of the night, but labor had not yet established itself. They had driven here early to nest and settle in. Their excitement lent itself to a flurry of activity. The birthing bed was made up. Supplies were checked. Baby clothes set out.

    With the morning light the household came alive. A hearty breakfast soon appeared from the farm kitchen. Kids were up and dressed, fed and ushered out the door to school. “Please, please, let us stay home,” they begged. “Nice try. Now hurry or you’ll miss the bus. Everyone will be here when you get home, including maybe a baby!”

     When it finally quieted down she stretched out on the couch in front of the fire. Contractions came randomly, but were not serious, like a car that is trying to turn over on a cold winter day. The engine whirrs capriciously, but nothing is really happening.

     “I’m just futzing here. I’m entirely too comfortable. I need to get my butt off this couch. Come on, honey” she said half-heartedly to her husband, “Let’s go for a walk.” On went the coat, hat, gloves, and boots—and off they went…

     As I washed up the dishes, my husband brought more wood into the house. We had been anticipating this moment, and as I glanced around the room, I was content. Everything was cozy and in place for the birth.

     An hour later I heard the stomp of boots out on the porch, signaling their return. “So…how goes it?” I asked, as they swept in the door. “I’m just fooling around here. I have such a habit of puttering. It’s my style to take forever to get anything done. I’m going into the bedroom, and I’m going to get this going!”

     With the next contraction her eyes closed and she whispered, “I am a hollow bamboo.” Supporting herself by hanging onto a counter, her body slowly went into a squat, back straight and pelvis spread wide open. Her jaw dropped slack and out of her mouth came a long, low Ommmmmmmm—one breath—impossibly held through an entire contraction. When it was over she stood back up and slowly and sensuously moved her hips gently in circles. Then… again…she dropped into a squat…Ommmmmmmmmmmmmm.

     Within an hour and a half she could feel the baby beginning to push its way out of her womb. She curled up in the bed and grabbed her feet, hips wide, pulling her legs up till her feet touched her nose. Her husband was beside her, supporting her shoulders. As she pushed, her daughter stood behind me at the foot of the bed, one hand squeezing my shoulder to steady herself.

     A little girl slowly emerged. She immediately locked eyes with her father. He stared intently at her and I thought he would faint. “I think I have known her for many lifetimes,” he managed to say when he could reclaim his breath.

     As we were cleaning up after the birth, the two men went out onto the porch. They decided the occasion called for a cigarette. I watched as their smoke pierced the frigid air—listened to them laugh, and wondered what guys say to each other after witnessing such an amazing thing…

    

    

    

    

     

    

     

Chapter 12 - Twins...

“You’re having twins.”

Silence...

     "Twins? Like two babies?”

     “Yes.”

Silence...

     “Cool. You’ll deliver them at home—right?”

     “Wrong. You need to go to the hospital to deliver them, but I would be right there. 

Silence...

     “I’m not good with anybody else taking care of me. I only want you.”

     “Right… Well, I will take care of you during your pregnancy, but a doctor will need to assist you at the delivery. Trust me. I don’t have enough experience with twins.”

Silence...

More silence...

     “Okay. For you, I’ll do this.”

     Pat lived at the end of a dirt road in a little cabin. She and her partner were miners. They lived a very simple life.  With her garden she ate well, She spent most of her time outdoors, and she was radiant and healthy throughout her pregnancy.  She carried her babies to term, and four days before her due date, she went into labor.

     As pre-arranged, we drove in tandem to the hospital. I was more than a little nervous about how she would do. She had a primal distrust of doctors and medical institutions.

     In the labor room the nurse proceeded to ask Pat some routine questions. She refused to answer her. “Pat, the nurse needs some information from you,” I coaxed.

     She looked me straight in the eye. “I said I would come to the hospital. I didn’t say I would talk to anybody but you.”

     Oh boy, I thought. This may not go well… “Well,” I said to the nurse, “It seems I may need to speak on her behalf.”

     The nurse shook her head, incredulous. "She doesn't talk, and... she has a tan ALL OVER HER BODY!”

     So it went… The hours passed. Her muscular body was strong and powerful. She labored on her hands and knees in the bed. Eyes closed. Focused. Hips swaying.

      “Ask her to turn over so I can hear the heart beats,” said the nurse.

“Tell her no,” Pat whispered to me. “She can listen to them this way. I can’t move right now.” So, it continued…

     Finally, in the delivery room—on the bed—she easily pushed out her first son. The second boy was breech, but before they could intervene and try to turn him around, she whipped over onto her hands and knees on the delivery table and effortlessly pushed him out, butt first. The doctor’s eyes bulged out over his mask. He shouted, “Turn her over right now,” as he twisted the baby around her legs. “This is a first,” he muttered and glared at me.

     After the babies were checked out, they put them on the gurney with Pat as they wheeled her back to her room. As she scooted over onto her bed, they took the babies into the nursery.

