Suspended in Time

Driving down route 17 my friend Linda is in the passenger seat beside me.  “Doesn’t Linda know she’s dead?”  I think to myself but don’t want to say out loud because I think the information would startle her.  I reach in front of her and flip the visor up.  If she were to look in the mirror she would see that her body is translucent.  She keeps on talking to me about the new recipe she wants to try for her boys.

“I know the twins will love it.”  Linda says and reaches into her bag to take out her shopping list.  I am driving her to the store because as usual Linda is drunk. Even when she’s dead she’s still drunk!  I wonder if she will get that dinner made for her boys before she passes out this afternoon.  Linda stops talking and starts to wheeze. It’s a terrifying rattling sound and I look into her eyes which are full of terror. Oh my God! She can’t breathe!

          As my eyes fly open the hazy fog of sleep begins to lift and the line between dreaming and reality become clear.  It’s not Linda wheezing.  It’s me!  I can’t breathe! Crap…I don’t have time for this.  I knock on Elizabeth’s door.  “Hey, I have to go to the emergency room.  Wanna come with me.”

I open the door and out pours sweet scents of flowery perfumes. Elizabeth stretches under her ironman sheets that she bought to be silly.  Her room is dimly lit by a colored light bulb in a soft hue of blue and it reminds me of walking through the earth and space science lab when I was in grade school. The black light in the tunnel leading to the planetarium, a tunnel then a doorway into another world always fascinated me.

“Sure,” she sits up on one elbow “I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like in the ER, I’ve never been.” 

“Gee, thanks Elizabeth,” I wheeze at her. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” 

She giggles “Well, maybe if you would stop quoting in a British accent ‘I’m not dead’ from Monty Python I would take you more seriously…Sorry mama, are you ok?” she asks sweetly.

“I think I have pneumonia. And ‘Bring out your dead.’” I think the humor is helpful in keeping us both calm.

“Oh, Is pneumonia very bad?” she mumbled still only half awake.

“I’ll be okay but it’s Sunday and I don’t think I should wait until tomorrow to get on antibiotics.”  Seeing that the beds of my fingernails are a deep purple hue and my skin has a blue cast to it, even when I’m not bathed in the light from Elizabeth’s lamp, going to the ER is probably a prudent thing to do.

          Driving into town the sun is just beginning to come up.  I wish Elizabeth could drive I feel so weak and dizzy.  To stay alert I ask Elizabeth to tell me a story.

“I’m too tired,” she yawns “You tell me a story.”

I tell her my dream about Linda.

“Ohhh!  That’s creepy.” Elizabeth sort of shudders and brushes her arms as if to remove some sort of cursed dust that might have fallen on her as the story of my dream seems linger in the air and hover over us.

“Yeah, it was sort of creepy.” I agree.  “Poor Linda. She just couldn’t handle the weight this world sometimes brings.”

“She overdosed on purpose right?” Elizabeth asks.

“No one is sure but certainly she would still be here if she did not drink so heavily. I wonder how her boys are doing?”

          Driving to the hospital at the crack of dawn my mind travels back to the time when I was often driving before dawn on my way to attend a birth.  I was drinking in those days, almost as much a Linda.  It is absolutely miraculous to me that I never missed a birth, never showed up drunk, terribly, terribly hung over but never drunk, and that I did not have an accident on the way to the births as I would often be sobering up on the ride to the hospital or birthing center.  As if reading my mind Elizabeth says, “This is sort of like when you would leave in the middle of the night to go deliver a baby…`cept, of course, I was not going with you, I always wanted to though.  What was the most memorable birth you attended mom?”  I imagine Elizabeth would like to hear a more upbeat story about the magic of birth to replace the creepy dream and the thought of Linda’s tragic death.

          I don’t have to search my memory banks for long, the most memorable birth is right in the forefront of my mind. It was June when Beth called me.  “Hi my name is Beth and I want to hire a doula to attend the birth of my second child.” The very articulate and professional/formal sounding woman says to me.

“Hi Beth, my name is Kerri, I can help you. When are you due?”

In our phone conversation I perform the typical routine of gathering necessary information and filling out all the proper forms. There were three specific aspects of this case that were not typical of my usual clients. One was that her due date was the very next day, secondly she hired me right over the phone and thirdly was the way she had become pregnant, for the both the first and second times.

“Okay Beth I happen to be available now, I just finished up my last two births scheduled for this month.  I’d like to make a date for an in-person interview…” I stopped as Beth cut me off.

