To Speak and Hear: Sharing the Common Experience of Childbirth

The mid-spring morning sun shone through the perfectly clean windows of her living room.  Seven mamas arranged in plush sofas and rocking chairs around the perimeter of the room, forming a circle.  The center of the circle, covered by a floral area rug filled with babies. Seven four- month-old baby boys wiggled and squirmed under the careful watch of their mothers.

Seven baby boys!

The last time we gathered in this living room all babies were still on the inside. Mentally, I compared the then and now: before and after. 

Flush faced and smiling they visited easily. Topics of discussion ranged from baby feeding, baby sleeping/waking, where to get the cheapest diapers- all about the baby.

Next we ate together. The main dish a breakfast casserole, a large dish containing eggs, cheese, hash-browns, gravy, bacon, and sausage cooked together. Buffet style we filled our plates with baked goods, salty snacks, and fruit. Every chair at the oak dining room table held a place for us, our Styrofoam plate, and steaming cup of coffee. The mothers ate and continued the polite chit chat of new motherhood. I anticipated the birth stories waiting to be told. I checked my watch, only 15 minutes into our gathering. I needed to be patient. I wanted to hear their stories.

This childbirth class reunion is held under the guise of “meeting the babies”. And it is that, but also more. It is a chance for the women to speak their experiences of birthing and breastfeeding in a setting free of the rigid social limits of their Amish culture. My role is the facilitator and my presence creates a context where they feel free to speak their mind.

Sometimes they do. Sometimes they do not. I can’t ever really predict HOW a reunion will go. 

One of the talking points in my last childbirth class is discussing the “range of normal of labor and birth.” The pregnant couples listen as I list the various ways labor and birth can unfold and still be normal. The list includes things like: how labor starts, how long labor lasts, weight of baby, gestation of baby, etc. They hear my words, but I suspect they don’t really GET what I’m talking about. The goal of the talk is to prepare them ahead of time for the unpredictable nature of the labor they soon face, but also to emphasize that in the end HOW a labor/birth plays out is not a direct reflection of the woman’s strength or weakness. I want to lay a foundation to ease the guilt and shame that is inevitable when a woman’s labor is not as she imagined it would be.

I politely waited until we were done eating, all seated back in the living room babes in arms, before I launched in. “So I’d love to hear your birth stories- as much as you are willing to share.” I want them to sense they are free to talk about whatever they need to. “Things like: how it started, was it what you expected, how did nursing go, how was your recovery?” The list of questions is long, leaving room for the women to find something they feel comfortable sharing. 

The conversation unwrapped itself like a spool of thread spinning to empty. My role as facilitator faded into the background. Each took her turn recalling from beginning to end, the birth of their first child. Bravely they shared about the hardest parts, the desire to give up, the doubt, the injury, the plain hard work of it all.

Their heads nod in recognition, “me too” in chorus. Before my eyes they transitioned from individual birth stories to a communal connection. Community is a place Amish are familiar with, but not so much when it comes to the intimate details of labor/birth/recovery. And in this community group setting I observed healing. Trauma relived and relieved by the telling. 

“I didn’t get to hold him for the first whole hour while they stitched me up.” Anna stated with a clenched throat, tears welled behind her glasses. 

Or “I pushed for four hours. I didn’t think I could do it. I didn’t think I would make it.” JoAnn stated flatly. Her son rested his fuzzy head on her shoulder as she spoke she patted his bottom. 

The woman sitting next to her reached out and gently grabbed JoAnn’s elbow and squeezed. “I know they kept telling me to push and I didn’t have anything left. It was three hours for me.” Gina relieved at the idea she wasn’t the only one. 

And then there was Lorriane, “I feel so guilty. I got the epidural; I wasn’t brave like you all.” 

Before I could open my mouth, someone else assured her that her bravery and effort to deliver her son was enough, with or without an epidural. I sat in awe, a witness to these women. HOLY CONNECTION HOLY MOMENTS.

This continued for hours: Breastfeeding success and failure, stitches, baby blues and postpartum depression, colicky babies, and stubborn husbands. For four hours. 

THIS IS WHAT NEW MOMS NEED! A SAFE PLACE TO OPEN UP AND BE HONEST AND VULNERABLE WITHIN THEIR COMMUNITY. TO BOTH SPEAK AND LISTEN TO THE COMMON EXPERIENCES AND JOYS OF NEW MOTHERHOOD. TO KNOW YOU ARE NORMAL AND NOT ALONE.