     After some time passed—worried—Pat said, “Where are my babies? Ask them to please bring me my babies.”

     I came back from the nursery. “The nurses said they are cold and must stay under the warmers,” I explained. Pat leaped from her bed and ran into the nursery, pushing her IV pole ahead of her. A fierce mother bear on the prowl… “Of course, they’re cold. They are just lying there with no clothes on. Give them to me. I’ll put them next to my body. I can warm them right up. Why are they in two separate rooms? They need to be together. Please give me my babies.” She was frantic.

     The nurses wouldn’t respond to her. She asked me, “What are my rights here? What can I do? My babies should be with me. I’m their mother.” She looked at me, dismayed.

     “Well, Pat,” I said, as I nervously cleared my throat, “You have three options. You can go along with everything that they believe to be in the best interest of your babies. You can keep trying to negotiate with them until you both are satisfied. Or…you do have the right to sign them out of the hospital, AMA—Against Medical Advice. To do that you need to feel beyond a doubt that this is safe, and that you will not be putting your babies at risk. You understand, I cannot advise you to do that.”

     She walked back into the nursery to talk to the nurses. Soon she was back. She took out her IV. Proceeded to get dressed. Brought out her homemade baby clothes and blankets. Went into the nursery. Dressed her babies, and walked out. Just like that.

     “Thank you for helping me get my babies born,” she said to the staff. “But now I must make my first decision as their mother. They need to be together, at home with their parents. I will watch over them as carefully as a hawk. They will be fine. I know this.”

      That would probably not have been my decision, but I trusted her maternal instincts, and as their midwife, could respect their right to do what they felt was best for their babies. I visited them every day. Turns out this little quiet family, tucked away in their warm cabin in the mountains, WERE fine. Perfect, in fact…

Chapter 11 - Drawing on bellies...

     Silently she stared down at her round belly—looked up at me, and then down at her belly again. Her eyebrows lifted into little triangles and she started chewing on her lower lip. She was understandably puzzled.

     “Yes, that’s right. Even though your uterus is twice as large as this, your baby is only this big,” I explained, demonstrating the size of a twelve-week fetus with my thumb and forefinger. Thinking that she might have twins because of the discrepancy between her size and her history, I had ordered a sonogram. The results confirmed the presence of a single, healthy, three-month old baby. The oversized uterus was just an unexplained weirdness—not a problem.

     She continued to gnaw on her lip—perplexed. She looked at me again like I had lost my mind. “Let me show you something,” I said. I picked up a marking pen and drew a little upside down baby just over her pubic bone. I gave it features like curly hair, and tennis shoes and long eyelashes. Then I traced the outline of the uterus with a placenta at the top and the umbilical cord spiraling down and attaching to the belly button that I had drawn on the baby. “There, it’s something like that.” I said.

     Slowly and methodically she took her finger and began to carefully stroke this cartoon baby. Her face had a look of childlike wonder. She started to laugh. “What are you doing in such a big house, all by yourself? You’re such a bitty thing. What do you do in there all day?”

     I sat silently on my stool for a long time, watching her—listening to her converse with her unborn child. Finally she looked down at me, tears glistening in her eyes. “There’s a baby in my belly. I can see that there’s a baby in there,” she whispered.

     She had a three-year-old daughter who had developmental difficulties, and a year ago she had given birth to a little boy in Texas who was premature and who had birth defects. He lived only three days. They had suggested to her in the hospital that she might be to blame, that she had not taken good enough care of her babies when she was pregnant. Now that she was expecting another baby, she was convinced that she was incapable of growing a healthy child in a body that had obviously failed her twice.

     The next time I saw her she told me that “even though this might sound silly”, she started methodically setting a place for the baby at the table, and putting food on the plate, which she ate in addition to her own. “I’m feeding my baby every meal now.” I say, “Are you ready? Here comes your breakfast,” she giggled.

     Each visit she would have me draw the baby on her belly—each month bigger and bigger—and then take a picture of it with her camera. Once she brought in a baby blanket to show me how she covers the baby at night before “they” go to bed. “I feel so different this pregnancy, like I’m already a mama. It seems like we already know each other,” she beamed. “Do you think this is possible—to know someone before you even meet them? “Yes, I do,” I reassured her. “No one could do a better job than you are doing, caring for your baby.”

     A few months later, when she gave birth to an eight-pound healthy baby boy, I was not surprised to see this mother and child come together, like two old souls. She had taught me how something so simple as drawing cartoon babies on bellies, can connect a mother to a visual reality of another human being living inside of her, and could play a crucial role in mother and child bonding before birth.

     Not surprisingly, this soon became a routine part of my pre-natal care…

    

    

    

    

     

Chapter 10 – Transcendence…

     First there was this—and then there was that—right from the beginning. She truly didn’t feel that she could do this—make a healthy baby inside of her body, and have it come out alive. Every different sensation she experienced was a cause for deep concern. “I’m afraid. Something is wrong; I just know it. I feel funny. I think my baby is moving too little…too much…" Week after week, she fretted, and she limped along. “What do you think? What should I do?” 

