Adrenaline. I can’t describe it any better. Pure adrenaline.
Sometimes, when I think about helping birth Miss A’s baby, it is like I am watching from the outside. Who is that woman who is stroking this young girl’s back and positioning herself securely behind her on an overly inflated ball while stroking her matted curls and whispering words of encouragement? Who is that woman who has been invited into this intimate world of this young lady? Who is that woman who was allowed to share in her fear and vulnerability as she and grips the offered hand with tears and sweat in her eyes?
I know that I was there because I experience it through all of my senses when I remember. I can smell the strong scent of body odor, appalling under other circumstances, seems almost sweet and welcoming. I see the lights that are dimmed and hear the beep, beep, beeping of the machines. There are background murmurs of nurses and staff as they come in and out of the room and occasionally offering ice chips and additional pillows. Yet, I still feel like I was watching a movie and I was not the one coaching and calming her. I was not the one that was stepping in where her parents and the father to be should have been. Yet I know it was me.
“Birth is not only about making babies. Birth is about making mothers – strong, competent, capable mothers who trust themselves and know their inner strength.”
Barbara Katz Rothman
Miss A’s water broke in the middle of the night. She came downstairs to wake me up. It had not been a good night as we had been struggling over the past couple weeks with our relationship. I knew that fostering an older teen would be hard. I just wasn’t prepared for the whole scope of things and neither was she. Entering an established family while being very pregnant is hard. Very hard. It was the second full moon that month, so I should have just known she would go into labor. She and what turned out to be half the city. I have never seen a delivery room so busy. She was only in the beginning stages of labor and it looked like it would be a while, which was a good thing because we were stuck in the emergency room along with a half dozen other woman waiting for a bed in labor and delivery. Because I have found out that nothing in my life will ever just be easy. Never.
I was thankful that Miss A and I were able to squeeze a few labor classes in and we were prepared with some exercises and tricks to help ease some of the pain. I think I was more thankful to have something to offer. I do much better as person with an agenda and having plans help me keep my own anxiety at bay. Miss A needed me to be strong for her. She was only 17. She was alone. She was scared. I had a job to do. I had every intention of doing it and doing it right.
Fast forward past the massaging, the screaming, the praying, the dancing, and all that goes along with labor, we were finally coming around the curve and the baby would be arriving soon. Miss A had me contact family members that she wanted with her. It was decided that her older cousins, were much like sisters to her, would be in the room during delivery and her younger sister would remain in the waiting room until after the birth. She had informed the baby’s father and he came out too. Miss A asked me to stay. I accepted with joy in my heart.
The time right before the delivery was actually a lot of fun. Her cousins played music and it was something of a dance party. When Miss A and the nurse agreed the time had arrived, one of the girls begin playing “Push It” by Salt-N-Pepa. It was a celebration, which was exactly what Miss A needed. After some laughs that were mostly nervous, the midwife arrived.
I was at a loss of what my role would be at this point. Miss A had her cousins with her and the nurses. The baby’s father was in hospital although it was not certain where he was during that time. I figured that I would be taking a backseat to the action. I was wrong. Miss A reached out for me and one of the nurses pulled right into the spotlight. It would me that would be helping the nurses hold Miss A into position and assist in the actual delivery.
I am not sure of all the details after that. I do know that my eyes stung with tears and I wasn’t sure if my heart was still in my chest. There were moments of panic when the heart beat slowed and when Miss A needed to push harder. Could she do this? She was young and scared. There were a few minutes of discussion on plan and prepping for surgery, when the next thing we knew, she made a choice. She decided that she wanted more than anything to do this. I watched that scared little girl, gather all her hurt and emotion and move it out of the way and do her first motherly act. I watched her push pass her fear and exhaustion and I watched the most beautiful act. I saw Miss A. I saw a mother.
I have birthed two of my children. It has been amazing and nothing will ever compare but I know now the actual miracle of what it is as I experience it from the other side of the bed. When I chose to foster Miss A, I had no idea the responsibility. I had no idea how great the magnitude of the experience would be. I will have many more powerful emotional experiences in my life; however, I am very sure that this one will remain near the top. The experience has no ceiling of worth. It would, however, have a price.
