"It's funny: I always imagined when I was a kid that adults had some kind of inner toolbox full of shiny tools: the saw of discernment, the hammer of wisdom, the sandpaper of patience. But then when I grew up I found that life handed you these rusty bent old tools - friendships, prayer, conscience, honesty - and said 'do the best you can with these, they will have to do'. And mostly, against all odds, they do."
--Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies
Just a little over nine months ago, Matt and I sat on the couch at the Greenspot Tea House and Art Gallery, meeting with our doula, Patti Ramos. We spent the evening talking about our hopes for our upcoming birth and formulating a "game plan" of sorts. She asked us two questions that would prove to be very important: 1.) Would we consider a non-hospital birth? and 2.) Would we mind having her assistant attend our birth as well?
Tonight I sat at the Tea House again, feeling overwhelmed with gratitude and the ways in which one evening -- a cup of tea, a conversation -- can trigger a chain of events that forever alters the course of one's life. I know, that sounds dramatic. But when I think about the life-changing experience and the lifelong connections that spun from those two simple questions, it leaves me feeling -- well, awe, really.
I've been going to these monthly doula meetings since Isaac was born. I'm not sure I can explain why in a way that will make sense; I'm an English teacher. But Suzannah's birth triggered something in me -- something that would take a lot more than a single blog entry to explain -- and I became somewhere between "interested" and "obsessed" with birth. Birth stories, the birth culture in this country, natural birth, all of it. So I go to these meetings because I want this to be a part of my life, even if I'm not entirely sure what that looks like yet.
Anyway, when I became pregnant with Isaac, I knew that I wanted things to be different the second time around. I was pretty open about that with Patti; that's one reason I wanted her with us during the birth. She picked right up on my not-so-subtle desire not to have another hospital birth, and with her gentle encouragement, she led us to Nancy Spencer, a midwife at a free-standing birth center attached to her home.
"Here's her information," Patti said. "You can just set up a consultation, just meet with her, and see if it's something you might want to pursue."
I knew within one hot second of meeting Nancy that switching out of hospital care was the right decision, and that's how I ended up doing just that -- at 32 weeks pregnant. It was absolutely one of the best decisions I have ever made. Isaac's birth was so joyful and so peaceful and somehow just -- more than I ever could have hoped for. Nearly seven months later, I'm still processing the ways in which it changed me. (Of course, that's true for motherhood in general. Four years after the birth of my first child, I'm still processing that -- because Suzannah's birth turned my heart into something entirely new.)
Patti's second question wasn't something I thought much about until the night I went into labor. I'd said yes right away, because I trusted Patti completely. Anyone who worked with her, I knew, would only be an asset.
I first met Dori sometime after two in the morning on the night I went into labor with my son. It's really a hell of a way to be introduced to someone, I suppose; there I was, my water broken all over the place, moaning through contractions, wearing pajama pants and one of Matt's old t-shirts -- I mean, I'm just saying. I'm not sure that's how I'd choose to be introduced to someone for the first time, especially someone really awesome. And Dori was awesome. I was immediately comfortable with her, and somehow she just fit right in with the flow of our labor. She was there with hands-on support, doing hip squeezes or rubbing my back or whatever else when Matt ran to the bathroom (damn tiny Winslow bladder) or Patti was taking pictures or making suggestions, and she kept a log of my entire labor. That is one of the most beautiful things I have. I wrote my own version of Isaac's birth story -- I probably wrote about four versions, actually -- but reading it from someone else's perspective, someone who was there for the entire thing, was so special to me.
Nancy, Patti, and Dori were the only people with me, other than my husband, while I labored and gave birth. I felt both incredibly vulnerable and incredibly strong, not to mention totally supported and surrounded by love. So I suppose it makes sense that I feel a deep love for the people who shared one of the most intimate, powerful, defining moments of my life -- and helped make it exactly that. Whenever I remember my son's birth, I will remember these three amazing women.
Tonight, I went to the GreenSpot Tea House for the monthly doula meeting. I've been to a few of them, but this one was different than the others; this one was so deeply important to me on an entirely personal level.
First of all, Nancy was there as a guest speaker. Her new book, Heaven In My Hands: A Midwife's Stories of Birth & Life was just published. She spoke, told stories, answered questions, read one of her stories to us, and signed copies of her book. I've been waiting for this since before Isaac was born, and it was wonderful. I loved seeing her again, I loved hearing from other women who have had her attend their births, I loved pondering the connectedness in the room tonight as women recounted how Nancy was present not only at their labors but at the labors of their mothers, as well. Generations of babies, so much love.
Dori was also a featured guest speaker this time: Two weeks ago, she learned that she has breast cancer. She is 26 years old.
I read the news on Facebook while we were in Minnesota. I was sitting on the couch in the living room, checking in online, and I remember thinking at first that she was writing about someone else. I mean, I literally did not believe it was her.
I still go back and forth between not wanting to believe it and wanting to stomp my foot and yell, "That is not fucking fair." I'm sorry, but yes, those were my words. But this isn't about me, and I'm not going to be presumptuous enough to tell any part of Dori's story for her. She's doing an amazing job of that herself with her blog, Lumps and Lipstick: I am NOT my breast cancer. I feel incredibly privileged to read about this journey of hers, to witness both her profound vulnerability and her profound strength. What I can tell you is this: I haven't known Dori for very long, but I do know that she is compassionate and she is fierce. She is feisty and she is intelligent. She is courageous and she is determined. She is exactly the kind of person I would want to call my friend. And she kicks some serious ass. If anyone can beat cancer, this woman can.
I left the Tea House tonight feeling so deeply grateful for the ordinary moments that lead to these connections, these women in my life. Some people are just good for the world, and their fingerprints on my life make me want to live it as well as I can.
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