     She threw up a lot during her pregnancy—said it was her nerves. She’d get so depleted that she would go and see her Doctor and have him give her an IV to tank her up. I started having her come see me every two weeks, then every week; she needed constant handholding.

     My God, I worried…where would she ever find the inner strength and confidence to get this baby born? She was someone who easily gave up her power to other people. “You do it…I can’t.”

     When she went into labor she tiptoed carefully into the birth room like it was mined for explosives. I held my breath. Things went pretty well until she was about four centimeters. Then it started…”Help me. Do something. Help me.” She would shuffle up and down the hallway, dragging her feet like she was being led to the gallows. Her lower lip would quiver, as she sucked in air and whimpered like a little kitten. “Oh dear,” I thought. “What to do here? She is in a death spiral, and her contractions are not even very strong or close together.”

     She shuffled along like this for hours without any change in her progress. At times like these I was at a loss. Do I, “There, there, her” with my soft voice and reassuring manner?” Do I get tough and have her “Get a grip.” Somehow, neither of these options struck me as being optimal strategies.

     I had an idea… “Carol,” I said, “I’m going away for thirty minutes. When I return I want you to tell me what you want to do. We can do whatever you like. Would you like to go to the hospital? Do you want some drugs? A C-Section? Do you want to stay in the birth room to have your baby? Anything is possible, but you need to decide.” Then I slowly left the room and went downstairs.

     Good grief. What have I done? She hadn’t made a conscious decision during her entire pregnancy. I nervously stared at the clock like it was a bomb ticking. After a half hour I went upstairs.

     “So…” I said, clearing my throat, “Do you have a plan?” “YES.” she shouted, glaring at me, nails shooting out of her eyes. “Aha…and…?” “Well, I’m going to bed. I’m tired and I want to go to bed!” She had puffed up a little, seeming rather pleased with her decision.

     “OK—she wants to go to bed. Great idea,” I agreed. She started organizing everyone. Ordered me to go sit in the lazy boy. Had the nurse stretch out on the floor, and asked her husband to curl up with her in bed. I put the footrest up and leaned back, both ears wide open.

     It was quiet at first. Then I heard the shift in her breathing that comes when a woman’s body is miraculously opening. The pitch dropped lower and lower. She began to moan. I quietly moved to the bedside. Within an hour she was pushing, sitting cradled in her husband’s lap.

     She reached down to feel the baby’s head as he was emerging. “Oh my God. There’s a baby there. It’s coming out. I DID IT. I DID IT ALL BY MYSELF!” She wept and laughed. Tears flooded my face. This was epic. She had come into this birth almost like a helpless child, and ended up a mighty conqueror, victorious— overcoming an inner demon that had paralyzed her most of her life… In addition to a baby, sometimes the outcome of birth is also transcendence.

    

    

    

    

   

     

Chapter 9 – A Tribute…

     The wind whipped her faded dress around her thin legs as she stood in front of her cabin, cradling her swollen belly in her hands. She stood with a broad stance, as if to keep from being blown over. There was a nip in the air. Falling leaves flew horizontal across the sky and skittered down the street. I wanted to put a sweater on her. Give her some socks.

     I had come with fresh baked bread and home made soup. She wasn’t gaining weight. “Sometimes I just get low on food, and I’m too tired to get to the store. It’s more ‘n a mile to walk. We don’t got a car, and my man works in the woods most of the week,” she explained.

      Her husband was an enigma—dark and brooding. When occasionally I saw him in the waiting room, he seemed cold and distant, and would not speak to me or make eye contact. There was no evidence of abuse, but I worried. I watched and I worried.

     I was drawn into her innocent but troubled world. From humble origins, her curiosity about the world was infectious. “That music stirs my blood so,” she’d say, leaning back and closing her eyes while listening to the Beethoven concertos playing in my office. Every visit she asked me to play new and different classical music, so she could see how it “feels”.

     She shared her longings—her loneliness—her desire to have pretty things, and to be a good mother. She loved gentle poetry that was soft and made her cry. She wiggled her way into my heart. I continued to bring her food, and she began to gain weight.

     She went into labor one frosty evening. Her husband was sitting in the hall outside the birth room. Said it wasn’t a man’s business to be in there. When I entered the room she was alone. Relief flooded her face when I walked in. “I need you real bad,” she whispered, tears pouring down her face. “I’m here. I’m here. We will do this together.”

     I became all things because that is what she needed…her midwife, her mother, her sister, her friend, and her lover. As she bent over the chest of drawers, I stood behind her, my arms wrapped around her arms. Her legs were wide apart and her head leaned back against my chest, as she rocked her hips from side to side. I fell into her rhythm—we became linked—we became one breath.