I was the first to leave, wanting to stay. I drove away wondering how to replicate this experience. What do I need to do to make this happen every time I gather for a childbirth class reunion? The further I drove from her house the more clear it became. I can’t MAKE this happen. I can gather, facilitate, model empathy, listen and affirm the mothers. But I can’t force the organic element that is essential to reach the deep levels of sharing and healing that I just witnessed. It has to come from one of them.

The gatherings that yield a sisterhood kind of feel are ones where there was a woman willing to go first, willing to admit her struggle, willing to hold the others to the same level of sharing. I keep a mental list of those women, Amish women who would be great therapists and teachers. I wish I could take them with me every time I had one of these groups.

So I’ll not give up. Every gathering I’ll do my part: gather, lead, listen, normalize and affirm. And I’ll not give up hope that by holding this space there will be connection and healing.

How rude! Fathers-to-be who challenge me.

Matt is kicked back in the recliner. His cheeks chapped pink from the wind he states, “So are we gonna get this started or what?” Did I just get snarked at by an Amish man? “We will wait a few more minutes on the other couple, they just pulled in. I’m going to wait for them to put the horse in the barn.” I smile my sweetest fake smile I can manage.

–Wow ok, not used to this level of directness within the first hour of meeting.  I’m guessing he’s not too excited to be attending a childbirth class tonight. Well guess what buddy, I’m not either. I traveled 20 miles in near white-out conditions on icy roads at the “rush hour” on the Goshen-Plymouth trail to get here.  I left my family a half hour early just to arrive on time.  This man Matt makes me doubt it was worth the effort.

There are four couples signed up for this class.  We awkwardly sit on over stuffed couches and chairs and make small talk. It’s the first night of class in a series of four. It seems we are off to a rough start.  Half way through though I feel I have recovered and things are going well.  The women are bright eyed, nodding and following my every word. 

I turn from the marker board I am writing on my glance falling on Matt, who is soundly sleeping in his cozy recliner.  Again wow- actually sleeping.  I shouldn't be surprised; he did warn me this may happen.  Politely I noted the fresh pot of coffee available. Laughing he shook his head and waved me off, “Ha if I have coffee now I won’t be able to sleep once I get to bed.” Does napping during class effect your bedtime sleep also? I am having a hard time holding my tongue.

His wife Missy apologizes for her husband’s rudeness with her eyes.  My heart is softened a bit and I remind myself this isn't personal. This guy just really doesn't want to be in a childbirth class.

Over the course of my teaching career I've had about 300 couples in class. From time to time I come across a gem like this one. I get it- childbirth class is uncomfortable. He doesn't want to be here, but his wife “made” him come. It is cold. He worked hard today, has to get up at 3 am for work tomorrow. There are a number of possible reasons for his rudeness.  But those same reasons apply to us all, and we manage to be civil and polite. 

Writing about Matt brings another character to mind.  It was in my first year of teaching and I encountered a man I refer to as “The Heckler”. He was ruthless with me. 

What is a heckler exactly?  Remember the two old guys, Statler and Waldorf, from The Muppet Show? Professional hecklers quite funny if they aren't making fun of you. Glad they don't need childbirth classes.

Heckle: To try to embarrass and annoy (someone speaking

 or performing in public) by questions, gibes, or objections; badger.

My bearded heckler wasn't as lovable as a Muppet 

That sound like fun, no? I spent all my energy recovering from his jabs and maintaining the flow of the class. The other couples were offended and embarrassed for me. I’d dare say that they became angry with him by the end of it all. Any time the Heckler was out of ear shot they would apologize, “Please just ignore him. You are doing a great job. We (the Amish) don’t usually treat people like this.” I got several notes of gratitude and encouragement in the mail once the class was all wrapped up.

While I can’t recall all of his hurtful words I do remember the last class we were discussing caring for your newborn and I was discussing the idea of co-sleeping. “So if I roll over onto and kill my baby, I can tell myself, but Betsy said it was ok.” Yes folks, he was out of control. Another man in the class actually reprimanded him for that one. At some point I realized that this man likely treats his wife the same way. If this Amish man is so bold as to talk to a person of authority in public with disrespect, how does he treat his wife behind closed doors?  I shudder to think. 

So these men bruise my ego a bit.  Maybe they don’t like me.  Maybe it’s the setting and content of class.  No matter which, I continue on, honing my skills at public speaking and interactions with people of all sorts.  I believe that childbirth classes are vital for couples anticipating birth. I believe that whether he admits it later or not, he did benefit from participating in the class. Everyone benefits. If it’s just a handful who insist on being rude, there are approximately 295 more polite, attentive (mostly) and interested participants, then I can live with that. 

