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.

    

    

    

    

     

Chapter 20 – Ode to Joy…

     She sat in my office—her curly hair pulled back severely in a pony tail, wearing a long sleeved, yellow flowered dress buttoned up to the neck, even though it was a warm summer afternoon.

      Her story was a painful one. She told it in a soft, tentative voice, slumped over in her chair—almost seeming apologetic for taking up my time with her words.

      Married right out of high school to a handsome, charismatic man who became, over time, a controlling and over protective husband.

      “I try to please him, to be the obedient, submissive, stay at home wife he wants, but he says cruel things to me, mocks me, and I feel beat down.

     When we make love he wants me to leave my nightgown on, and he turns off the light because he says he doesn’t want to see me naked. We hardly talk any more, and now this…”

     “He’s so angry. He doesn’t want me to be pregnant. He said I would get disgustingly fat, and he told me that children would mess up our life,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. “He also said that if I go ahead with this, I’m on my own.”

     “And you? How are you feeling about having a baby?” I gently asked.

     She slowly raised her head and looked around, as if to see if she would be overheard. “I really want this baby. More than anything I want to be a mother!”

     “Well then,” I replied, taking hold of her hand. “I will do what I can to support you.”

     Two weeks later she returned and told me that her husband had left her. “For the first time in years I am alone and I realize that I can finally breathe again.”

      With every prenatal visit she revealed new discoveries she had made about herself. She started writing poems that she would share with me, revealing a deep and complex inner life. Slowly she peeled away the layers of insecurity and shame she had carried for so long.

     She began to delight in her body—full and swollen with life. She wore form fitting tee shirts to show it off. “I feel so bold and brazen.”

     We talked about the impending birth. “I think I’m as ready as I can be,” she said. My mother will help me.”

     When she came into labor she looked confident and radiant.

     She brought music to support her. The dramatic refrains of Beethoven’s Ninth filled the room.

     She loosened her hair and let it cascade down her back. Her clothes fell off of her body and her eyes closed as she undulated and swirled to the music.

     “I never thought I was capable of this. Wow!”

     “…Damn, this hurts. How incredible.”

     “…This is hard. This is so amazing.”

     Sweat glistened on her body as she moved around the room. I was transfixed as I watched her immerse herself in the music, playing it over and over—with each contraction digging deeply into her vast reserves of courage and strength. She reached in and she found her power.

     At the peak of the chorale she screamed, “YES, I HAVE BECOME A WOMAN, A MIGHTY WOMAN!”

     With the next contraction her body began to bear down and an hour later she pushed out a nine-pound boy whose cry was strong and lusty.

     Later as she lay there cuddled up with her son who was nursing greedily at her breast, she said to me with a satisfied look on her face, “Ode to Joy—perfect birth music, don’t you think.”

    

    

    

    

    

Chapter 19 - An Irish Birth...

     He matched her almost pound for pound during her pregnancy—even kept a scorecard in his wife’s chart to measure his progress. When she experienced nausea and heartburn, so did he. He was sympathetic to her every sensation.

     “I wish men could be pregnant,” he confided in me one day. “Imagine carrying life inside your body, feeling it move around and stuff. Wow. What I wouldn’t give to experience that. I think a pregnant woman is the most damn, beautiful creature on earth!”

     Michael was Irish, romantic, and deeply in love with his wife. He spoiled her and she loved it—breakfast in bed, evening walks by the river. She told me that he would read to her at night and massage her feet. “This is what I can do— how I can start to be a father—by taking care of my wife who gets to do all the work,” he explained.

     Their prenatal visits were a delight. They would have me laughing till tears poured from my eyes. He learned how to feel for the position of the baby and the highlight was when he could hear the heartbeat. He would listen for a long time, grinning and tapping his fingers on her belly to mark the beat.

     Sometimes other members of the extended family or close friends would pile into the exam room for the visit, all talking over each other, everyone needing to feel and listen to the baby.

     So when she went into labor on Christmas Eve I wasn’t surprised to see ten extra people pour into my clinic where the birth room was located. They arrived, arms full of food and libations, carrying a little decorated Christmas tree and presents. “They’re for the baby.”

     They laid out a spread of snacks and began pouring the wine. Michael had a flask of whiskey, which he sipped from time to time, to “help with my nerves and such,” he said.

     Her labor puttered through the afternoon. Candles were burning and Christmas lights twinkled on the tree. The room was warm and cozy and spirits were high. More food and guests streamed in. It was getting pretty crowded.

     Whereas she was the life of the party in the beginning, I could see her now begin to tuck in, quiet and focused. It wasn’t long before her contractions intensified and she got down to serious work, becoming oblivious to the swarms of people gathered around her.

     Michael was by her side, breathing in sync with her every breath, sweat trickling down his face, hair standing up on end, flask in his back pocket. After every contraction a roar would erupt from the crowd, encouraging her on, carrying her on the wave of their enthusiasm.

     When she started to push Michael was at the foot of the bed because he wanted to “catch” the baby. Just as the head was beginning to appear, she looked aghast at her husband. “MICHAEL, FOR GOD’S SAKE MAN, COMB YOUR HAIR. THE BABY’S COMING,” she suddenly shouted.

    He was incredulous. “How do you have the presence of mind to think about something like that right now!” The room erupted in laughter, and someone whipped out a brush and brought his unruly hair into submission, just before the baby was born.

     The newborn girl was swept up into the arms of her parents, and then embraced by her loving, extended family. The wine continued to flow as the baby’s presents were opened. When all was well I sat back and beamed at this amazing boisterous bunch. The celebration continued unabated.  “Lock up when you leave. Merry Christmas.” I said, as I quietly slipped out the door.

    

    

    

    

    

    

    

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”.