To Witness Love

It was Friday, the busiest day of the week. It was also shift change - a very inconvenient time for a delivery. But these things are not scheduled. Earlier that morning, a woman came to the front desk asking if she needed to make an appointment to be seen, though she was clearly in labor. Oh no dear, not here. Of course you will be seen. Of course you may have as many visitors as you like, and yes, a private room. Of course we will do all within our capabilities to make this experience absolutely wonderful... 

But my particular patient was about to experience this wonder with no other witnesses, no camera holders or phone texters, no worriers or wishful thinkers, no one to encourage, cry with or sympathize. She was all alone. Just moved into town. Her elderly neighbor gave her a ride to the hospital. The father of this baby didn't even know, nor would he care, she explained. He lived in a different state. Today was her chance to start over, to start new.

Being the busy day that it was, and being that her second stage of labor (pushing) had progressed beautifully, I looked out of her room and saw no one at the desk. No nurses, no doctors, no techs. Not even our unit secretary. And the baby was nearly crowning. Where is my support? Huh, this is how it feels.

Normally, a delivery is a team event. I, the nurse, coordinate the team's roles. I coach. I delegate. I determine when other players are needed. I make the calls. And I communicate to the parent(s) what is going to happen and what is expected of them. But I don't ever expect to do a delivery by myself, ever.

So I hurried to the phone directory and paged the doctor to come. Then I poked my head back in her room and told her I'd be right back. I ran to the supply room and gathered all I could think of off the top of my head for the delivery table: the pack of instruments, gowns, gloves, suture, syringe and local anesthetic. Wait, almost forgot baby blankets for the warmer. And a hat.

I came back to the desk with my arms full just as the phone rang. It was the doctor. He was on his way. Now back to the bedside. Her epidural was working great, but she felt lots of pressure and wanted to keep pushing. I checked her and gathered that we had about 10 minutes. "Go ahead and bare down," I told her. And I started setting up the room. Running through all the steps in my head (the things I'm used to telling my team to do); questioning if I'm missing anything... Then the doctor arrives. 

"It's just you and me," I told him. "Okay," he says, "Let's do this." I finished prepping and came back to her side, remembering what this day meant for her, what this moment brings. She was so stoic, so focused, so quiet. But I could feel the angst in her breath, see the pain in her eyes. I let go of my "duties" and hung on her every move. I whispered words of encouragement, lightly challenged her, and watching her overcome, I gave praise. You can do this. This is worth it. You are almost there. 

The three of us cried out as her baby came, celebrating her work, her labor, her new beginning. She glowed with joy holding her little one in her arms, tears streaming. "Love is born," she said.

Life calls for witnesses. It is how we know we are not alone. Now she will be the witness for her daughter and her daughter for her. Now she will have love given fully as only a baby can give - in true dependence and sweet grace. Grace for a new mother's questions, fears, and insecurities. A baby knows not the skills of parenting, only the presence of love. Love only a mother can give.

Red

Two nurses met me in the room as I wheeled her down moaning hysterically, gripping the side rails. It took all three of us to unclench her body and fists, transfer her to the labor bed, and strap heart-tone monitors to her belly as she reared back with another contraction. 

"How many weeks are you?" She had no answer. She'd never seen a doctor. She guessed 5 months. Please, God, no. Her bright red hair twisted and streamed down her face livid. "Give me something for pain!" she demanded. Her teeth yellow, her eyes fierce. She could not remain still for the life of her. The contractions were close.

I forced an exam and looked into those hostile eyes, "I'm so sorry, the baby's going to come."

"No!" she screamed, "I can't do this, I can't do this!" All of the sudden her anger turned into remarkable fear. She looked wildly around, frantic, begging, "Please give me something for pain, please!"

"You can do this," I said calmly, sternly. "You must."

She became even more uncontrolled. A doctor burst into the room as the baby's head started to crown. She screamed agony, crawling back in the bed, legs kicking, arms fighting, her back arched. Nothing I could do or say would help her now. Then I looked over at the man in the corner who was just about to turn and leave the room. 

"Wait! I need you to hold her hand," I more or less ordered him. I didn't mean caress and support her, I meant grip her hand and keep her still because it was taking all my strength to hold her other hand as she fought back, nearly missing my eye with one blow. 

A second nurse and a tech were already on her legs, trying to force them back so her baby and the doctor would not be injured in the delivery. A woman knows not her strength when met with the incredible pain of labor. Either she will channel it with great love or the fear of it will warp her into a monster.  

And in one monstrous cry, the child was born all round and red and beautiful. Thank God he looked term, and screaming. The NICU team rubbed him down and told her they needed to do some work-up since she had received no prenatal care. She did not look at them; she did not look at her baby. "I don't want to see," she told me in a quiet voice, barely a whisper, eyes now sunken in. 