“Oh, no, no, no, I don’t have time for that.  I want to hire you now!  I have looked at your website, talked with several people about you and I love your voice.  You’re hired I’ll send a check, payment in full right now.”  Beth is adamant but sweet.  I agree but insist that we at least have regular phone conversations hoping there is some time to get to know each other though only via phone before her birth.  The third thing that was atypical about Beth, the method in which she got pregnant she explained to me“…turkey baster, same as last time, different set of donors though.”  This method seemed so crude for someone sounding so very educated and professional.  Before I could ask she explained. “I’m 40, single and want more than anything to have a family.  I have no luck with men and I’m not interested in ‘switching teams’ so I decided to become a single parent and asked several of my male friends if they would donate their sperm, I don’t know which one got me pregnant the first time but it happened on the first try.  Same with this baby, so I feel like it was meant to be.” Beth finishes her story, though her words are carefully chosen and formal there is a mellifluous quality to her voice. It’s like a perfect a cappella harmony. I like this softness and I think we will be a good match.

          I pause in the birth story as we pull up to the hospital.  “Elizabeth could you grab my bags?” I wheeze.

“Sure mom.” 

Elizabeth is calm, she doesn’t seem worried at all.  I suppose my children have gotten used to me going into the hospital on a regular basis.  I’m not worried either it’s more of an inconvenience.  We check in, the staff is so sweet and they, unfortunately know me as I have been in there so often the past few years..if I’m not the one coming in with a bout of Lyme or related issues I’m dragging a kid with a broken something or other...but small towns are nice for things like making friends with your local ER staff.  After we are settled in a room Elizabeth asks me to continue the tale. “Mom, dad didn’t want you to become a doula did he?”

“No Elizabeth, your dad didn’t want me to do much of anything and then complained when I didn’t bring in enough money. I remember the day I told him I wanted to become a doula ‘Oh, you want to become a DOOO-LUUUH’ he mocked me. 

‘Yes Jim I want to deliver babies, I’ll make money, I won’t have to go to school just some training.’   I tried to defend myself.

‘That’s ridiculous Kerri, why don’t you go and get a real job.’  Your dad always shot down everything I wanted to do.”

“What did he mean by a real job” Elizabeth asked. 

“Heck if I know.  He certainly never had one.” I just had to throw that in and then regretted it immediately.

“But you did it anyway.”  Elizabeth smiled as she pronounced this fact.

“Yes, well I almost didn’t.  Had we not been going to marriage counseling at the time I probably wouldn’t have.  Our counselor, Mary watched as your dad made fun of me for wanting to pursue this path. Mary turned her chair to face me, she was eight months pregnant by the way.  As she turned to face me your dad just kept right on talking. Mary’s office was in the attic section of one of those old Victorians in Middletown and your dads voice bounced all around that cramped little space, off the ceiling and into the gabled windows where it would rattle around for a few moments…it was like the old words kind of mixed with the new words coming out of his mouth and it just made my head spin.”  Elizabeth shook her head in agreement and rolled her eyes as if to say she understood first hand what I was talking about.

“I often think..” I continued “that I missed a lot of opportunities because I would allow things your dad said to start a huge symphony of negative thoughts; the ‘I can’t section’ playing with the ‘I should have section’ then the ‘I’m not smart enough’ section would crescendo as the ‘It’s too hard/too late’ section would join in and the whole thing would become a negative and overwhelming fugue.”  I think I lost Elizabeth with this creative description. “Anyway,” I continue with more understandable jargon for a fourteen year old. “when Mary turned to me, letting your dad drone on, she caught my gaze and said ‘you GO and DO that workshop, find someone to take care of your kids and DO IT!  Look at it like I am giving you a prescription Kerri’ she said and I did!” Elizabeth understood this and said

“I’m glad you did.”

Me too, otherwise I wouldn’t have this story to tell you.”

          My phone rang at about three in the morning. “Kerri,” I heard a breathless woman on the other end of the phone.  A middle of the night sound I had long ago become accustom to as I had been delivering babies for about four years now. “I think I’m in labor.”

I had to get my bearings as the red wine was still affecting my head from the night before…who am I on call for? I think. Oh yeah, Beth.

“What’s going on Beth?” I ask, recovering my senses.

“Well the contractions are five minutes apart…”

I finish the phone assessment and decide that since the birth center is all the way in Bethesda I had better start heading down the road now.  I tell Beth to meet me there in an hour.  

          “Mrs. Smith?” the x-ray tech. comes in my hospital room interrupting my birth story.  Elizabeth picks up my smart phone and occupies herself with facebook.

“It’s MISS Eiker” I say with pride, emphasis on the Miss part.

