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”.
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