Words, and the Power Thereof

I love words. This is not news. I have spent a good portion of my life choosing my words, both written and spoken, carefully, sometimes getting it wrong but, I'd like to think, more often than not, choosing words which uplift, paint images of beauty, and inspire. Words have power. They are magic, of a sort. The new novel I began writing this summer is based on that theme. And, though it has been set aside in deference to personal crises for several painful months (see previous post), I am beginning to feel the power of the words calling to me again. 

Ira Glass said that to become great at an art, whether writing or any other form, one must produce a huge volume of mediocre work-in other words, practice work- before mastering that art. And that's total muddled paraphrasing; my apologies Ira. But the gist is that, as I prepare to go back to school as a an English major with an emphasis in creative writing, as I get back to work on my second novel, as I tell people that I hope to work in the book publishing industry, calling my daily to-do lists and one-sentence quasi-daily journaling my "writing" will no longer suffice. I tend to write in bursts, cycling through several weeks of productivity, poetry, outlines, and actual manuscripts, before succumbing to the demands of ordinary life and losing my momentum, which, once lost, is so nimble and flighty a being as to be difficult to capture once more. As in all things, I struggle to find a balance. 

Goal: post a snippet here daily, whether a sample of some fiction from my past or present writing life, the result of a writerly exercise, or the unsolicited opinions and advice and deep thoughts I typically share. Anything more expansive than a to-do list. 

Will you hold me to it, blogland? I do thrive on positive attention and expectations. 

xo

The Space Between

When I last wrote here, I clung to the edges of a life I'd woven, sometimes blindly, which was unraveling even as I continued to bind the strands, trying so hard to make them stay. In the space between then and now, I have seen and felt my marriage falter, without knowing why, then, upon learning why, offered forgiveness, offered my whole heart, my whole being, tried desperately to change and control that which was out of my hands and still, in the end, watched my husband of thirteen years walk away. I have lain in darkness and sorrow and wondered if I should just stay there. But I couldn't stay. Someone called my name: Amber June. Mamma. Daughter. Sister. Friend. And in the darkness I turned toward that someone, those many someones, and saw myself in their light. 

I'm different now. Stronger. Scarred. Smarter. Winged. I carry three little hearts on my heart, and I am finding hope and joy in the journey of rediscovering me. 

There are many practical differences in our daily lives now; quiet nights when the kids are with their Dad. Four at the table. We will leave our beloved Moon Cottage at the end of this month and move into an apartment. Come January, I will do what I've never done with my babies, and leave Jasper in someone else's care while I finish the education I cut short to move for my husband's career. 

I am anxious. But I see so much good in the future for my little ones and me, in spite of and because of this pain. The space between now and then is indefinite. But I am determined there will not be so much space between my shared words, my sacred thoughts, and this place where I scream them quietly from my own little mountain, again. 

What They've Taught Me

I wrote this post months ago and never posted it...not sure why. But here it is. 


 A Not-Nearly-All-Inclusive List of The Number One Thing I've Learned From Each of These Important People in My Life

(how's that for a subtitle?)

   First, my mom. Mammas should always be first. I have very few singualr light-bulb-moment- type memories of my childhood with my mother. What I do have is more of a general feeling of her presence in nearly all my memories. Which, I think, indicates where I learned to be a present parent in my children's lives as much as possible. She was in mine. As to what she taught me, there are many things...how to bake without making a mess in the kitchen...how to fold hospital corners on flat sheets...and to always say 'I Love You' before hanging up the phone (with someone you love, that is). But I think if I had to choose one, I would say, above all,  that my mother taught me I can do anything. If I am still and close my eyes, I can still hear her saying the words. "You can be anything you want to be and do anything you want to do." Never, in all of my growing-up years, did I come to her with some scheme or dream to have her put it down. She never told me something was out of my reach or too hard, no matter how illogical or far-fetched or naive my ideas may have been.

Life Lesson from Mom: I Can Do Anything.

  Then there's my dad. I inherited from my father my love of reading, writing, poetry, vocabulary, classic British literature, and, I dare say, sarcastic wit. In contrast to my mother, whose inadvertent teachings pervade nearly all my memories, when I think of what my father taught me, three very direct, specific things come to mind. The first two have proven useful, if not always 100% accurate pieces of advise: Never vote for anyone with poor taste in neckties, and, When all else fails, try Masterpiece Theater. But it is the third life lesson that I remember most clearly and that has meant the most to me throughout the years: Find out what you believe in, and stand by it. Even if you stand alone. I don't know if my dad remembers the day he said this to me, but I've never forgotten it. He and I sat on the astro-turf covered kitchen porch of our small country house, watching the sunset and talking about things which, I'm sure, were mostly beyond me. At least, I don't remember anymore of the conversation than that. But I've done my best to put that teaching into practice. Ironically, many of the things that I've found I believe in have turned out to be things with which my father would disagree. So, in that sense, I do stand alone. But there it is. We teach our children principles, but we cannot dictate how those principles are applied.