     “You’re doing it…Your body is so powerful, so beautiful…Rock this baby out now…That’s it…Ahh, so good…Yes, yes…Make your voice heard…Good, good…Here we go…That’s it…Wonderful…You’re amazing…so strong…You’re getting close…Perfect, you are perfect…

     The hours blurred, one into the other. Her strength never faltered. At dawn in the hush of the morning, she pushed out a little boy. He was quiet, and looked at her with big eyes right away. “Hello my son. I am your mommy. Who are you? Who will you be?”

     Her husband came into the room and stood by the bedside, holding his hat in his hands. I could see that he was pleased. He gently reached down and stroked his son’s little head. I quietly slipped out of the room.

     She moved away a year later, but I heard that she had three more children, all of them boys. When they were still young, this beautiful young woman, who had such hopes for a better way, took her own life. I write this as a tribute to her. May this story let her memory live on in everyone who reads it.

    

    

    

     

Chapter 8 - Clearing out the cobwebs...

     They both seemed unnaturally jittery. Tom was staring at the floor, loudly clearing his throat and wringing his hands, looking morose. Caroline was looking at him, clearly puzzled. She and her husband were here for their thirty-six week checkup. They had been married for eight years, and until this visit, had seemed thrilled to be having a baby.

     “So…what’s up?” I asked. Tom’s head slumped down. He seemed to be intently studying the pattern in the carpet. Caroline shrugged her shoulders, continuing to stare quietly at her husband.

      Hmmm…curious… I had a hunch. “Tom, when you try to imagine Caroline in labor—giving birth—what comes to your mind? Any expectations?” I asked.

     His head shot up and he glared at me, eyes bugged out, like I could see into his mind. “Well, I sure hope she isn’t a wimp,” he sputtered, looking away. Caroline looked incredulous, “WIMP?” she protested.

     “I see…and what does the word wimp mean to you, Tom?” I gently asked. He sat pensively for a long while, and then, with a big sigh, he replied…“Well, I’ve been talking to my friends, and they told me that I better start pumping iron right now—getting into shape—because this birth business is painful and grueling, and Caroline is going to depend heavily on me…and…and…” he confessed, while studying the carpet again, “I’m so afraid that I won’t measure up. I’ve never told her this, but when the going gets tough, it’s Caroline that gets going. She is the rock of this family. She keeps everything together. I depend on HER. What am I going to do? What if I fail her?”

     Caroline looked with tenderness at her husband. “My darling, man. I had no idea that you felt that way, that you saw these qualities as strengths! How wonderful!" And then she smiled…”I’ve been talking to MY friends as well. They have urged me to not waste this opportunity by trying to ‘keep it together’ for this birth—that it’s too powerful an experience—and that I should just go for it and see what happens!”

     “Ah,” I said. “Let’s talk”… “Caroline, what do you need from Tom during the birth?”

     “First of all,” she asked him, “Do you want to be there, Tom? Because I don’t want you to do something that you don’t…” “Oh, I do. I really do,” he interrupted. “Well, then,” she said, “I need to be free to do whatever the hell I feel like doing during labor, and I just need you to not worry and freak out.”

     “Is that it…just don’t freak out? Is that all you need?” he asked. “Yep. That’s it. Do we have a deal?” “Absolutely. We have a deal,” he replied, breathing again, visibly relieved.

     With each successive prenatal visit they continued to explore this new territory in their relationship. When she went into labor at forty weeks they felt ready.

     This normally reserved woman took the pins out of her hair, letting it cascade down her back. She threw her clothes across the room. With hands in the air she undulated her hips with every contraction. Sometimes she would drop to the floor and rock from side to side. Between contractions she would look at her husband, grabbing him. “You come and kiss me right now!”

     Then she would pull away from his arms and throw herself onto the bed or strut around the room, moaning and hollering and wailing. She was passionate and sexy. He was stunned and in love. “I have never seen her like this before,” he beamed. “WOW!”

     After the baby was born, I sat back and quietly watched this family welcome their new son. Something very important had happened here, and it would deeply inform the way I cared for women. Their ability to honestly explore together their felt experience and expectations, freed them both to touch fully into their richest instincts and truth. I realized that it could have gone so differently had we not done this.

     "There must be a problem. Something is wrong with my wife!"...

     Husband freaking out. Get it together—Get it together—Birth stalls out...

     How many women, I wondered, are subjected to unnecessary birth interventions for “failure to progress”, when it might be more truthfully, “failure to dust out the pre-birth cobwebs”…

    

Chapter 7 - Transitions...

I’m scared…

“I know. I know. I’m right here. I won’t leave you. You’re almost there. You’re doing a great job,” I whispered.

Water—please, some water…

”Here you go. Sip slowly. That’s it. Let me moisten your lips,” I offered.

This is so hard…

”I know. I know,” I said softly, cradling her head in my arms.

