One of things I love most about midwifery is the unique relationships I enter into. Some of these have been long and complex spanning every month of the child-bearing year and beyond.  Sometimes people who once called you in the middle of the night in labour now e-mail you in the middle of the night to share toddler observations and end-of-day musings.

Sometimes, though, they are tiny little moments. Barely a day.  Brief and rich, they are the entire experience condensed into a handful of breathtaking hours.

When I arrived at work I was not in the baby-catching mood. I was tired, couldn’t find any comfortable pants and feeling rather introverted for no particular reason.
K, on the other hand was not in the birthing or midwife-bonding mood. Twelve hours into her hospital experience she did not appear to be making any progress from uncomfortable-sort-of labour to actually-a-baby-coming serious business. and she was unhappy and stressed.
So while I tried to put on my best friendly and competent face she scowled at me, questioned every suggestion I made by snagging the other on-duty midwife to second-opinion her and confided in the med student trailing me that she didn’t think XY nor Z had been done properly.

“She’s anxious” groaned the Doctor, after she’d requested I update him yet again on her non-news. “She has no faith in me” I muttered to the med student. “Anyone know the rugby score?” her polite and completely disinterested partner queried from the corner. We hadn’t even known he was there.

After a few hours of sleep on her part and office-hibernating on mine, things seemed no better. Her labour had picked up slightly but she was still highly anxious and nothing I was saying seemed to allay her doubts.
I decided it was time to call in the heavy guns and offered her the birthing pool.

Bliss. Her husband was dispatched to adjust the radio, handle the towels and proffer the ice water. He perked up, seemed almost interested and settled into his work.
I taught the med student how to monitor a fetal heart without drowning and then drifted off to watch the beauty of undisturbed labour.
K sighed contentedly in the dimly lit water, ceased her frenzied seething and closed her eyes to the unfolding within.

Ninety minutes later,  I knelt at the most peaceful entrance to the world I’ve seen in a long time – feeling assuredly as if in supplication.
Mama (out of the bath now) breathed with a yogic steadiness, as the trembling med student held out her hands under mine. To her utter amazement, and for her first time, she did nothing but listen to me calmly match K’s breath with quiet steady words, and observe the perfect crowning, the slow rotation, the streaming of fluid from the mouth and nose, the purpling of baby’s head as the tight fit wore on the cord tucked round his neck.
And then, with unabashed splendour, out he tumbled into her waiting hands, passed through mama’s legs and into her arms. Uncontainable cries of joy instantly erupted – from mama, sliding his wet body against her chest, from daddy wrapped around the scene as if he wouldn’t be pried away for his life, and the med student – freshly bathed in her first hit of natural birth and all it’s miracle.

Oh, to be intimate with such an epicentre of joy.

Thank you for . . oh. . everything!  It was so much better like that!
Her baby, wide eyed, calm and exquisitely perfect peered up into my face too.

My pleasure.

And if I never see them again, which may very well be -
We had that day – that one day filled with all the raw pieces of life -
pain and doubt, trust and acceptance, love and amazement

And I will remember her,
And she will remember how she felt on the day he was born.

Not bad for a work day.

This entry was posted on Saturday, March 26th, 2011 at 6:05 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.