Life Lesson from Dad: Find Out What You Believe In, and Stand By It.

  Now Brian. My husband and best friend of thirteen (at the time I write this) years. I don't even have to pause to think about what he has taught me, because I know it and I am grateful for it everyday. Brian has taught me that Life Can be Fun, Even When It's Not. Shall I expound? Brian has taught me that it's okay to find something to laugh about even when the rent is past due and the fridge is empty and the car needs new tires for winter. It's alright to smile to yourself and sing your favorite song even if the weather is yucky and you were late to work. And it's more than okay, it's absolutely necessary, to be happy even when you have failed. Or lost something or someone you loved.

Life Lesson from Brian: Life Can Be Fun, Even When it's Not.

Laurelei is my first baby. I could say she taught me to be a mother, but that wouldn't be exactly true. The skills of Mammahood are learned through being mothered and grandmothered, through observing other Mammas and applying what's learned. And saying Laurelei taught me that would be not only be a role reversal, but it would also be to place her value in the circumstance of her position, rather than the divine nature of her person, her individuality and soul. My beautiful Laurelei has taught me to Make My Actions Consistent With My Words. I have never met anyone truer to her proclaimed standards, more pure and Christlike and loving and fair in heart than my Laurelei. And when I, in my justifications and laziness, become a hypocrite, she tells me so. I see in her the blessed life of one who walks the walk of unconditional love and sometimes, I just want to be that girl.

Life Lesson from Laurelei: Make Your Actions Consistent With Your Words

Riley. He's sitting here, near me, strumming his out-of-tune guitar. How can I narrow it down to one lesson from you, my tender-hearted, wild and crazy, singing-silly-sweet boy? But there it is, as you, without a single guitar lesson behind you, plunk one chord, adjust the knob, and plunk it again and again before making up a tune. My Riley has taught me to Have Patience and Persevere. And I don't mean that in the way most Mammas would say their six-year old sons have taught them patience. I mean that Riley is one of the most patient, just-keep-trying people I have ever met. He'll spend hours figuring something out, and, most of the time, come away successful and happy and proud. Couldn't we all stand to be a little more like that? I know I could.

Life Lesson from Riley: Have Patience and Persevere

My baby boy Jasper is not old enough, as I write this, to have anything I say mean much to him. I hope to be  around when he is. But I will tell everyone who might read these words that Jasper has taught me to Linger in the Quiet Moments of a hug, a snuggling nap, a silly nose-to-nose laugh, a kiss. I think even more, because of the changes that have come about in my life, than my other babies did. Memories are made in those moments. And memories, I believe, are one of the few things we can take with us from this world.

Life Lesson from Jasper: Linger in the Quiet Moments

There are others...my sisters, my closest friends. Too many to list. But never could I express enough love for all of them, never except in living, as best I can, the lessons they've taught me. And hoping we get to learn many more together.

xo

The Nothing I Did Today

I've always been a list-maker, garnering untold satisfaction from the dozens of little check-marks on my to-do rosters daily. Granted, my lists often include items like "eat," "shower," "get out of bed," but still...a tangible marked-up account of how I have spent my time is the end product. And these lists become like journals to me. I can look back in my scores of saved notebooks at the dates and the items on the list that day and clearly remember, based on the to-do's, what was happening in my family, with my friends, in my creative brain at the time.

The last few months...okay, year (pregnancy + 5 1/2 month old baby), my lists have been considerably shorter than usual. And wrapping my head around that, accepting that, has honestly been very hard. I have had to re- learn how to place value on resting, sitting, snuggling, singing songs and laughing...moments of quiet Mammahood surrender which, obviously, I knew how to value when L & R were babes, but that seems so long ago! They're so...active and...independent now. But what I have learned and come to accept, is that these days of no (or very few--I still eat and get out of bed) check marks are beyond important to my infant son, and my older children as well. Even when I feel like I'm "getting nothing done" (I haven't blogged! I haven't written or read or sewn or drawn! The laundry is piling up and shouldn't I be making my bread from scratch everyday?),  it's not nothing to Jasper. It's everything to him.

