One Of These Things

For those of you who watched Sesame Street in the 1980’s you’ll remember the song so often included in the show:
 

“One of these things is not like the other,

One of these things does not belong.

Can you tell which things are not like the other?”

 Refresh your memory with this quick little clip.    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6b0ftfKFEJg

This jingle always comes to mind when I’m getting ready to leave my childbirth class. It’s easy to spot my red pea coat from the pile of black coats and sweaters. Picking up my red loafers, again from rows of paired black sneakers, it hits me- I am different than them.

“As a birth worker serving the Amish, I receive a certain amount of reverence and respect. As a non-Amish woman I am always just on the outside of inclusion; if that makes any sense. No matter how much time I spend serving, living and working among them I will never be one of them. Of course I don’t want to be Amish. Still a little part of my heart hurts knowing that my sacrifice of comfort and time, the gift of quality culturally sensitive care will never win me full belonging. I will never be inside the circle.” 

As I wrote these words last week tears came to my eyes.  The passage is part of a novel I am currently working on. When I started writing the paragraph they were just fiction.  As I sat back to read it I realized it to be my truth. And I cried.

Fourteen years ago when my husband and I bought our house we wanted a rural location and school district. Little did I know how I would become immersed in serving the Amish families in my neighborhood.  Literally my neighbors. I attended a birth just this morning for the family whose farm shares a property line with mine. And I love it. 

They appreciate and respect me and my professional wealth of knowledge. They call, send letters, flag me down when I am out running, stop me in the middle of Wal-mart. Together our children ride the bus, learn at school and play at home. It is a rich life.

Raised in a family, church and community where diversity in culture is embraced it has become a defining value for me. Both personally and professionally, I am comfortable and drawn to relationships with those different than myself. I find myself drawn to vocations that serve people from other cultures. Running a food pantry and financial assistance program, interpreting English to Spanish during a surgical operation, childbirth classes with the Amish-I have loved the diversity of each one.

And for the most part it works well. Culturally competent care stretches my muscles of compassion. Challenges me to look at life from outside my own view and appreciate the differences. I enjoy learning about other people’s experience of life. Being in their homes, eating their food, learning their language. I’ve learned so much and I am a better person for it. 

Now after all that would you believe me when I say that I still feel on the outside at times? And that that last bit of space between our worlds can really be a splinter in my palm. What would it be like to be one of them? Not to actually BE Amish, but to be the same? I don’t feel this way all the time. The tiny bit of hurt surfaces now and then. Mostly when I’ve been in on an intensely emotional experience. Like a baby dying, like a victorious birth hard won.

Sometimes I just want to belong.  Really belong.  Am I alone in this flip side of appreciating difference? Alone in my longing to be the same? 

Ten years since that first birth...you are invited to my party.

Evening is settling into the neighborhood.  Families are finishing their outside chores and gathering around the kitchen table to share a meal.  I sit at the stop sign exiting my cul-de-sac.  My daughter is sitting beside me.  She’s layered in a light pink hooded sweatshirt with her orange softball team t-shirt on top, her mit rests in her lap. We wait for the oncoming buggy to pass before I pull out.  A large gloved hand lets loose of the reigns and gives me an energetic wave.  His wife quickly peeks out of the side window, a 4x6 inch opening.  I can see her young eyes behind petite glasses and pointy nose.  She recognizes me and leans past the 7 month little boy sitting on her lap with a big grin and wave. 

“Another couple from your class?” my daughter sighs with slow exasperation.  “Yup” I say while returning the buggy greetings.  I glance over at my daughter, whose game I will miss tonight.  “They really like you mom, you must do a good job.” She comments.  In that moment I am reminded all at once, the price I pay each time I leave to do birth work and the gain in each new couple I connect with.  The cost and the reward.

Tomorrow is my ten year anniversary from that first life altering birth I attended as a doula,  May 7, 2004. Every year I pause to remember.  Writing it now it seems unreal.  Ten years.  I kept count for a while of all the births I attended.  By year three I’d lost track exactly.  If I had to guess now I’d say its anywhere from 150-200 births I’ve attended as a doula or midwife’s assistant.  I have only been teaching for three years, but I am closing in on 200 couples in my classes. 

