Practicing Relaxation: "It sounds like a barn full of cows in here."

It is dusk outside.  I stand in the middle of a large living room, pacing the linoleum floor.  The lights are turned down.  I hear some soft moaning, deep breathing, “owich” (Amish talk for ouch). My timer on my iPhone is running.  It has been about two minutes since I hit the “lap” button. There is giggling coming from all directions. Yes giggling.  A male voice moans like a cow calving.

You thought I was setting up for a birth scene didn't you?  It is actually the finale of my childbirth series.  The final night of co-ed classes where I work to get everything to come together.  I've been doing this specific “relaxation” exercise for a year now.  It always starts off with laughing and ends with snoring.  It’s the perfect way to wrap up our time together.

The purpose of the exercise is to get the couple actually doing/using the techniques for relaxation we discuss in class.  It’s simple and a bit silly, and it’s the activity they look forward to the most.

Supplies- Clothes pin (the kind with a spring that pinches), Sleeping bag, and pillow.

I give the following instructions: 

To the women: “Find a spot in the house to unroll the sleeping bag and lie down on your left side.  Remove glasses and coverings. When instructed clip the clothes pin on your fingertip or ear lobe.  This is to simulate a labor contraction, while having a “contraction” focus on breathing in slowly. I then demonstrate “In through the nose *exaggerated breathing in* out through the mouth *exaggerated breathing out.”  Try to relax and tune into the support your husband is giving you.”

For the men: “Get down on the floor beside your wife.  You are the labor coach and will be using touch & words of encouragement to help her through her “contractions”.  You are to tune into the tension in your wife’s muscles and use touch to help her relax. Get her feed back on what she likes, what works and what not to do. Remember relaxation will help her “contraction” hurt less.”

Once the instructions are given, places taken, the timer starts.  Contractions last a minute long with only a 2 minute break in between.  Part of the objective is to give them a feel for the rhythm of contractions coming regularly.  I travel from couple to couple observing, guiding, answering questions.

Roars of laughter erupt from the dark of the dining room where the class clown Larry and his wife are located.  He is speaking in Dutch so I don’t know exactly what he is saying, but I get the general idea.  There is groaning, fake moaning, he coaches “push push”.  They are all having a good time, and I like what I see.  The couple is communicating, talking about what it will really be like.  She’s giving a list of aches; his hands are kneading her stocking feet.      

I turn my back and walk to the other side of the house where a couple is crunched into the bathroom to avoid being seen by anyone else.  I hear them whispering through the door.  This is the quiet couple, the ones whose cheeks shone pink anytime I made eye contact with them during class discussions.  He reminds her to breath, together they inhale deeply. 

Halfway into the exercise the giggles have settled down.  Each woman rests eyes closed, smiling.  The husbands are hard at work rubbing the lower back, pausing to lean over to ask if it feels ok.  Once they have worked through the silliness they get to some quality relaxation.  And it’s almost visible the blooming self-confidence these men have in their ability to help their wives relax.  The wives are deeply resting, almost asleep by the end of the time, despite the regular “contractions”.

And then if that wasn't enough fun- we switch.  The men get to rest and get the massage, but also have to take the clip and have the contractions.  There is much posturing and male posing about how the clips do not even hurt.  The men start in again with the moaning and groaning.  “It sounds like a barn full of cows in here.” Larry says laughing.  The whole first floor of the house is full of racket.

But.

Once the timer starts and the wives start the massage, they settle in.  They can’t deny the effect that relaxation has on their being.  It becomes quiet.  One wife 33 weeks pregnant strains to reach over her belly to her waiting husband.  She decides she can’t quite reach both his shoulders so she will take them one at a time.  I remind the women, now the labor support, to seek the tense muscles.  I hear words of encouragement, “Good job now breathe.” She says in dutch to her husband who is sprawled out on the floor like a toddler at nap time.

Eventually we have to turn the lights back on, get up off the floor, and go back home.  

