Norah June, A Birth Story

On my flight home from NYC last October, I started writing a poem. My world was still shaky with Bri's death and my unexpected pregnancy, but I was desperate to find solid ground and to make peace with my body and my grief. So I wrote this poem, more out of awe that I could create life at a time when I felt so empty and depleted, but also out of longing to connect to a baby who I couldn't imagine as a part of my life, let alone my body.


Life created in the barren places
is green and fierce despite the howling wind,
harsh as it crawls begging through the canyons of my body.

You came to light in a desert place,
a landscape marked by uncertainty and distance.
And you brought with you
bones and stones and endless sky --
water enough to swell and stretch.

When the earth cries for relief from its sanctification,
will the skies answer
with a crash of light, a gathering darkness,
heat that writhes in red rising flood?

Flesh on flesh
skull to pelvis
When the pounding ceases
and the horizon clears,
will we be blossoming with life,
Or will we be drowned?

It's strange to read now, to share it now, knowing what happened in the weeks and months that followed. The clubfoot diagnosis. Sela's diabetes diagnosis. Feeling like my entire life had fallen apart and I was grasping at loose threads, desperately trying to hold my old, familiar life together, and left kneeling, empty-handed.

It's so difficult to write about the darkest period of my life, to fight the instinct to brush it aside, smile, and tell you how happy we are to have Norah here, how Sela is thriving, how everything is wonderful and perfect and pretty. I like to tell happy stories and share beautiful things. I like when things work out. I like my life to be neat and tidy and comfortable for everyone, or to at least seem that way when it's not. 

It's not easy or comfortable to tell you that I know what it's like to cry every day for an entire year, to feel grief, disappointment, and fear closing in at every turn, and to lay in bed every morning holding my breath and praying that Sela will wake up too. I know what it's like to wonder if I'll love and celebrate a child born with clubfeet, to face deformity without embarrassment, anger, or shame. I know what it's like to go to a therapist every week for months because I needed someone to sit with me while I cried for hours and allow me to empty the ugliness and smallness and pettiness from the darkest parts of myself.

Norah's birth story isn't an easy one to tell, even if the actual birth is a pretty straightforward, uncomplicated one. The experiences of the months, weeks, and even hours leading up to her birth are inseparable from this story, our shared story, and I can't explain the joy and awe without showing you the pain and heartache in equal measure.

brooklyn, brooklyn take me in

So, I've spent my entire Thanksgiving weekend watching Woody Allen movies and thinking about NYC; both the city that Allen loves and makes an important character in nearly all his films, and my own experiences in October. I keep waiting for the right words to find me to accurately share what I felt and saw during my trip, but I'm afraid I'll forget all of the special moments (and meals!) while I'm waiting.

Here are the moments I don't want to forget:

- Four hours of turbulence, a flight attendant who thought he was James Brown, and zero sleep is not worth the $40 I saved to take that damn red eye flight. Although, it may be worth the long overdue realization that I'm no longer 17 and I seriously need to start embracing my need for sleep and time (and age) appropriate air travel.

- My sweet Polish taxi driver pressed the tip money I gave him back into my hand and whispered, "For the memories!" as he left me on a dark, rainy corner in Brooklyn.

- I'll never forget walking down Em's block with my head and stomach swimming, feeling overwhelmed and exhausted as I dragged my suitcase behind me. I looked up to see her sleepy face smiling from her apartment doorway. It had been over 7 years since I'd seen her and yet I knew we'd be alright.

- Her apartment is beautiful, smells good, and she made me peppermint tea in a pretty little mug. We're going to be better than alright.

-When someone tells you to go to Hanco's for a Vietnamese sandwich, you do it. Even after you read the ingredient list and have a hard time wrapping your brain around pate and some sort of weird fried Vietnamese ham and pork topped with cilantro and shredded carrots - just get it. Make sure it's with medium spicy sauce and an almond bubble tea, find a crowded table, and proceed to repeatedly tell everyone around you how unbelievably delicious your sandwich is. Oh, and cry a little, because honestly? You just can't help yourself.

 
- I spent an entire afternoon in the Park Slope Community Bookstore with giant piles of M.F.K. Fisher, Samuel Beckett, and John Updike. Flipping through cookbooks, old childhood favorites, and poetry for hours in a quiet corner of this bookshop felt like a sweet gift, a welcome surprise.

- I found messages of peace tucked in windows, hidden gardens, and on the side of giant skyscrapers.

- Colson's Patisserie has fantastic pear almond tarts and tiny apricot rugelach.

- Prospect Park is beautiful in the rain. I spent a few hours walking around the ponds and riding trails, watching families have picnics and people out walking their dogs.