Slowly, very slowly, I'm figuring out a balance. I'm placing less importance on excessive social interaction (something I never even realized I had been giving extra to) and spotless housekeeping, and more importance on family interaction, creative "me" time, and moments--whenever we can find them--with my husband, who is, after all, the other half of my soul. I've set some writing goals, and hope to be posting here a little more to share them, and I've remembered how to linger in the face-to-face moments with my little ones, even when I've checked very little off my list.

For now, at the end of each day, my home and family are (mostly) clean and (generally) safe. My husband and children, I hope, are emotionally, physically, and spiritually well-fed. That is not nothing, I lay in bed assuring myself each night. Quite often, that is enough to change the world.

xo

Natural Childbirth, My Story, part III

My reasons for putting off the third installment of this series for so long are, I think, obvious to any regular readers I might have out there. The family that my children were born into is not the same. It broke, and I sometimes still can't sort out exactly when. Was it already happening when my Jasper arrived? I don't know. I think yes. But despite those fractures which I can see clearly now, he came to this world welcome, whole, healthy, and madly loved. That is this story. And despite the timing, my list-checking personality could not leave this third part of a three-part series unpublished any longer. Jasper turned 14 months old today. Here's to you, Little Bear. 

We waited a long time for Jasper. Laurelei was about to turn eight and Riles was six when Brian and I sat them down to tell them a baby was growing inside me. They were overjoyed. As was I. My third was the most...conscious? I guess is a good word...of all my pregnancies. I felt everything physically much sooner and with much more definition than I had with the others. I felt an awareness of the life inside me from the first moment I knew he was there. And I reveled in the pregnancy, the growing belly, the flutters and kicks and hiccups from within me, it seems, more than I allowed myself to do with the older two. Or maybe, I just embedded those moments more firmly in my memory because I knew it would be the very last time.

All went well with Jasper's gestation until the beginning of the third trimester, when our amazingly skilled, attune, and intelligent midwife said, "Tell me some more about the heart problems you had after Riley's birth." 

We were planning on birthing at her birth center,after all. Safety first. 

So I told her. 12 days after R was born, I was at home, and suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe. My vision blurred, I had an enormous build up of pressure in my chest and I could feel my heart drumming, very slowly, in my head. At the ER, they told me I was hyperventilating, panicking, nothing was truly wrong and sent me home. Two days later, it happened again. Actually, the pressure in my chest never really went away. This time, in triage, my heart rate rested at 40, so they ordered an ECG and checked me in. After two days in the hospital, during which my HR got as low as 29 bpm, several ECGs, a cardiac ultrasound, and some indefinite talk about a QT interval being prolonged (could send her to the hospital in Boise...specialists...medical jargon), I was suddenly released. They said the tests found nothing, having babies effects your body in strange ways, and I should go home and rest. Being two weeks postpartum and anxious for my babes, I did. Ever since then, I've had episodes of feeling that weakness, shortness of breath, chest pressure, low HR, but, despite mentioning it to several doctors, no one seemed concerned. 

But Jeanne, my midwife, was concerned. She ordered an ECG. With the results of that ECG, I was referred to a high-risk Obstetrician, and a cardiologist, and eventually, diagnosed with Junctional Bradycardia and Long QT Syndrome, a double heart disease combination which, in some corner of my mind, I knew would change my life. But, for the moment, all I could see was how this would change Jasper's birth. 

Jeanne was amazing--by my side as  I consulted with the fetal medicine specialist, found a new OBGyn, and learned all I could about my options for birthing naturally in the hospital. She provided a doula for us, free of charge. In the whirlwind, I don't think I was as grateful as I should have been. 

The plan became come in to the hospital as soon as you're sure it's real labor, rather than laboring at home and waiting. IV and continual heart monitoring required. Cardiologist on call. Fetal Medicine on call. NiCU prepped. I was terrified. 

But the night Jasper was born, nothing went as planned, in the best way possible. After slipping and falling in the snow in my bestie's driveway, walking around the track at the Y with my mom for a half hour, and stopping on the way home to have Jeanne strip my membranes, the rushes came fast and strong. Our doula, Marlene, arrived at our home around 10, and just before midnight we left for the hospital. I barely made it in the doors. Full moon. There were no rooms. I continued my labor in triage with no IV, no heart monitor, no drugs...just as I'd wanted but didn't expect to get...not even admitted to the hospital. When a room opened up 20 minutes after we arrived, my water broke as they wheeled me down the hall. I pushed. Many voices told me to stop, but I listened only to my son, ready now. We had been in the room for maybe three minutes, no doctors-but lots of nervous nurses darting around and my amazing doula calmly but firmly running the show, advocating for us- when I reached down and pushed my baby boy into my own hands. 