“Oh, okay, we are ready to take you down for x-rays now.”  They pleasantly tell me.  The tech is bright and chipper, oh yeah, it’s 7am they just had a shift change so I get ‘fresh’ hospital staff now.  Good deal I think.  After the  X-rays are taken and read the doctor comes in.  “It’s bronchitis and pneumonia” He tells me. 

“Great” I say. 

“Sit tight, I will send in the Respiratory Therapists for you. You need some immediate breathing treatment to stop the wheezing and get to your heart rate down…” The Dr’s voice trails off as he exits my room before finishing his sentence.

“Well Elizabeth, I guess we are going to be here for a while.”  I tell her with a weak smile.

“That’s okay, finish telling me the story about Beth.”  I have Elizabeth remind me where I left off in the story and continue.  

          While I was driving to the birth center and before I even got on the highway towards DC Beth called again.  “Ker-ri!”  This time she was panting rather than breathing.  “I f-f-feel lot-s of p-p-pressure.”

Oh man!  I think I am at least 40 minutes away. “Okay Beth, have you called the midwife?” 

“Only just now and she didn't answer.” She tells me sounding a little panicked.

“Don’t worry Beth, I’m on my way.  Have your girlfriend keep calling the midwife I want you to ride in the back of the car get on all fours and put your head down on your forearms keeping your butt in the air.  Do you understand?” She say’s yes but I ask her to pass the phone to her friend so I am sure she understands my directions and why.

After we hang up I call my associate/apprentice Sarah. “Hey, can you come help me with this one?  We have a precipitous birth and those can be tricky, emotionally as well as physically plus they can’t reach the midwife.”

Sarah agrees to meet me at the birth center, I feel a bit relieved.

About 25 minutes after I get off the phone with Sarah, Beth’s friend/driver calls me.

“She says she has to push!” Her friend screams. “Should I pull over?”

“How far are you from the Birth center?” I ask.
"Two blocks." she tells me.
"No. I'll meet you there. Did you get a hold of the midwife?” I ask trying to keep my voice calm.

“Yes, but she can’t be here for a half an hour or more.  We should have called her earlier!!!”  a panicked squeaky voice answers me.

“Okay, keep Beth’s butt in the air I’m gonna keep speeding.” I had been traveling down 270 at about 90 miles per hour and was lucky I didn't get pulled over. I actually beat them there. When they pulled in the parking lot the back door of the car flew open and a large woman with short red hair poured herself out onto the gravel lot..  She immediately got on all fours in the gravel and began grunting guttural animal sounds.  A sweet familiar song of birth but maybe here in the gravel is not the best place to deliver a baby. 

“Beth, let’s get you inside the center.”  I coo at her.

“I CAN’T!” Beth grunts.

“Beth I want you to blow, here, do it with me.” And she and I make puffing noises together and make our way to the door.

I turn the handle…It’s locked. 

“Uh, when did the midwife say she would be here?”  I am very pleased that my voice sounds confident and calm unlike the trembling mass of adrenalin fed nerves I am on the inside.

Right then a car pulls up.  Drat! Not the Midwife but Sarah.  That’s a help at least.  I ask Beth to lie on her back on the small concrete porch of the birth center dimly lit by one tiny little, small watt, yellow bulb that flickers. Lying on ones back is a position usually contraindicated for natural birth but in this case we want to slow things down a bit.  As Beth lies on her back, her head on a pillow brought from Sarah’s car she opens her eyes for the first time since we got here.  She reaches a trembling hand to my face and brushes away my hair.

“I need to see your face…”She manages to utter. “You’re so pretty” she says and relaxes with a sweet smile.  I reach under Beth’s dress and put my hand on her perineum.  Beth begins the uncontrollable urge to push along with the guttural sounds again. 

“I CAN’T STOP!”  She screams.

“It’s okay now I said, go ahead and bring this baby into the world.”

I hold my hand against her as I feel the baby’s head crowning. Ping!  I feel Beth’s tight skin rip under my hand low and to the left.  I give a little more counter pressure as the baby’s head emerges. The baby is coming so quickly Beth’s perineum has not had enough time to become pliable and stretch with the birth.  I’m hoping to keep her from tearing any more but PING! Again off to the right this time.  I wish I could see, I wish there were more time. “Beth, lets blow again okay?”  Beth blows with me and the head eases out but I cannot control the tearing and I’m worried there might be fourth degree tears.  “Beth I need you to blow now the head is out and I need to check for a cord.  I can’t see so It’s important that you work with me here okay?”  Beth nods.  Damn! There’s a cord around the neck. Please God Please let it just be simple and slip off.  I closed my eyes so as to not confuse myself with the dark shadowy images that my mind could not clearly interpret.  With my eyes closed I could get a better picture of what was going on. I felt the cord and remembered watching at least a hundred times how the midwives would slip the cord over a baby’s head.  It’s loose! Thank God! I can feel it and visualize it and it’s only wrapped around once.  I run my fingers all around the baby’s neck to be sure.  It slips over so easily I wouldn’t be surprised if there weren’t an angel assisting us here.  As the first shoulder emerges then the second I realize we have no blankets.  Even though it’s a warm summer evening a newborn’s body temperature will drop quickly and that can lead to a whole cascade of unpleasant events!  “Sarah!  Do you have any clean blankets in your car? Towels? Anything?” I ask quickly.