- When the rain kicked it up a notch, I ducked into a French coffee shop, Couleur Cafe, and spent a few hours eating soup and a croissant, humming along to Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline, and feeling lucky to be in my own life.

a part of me, apart from me

You come to me in the early morning hours. When darkness and quiet gather over my sleeping children and the only sound in this stilled house is the door as it clicks gently closed behind Brian on his way to work, you come. I sigh, stretching my sleep-warmed feet out from under my quilt into the new September air pouring  through the open window. The skies are dark. The neighbor's sprinklers start. I take a deep breath. I let you in.

You come to me in dreams, in music, in memories, but it is your smell that always comes first; a red currant candle in the winter and pine soap on your bathroom sink. Flashes of rosemary and mint as you distractedly twist your long, dark hair into a neat bun. Buttery pie crusts, apple cider, pastry cream with a splash of orange extract, and black flecks of vanilla bean stirred into soft-white peaks of whipping cream. Olive oil, as you spread your hands across my growing belly, searching for that tiny, quick heartbeat. Clean sheets, sweet smelling pillowcases, and Mrs. Meyers dish soap in your light filled kitchen.

You come to me in the places we loved together. Saturday morning farmer's markets and the homes of new, proud mothers. Countless bakeries and small cafes and bookshops. Downtown Salt Lake City on summer nights. Your pretty little office with the Anthropologie drawer-pulls and glass jars filled with raspberry tea. You perched on that tiny stool and me with my legs tucked under my skirt talking late into the afternoon and early evening. I see you in Southern California for Tess' wedding. When I step out of the car your eyes narrow as you look at my swollen feet, "Pregnant feet. How much water did you drink, Rachel? No, tell me how many ounces, I need to know. Did you pack salty snacks like I told you to? How often did you stop to pee and walk around? How many times did you pee today, Rachel?"  And finally, your front yard, warm with a new spring, and you surrounded by the women and mothers who love you for honoring them and celebrating the important work that they and their bodies do. I kiss you on the cheek and hug you tight, my hands full of plates of food for Brian and the kids and Eloise books for Sela. I tell you I'll call you soon to plan our birthday lunch, "Only a few more weeks!" you remind me. Your dark eyes find mine again, so solemn this time. I hug you again, thanking you for the beautiful party and sweet gifts. I cross the street to my car, looking back to see you tenderly folding a new baby into your arms with laughter on your face. As I start the car, I glance across the street once more and say to my friend, "That felt so much like good-bye."

You come to me in hundreds of different ways during those quiet moments. So many memories waiting to be unpacked, unfolded, and carefully brought to the light. But a few mornings ago, one sweet memory came to me so clearly: It was wintertime and we are both curled up on your big blue sofa with a six-month-old baby Graham sleeping between us, his belly softly rising and falling with contented breath. As I watch you trace your finger over his fuzzy, round head, I ask, "Bri, what is your favorite part of your job?" You are quiet as you stoke Graham's cheek, and when your finger brushes close to his mouth and he starts to quietly suckle we both smile. "I think my favorite part is watching the journey and transformation of the woman," you carefully and thoughtfully answer, your fingers wrapping around Graham's chubby fist. "No matter how a woman feels at the beginning of her pregnancy, whether she is excited, overwhelmed, anxious, or devastated, if she is willing to surrender to the processes of pregnancy, labor, and birth, she will become the kind of mother her baby needs her to be and the kind of woman that she needs to be to feel confident and comfortable in her new role. Being able to watch that journey, that process unfold is the very best part of my job."

So here I am, Bri, a few months into my own difficult, unexpected journey. A journey that began with me throwing a positive pregnancy test against my bathroom wall and spending an entire day in my bed cursing God for the vulnerability of woman's body and the quiet, never-ending, ever-changing cycles of our bodies and our lives. "Is there ever a point where a woman's body is her own?" I screamed into my pillow until my throat was raw. I curled my knees into my chest and pulled the blanket over my head and for the very first time realized what losing you really, truly meant.

going west

I am a woman born of the West; a Robert Redford kind of girl, if that means anything to you. As a product of pioneers driven by visions, men who wandered deserts at dawn, and unlucky miners and the women who followed them, I understand the visceral language of red rock, mountain ranges, and coastal highways. I seek comfort in space and distance, healing in the wild places of the West.

-An excerpt from my notebook written as we drove across the vast Salt Flats.

Brian and I were able to slip away for a week at the beginning of June to celebrate our anniversary and to catch a bit of rest and healing. We decided on California's central coast: Carmel, Big Sur, and a day trip in San Fransisco.