And despite all the fear, all the hype, all the prep, all the change, it was the three of us- mom, dad, and babe- in that moment. I laid him on my chest as the doctor arrived, and let Marlene stave off the ancie nurses for a beautiful moment in time. The blood pulsed in his umbilical cord, part him, part me, warm and strong. Riley and Laurelei arrived with Nanna moments later, and our little family reveled in the new soul on Mamma's breast. We sang to him the song which had been his for many months and still is: Hold on to me as we go, as we roll down this unfamiliar road...know you're not alone. We're going to make this place your home. 

The life changes came later. Jasper's birth was an unexpected kind of perfect. And so is he. 

Natural Childbirth: My Story, Part II

Picking up what I began so many weeks ago, writing what I want my children to know about their own births and the birth journey; what I don't want to forget...

Two years after the birth of Laurelei, I was pregnant with my second child and determined to educate myself and remain in control of our birth this time around. For the first time, I ignored the majority of moms' go-to pregnancy book (you know, that one about expectations) and turned instead to Childbirth Without Fear by Grantley Dick Read.

It was during this pregnancy that I truly began to understand that the advancements of modern-day medicine and science are both a blessing and a curse. We have access to solutions and cures for so many diseases and conditions that, in the past, have been fatal. But because of this power over nature, we often undervalue our bodies' own healing abilities and strengths. Concerning childbirth, we (and by 'we' I am mainly referring to modern Americans) use the lifesaving methods which should be reserved for the few to unnecessarily complicate the process for the many. Like giving the treatment for leprosy to everyone with a little dry skin. And we do it, as Grantley Dick Read could see even so many decades ago, and one of my personal heroes, Ina May Gaskin has taught since the 1970's*, because of the pervasive culture of fear. Women are taught to fear childbirth, to fear pain, even to fear the natural instincts which tell us to stand, to push, to place our newborn babes immediately on our breasts.

With my Riley growing inside me, I believe I truly overcame those fears.

At the time, Brian was working 60 hours a week at an intense job. December came, with Riley due December 19th, and Brian was told by his boss that if I hadn't given birth by December 15th, he could have time off for the birth OR Christmas, but not both. Everyone to whom I related this antidote said the same thing: get induced. But artificial inducement, usually done through use of the drug Pitocin, was absolutely a no-way for me. So I listened to my body, my baby, and, yes, my doctor, who all told me my baby boy was doing well, growing strong. I went for walks, took warm baths, and waited patiently for him to move lower, into a birth position. Then, on December 11th, when I felt with all my Mammahood instinct that he was ready, I rearranged our bedroom furniture. By myself. And my labor began that night.

Laurelei was with Brian and I in the hospital while I labored with Riley, and when he was born. She slept for most of it, and I won't pretend that we intentionally chose a family birth, but we had only lived in the town we were in for a few months and just didn't feel we knew anyone well enough to drop off our two-year old daughter in the middle of the night. I'm glad now that it happened that way. I wouldn't take it back. I worked through the contractions with Brian's arms around me, standing, kneeling, balancing on a ball, all while our sleeping daughter reminded me of the joy to come. The doctors and nurses, thankfully, for the most part, left us alone. No one told me how to labor, no one made me have an IV. No one looked askance at me when I said calling the anesthesiologist would not be necessary and no, thank you, I would only be on the bed when I wanted to be. And when I felt that unmistakable presence of my baby entering the birth canal, the reawakening of memories flooded my mind, bringing me even more to the moment, to the oneness of mother and child. With Brian's hands on my back, once again I pushed when my baby asked me to. The doctor barely made it into the room before my 9 lb., 5 oz. beautiful baby boy entered this mortal sphere. With him cradled on my chest, my husband's kisses fresh on his head and mine, Laurelei's first words for Riley were: "Oh Mamma, he's pretty."  

And those words, coupled with the love jam-packed into our little family of four and the soul-moving comfort of a newborn babe in my arms got me through the next few weeks, when that pesky, and sometimes scary, health problem I mentioned began to rear its head. But there were years to be lived and a third babe to be had before answers would become clear.

Natural Childbirth: My Story, Part III coming soon.

xo

*so need to see this movie

Natural Childbirth: My Story, Part I

And now let's pretend it's December (when I actually began composing this post). Let's say I'm 36 weeks pregnant with my third child, and my head is wrapped around Mammahood and little else. My favorite moment of the day comes late each evening when I lean back on my bed, prop up my feet and lay my hands on my swollen belly to feel my son move. Often, the hands of big sister, big brother, or Daddy join mine, and we revel in the miracle of the tiny life coming to us.

