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…

    

     

Chapter 21 - Birth in Spite of the Mother...

      Caroline was twenty-five, but looked twelve. She wore her frizzy red hair in two braids, and a splattering of freckles covered her pale, taut cheeks. At four foot eleven she was as thin as a stick and as feisty as a banty hen.   

     Though she said she was excited to be a mother, she was high strung and anxious and pregnancy was a challenge for her. “Sign me up for baby take out,” she’d joke every visit.

     In her seventh month I broached the subject of birth…

      “I don’t want to talk about that!” she protested, hands covering both of her ears.

     “What do you mean you don’t want to talk about that?” I asked, puzzled. “Giving birth is something you will be doing in a few months. Don’t you want to know what to expect?”

     “NO!” she screamed, and jumped up out of the chair to make her point. “Absolutely not. I don’t want to give birth. Listen to me; this is very important. When it’s time, just knock me out, cut me open and rescue the baby,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Besides…” she added, “I’m not capable of giving birth. I’m too small.”

     “Where did you get the idea that your body isn’t big enough to deliver a baby?” I asked.

     “From my mama, that’s where. She said her doctors told her years ago that her body was too little, and it would be dangerous to try and deliver vaginally—that the baby would just bash up against her bones. All her kids were born by C-section. I’m just like her!”

     “Well, you may be little on the outside, Caroline, but I can assure you that you have a pelvis you could drive a truck through! Your body is more than adequate. It’s perfect.”

     “Why should I believe you and not my mama,” she cried. “I’m too scared to try and give birth. Do you think I would want to hurt my baby?”

     I offered her books to read, I tried everything I could to neutralize the negative seeds that had been planted in her fertile, pregnant mind stream, but the seeds had taken root and there was nothing I could do to assuage her deep and impenetrable fears that vaginal birth would harm her child.

     I had no idea what was going to happen, except that sooner or later the baby was going to come out, one way or the other.

     Sadly I suspected this would be a self-fulfilling prophecy for a C-section. It’s very difficult for a body to open up when the woman doesn’t want it to. There is an innate wisdom there to hold back when there is perceived danger.

     Three weeks from her due date I got a call that they were bringing in a woman in labor by ambulance.

     “Her family called us because she’s hysterical and acting crazy,” the medic said. “Bellowing her head off, hollering…’NO, MAKE IT STOP’… over and over. She’s flinging herself all over the ambulance here, kicking and swinging her arms. This is one freaked out chick. Good luck.”

      I could hear her protests as the ambulance pulled into the hospital. From the low pitch of her voice she sounded like she was far along in her labor.

     She looked at me, her eyes wide and terrified.

     “Hurry. Cut it out before he gets hurt,” she screamed.

     “Caroline, Everything is okay. I won’t let anything bad happen to you or the baby. I need to get your pants down so we can check you.”

     Ducking to miss her flailing legs, I wrestled her pants off and with an exam glove on, could feel that the baby’s head was down on the perineum, ready to be born.

     “Well, I’ll be damned,” I said. “This kid just took matters into his own hands, in spite of his mother.”

     “Caroline, open your legs. Your baby is right here. Do you want the first thing your baby hears to be your screaming? Now hush dear woman and let your baby come out.”

     Lying on her side with one leg gripped around my neck and shoulder, and despite her continued protests, the baby shot out into the bed like a cannon ball without much assistance from anyone.

     She disentangled herself from my neck and leaned forward to scoop him up, incredulous.

     “Is he okay? Is he okay?” she asked fretfully, kissing his head, counting every finger and toe.

     “Did he really come out of my body? My God, it worked. Wait till I tell my mama.”

     “Yep, he’s perfect,” I assured her. “And so are you…”

     I have always entertained a hypothesis that babies are not passive participants during the birth—that the way they get born is often reflected in their personalities.

     Maybe this was the case with this little guy, because as he grew up, he had an uncanny knack of easing the heat of his mom’s fears and infusing her with bravery when she became paralyzed…which she did from time to time.