Carmel is beautiful, walkable, and quiet. We spent days just wandering around the charming neighborhoods, holding hands and talking about what we hoped our future would hold (Brian: registering a personal Scottish coat of arms and an office/library space of his very own. Me: becoming a lady farmer midwife chef who writes about women and travels the world). We spent our evenings searching tide pools and people watching, and then would eventually end up at Dametra Cafe, tucked into a cozy, dark corner surrounded by Italian families and Brazilian women. The food was beautiful, and the owners are warm, generous people. There was a lot of kissing and general all-over touching at the end of each meal, which I loved and Brian tried to politely avoid. What can I say? That boy just doesn't appreciate a good rub down by strange dudes with long, curly hair. I, on the other hand love watching him squirm and always enjoy a good hug and smooch from gorgeous strangers.

We spent a lot of  time wandering in and out of shops and art galleries, gathering gifts for the children and admiring the unique architecture of this coastal town. We rode the trolley, enjoyed picnics in the park, and took afternoon naps. It was just so good to be together, to laugh and joke and love each other.

My favorite part of our trip was Big Sur. It has this crazy, dark energy that I've only ever felt in the sleepy fishing villages of Mexico. It is a place for visionaries and poets. It is a place of deep emotion and contradiction:

ancient redwoods. cacti. rivers. ferns. soft beaches. cliffs. hidden canyons. 

It is the perfect balance of dark and light, of beauty and brutality. It was here that I found healing.

words for your weekend

Briana's Words, Briana's Wisdom from Kate and Neil on Vimeo.

I'm posting this beautiful video of my dear friend Briana today for purely selfish reasons. I love hearing her voice, seeing her smile, and remembering our shared conversations that were so very similar to the ones captured in this video. Hearing her laugh has brought healing to my heart during this long, soul stretching week, and I know I'll be returning to this video again and again just to see my friend's face and to hear her wise words.

Thank you, Kate and Neil, for your inspired work, and for creating and sharing such a wonderful gift with everyone who knows and loves Bri.

sorrow and sweetness

The errand of angels is given to women;

And this is a gift that, as sisters, we claim;

To do whatsoever is gentle and human,

To cheer and to bless in humanity's name.

My dear friend and cherished midwife, Briana Blackwelder, died in a car accident on Saturday afternoon. My heart is broken as I reflect on a world without her generous, beautiful spirit. Her influence reaches almost every aspect of my day to day life; her blessed hands were the first to touch my children as we welcomed them into this world, she taught me how to breastfeed and how to make caramels, and as I sit in my living room this morning, I can see her laughing on my couch as we ate German pastries just a few short weeks ago.

Briana's passing has brought waves of grief and pain, but I've also felt  immeasurable joy and sweetness as I read and hear stories of how her life is woven into the most personal and sacred experiences of the lives of her friends, clients, and family. Her life and her life's work was dedicated to healing, supporting, and empowering women, and I truly believe that she will continue doing this beautiful work where she is now.

There will be a celebration service held in her honor on Wednesday at 7 pm at 951 East 100 South in Salt Lake City and on her birthday, May 6, in California.

The treasured photo is from Sela's birth, taken by my mom. Beautiful words from the hymn, As Sisters in Zion, written by Emily H. Woodmansee.

home birth week : graham's birth

I've spent the entire week thinking about what I would post today that hadn't already been covered in some way by all of my previous writings. On Monday I used Sela's story to share how I came to find home birth and to explain typical prenatal/postnatal care with a home birth midwife. Today, I would like to tell you about what I learned with my experience with Diane and what I took away from that relationship to help me better articulate the kind birth I wanted for Graham.

In home birth, as with any kind of birth, it's hard to anticipate what will happen or what kind of things will or won't work for you. For example, I found that during Sela's birth I hated being checked for dilation. It was painful, annoying, and I found it to be discouraging, especially when I didn't progress much (or at all)  from the last time she checked. I also knew that for Graham's birth I wanted to stay in the tub to deliver him. Diane didn't feel comfortable delivering babies in the water and had me get out of the tub before Sela was born. In her defense, we had never talked about the possibility of a water birth and I had no idea how much I would rely on the warm water to soothe my laboring body.

When I started meeting with Briana for prenatal visits, we spent a lot of time talking about Sela's birth. Briana was there as the assistant midwife and she is actually the one who 'caught' Sela. It was so great to have her listen to my concerns and to have her offer her insight and solutions to each of my fears. She assured me that as long as things progressed normally there would be no reason to check dilation, that she felt a water birth would be an excellent choice, and that she would be more than happy to help me achieve the kind of birth I wanted.

home birth week : an interview with briana blackwelder, a midwife

Can you explain exactly what a home birth midwife is and what you do?