Next week I'm going to picture one of these two old gents reclined in the chair instead of Matt.  That should help it go better. 

Ordinary

If you look in the dictionary you’ll find Ordinary is something considered to be normal, routine, regular, the customary course.  In my opinion Ordinary doesn’t get the respect it deserves.   We live in a culture that values the above-average, over the top, best it can be kind of experience.  An unrealistic way of living and birthing.  Now don’t get all worked up that I’m not gushing about the beauty and mountain top moment that birth can be, hear me out.  I observe plenty of beauty, holiness and all together awesomeness at births.  I love those moments.  But I value ordinariness just as much as the once-in-a-life-time-ness of a child being born. 

It’s possibly a loaded word, this ordinary, when it comes to describing a woman’s labor and a child’s birth. Depending on where you are and who is providing care- the regular routine may not be desirable.  I’ve been in those places, seen those births.  Heck, I’ve had one of those births.  And that isn’t quite what I’m getting at.  It’s not the “normal” defined by the hospital or provider you choose.  Its “normal” as defined by nature, the regular old ordinary natural process.  Muscles contracting, hormones surging, baby descending through bone-this is the Ordinary that I watch for.

Over the course of my birth work I am convinced that there is a piece of this ordinary in every birth.  Yes every birth.  I can go back through each birth I have attended and find the Ordinary.  Sometimes it is a glimpse- one naturally occurring contraction, an uncoached urge to push, a baby that cries and pinks despite an operative birth, a mother’s swelling oxytocin as her babe suckles for the first time.  The moments are there, and I’ve started looking for them, counting them almost.  Because ordinary is the goal, ordinary means it is working. Despite our efforts to control it, to manage it, even if it has to go undercover, Ordinary happens.  

It is easy now for me to break down those moments in a birth.  Like my son taking apart his Lego creation, each moment a brick. Each brick a part of the whole no matter the size. As a childbirth teacher I explain the workings of the female human body during pregnancy and childbirth on a monthly basis.  Perhaps that repetition in presenting the birthing process has made it seem so obvious and normal to me that it IS simply ordinary.  So entrenched in my mind are the sequence of events, so many times I have seen it, that is Ordinary.

Let me give you an example:

The first birth that comes to mind is Sarah.  Sarah labored for 3 days, the first day a slow starter after her water broke.  It wasn’t painful so much at first but she was restless and anxious.  And those early contractions were close enough to keep her from sleep.  By the second day her contractions had picked up- they were closer together and stronger. She made the 1 hour drive from her home to the birth center where she hoped to give birth.  Sarah missed another night’s sleep in the course of labor unfolding.  She was getting tired and so was her uterus.  

Along with her midwife’s counsel Sarah and her husband decided to transfer to a local hospital for services the birth center couldn’t offer.  Leaving her birth plan behind was hard.  But she needed some sleep.  At the hospital she transferred care to a different midwife who ordered an epidural and some medicine to keep Sarah’s contractions coming. 

This is where I met them in the process.  Sarah hosted a childbirth class at her house two months prior and I was the teacher.  Her original midwife called me and asked me to doula them as she was not able to care for them at the hospital.  I was glad to go, it was my own son’s birthday and I felt a special connection to Sarah from our first meeting.

When I arrived Sarah was just waking from a few hours of sleep.  She was smiling and chatty.  The epidural had given her just want she needed.  Sleep.  While sleeping her body continued to work and she was ready to push.  Her anxiety resurfaced and insecurity, “Is this going to work?  Can I push out my baby?”.  The fresh midwife cheered and encouraged Sarah through the first pushes.  And she did do it, Sarah pushed.  Uterus contracting, baby descending, mother opening.  She pushed, the baby moved, one bit closer to birth.  Sarah didn’t believe it would happen, she couldn’t even feel it happening because of her epidural.  Her plans for this birth had already changed so much, she doubted she could do it.  And then she did it.  A squawking pink baby girl in her arms she washed over with relief less than an hour after her first push.  

Betsy, get to the point here.  You are waiting for the Ordinary part right?  So Sarah’s hoped for natural birth center water birth did not happen. Regardless, her body started labor on its own water breaking then gradual contractions.  Pretty ordinary stuff.  I observed Sarah work hard; muscles straining, sweat rolling, gazing into her husband’s eyes for support. Plain hard work. And then the emergence of her daughter. It happened, it worked.  And it was very Ordinary.  Remember that definition I mentioned earlier? Something considered to be normal, routine, regular, the customary course.  

And Ordinary really is quite nice.