Royalty

I’m just back from assisting at a first-time mama’s birth – she had worked hard all night and I joined them just after sunrise as she was nearing full dilatation. The room was peaceful, the woman resting on the bed with her husband at her side giving backrubs during contractions. Her mother came and went from the room – she seemed to be finding it hard to watch her daughter in pain, but wanted to help as much as she could as well.

As the labour progressed, the woman found it hard to get comfortable – on and off the birth stool, up and down from the floor, using lunging and rocking to help her baby move into the best position to traverse his way to birth. It seems rare to see intimate moments between husband and wife during labour – but this couple were swaying together in a labour dance of love and support. It was a classic ‘transition time’ – working hard for that last centimetre or so of dilation.

After a time the woman showed signs of being fully dilated, and she began pushing. First-time mums often take a while to zone in on the right pushing muscles, and this mum was no different. It’s hard, physical work needing lots of reassurance and comfort, and we did our best to show her where to push to bring her baby down. In an effort to help her relax a bit I asked her if she planned to have more babies after this one – “2 babies? 3 babies? (pause for comic effect) Ten babies?” They both laughed and sweat dripping from her head mama looked me straight in the eye and said “Just. One. Baby!”.  Some humour is universal... ;-)

On the little baby came; after a slow and gentle descent he made a run for home and came out all of a rush – head, shoulders, body all in one fluid motion. He was a little stunned at first, but soon enough filled his lungs with air and the room with sound. Mama looked amazed; she radiated the proud “I did it!” glow that always makes my heart fill with emotion. She tucked into bed with her baby on her chest, we sat opposite her filling out the paperwork.

The highlight of this birth? Not the beautiful baby, the radiant mother or even the resounding “thank you Lord” that we all uttered after the baby made his speedy final rush to the light. Following a birth here the fathers always provide some simple food for their wife – usually it’s instant cup-noodles or perhaps some sweet bread. But this daddy slips away and spends his hard-won peso not only on 2-minute noodles, but also on a simple plastic tray – the kind of bright-coloured shallow container we might keep in the bathroom cupboard. Onto this tray he arranges the pot-noodles, water glass, and plain paper napkin like a five-star meal. And then he presents it to her as if she were a queen holding the heir to the throne, accompanying it with the most beautiful look of love and respect. 

A simple meal, a simple gift, for a most extraordinary moment in their lives.

Skin to skin

I celebrated my first ‘hands on’ birth here in the Philippines last Thursday.  A long labour by Philippine standards, but one where I could really ‘mother the mother’ and enjoy giving care only midwives can give. We didn’t share a lot of words, but communicated more through our eyes and hands. Gina was attended by her husband Paulo and also her 3 year old pocket-rocket of a daughter. That wee girl lightened the mood with her running in and out, and made me laugh as she copied the ‘breathe-in-through-your-nose-and-out through-your-mouth’ routine with her tummy pushed out and her hands on her swaying hips mimicking her mother...

Gina’s waters had broken early and as she lay down on the bed for me to assess her baby’s position, my hands tracked easily over her baby’s body. I could clearly feel all of the limbs, the knobbly knees and a little hand sitting up close to the baby’s face. After Gina got up from the bed I stayed close, hands lightly resting on her belly to feel when a contraction started. Filipino women for the large part labour almost silently – it’s hard to tell when they are even having a contraction, so with my hand I was waiting to feel the gradual spread of power radiating from the top of her tummy and down to the base. It was an amazing feeling as I adjusted my hands – with the combination of her intense contractions, her slim, slim frame and the lack of fluid around the baby I felt like I was cradling that wee babe in my hands before he had even made it earth-side.

In time, Gina moved to the birth stool as she began pushing. A traditional birthing aid, these stools comprise four short legs with a curved seat that sits around 20cm off the floor. They are made of carved wood and allow the mum to maintain a deep squatting position to assist a quick passage for baby into the world. Gina looked a bit uncomfortable - I adjusted the stool’s position under her and could feel that the seat was worn smooth from countless uses and post-birth bleach scrubdowns. Paulo slips into place behind her, providing physical support for her back and whispering encouragement into her ear. It’s not long before a slippery, squealing little boy eases into my hands and a wee tear escapes from my eye.

Welcome special baby! I didn't know you, but I came a long way to meet you...  

Home is where the heart is.

Ah, home. It’s far away for me at the moment, but there’s nothing like leaving your home to remind you of all the things you value about it. I’m experiencing a new normal, these hot humid days which mean normal is a constant shiny layer of sweat on my skin. It’s normal now to drink lukewarm water, because refrigerator space is tight and our clean water comes in big blue drums that sit on the kitchen bench, not in the fridge.