And of course I have the time and energy to blog about it, because, what nine-months preggo woman doesn't? ;-)

The last week of November was difficult. Our birth plans had to change and questions have been raised about my health...more on that some other day...but, because of these trials, I have felt so urgently the need to put into words, here, the story of my birth experiences, and how strongly I believe that the journey of labor and delivery can carry a mother to a place of sacred awareness, empowerment, and bliss that cannot be reached in this life in any other way. The reasons I choose natural childbirth are portrayed and promoted in life-changing books like Childbirth Without Fear and bold documentaries like The Business of Being Born (my favorite!). I passionately recommend both those sources to women everywhere, but my stories can only be told by me.

Almost nine years ago Baby #1, my sweet Laurelei, was on the way. I was so young! I have always known I wanted to be a mother, and I have always known I wanted to bring my children into the world through natural childbirth, the way my mother brought me. Actually, until I was a junior in high school, and went to see a friend in the hospital who was having a baby, I didn't know much about any other way. I remember my older sister telling me I should leave the room because they were going to do something called an 'epidural' and she knows I don't like needles. I left obediently, wondering what on earth needles had to do with giving birth.

A little older and slightly wiser in the ways of the world by the time I became pregnant with my first, I ignorantly thought I knew all there was to know about labor and delivery and my options and rights. There were no birth centers near where we lived, but the hospital was small and personal and, as informed as I thought I was, a home birth really hadn't even crossed my mind. I said 'no' to the epidural, the pitocin, the being induced, and I presented my D.O. with the birth plan Brian and I had worked through together (a quiz torn from the pages of a parenting magazine, the boxes checked with our answers). He nodded and said he understood. And I think he did. But still, on the night my sweet girl was born, things were done to me as a mother and to her as she entered this world that we would have said no to had we known--really known--as much as we thought we knew. It was a hospital, after all. And a hospital has policies that most moms never bother to learn and most docs never bother to disclose because the expectation is blind faith in the 'experts,' and little to no faith in our bodies; in what we, as women, were designed to do.

I have a huge problem with that expectation.

When the night came, I had back labor. I stood and walked the polished, white, hospital floors, leaning on Brian through contractions and letting gravity help us along and the pain was manageable. I could see the purpose in it and Brian could talk me through the worst moments...until I dilated to 5 or 6 centimeters and was told that, according to procedure, it was time for me to lie down.

What?

But we didn't know enough to say 'what?' I thought, she must be coming soon. It must be time. I obediently laid on the bed...and felt the full pain of back labor which, up to that point, my standing position had eased me through. I'm sure I screamed. The nurses began hooking me up to machines. External monitors. Heart monitors. An I.V., and, worst of all, an Internal Fetal Monitor screwed into the top of my helpless daughter's head. I remember thinking, and I remember Brian asking, why? But then my focus returned to the contractions that had suddenly intensified tenfold and Brian's focus returned to me. With all the wires and cords holding me to the bed, and the full weight of baby and womb on my back, there was nothing I could do now to handle the pain. I wanted to stand up again. Someone told me no. I fought through several contractions that way before a nurse suggested a "milligram or so of Stadol. Just to take the edge off." Brian and I didn't know what that was and neither of our heads were really with the nurse anyway. But with the hospital -regulation IV that I never wanted already in place, it was easy to inject the medicine for "the good of the baby" without really waiting for us to say yes.

We had lost control of a situation that was ours--not the nurses' or the doctors' or the hospital's. Ours. And even though I could still feel the labor, I still knew where I was and I could try to find the purpose in the pain,  I felt a little bit lost.

Under the influence of the Stadol, the semi-helpful effects of which didn't last that long, I hallucinated. Between contractions I fell into a half-sleep that terrified me without giving me any real rest. Then, at about 8 or 9 centimeters, the drug began to wear off and they wanted to give me more. This time, I found my voice and said no. They still wouldn't let me off the bed, but I insisted on being propped up. I knew she was coming. I knew that the moment I had waited and prepared for was about to happen and I didn't wait to be told to push. My body and my baby together knew what to do and the doctor barely caught her in time.
There is no physical feeling that can compare to the sensation of a baby leaving the birth canal, and there is no emotional or spiritual experience to be had by man nor beast to envy the infinite wonder and joy of having  completed the journey of labor and birth. At the moment she was placed in my arms, Laurelei, Brian, and I were the only beings on earth.

I kissed the wound on her head and cried, happy tears for the child fresh from eternity in my arms; tears of grief for my ignorance and pain. And I knew, as she nuzzled her tiny mouth to my breast, I would never, ever, lose control of my sacred Mammahood rights again.

Coming Soon: Natural Childbirth: My Story, Part II.

xo