A homebirth midwife is a maternity care provider that works with women and their families during pregnancy and postpartum to achieve the healthiest outcomes possible and to give birth in context of their lives. Usually this means that the woman labors and gives birth surrounded by her support people of choice (friends + family) in the place that is most familiar and comfortable to her, usually her home. A midwife is also someone that has lots of experience attending births and helping women to labor naturally, and a midwife has an abiding belief in the power of women to give birth to their children and to become mothers in the way that's right for them.

Summarizing what I do is pretty difficult, but I'll try to be brief. I provide nine months of prenatal care and even pre-pregnancy counseling. I come to the client's home when she is in labor and help to 'set the stage' for a peaceful birth as well as monitoring all physical conditions of mother and baby. I call another midwife or apprentice once labor is well underway, and I assist the mother to give birth and attend to her and her baby's well-being, ensuring a safe passage from pregnancy to postpartum. I stay for several hours after the birth to make sure everyone is stable and clean up the house. I visit the woman after she's given birth in her home on the first and third days postpartum, and we see each other for 6-8 weeks or until she is 'back to normal'.

How does it differ from a OB/patient relationship and birth in a hospital setting?

Care during pregnancy is entirely individualized to each woman and may include all testing that would be done through a typical obstetrician, or an entirely technology-free pregnancy if the mother so desires. Our appointments can last hours and a relationship of trust and friendship is built over the 9+ months. The focus of the pregnancy and birth is not merely on the physical, it's also about facilitating the developmental stage of life that motherhood is. We don't really have a place in our society to even discuss that transition, it seems many women are focused on diaper bags and strollers. I have watched many women and their husbands/partners become closer, better communicators, more at ease with their roles and relationships, and surrender to the changes inevitable in life. This is often the most important part of giving birth, and all the emotional preparation for that transformative moment can help parents experience birth for what it ultimately can be. 

What are three things about your job that bring you  joy and fulfillment?

Participating in the creation of families is truly joyous, it is one of the most exalting things we can do as people. Being a witness to women at their most powerful, getting to watch them learn that surrender can be their greatest strength, seeing them finally 'get it', feeling like I've actually made a difference in people's lives, and seeing women leave my office happier or at least with a better appreciation of life's processes. I love helping women through especially difficult births, ones that I know wouldn't have happened in a hospital or even with another midwife, getting to do that for them and give them the credit is the most fulfilling thing I can imagine. 

What kind of education, training, and skills are required to practice midwifery?

Requirements differ from state to state and in different countries, but I completed a 4-year program and apprenticed with several midwives. The skills required for the credential I carry (the CPM, certified professional midwife) are standardized by the North American Registry of Midwives and include everything needed for basic midwifery practice and well-woman care. I also had to complete a test after I met all of the training requirements in order to receive the CPM certification. Every 3 years, to renew my credential, I must do continuing education, participate in peer review, and keep skills up to date.

What kind of services do you offer women in your care and what are the costs involved?

A homebirth roughly costs anywhere from 2-5k depending on where you live. I charge $3000 and that includes a mid-pregnancy ultrasound, all lab work, birth kit with disposable supplies used at the birth (cord band, chux pads, peri bottle, all sorts of clean-up supplies, etc.) and a waterbirth tub & setup. I also include some really good prenatal vitamins from New Chapter, as well as commonly helpful herbs and other supplements as needed. I have a lending library at my office with books on everything from preconception to parenting, which my clients have access to during the course of their care. Prenatal care is the same schedule as an OB; visits every 4 weeks until the third trimester, then every 2 weeks, then every week the last month. When women go beyond 40 weeks, we see each other quite often, sometimes every other day. Usually there are at least 3 home visits aside from the birth (around 36 weeks, 24-hours postpartum, and 3 days postpartum) any other additional visits are also included as needed. I'm available by phone anytime day or night for 6 weeks surrounding the woman's due date, and before and after those weeks, I'm still quite available although I don't make any promises. Basically it's a killer deal. One local midwife's accountant calculated that she made about $1.25 per hour (not including recovery time). Having a midwife is luxurious!

What are the three hardest aspects of your job?

The schedule: long hours, being on call, not being able to leave town within 6 weeks of someone's due date. Feeling emotionally drained from doing lots of deep processing with women; hearing their concerns, griefs and worries. Bad outcomes, which affect me as much as the parents sometimes.

What are your personal beliefs regarding women and their bodies and birth?