Am I almost there?…

“You are so close. You’re almost there,” I replied, kissing her soft cheek.

I love you so much…

”I love you too. I’m here.”

I’m going to be sick…

”It’s OK. It’s normal to be sick right now. Here’s the basin. I'll help you.”

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…

”It’s OK. It’s OK. I love you.”

I’m tired…

”Yes, yes. Close your eyes. I will sit here quietly. I won’t leave your side.”

Why is it taking so long? I’m ready…

”Yes, you are ready, and you’re almost there,” I murmured, wiping her head with a cool cloth.

Hold me…

”There. There. Let me curl up beside you,” I said, as I crawled into the bed and wrapped my arms around her shaking body.

That feels so good. I need you to stay close…

”I’m here. I am right here.”

Her breathing deepened, and she grew quiet. I sat calmly by her side, fully present, a witness—the midwife accompanying her on this journey. And then—her breathing stopped, and my mom slid gently from this life…

…

Chapter 6 - God knows it to be so...

     I believe that some people come into our lives to crack our frame. Mary was one of those people for me.

     One summer morning she pulled up in an old Cadillac and sauntered into my office, a warm smile filling her face. She was not yet eighteen but looked fourteen—a small, delicate girl with a quiet, confident manner. She and her boyfriend had been on the road through most of her pregnancy, and now, at eight and a half months pregnant, she had come to stay with her parents in a nearby town.

     “I got a hunch my baby’s coming soon, and I reckon it’s time I should get a check-up,” she explained. “Yep, any day now…I’ll be a mother.”

     She walked back to the examination room and jumped effortlessly onto the table. As this was her first visit, I spent two hours with her, trying to cram thirty-seven weeks of care into one visit. I started to bring her up to speed about what to expect for the birth, but she interrupted me, patting my hand.  “Oh, don’t you worry about all that. My mama had six kids and she told me that when it is time for the baby to be born, all I need to know is that I will feel the power of God in my body, and every contraction will be a cause for rejoicing. So, if you don’t mind, I need to go now… I’ll see you again in a few days.”

     “Well, you have a few weeks yet, so we’ll just get you an appointment for one week from today.” I patiently explained. Again, she patted my hand. “Well…we’ll see about that.”

     Four days later she walked into the office with a big grin on her face. “Didn't I say I’d be back! Hallelujah…It won’t be long now.”

     Uh huh, I thought. Labor? I doubt it. She looks way too comfortable. No visible signs of contractions, no sweat, no moaning… She strolled back to the exam room and slid on to the table. I put on my glove and proceeded to check her, fully expecting to offer reassurance and send her home…EIGHT CENTIMETERS! Whoa… Not possible! She giggled, “I told you so.”

     She jumped off the table, clapped her hands and exclaimed. “So, where is this birth room of yours? My baby is on the way!” “Here,” I stammered—incredulous—tripping over my feet as I followed her up the stairs.

     She undressed and crawled up on the big bed in the middle of the room where she proceeded to direct the festivities. Her boyfriend crawled into the lazy boy chair in the corner, and, as if on cue, proceeded to play a soft melody on his guitar—a sound of gentle rain falling. She invited me to sit at the end of the bed.

     “Well then,” she said when everyone was in position. “I guess we’re all ready.” She then closed her eyes and caressed her belly—her breath hushed. I sat perfectly still on the bed. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. She was a child really. Her face flushed and radiant. Her expression exalted.

     Moments later she whispered, almost with reverence, “Look.” Her water sac had appeared at the opening of her vagina, like a luminous balloon. It broke and the clear water trickled down like a small waterfall. The baby followed on the heels of the wave—wet, matted hair curled like a cap around the head—the body slippery and pink. I continued to sit quietly—watching—as her hands drew her new daughter to her chest. Mother and child enfolded. Lost in each other’s gaze.

     “My placenta is coming,” she said, as almost an after thought. “Right”…With a small push the placenta slipped out into the basin. I folded up my birthing kit after the cord was cut, and tip toed from the room.

    I had witnessed a different kind of knowing that day, a knowing that cannot be taught. She relied on her inborn understanding and faith that everything in this world is ultimately perfect and need not be feared. She reminded me that some people do not need to be reminded about something they have not “forgotten”.

Chapter 5 - A Biker's Song...

     They arrived on motorcycles, including the woman in labor. They were part of a loving and boisterous sub-culture of families who lived in one of the more remote parts of our county—Harleys being the glue that bound them together.

     The labor support team swept in…Three guys, dressed in leather vests over tattooed arms, wore hats with feathers protruding from the bands. They brought in a cooler of beer and gathered around the father-to-be. Three women encircled the mother—bangles dangling from their wrists, laughter and maternal cooing filling the room. They all knew their roles and confidently went to work. They had helped to bring a lot of children into this community.