I gave motion that they could leave and in a whirlwind of helpful hands she was cleaned up, wrapped in warm blankets and passed out asleep in her terror bed-turned oasis.

I let her rest for an hour, checking on her every so often to assess her bleeding. When she finally awoke, I gave her food to eat and helped her to the bathroom. It was then I learned the whole story...

She had a four year old daughter whom she was struggling to raise. When her daughter's father called last night she agreed to go out with him, even though they had been on bad terms. She was secretly hoping he would return to support her, to support his child, maybe he had changed. And as the night went on she became even more desperate, and the intimacy induced her labor and he was her only ride to the hospital. He was not the father of this child. He was not interested in staying in her life. And he never came back in the room after the task I assigned to him was done.

And now this baby whom she never intended to keep was here too early and the adoptive parents had not yet agreed and now what was she to do?

"He will be fine here," I promised her. "We can find parents for him. You are so brave to let him go." 

She smiled for the first time. Her red lips smudged on but beautiful, her eyes now sparkling with tears. "I think," she said tentatively, "I will see him before I go. I want to say goodbye."

Expecting

How can one predict the outcome of a pregnancy? Yes, there is a baby to come. Yes, a man and women are no longer their own. But oh so many things will come completely unexpected when two are expecting. How many are expecting to loose all normal sense of control; to find sleep a luxury instead of a commodity; to feel tension and angst more than thought possible; to discover joy and love more than imagined?

I have two dear ones I've been watching and praying for these past 9 months, both kindred to me, both bearing girls, both husbands clueless, but sweetly accommodating. Both could not have hoped for more perfect pregnancies. Both young, beautiful, healthy (only gaining a mere 20 pounds each!). 

The first progressed beautifully after her epidural and only pushed a few minutes before her daughter was lifted up onto her chest all bundled and pink, eyes wide and shining. I have truly never seen more glorious laughter and delight in a child being born. 

The second, oh how devastated as her precious girl was whisked from the room after only a glance and not to be held for another 3 days! The frustration of labor un-progressed and imminent c-section for concerned safety. The agony of missing the bonding period, the time to feed and be close, to know her baby and let her baby know her. All taken from her in a brief moment. I have never seen more labored tears.

Nothing can be fully expected. Nothing can be foreknown. All is new, and all is grace. I watched these two transition to motherhood with such transparency, each bearing a story, a victory, a voice to be heard. Neither one knowing what could have been, what sadness, what joy. Each clinging to the moment of first glance, whether brief or lingering long.

When the 3 days had past and my dear one finally held her angel for the first time and looked into her eyes, the joy-tears and the healing came. All was not lost. Yes, it took more of a fight. Yes, it took more time to re-bond, to re-establish a feeding routine, to restore the severed link. 

Her husband spoke of this, saying, "I never expected the pain watching a mother being separated from her child, and I never expected the happiness of seeing them together." 

Expect nothing, and behold everything as gift, as grace. 

Quote

You belong among the wildflowers
You belong in a boat out at sea
You belong with your love on your arm
You belong somewhere you feel free

- Tom Petty

Three

I perched myself snugly on the sink counter in the corner by the infant warmer, turned the monitor towards me and rested my feet on an open drawer. Waiting. Watching the tiny fluctuations in the baby’s heart rate as his mama breathed in and out, eyes tightly shut, lips pursed, hands gripping but body limp as she released control to the power of her contractions. His daddy knowing the time would come when she would need him most also waiting; distracting himself from her pain with a thick novel in the opposite corner. Plum sang hauntingly through the iPod dock…

“Waves will crash all around… But you will be safe…”

Then came the quickening in her breath, the grimace on her face and I knew she was close. My eyes asked the question and she nodded. I slipped on a glove and as the contraction mounted and told her I was going to help, gently, intentionally, guiding the cervix to the left as his head pushed through, there. Complete. “You’re ready,” I said. She knew it. 

I signaled out the door for them to make the call. “He’s on his way”, I assured her. “Don’t push.” She moaned, looking at me anxiously, sweating and shaking in the bed. I stood at the foot of it and placed my hands on her flexed knees, making my intentions clear. Looking at her trusting me is one of the most exhilarating and frightening things. “I need him to be here. Don’t push.”

It took everything. The contractions don’t wait. The pressure only grows. The urge becomes unbearable. He burst through the door, garbed his attire, I flew through the motions of prep and position and it all came together as she took that deep breath and gave in to the intensity of the moment… her baby’s head crowning through. 

Three pushes. And he was safe in her arms. Her third son. Looking just like his daddy. Eyes wide in wonder.