Women are designed to do this work; and, although it is work, it can be the most fulfilling

accomplishment in a woman's life to grow a baby and give birth to her child. There is a belief that women's bodies are broken, that our physiologic norms are an inconvenience, that we need technology and medicine to give birth, and that aesthetic standards are the greatest thing that we can achieve with our bodies. I believe that feeling wonderful in our own skin and allowing our bodies to take the shape of a mother, to grow heavy with new life, gives us a far richer experience of what it means to be female. To accomplish the greatest human feat imaginable, reproducing another person, is a life-affirming achievement unique to women. 

Do you have any recommendations (articles, books, documentaries, etc...) for women who would like to learn more about home birth?

Ina May's Guide to Childbirth by Ina May Gaskin (information and stories)

Pushed Birth by Jennifer Block (exposition of birth in the US today)

Birthing From Within by Pam England (preparation for a conscious birth)

Baby Catcher by Peggy Vincent (full of stories)

http://www.mothersnaturally.org/index.html

(the articles under the resources section are very good)
 http://www.childbirthconnection.org/

{the sidebars are full of great information}

The Business of Being Born (on netflicks)

Birth Into Being-Russian Waterbirth Experience (also updated version Birth As We Know It)

The Other Side of the Glass (birth experiences and effects on fathers and babies)


You can find Briana's website for her practice, Fern Midwifery, here. She also has a blog that is full of sweet photos of new brand new babies and interesting articles, which you can read right here. 

Thank you, thank you, Briana! You are such a wonderful friend and midwife, my life is truly better because I know you. 


XO Rachel

home birth week : sela's birth

Welcome to home birth week, dear friends! I'm so excited to open my blog for this discussion. Birth is such a powerful experience for women and I'm looking forward to hearing your stories + sharing my own.

I do, however, have one small request before we begin. How women choose to give birth is such a deeply personal decision that I ask all of you to be respectful + kind in any of the comments you leave here, and I will also honor that request in all that I share with you during this week.

To kick off home birth week, I thought I would share the story of Sela's birth, since that is truly where my home birth experience begins, and I will end the week with the story of Graham's sweet birth.

I found out I was pregnant with Sela in August of 2006. I was 20 years old and had only been married since the beginning of June. Both Brian and I were completely shocked, to say the least, that we were going to be parents. Every evening we would sit on our small couch in our small apartment talking and planning for our future that suddenly included the tiny little person that we had created.

Up to this point in my life, I had never imagined how I would give birth. My only experience with birth was watching my little sister, Sophie, being born when I was 11. My mom gave birth in a hospital, and it was pretty quick and uneventful. I remember my dad holding her hand, rubbing her back, and speaking quietly in her ear. The doctor poked his head in a few times, checked dilation, and finally showed up right before Sophie was born. There were beeping machines, a television was on in the background, and a nurse brought me milkshakes. I remember watching in awe as Sophie's body emerged from my mother's, and wondered why the nurses took her so quickly away for weighing and measuring and washing. When they finally brought her back, all wrapped in a brand new blanket, I was the first to hold her.

My first and only experience with birth wasn't a negative one, although it is very different from what I eventually chose for myself. The doctor seemed kind, the nurses were helpful, and of course my dad was there to give support and love. When I picture my mother in labor, I see her sitting in the hospital bed in quiet discomfort, her eyes focusing intently on her round stomach. It is then that she makes an offhand comment that changes how I think and feel and envision birth for myself, a comment that I've carried with me for 14 years:

"It makes more sense to stand, I think. I feel like I'm pushing against gravity when I'm laying down here."

I doubt she even remembers saying this, but it shifted something inside of me. It made it possible for me picture a different birth.

When I found out I was pregnant with Sela I was working as a wellness counselor at Good Earth, a local health food store.  I worked closely with a group of women who had recently finished their doula training and had worked with women who had given birth at home. We spent a lot of time talking about birth, all of the different ways that women support other women through the birthing process, and how important it is to have a support system in place in order to have the birth you want.

One of the women, my dear friend Vanessa, was pregnant with her first child and planning a home birth. I think I probably made her crazy with all of my questions during those first months, but she always answered my questions in such a positive and confident way. She knew the kind of birth she wanted and she was making it happen. A few weeks before she gave birth, she invited me to a birth party that was being held to honor her transition into motherhood. It was such an amazing night. I remember how much love and support and laughter filled V's home, and felt such a strong sense of sisterhood with those women who believed in a woman's ability to give birth however she chose.

When I went home that night, I had made up my mind; I wanted a home birth. I wanted to be in my own home, making decisions about my own body, and surrounded by people who believed in me.