This trophy is a treasured gift from a family that
 I was able to doula through both of their daughter's births.  

Last night as I waited for the caffeine and teaching induced adrenalin to drain from my body. I imagined- what would it be like if I could gather all these families together for one big party?  What would that look like?  Where are they all today? Do they remember me?  I decided there would be three distinct groups of people in attendance. 

*Disclaimer these are generalizations and not every family fits just perfectly into my categories*

The First Year Families: 

These are families I met through my work with Maple City Health Care Center, a low income health clinic in Goshen.  The clinic gave me as much doula work and I could stand those first few years of my career.  The families were Spanish speaking Mexican immigrants, living in a new place and far from their family support system.  It was such an honor to usher them through their births, buffering them from the healthcare system, comforting them when their mama or sister could not.  All these babies are now grade school students, ranging from third grade to Kindergarten.  I bump into these families at community soccer games, the county fair, chess meets and shopping at the mall.

Usually the mother and I exchange some shy glances trying to figure out “Is that who I think it is?”.  I am the first to make the move, to introduce myself again, sometimes I remember their names or the name of their child, but not always.  Recognition flashes in their eyes and a warm smile spreads across their face.  We are quickly reminiscing; she calls over her child and introduces them.  The timid and irritated child not fully understanding what the big deal is all about, flashes me a smile and “hey” and is back to the activity at hand.

The Mainstreamers:

This group of families is sprinkled through the years of my work. As much as I love working with people in other cultures, it is enjoyable to be with families “like me” as well.  Living in and around Goshen, alumni of the same school, enjoying comfortable midwest lives I feel an ease with them.  They drive family vehicles shuttling their kids to sports, the park, and school; balancing work and home life.  These families have means, strong partnerships and resources.  They are self-empowered, informed consumers of birth.  Working with these families allows me to utilize a different skill set.  During the labor and birth I work to honor their specific birth plan.  Partners are more informed about the process and participate intentionally in it. This informed and intentional aspect draws deeper meaning to the victory of the birth and welcoming of a new life.  Doula babies born to these families pop up in my Facebook feed- growing up before my eyes.    

The Amish:

If the Amish families I work with came to my imaginary party, they fill the parking lot with their family size “minivan” model buggies.  There would be several van loads dropping off the couples from the same neighborhood or same family.  A small herd of three and four year olds run about while their mothers bounce their still-in-arms siblings.  In reality, I encounter my Amish families throughout my daily life, neighborhood walks, local grocery store, weddings, and funerals.  Last winter I was on call for a very important homebirth 5 miles from my house.  On the verge of a huge blizzard, the forecast had me sleepless at night.  I soothed myself to sleep by counting in my head all the families between my house and hers that I knew from birthwork.  Families that would open the door if I knocked, families that would buggy me the rest of the way to the birth if I got stuck in the snow.  Would you believe it was 12 places between my home and hers? Twelve families who knew me, “Betsy Black, the lady that helps at births”.  What a blessing to know and be known by those around you.

Writing this impresses upon me that this is quite an accomplishment, this web of relationships.  This way of belonging to my community, to my neighbors; it is valuable.  Lately, I struggle to know where my professional life is taking me. The insecure question, “Am I doing enough with my life/with my gifts and abilities?”  creeps into my mind in quiet moments.  I struggle to defeat that insecurity.  Today as I celebrate at my imaginary party I am overwhelmed with the richness that birthwork brings my life and the value of my work. I am important just as I am.  My work matters. I am enough.

Not Your Average "Joe Kegel"

I feel the need for a light-hearted anecdote this morning.  I have a running list of top 5 memorable moments from my teaching.   Most of them are humorous, and I can’t wait to share one of them with you. So let’s jump in.  

