The Other Side of the World

I’ve decided it would be amusing to write a post whilst in a mental state that finds me with a 5-10 memory span (my dear cousin who is patiently hanging around in an attempt to visit me this week claims I am acting like one who has smoked a lot of pot).

This weekend I worked for 19 hours, did 2 hours of ridiculously concentrated school work and slept for 4 hours. Just for the statistical record.

At my hospital placement this week I saw a lot of women with a lot of c-section wounds and a lot of empty arms. Emptiness in such a strange place. I suppose these things come and go in waves. Or so says the hospital staff.

I’ll be home in less than 2 months. Such a strange idea – I am caught between settling in deeply and comfortably, and the jarring notion that the home I love – the one that feels like it is so far away as to be lost forever – is really right there waiting for me.

You know why I love being small? Because, every once in awhile you can still recapture that priceless feeling of security you had as a child – you know – the one where you are completley bundled up and held by someone as you fall asleep. That feeling that produces the look of utter serenity I envy in the newly-born, wholly-loved babies.

My housemate/friend just came back from a birth this morning – to hold a body while it still somewhat un-born and yet, already a whole-person; alive and well. The utter complexity and amazement of it is still on her face as she sorts out the mundanities of life that unravelled in her absence.

And this is how the days pass, in a happy, fascinating, confusing blur.

Pulling up the long gravel hill-road that is my midwife’s driveway I was warmed by the wide expanse greeting me. No car at this time of night meant only one thing.

The night was dark and inviting as I re-entered the intimate held-breath of birth. It sang me a welcoming lullaby of tires scraping around corners and the muted click of the door handle to the birthing room.

It held my eyes calm and steady with the power of every good midwife gone before me as I took one crying mother’s arm, whispered “be strong” and then released it back to hold her child; bringing forth her own child.

The circled knot of women surrounding that circled knot of skin, bone, blood. The holding and releasing of awe rushing out and receeding with one beautiful round head.

That moment when everything is still.

and then there is a new daughter to whisper secrets to.
and a new mother to whisper them.

- then suddenly – tubes, suction, monitors, brain-scans, helicopters -

and all around me, the scent of love, liquid dripping, and a gentle reminder -
sometimes all you can do,

is watch the rain fall.

In the past 2 weeks I’ve written 2 tests, an essay on political theory, a presentation on skin changes in pregnancy and been flung back into that eerily familiar role of daughter (my mama came to visit).

So the birth stories that are lurking back in the sleep-deprvied cracks of my mind are going to have to wait awhile longer.

However! We are driving up to Hawkes Bay on our little tour-o-the-island and stopping in on my midwife, who has promised, guest-on-vacation-or-no, to wake me up in the middle of the night, should the situation arise.

You see, in all this rush and excitment of life, I miss that birth high.

Which I think,
is rather appropriate.

thank goodness that all works out nicely.