The midwives here work with a different kind of normal too. For them, it’s normal to work day on-day off. They arrive with their husbands and children at the birthing home at the start of their shift, and then they live and breathe midwifery together as families joined by the midwifery calling. By day, it’s normal for the midwives children to peek around the handle-less doors to check in with midwife-mum in the middle of a labour. Children sit around the dining table doing homework projects while a 4-day old baby is brought in for a checkup. The midwives put down their knitting during a quiet moment to share in the fresh doughy sugarbuns one of the husbands has brought up fresh from the bakery at the bottom of the hill.

At the end of the day, the well-worn lounge furniture is moved around and the husbands bring out the mattresses and mosquito nets to set up the communal sleeping area for the night. Women come into the home in labour and are ushered past this mass slumber by the on-call midwife into a birthing room. So this really is a home, these families live this week-by-week life together in this special place. It’s a home, where women birth. It’s a home, where new families emerge after the hard work of bringing life into the world. It’s a home, where friends and co-workers sit a share a meal, laugh about life and enjoy each others knowledge and stories. And the huge heart of this place has made me feel at home too.

The chase starts here...

"You really want to do this... right?"

Those were the words that came out of my husband's mouth as we drove away from our home of 6 years and into the future. It was scary and exhilarating, but as I glanced into the back seat of the car to see our three young children's faces staring back at me, I had a moment of doubt. Was I really ready to do this? Was it ridiculously selfish to uproot our wee family and relocate to a new town to chase my dream of becoming a midwife?

Rewind 10 years.  It's 2001 and I'm expecting my first baby. I can remember sitting in antenatal class listening to the midwife giving a talk about natural pain relief options for labour. An overwhelming feeling hits me all of a sudden - not (surprisingly) about the expected pain of a looming labour, but a sudden clarity of purpose. I could totally do what she is doing right now. Not the teaching, but being a midwife. It was like a revelation to me. I'd drifted a bit over the years with sorting out a life direction - been to university, felt disillusioned about my career path, and then fallen into the family business for a few years. I'd married, and here I was ready to give birth to our first child. Motherhood seemed to be the next career move on the cards! But this sense of midwifery - a wee glimpse into the connection between midwife and woman - lit a fire in my heart. Finally I felt like I might have a purpose in life... a calling.

Fast forward a few years. I have a toddler at home and another on the way. I've decided that a three year degree in midwifery is too much to take on with a growing small family, so I've completed a Certificate in Childbirth Education, and begun teaching antenatal classes. It's a stepping stone towards a future in midwifery, and an amazing opportunity to meet and connect with women and families in the community, and to 'dip my toes' into the world of birth support. Over the next few years I meet many, many amazing women and their partners, and am blessed to be asked to attend such a variety of births. I meet wonderful midwives who show me the skill of being 'with woman' just by being their awesome selves. So I love teaching antenatal classes - but the voice that speaks to my soul won't be quiet - it's midwifery that I am really yearning for and so I look again at my options for study...

December 2009: I've applied and been accepted into the closest midwifery degree provider. I'm ecstatic about finally getting started! But come the end of January the doubt is setting in. How will we pay the bills without my part-time income? Will I cope with all the time out of the house. It's a 45min journey to school every day (and the same to get home). The programme leader tells me to have iron-clad babysitting ready to go, day and night... but we are far away from family support and while I have an awesome support network of friends around - how can I ask them to be ready to take our (now) three kids in without much notice if I need to go to a birth? We have a great employer - but surely their patience will run thin if my husband has to leave work  urgently (and repeatedly). Doubt takes over - I feel dejected and trapped. I'll never be able to do this! I don't want to wait any longer! I withdraw from the course before even sitting in on one lecture. 

Feb 2010: I'm having a heart-to-heart with my dad. I ask him: "Do you love what you do?" "Not particularly," he says, "... but I'm good at it." 

"So why don't you do something else then?" (Mum and Dad and pretty well set up with a sucessfull business - he could leave it running itself and study botanical painting or underwater photography or mountaineering or whatever... :-D)

"But Dad, you could, if you wanted to. You don't have to do what you do forever - you could just start up on anything really... follow your dreams and all that..."

Then followed a long discussion about dream-chasing... and the things that stop us from chasing them. Finances, social expectations, the safety of what we know versus the scariness of doing something new...

I'll cut the (very) long story short and go back to where this post started... 

"You really want to do this - right?"

My answer is emphatic, coming deep from my soul and chasing away all my doubts. "YES! I have never been so sure of anything."

So we've moved town to live (literally) next to my mum and dad... moved our kids to new schools... husband moved to a new job... put our much loved family home on the market... left behind very dear friends...taken on a (growing daily) student debt...  and here I am, chasing the midwifery dream.

source: google images

I'm 9 months in, but starting this blog as a way of recording my journey from the past to the future... if you love birth, babies, midwives, or just new beginnings, feel free to tag along...