I was teaching my first large group of Amish couples (9 pairs, 18 people) and it was our first night of class.  My stomach was in knots that afternoon in anticipation of the large crowd.  The content I cover the first night is quite basic.

• ·          Anatomy of pregnancy
• ·          Nutrition
• ·         Birth Planning
• ·         Prenatal exercise

Within the first hour of meeting a room full of Amish young adults I am knee high in nervous tension while discussing body parts. Standing in front of them armed with large anatomic drawings, we go over how a woman’s body gets pregnant and changes during that pregnancy.  Oh the horror of saying the words breast, cervix, vagina (I still often chicken out and say birth canal) in front of this group of socially modest and often innocent 20 somethings.

After we have dredged through that first nervous hour of anatomy we break for snacks.  *Communal sigh of relief* it isn't so bad really.  By then I've assessed who is listening, who doesn't want to be there, who is enjoying (yes enjoying) the presentation.  Eye contact, shy smiles and head nods- I thrive on the subtlest sign of affirmation.  Feet shuffling, staring into the bottom of an empty coffee cup, blank stares or arms crossed- all signs I've got my work cut out for me.  Most groups are a mix of affirmation and anxiety.

This night, there is one lively man in the bunch.  Quick witted and bold in his comebacks Joe’s manner puts us all at ease.  He’s chuckling, smiling and nodding along.  His wife has rolled her eyes at him at least 4 times within our first hour of class.  I love this man!  He has no idea how much his humor sets me at ease and it is obvious that the other couples relax with each of his wisecracks. 

In the second hour of class I focus on caring for self during the pregnancy.  We discuss nutrition and prenatal exercises.  And the moment has arrived, the dreaded moment when I have to describe a Kegel.  By now I’ve covered the anatomy of the pelvic floor.  I pick up my pelvis model and cup my hand under it to remind them again what muscles I am talking about.  The written material in the book has a few sketches of tight versus loose pelvic floor muscles.  I point out the differences and make a few comments about peeing when you cough or sneeze.  They likely sense my discomfort, but I push forward.  Once I've been through the whole bit I’m ready to move forward. 

In case your not familiar with a Kegel.

Joe raises his hand. Of course, Joe has a question. No one ever has questions ever, especially not about this.  “Yes Joe?” I say hesitantly. “It says here in the book that men can do this exercise too.” He is beaming at me, goading me to respond.  I wait, I’m gonna make him say it.  “So how does that work?” he says.

Is this really happening? My mind races, never have I encountered an Amish man so bold.  He is asking how he does a Kegel exercise with his penis!  Deep breath and I throw a joke back asking him to work on that for homework and come back and give us a report.  He laughs pleased with my response.  At that moment I realize I have passed some kind of test of his. 

Quickly I move on to the next topic. I’m in the home stretch now almost 8:30 and time to wrap up.  I close up and instruct everyone to return the following week, bring their books etc.  Joe raises his hand but doesn't wait for me to respond.

“I’m doing them right now-the Kegels, I figured it out.  You want me to share?” Roars of laughter erupt around the circle.  Poor Lisa’s face is bright red. Her elbow jabs his ribs hard, scolding his boldness.  “Sorry Joe we are out of time, you’ll have to share later.” I manage.

Over the years since this class I have come to know that Joe has a bit of a reputation for his bold sense of humor.  It’s his heritage actually.  He is part of a Yoder clan that is notorious for their pranks, jokes and antics.  His little girl cousin visits my house and has a catalog of her favorite Joe moments.  Too bad she is seven and I can’t fully share my favorite moment with “Joe Kegel”.  

Preach it!

On the third night of three classes the topic at hand is labor support.  As a doula with hours of experience I find this night the most enjoyable.  I have lots of entertaining examples that get people laughing.  By our third night together everyone is more comfortable with each other and they know what to expect from me.  (I should say as a bit of a disclaimer here that my clients in classes are almost always married and heterosexual, so I am going to refer to husband instead of the more inclusive partner cause that’s my audience when I give this talk.)