Keep screaming little baby girl

This pretty much sums up the feeling...

Pregnancy and birth analogies are helpful to me in my times of not knowing and waiting.  I feel restless lately in discerning my next vocational steps.  This prayer was given to me by a special mentor when I was at a similar crossroads years ago.  I find myself drawn back to its call for screaming and crying, speaking and breathing.  The images of darkness, waiting, participating in a process that changes me but is not under my control feel all to familiar.  There hasn't been much space in my life these last few weeks for reflection, writing or birth work and my spirit is feeling the effects.  I am posting this today to give myself a bit of a spiritual jump start. 

The Midwife’s Prayer

Keep screaming little baby girl.

Keep practicing using those lungs

And do not stop,

Because hollering will help

To ease the shock

Every time you go through

Another birth.

Practice squalling

So that your voice is clear and strong

When you speak,

And when your breath

Has been knocked from you,

Practice breathing small,

But do not stop

There are miles

Of blood vessels in those lungs;

Use every inch,

And know the voices

That run in those veins,

The voices that fill your breath,

That will inhabit

Your words when you speak

And your groans when you weep

And your mouth when you laugh

And your cries in nights of wild love

And your whispers when you pray.

So keep screaming, little baby girl,

Not for that warm, dark place you lost,

But for all the darkness

You will find inside you

That will need to be spoken

With words only you can say.

--Jan Richardson

In her pause. In her pace. In her own power it is happening.

I am waiting. Sitting on a hand loomed throw rug on the floor in front of her kitchen sink. The eighteen by eighteen inch ceramic tiles are immaculately clean.  There are no crumbs along the kickboard of her floor.  I checked.

She is sitting in the lotus position, naked, soaking in the warm water of the blue inflated birth tub that sits where her dinner table usually is.  Her thick brown hair is piled on top of her head.  Calm faced she moves only as the contraction builds.  Breathing with concentration she leans back and reaches for her husband's hands, all without opening her eyes.  It is hard to trust my sense of time in a space like this.  The last ten minutes feel like an hour, the last hours feel like just ten minutes.  

Arriving only for the advanced stage of labor, I should be fresh with energy.  But it is middle of the night.  She began contracting early this morning, labored calmly through the day cleaning her house. This is her first child and she is prepared to patiently wait and work through the process. 

As I left my house in the dark star filled night I texted the midwife.  “Is there coffee?”  The midwife’s reply, “She’s making some for us now.” 

I scroll to the previous text message received from the midwife, 25 minutes earlier that says, “Jenny is 8-9 cm! I just got here.  Whenever you are able, you might head this direction. J” Seriously? Transitional and still the hostess. 

Her husband later confirmed that she set the water to boil and quickly returned to the depths of labor giving him some brief directions on how to finish the process.  The coffee was warm and caffeinated, fulfilled its purpose.

We wait; the midwife, myself the birth assistant, the husband and mama each contraction taking its time.  She rests about five minutes between each.  I am reminded how hard it can be to wait for the body to birth.  Doing nothing sometimes takes more effort than doing something.  Her bag of waters not yet broken, cushions her baby’s head from intense contact with her cervix.  This makes for a more gentle rhythm of contractions.  In this case it also means slower progress, teetering on the verge of pushing for an hour instead of minutes.

Many practitioners would encourage intervention to “move things along”.  Breaking the water, coaching hard pushing, getting the job done in half the time.  Midwives and mothers entertain this approach, enticed by the goal within sight and relief to be done.  It is a sprint to the end versus the leisurely walk. This midwife discussed with Jenny and her husband the option.  They decided to wait. She enjoyed the rest between her contractions and was in no hurry. No sprinting needed. It is a leisurely stroll.

As I waited I scribbled down some notes wanting to remember these thoughts.  I wrote, “Really, it is happening.  In her pause. In her pace. In her own power it is happening.” So I waited.  An hour and a half later the baby was born.