     I alternately moved from hunkering down with the men, discussing how things were progressing, offering commentary as needed…to penetrating the clouds of patchouli that surrounded the mother so I could monitor the well being of the baby. I had delivered many of their babies, and we all worked well together.

     “This woman of yours is getting down now, Buck. You got yourself a good one. Listen to her. This baby’s gonna pop any minute,” they reassured the father, giving him another beer. The women swirled around the mother with constant, devoted attention—cooling her face with a wet rag, massaging her back and hips. “There, there…you’re doing great… Yes. Yes. You’re so beautiful. A magnificent goddess if there ever was one,” they burbled…”We’re right here. We won’t leave your side... OK, here it comes. Here’s another one. Ride baby baby…”

     Hours passed…the energy stayed strong and unwavering. At last it was time to push. She wanted to deliver standing up, so two strong guys on either side held her up. Her husband sat on the floor with me, ready to help receive the baby.

     Now—during her prenatal care—I had persuaded the two of them to participate in an experiment with me. I had been studying how babies in the womb, when exposed to the voices of their parents singing, will demonstrate an astonishing recognition of those songs once they are born. I thought this was so cool, and found them to be willing subjects. The father was, perhaps, overly eager. Throughout her pregnancy he drove his wife crazy because he would put his lips to her belly and sing a folk song with his soft Oklahoma twang, a song that his mother used to sing to him when he was a child.

     So, when the baby was delivered, and the mom had sat down on a pad on the floor with the baby held close to her chest, Buck broke into song. The baby stared straight into his father’s face, listening almost as if mesmerized. At that moment Buck was moved to scoop the baby up in his arms. I quickly intervened. “No, wait! The cord. We have to cut the cord first…”

     When the mom was cleaned up and back in bed, she put the baby to breast where he nursed with vigor. Unable to contain himself, Buck crawled up on the bed, and with unbridled enthusiasm, began to sing again. The baby popped off the nipple, spun his head around and locked eyes with his father. “Buck…this may not be the time.”  “Right. Time to suck titty. Right,” he agreed, as he continued to hover. Finally, with marked reluctance, he moved away to sit in the midst of his mates. Popping open another beer, and beaming with moist, proud eyes, he said. “Guess that boy knows his father alright!”

Chapter - 4 - Power...

     He said that he loved her and wanted to get married, but when she got pregnant, he disappeared and never returned. At first she was upset, but then she said she was done weeping, and made a conscious decision to "be happy for the sake of the baby". Many people were single parents. She could do this…
     It was the 4^th of July weekend when her contractions started. She lived an hour and a half away so decided to rent a nearby motel room where she could labor until she was ready to go to the hospital.
     When I entered the motel room she was laying on the bed as stiff as a plank, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Her parents were visiting from Long Island and had rented the room next to her. Their voices were loud and their worried concerns penetrated the thin walls. She jammed a pillow in her mouth so they would not hear her.
     The contractions were coming steadily every three minutes and felt strong to my touch, yet when I examined her, I was surprised to find that her cervix had not opened—it was closed tight like it had been sewed shut with baling wire. If her breath could find its voice, I thought, it would take the tension off the cervix—but I could see that she was too inhibited with her parents next door to let that happen.
     I looked into her wild, scared eyes and said without hesitation, "Let’s blow this place." She pointed to the wall, and frantically nodded yes. I pulled my car up, ran next door to explain to her parents that we were just going to the hospital so she could be more comfortable, and in the three minute interval between contractions, loaded her into the car…"Hi mom, dad…I’m just fine…I’ll call you…Gotta go…Bye"…And then, BAM, the next one hit, and her head took a bite out of the pillow.
     When we arrived at the birthing room in the hospital, I said, "This room is sound proof. How cool is that." "Sound proof? Really?" she gasped. "Honest", I lied.
     The next contraction came and she grabbed both of my arms, yanked me across the twin bed, opened her mouth wide and began to roar at the top of her lungs in my face. She not only sounded like a lion, she looked like one! She roared and snarled and I thought my heart would stop. When the contraction stopped she collapsed on the bed and I staggered back trying to catch my breath—until…the next contraction, and again…she grabbed me and began to roar. It went on and on like this, her face contorted—nine months of rage spewing in my face. "That son of a bitch left me..."
     There was a knock at the door. "What?" I said with a little irritation. I did not like people coming in and disturbing women in labor. The nurse was crazed. "Every patient in this hospital is awake and thinks there is a mountain lion loose in the halls. What in the hell is going on in there?" "Uh…I see. Well, we’re good really. Things are pretty good, moving along. Hear how the pitch of her voice is dropping? She should be ready to push any time now." I gently closed the door leaving her frustrated and bewildered and returned to my patient.
     As the labor progressed, her face relaxed, and her breath became soft and sensual, like the earth itself was breathing. ‘Come out, little one. I’m ready," she whispered.
     She gently massaged her perineum and slowly delivered the baby’s head into her hands. As the shoulders eased out, she lifted the baby to her breast. She became utterly absorbed. Gently she caressed her new daughter, singing her a soft lullaby,
     As I sat on the end of her bed, watching the timeless union of mother and child, I realized that she had taught me how it’s possible to transform rage into power, a power so magnificent, so sublime, so primal—a woman could transcend the frailty of her human limitations and experience, and push consciousness out of her body into a field of exquisite tenderness and unbounded love.

