Posted by
hwalker on Tuesday, May 06, 2008 6:12:17 PM
I woke up at 4:21 a.m. yesterday morning. I was yanked mercilessly from my slumber by the digital sound of my cell phone beeping and buzzing like we were being invaded by our enemies. It was notifying me that I had received a text message, which was informing me that my dear friend was on her way to the hospital to have her kid. I was invited to share in the process and this call was long overdue.
Half a pot of coffee and one sunrise later we entered the family birthing center and down the hallway, where we ran into the daddy. He directed me to room 137. I was giddy and excited and anxious to see my friend, feeling like we were about to conquer the world together, not unlike the time sophomore year when we went to our first rock concert and we snuck Ben along with us because she wasn't supposed to be dating him. We drove all the way to Salem, singing along with the album and smoking with the windows rolled down. And I felt about as excited for this kid as I did that night. I found room 137, fought my way past the privacy curtain and burst into the room smiling all over the place like a labrador puppy, wiggling and waiting for someone to throw something for me and slobbering and everything. I heard her in the bathroom, so I knocked. She mumbled in response. God knows what possessed me in that moment, but I opened the door, only announcing that I was coming in after I was already there. Mariah was there, with her back to me, trying feebly to tie her gown. Let me help you, I said. She dropped the strings and the gown fell away revealing her backside. She tried with modesty to cover herself. Hey, It's ok I said, taking the strings in my hands and tying them up as quickly as possible. Come on in here and sit down, I said. She turned slowly, eyes unfocused, moving her great belly out of the bathroom, and stopped at the door. She leaned on the door frame, closed her eyes, took a deep breath and put her hand on her stomach. One slow step at a time, she inched her way towards the bed. When she got there, she leaned on it and and told me weakly between breaths that she wasn't sure she could get herself up onto the mattress. I froze, the oversized puppy gone replaced by a girl, or a deer in headlights. I was relieved when the nurse move around me, helped Mariah up and then started fussing about the room, getting her hooked up to monitors, bringing her water and everything else.
I stood there like a fool. In those few quiet moments that morning, I sensed about my friend that something deep within her spirit had changed. She was in so much pain, I could tell by her movements. Her focus, however, was clear. She had her child, a person, her boy who she had been carrying all these long years in her heart, and months as a part of her. Only she could work with him in partnership, as two people to move him along to the next phase of his life. This was so NOT like that time we went to our first rock concert.
I planted myself in the rocking chair next to her bed, now quiet and subdued, letting the experience have me. Ben and Virg came in and had a conversation about fishing, and then a whole bunch of other nurses and a midwife and a doctor came in, smoothing sheets, asking questions, handing out forms and talking in hushed, womanly tones. Then family descended on the scene, grandmas here and there, people in and out and all this time Mariah was laying there on the bed alternately having contractions and smiling and laughing. She only whimpered a little. She didn't even cry. They discovered she was already dilated to nine centimeters, which apparently means the baby is coming right now, so it was too late to give her an epidural. So there she was, having this kid, not even crying or anything. There she was, in pain and people were asking her questions and she answered them so pleasantly, knowing exactly what was going on here and that she was really the only one who could do it. And there I was, sitting in between 16 year old Bethany and 12 year old Accacia, all of us feeling seriously inadequate and immobilized by the whole thing.
Finally, I heard this nurse exclaim excitedly that she had seen the top of the head. I looked down for a minute, to text Virgil, who had vacated the room somewhere around the first time the midwife stuck her head under Mariah's gown. Then I looked up again, and this head and a tiny little body came sliding out of Mariah. My hand went to my mouth as I sat there, dually horrified and delighted (although mostly horrified).My friend, Mariah. My girlfriend who I have known since forever. Except it wasn't Mariah anymore. It was Mariah, the woman. The beautiful, gracious, impressive woman who just squeezed another human being out of her body without pain killers who hardly even cried. I almost cried when I watched them insert the IV into her arm, and I can't squeeze a sliver out of my finger without topical numbing, a stiff drink and six to twelve advil in my system. Mariah, the woman, who maintained politeness while a nine pound watermelon pushed itself out of her.
The women in their scrubs cleaned up the room, crooned over the healthy state of the baby, looked exceedingly pleased with themselves and then left the little family alone. Mariah with Thorin (that's his name, Thorin) on her chest, and Ben bending low over them and exclaiming about the baby's head of hair and hearty disposition. But even he couldn't enter into the aura that surrounded mother and child. He backed off a little and took up pacing around the bed, hands behind his back as he watched with a keen eye, ensuring the constant satisfaction of his charges. And there was Mariah and Thorin, the centerpiece. She comforted him, as if convincing him that life on the outside wasn't so bad after all. It was beautiful. That sounds extremely sappy, and I promise I'm not talking about the actual giving birth part. No, I'm talking about meeting for the first time, though she's been around for a while, Mariah the woman. And knowing that Mariah the woman has taken up her god-given occupation, that of a mother. Also, knowing that she and her boys are taken care of by a very concerned and good man. I'm talking about the sweet evolution of a family.
On my way out of the hospital, Ben asked me who I planned to vote for in November. He then guessed the answer was "McLame," which is a nick name I plan on stealing and using as often as possible. But the truth was, I couldn't even think of anything to say. A little later, in the hallway one of the cousins asked me if I had seen "Iron Man" yet. The answer is yes. "Iron Man" was an excellent film, full of all the ideals we cherish in our comic books, yet sweep under the rug in real life. Truth, justice, self-conflict and sacrafice. Falling into that category is proper appreciatin for the family. So don't ask me who I'm voting for, or even what the various policy implications proposed by the various candidates are on the family. Go see "Iron Man." Have dinner with your kids. Try to love and cherish one another better. Welcome to the world Thorin Elliot Bliss.
What? Am I having kids any time soon? After that experience? Hell no! Well, maybe someday.