About six months ago I found myself starting to talk about a little discussed detail of the childbirth process.  This detail is the opportunity for growth in a marriage that awaits the expectant couple.  When a husband and wife journey through a labor to birth together it is an opportunity for them to reach a new level of trust and intimacy.  Over the years of listening to women reflect on their births,  I notice this theme emerge.  Vital to how they experienced their birth is how their partner supported and responded to their needs.   It is the base on which her memory of labor/birth is built.  Women with short, easy labors whose husbands worried more about the thermostat than holding her hand reflect on the disappointment and abandonment by their partner.  Not the ease and gift of a short labor.

Fellow birth workers, is there anything more beautiful than to see a partner support and self-sacrifice to accompany their loved one through the long hard hours of work all to see the tears of relief at the birth of their child?  This gift is obscure in our culture. Though addressed in labor support information, it isn’t spoken loud enough in my opinion.

I am convinced now more than ever that the love and care a woman receives while she is at her most vulnerable is so important.  So I preach it.

“I’m gonna get a little preachy here for a minute guys.” Is my intro before I launch in.  “When your wife is in labor and birthing your child it is a rare opportunity for you as a husband to show her how much you love her.”  The men shift in their seats, but I’ve got their attention.  “When a woman is in labor she is vulnerable in a way that doesn’t happen every day.”

 I turn to the women then and say, “so let yourself be vulnerable, cared for, consoled. Give him a chance to care for you in a very special way.”  Back to the men, “no matter how nervous or scared you may be men, care. for. her.  Hold her hand, tell her you love her, wipe her brow, fuss over her, leave no doubt that you are present in that moment with her.”

 Then I ease in some humor, “Fellas I don’t want to hear tales later about how you slept on the cot, watched the baskeball game on tv, or played your DS.”  They laugh a bit and it eases the intensity of it all.  By now the women are pink cheeked and stealing looks at their husbands, reaching over to hold their hand.  It is working!  I am setting the expectation level high, I am speaking for her. What she wants to say but doesn’t know how.  I am a figure of respect and authority on the topic and they are eating it up.  Dramatic pause for a long breath…

“Often after a birth the husband holds a new respect for the strength of his wife, men I want your wife to have a new respect for you in how you love her.”  BAM!  a great closer.  “Okay, sermon over.”
*smile and sigh*

When I check in, the non-verbals are strong.  Smiles, glances across the room, sips of coffee in anticipation of what I am going to lay on them next.  They are listening and it is soaking in.

My presentation continues on with clear ideas of how to give this care that I have now led their wives to expect.

 The list is short and I’m no pioneer in putting it together:

1.       Listen to her 

2.       Talk to her 

3.       Be there for her

4.       Touch her

With each task I give examples.  I have a basket of “tools” that they can use.  A hot water bottle, fuzzy socks, lotion, chap stick.  Yep its that simple, “Really guys it’s the little things that add up over the hours.”  As I wind down its time to check in.  “So is this a job you are up for? Do you think you can handle it?”

And then we go around the circle and I have each wife tell us just what is it that your husband will do well at when it comes to supporting her.  Occasionally I get a blank look, one time the poor wife couldn’t grasp for anything- yikes.  I get answers like foot rubs, encouragement, sense of humor, “He will keep me from worrying.”  I can see his shoulders rise as he inhales confidence. 

I then turn to the men, “What is it your wife will need most from you?”  They smile, a chance to get her back.  The Amish are not fond of speaking of this kind of thing in front of each other.  They likely squirmed a little at what their wife was going to say about them.  Now it is their turn.  A listening ear, foot rubs, encouraging words, to just be there.  It’s blooming right in front of me, like an early summer peony, their awareness of the emotional task that lays before them.

I leave our last session together hopeful for the couples.  I am excited for all that lays ahead of them.  The hard work of it accepted and now the depth of the task laying before them better understood.  They are often more confident, comforted by the information and ready to face it together.

*Special thanks to Stephanie Price who formatted much of the content I use in class and graciously passed both the information and the opportunity to teach on to me.*