Chapter 3 – It’s not enough…

     Help me…please, you gotta do something…help me. She looked at her husband. Her eyes wide, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her face begging.
     Baby, I’m helping, I am. We’re doing it. We got it now. I’m right here, helping. Are you ready? We’re going to ride this next one, baby. Hang on. Here we go.

     It was 3:00 in the morning and we were all crammed into a birth room together at the hospital—the staff midwife and me, family members and friends.

     She was tired. It had been a long labor, but she was nearly there. The contractions were sweeping over her, like giant breakers battering the shore, relentless, one piled on top of another.

     They were spooned together on the bed. She was naked, and he was in sweat pants, shirtless. His arms wrapped around her body, rocking her like a little child to the rhythm of her deep breathing and soft moaning. He was intensely present, drawing her into his body with each wave. His voice was melodic and steady as he supported her through each contraction.

     In the corner on the floor, two friends sat, fellow jazz musicians, composing a new score to the rhythm of the baby’s heart beat… ta dah, ta dah, ta dah ta dah…one hundred and thirty beats a minute…ta dah, ta dah, ta dah…snapping their fingers, creating a song to welcome this child into the world…an offering. On the edge of the couch sat the grandparents, calmly taking it all in. Maintaining vigilance, their breathing in rhythm with their daughter’s, but quiet.

     Contraction after contraction…Help me…I’m here, baby. I will never leave you…Help me, please help me…Just one more, baby, here we go. We’ll do it together…Sweat dripping from their bodies…

      Suddenly she got up. While a nurse helped her to the bathroom, her husband sat up on the side of the bed, head in his hands. Then he walked over to me, tears welling in his eyes. Standing there he said, “That’s all I’ve got…and it’s not enough…” This loving and gentle husband, in one sentence, gave me a profound glimpse of what it must be like for these men, such devoted protectors, who choose to enter into the mysterious world of women and birth. 

     And now, when she began to bear down, he cradled her in the bed by making a nest of his body that she could curl up in. As she pushed, so did he. He roared when she roared. They moved and breathed as one organism.

     As the baby slipped into the world, the room exploded in a joyful celebration. Birthday melodies welcomed the new one, serenaded from faces soaked in tears. “We did it, baby! We did it!” he shouted. 

Chapter 2 — The long way home…

       It took seventeen years to find my way back. After graduation I thought for sure I would head straight to the Frontier School of Midwifery to ride horses into the backwaters of Kentucky and deliver babies. Instead I became a hippie in San Francisco, and worked in the operating room of a major hospital, becoming intimate with the heart-breaking traumas of the city.     

     Then…marriage…rural living off the grid…crewing on sail boats through the South Pacific…jungle nursing on the island of Bougainville in the territory of Papua New Guinea—doing things I was not qualified to do, but did them anyway because there was no doctor there.

      Our daughter was conceived on that island, and we returned to the mountains of Northern California to be parents. Chickens, gardens, pigs, and a toddler on a small plot of land in the woods…

     When she was three years old we moved to Fresno for two years so my husband could go back to college. Yet, again, I found myself working in another operating room in a big hospital. Now, you can’t get any further away from midwifery than working in an operating room. Brains, and bones, and guts, stainless steel, green scrubs and zero humanity. It was stressful and I hated it. What the hell am I doing here, I would ask myself. This is not who I am.

     I stayed with it because it paid the bills, and I was sure we would move back to the mountains when he graduated, and all would make sense again, or so I thought.

     However, he accepted a job with the Forest Service at a station that was located in a rice growing community in a valley in California, and the ”forest”? Well… it was a days drive away. My husband was gone from Monday through Friday, and my daughter and I were left alone in this God forsaken place, where the mosquitoes were as big as sparrows, and crop dusters flew continually overhead, dropping poison on the rice paddies and the town.

     I entered a period of great loneliness. Sometimes I would hide in the laundry room so I wouldn’t infect my family with my sadness. I felt so terrible in my head, that one day, I actually went to a doctor and asked him to x-ray my brain, or do an EEG, because I knew that to feel like this, there had to be something seriously wrong with me. They didn’t know much about depression in those days, so he did an EEG and said my brain was fine, and recommended vitamins. Well, I can tell you that this was a defining moment…

     I struggled. I knew I had to get a grip on my life. I found a part time job working in labor and delivery in the little local hospital, and learned how to teach childbirth classes in the community. Slowly, I realized that I could breathe once more.