“I have brand new sheets I just bought them today.” She hops up, then turns to me, hesitating, “they’re expensive, Egyptian cotton 800 count.” 

“GET THEM!!”  I yell.

As the baby softly glides into my hands it seems like moments of time stands still.  The light is flickering but it’s a muted distant golden glow.  The city’s traffic sounds as if it were suddenly covered with a thick blanket of snow and the sharp breaking and honking sounds are now just a steady hum.  Everything that is not about this birth has faded into the background like a canvas covered in muted tones, the birth is being painted by a great master and bright bold colors are used as the event is outlined and captured, plucked out of time and onto a canvas. Beth’s face is glowing and beautiful her hands reach for her little baby and I hand the baby to her in slow motion. Like a trapeze artists handing over their dangling partner in mid air.  So many moments during birth are like snap shots of life suspended in time, captured and held forever in our minds.  Beth is crying and laughing “Is it okay? Is it a boy or a girl?” she asks through her laughter and tears.

“The baby seems fine Beth.  He’s making good strong crying noises and his reflexes are good.  I can’t see his color in this light but I think he’s fine.  Why don’t you see if he will nurse.” I assure her.

“He? It’s a boy?” she asks.

 “No, I mean I don’t know.  I didn’t check.” I tell her.  And she doesn’t care.  She Nurses the baby successfully for a few minutes and then  the midwife shows up. 

“Oh, was the door locked?”  The midwife asks. She looks down at the little nativity like scene and says to all of us “Good job.” We take our little party inside.

          “Wow mom. That’s so cool.” Elizabeth says.  Just think, what would they have done without you? I mean if you had listened to dad and not become a doula?” 

“I suspect they would have been fine Elizabeth. Beth would have found another doula or a taxi driver.  Babies come when they come.  They are almost always fine but I would not have had the honor of being present at such a very holy experience if I had listened to that lying orchestra in my head. It wasn’t so much about your dad telling me ‘I couldn’t’ as it was about ME telling ME I couldn’t ” I said.  I think of Linda and how the band in her mind must have become terribly out of control and overwhelmed her in the end.  If she would have only reached out and asked someone to muffle the French horns or turn the blasted music down, maybe she could have found a more peaceful melody with harmonies that sound pretty and make sense.

          The Dr. comes into my ER room and gives me some prescriptions the most difficult to swallow being an extended period of rest.  “Were done?” Elizabeth asks.

“Yes. We can go now.”  And I start to gather my things and get dressed.  “Thanks for coming with me E.”  I say and give her a pat on the head.

“No problem. I wonder if they would have found Linda in time if they could have brought her to the hospital and saved her?” She asks either remembering the story of my dream from earlier or reading my mind again.

“I don’t know Elizabeth.  Death is sort of like birth in that way.  It can be very unpredictable and catch us off guard. But birth is a doorway from one world to the next. So is death I think.”

“That’s sort of scary.”  She tightens up her shoulders and makes a little grimace.

“Maybe, but not really, birth can be scary too until we open up and let go. After we surrender to it the pain goes away and a baby is born.  I think death, like birth is just another doorway, into another world…we just go somewhere else.”  I like to believe this theory and say it out loud.

“Do you think Linda’s ghost was visiting you in your dream?” She asks

“Well I don’t think of it in terms of a ghost.  It’s energy.  I see Beth’s baby in my dreams sometimes too.  She is not a ghost but there is an energy there.”

“So it was a girl!”  Elizabeth picks up on the pronoun.

“Yes, it was a sweet little girl. And Beth’s tears on her perineum were not as bad as I thought thank God.”

“Turkey baster??? Seems weird that a turkey baster could produce a sweet little girl?”  Elizabeth wonders.

“It wasn’t the turkey baster that created that sweet little girl Elizabeth, she was created by the love in her mother’s heart first. Then her mom reached out and asked for help. Many people held the door for her and she just walked through it.