Long long ago and far far away in a time when dreams were real (That's how I started all the stories I told my children), I was working for Carol Leonard, a New Hampshire midwife. Birth is always an individual experience, almost always full of surprises, and because that and because of Carole's dynamic personality, there was never a dull moment in our work.
One day we got called to come to a birth`at a Guru Maraji center in the middle of nowhere New Hampshire. Carol was very reluctant because the woman had not been a client for prenatals and this was one of those possible traps. If things went south during the birth, we were all at risk, especially the mother. Somehow, the mom convinced Carol that if we didn't come, they would do the birth with no attendant (true). In any case we found ourselves barreling up the highway to be at the birth.
When we arrived in the night, we were told to remove our shoes, whisper, bring peace with us. We were looking around, as always, to see if there was food, a place for us to sleep, place to have the car if we had to transport to a hospital. None of the above. The mother was on a mattress in the middle of a meeting hall and there was a balcony with people praying and incense burning, and a huge picture of Guru Maraji dominating the entire hall. There was an altar at the foot of the picture with flowers and fruit offerings piled up.
The mom was a southerner, with a heavy southern drawl. The labor was well underway. She was flopped back on the pillows when we arrived, saying in a little girl voice, "Poor little old me. My my. I just don't know if I can do this. Oh honey, rub my feet." Little pants. Slight fanning of her face. Quiet whispers.
Then a contraction would come. She switched to a roaring voice, sweat like a horse delivering a foal (you could see the steam rising off her body), nearly broke our hands gripping them, caught Carol's arm in a deadly vice grip when Carol was attempting an internal exam. Roaring. The the contraction would end a "poor little ole me" would be back. We never had a chance to take off our jackets, let alone our shoes. This baby was coming.
She had a few more cycles of the weak southern bell and the roaring lion and ended with a grand finale delivering a beautiful baby with a scream that probably could be heard in Vermont. A perfect calm came as soon as the baby came. We congratulated her on an amazing job well done and she, honest to God, looked at us like we were crazy, and said she hadn't done anything HE, and here we all turn to the picture of the guru and bow, HE!!! HE!! DID IT.
Who knows? I had a cynical moment wondering whether she meant it was HIS baby, but then felt the love and realized she had had a kind of transcendent birth. I guess it could have been much harder without HIS help.
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