     Sitting at the bedsides of women again, and teaching the mysteries and wonder of birth to pregnant couples, I started to come back into alignment with myself. The depression began to lift, and I felt whole again. I was finally living my truth. 

     At that time I heard that a pilot program in midwifery had opened up at the University of California in San Francisco, and they were going to take three students. Someone suggested I apply. I was incredulous. “You can’t be serious. I’m nobody, living no where, doing not much.” What would I tell them? “I don’t have much experience, but I’m sure I was a midwife in a past life, so you should just choose me right now so I can get on with it!”

     But figuring, what did I have to lose, I applied along with two hundred other women. At the interview I don’t remember much of what I said, but I do know I spoke about my yearning to serve women and their families. I confessed that I didn’t know too much, but what I did know was that I had a “”knowing” that I trusted, and that I knew I could do this.

     When I got home, I had a feeling…This woman and I had profoundly connected. The interview was deeply personal, and we spoke from our hearts, each of us feeling seen and heard.

     Weeks later, when I was accepted, the news felt gentle and soft… like, of course…it is my time. Sometimes a seed will tremble in us, wanting to germinate. It takes patience, waiting for the right amount of water and warmth, but eventually it will happen. It took seventeen years, but I was finally coming home.

    

     

Chapter 1 - When I First Knew...

        I could have gone home. It was the end of my shift and I had the weekend off. But she had absolutely no one, and I could not leave her, so I stayed. It was 1963. I was a student nurse in San Francisco and just beginning my obstetrical training when Margaret was admitted to Labor and Delivery. She was five days away from her due date, and at her prenatal visit the day before, the doctor was unable to hear the baby's heart beat. After further examination, it became tragically clear that her baby had died in the womb. 

     I was but nineteen, and she was forty-two. There we were, two women—an hour ago strangers— sitting together in the dim light of a hospital room, waiting for the doctor to come in to induce her labor so her dead baby could be born. 

     In the quiet of the evening, tearfully clutching my hand, she asked if I would remain by her side, bear witness to her story and her pain. She talked and she wept. I listened and my heart ached.

     She had lived her entire life on her family's dry, dusty farm in Oklahoma.  Never ventured very far, never had a date, never been in love, never known warmth and tenderness other than her secret yearnings that were always unrequited. 

     Then one hot day in July...a salesman came by the farm, and that night she "got laid and subsequently pregnant" in a haystack in their old barn. In the morning he had slipped away, and just like that, in one night, her life, as she had known it, was over.

     She hid her pregnancy as long as she could, but after five months, and after contacting an adoption agency, she moved to San Francisco. There she rented a room in a boarding house to wait out her pregnancy.

     She told me that for the first time in many years, she was happy, deeply happy, and she felt that her life, in the bearing of this life, finally had purpose.  She shared with me that, as the baby grew bigger and more vigorous, she had delighted in its movements within her body. Her heart had mushed opened, and all the love she was capable of poured into the child. She sewed baby clothes, and knitted baby blankets and sweaters. She spent long days walking and singing old childhood songs to the baby.

     Throughout these months her intention had been to still go through with the adoption. However, two weeks ago she said she realized that this would not be possible. She couldn't give this baby away. This child was her child. In her heart they were one piece.

     And now... here she was...waiting in a hospital bed to give birth to this very child who was no longer alive. What she would be facing in these coming hours was inconceivable to me.

     The doctor came and went. Hooked her up to the IV where pitocin dripped into her body and induced the labor that would squeeze this child from her womb. 

      As wave after wave of contractions ripped through her body, she moaned and writhed and wailed. I embraced her in my arms, whispered words of encouragement in her ear, and wiped away her tears and sweat. We entered together into the dance of birth.

It was gradual and gentle, but slowly I realized that I had done this before, that I knew what to do. As the hours passed, I remembered more and more—the wild, powerful movements of a woman’s body, the primal sounds that ushered from her throat, her stunning strength and courage. I was completely calm and present in the face of such power. This was the essential truth of birth and it was as familiar to me as my own name.

      As the sun rose the next day, Margaret pushed a little boy from her body. He was beautiful and perfect, except he did not breathe. There was no cry. She took him in her arms and kissed and caressed his little body. She cried and she grieved. She held him for a long time, and then, when her tears had stopped flowing, she asked to dress him. With all the tenderness of a new mother she put on him the clothes she had made, wrapping him up in a soft, knitted blanket. Only then could she let him go.

      She fell into a deep sleep, and I continued to sit by her side, feeling somehow that I still needed to watch over her. When she woke we held each other. There was no need for words. There was nothing left unspoken or unfelt. We were two women who came together for one sacred night and did what we needed to do. She did the work and I accompanied her.

      I knew then that my destiny was to become a midwife. I felt like I was being summoned back into the service of women… It’s like that for midwives. It’s a profession that one is called to, born into. It was like that for me on this night long ago.