Junia Grace
We live in a country, age, and culture where most of the time we can maintain the illusion of control. Death and natural childbirth are reminders that it is just an illusion. No one can quite predict when someone will die or be born.
As Junia's due date approached I was reminded again and again of how little control I had over what was about to happen.
My midwife's mother was close to death, and my own mother, who was supposed to care for Tom during and after the birth, was having mysterious health problems and was unsure how long she'd have to postpone her trip. Throw in the fact that my husband had quit his job and we had no idea when and what he'd find next, plus a new potential job opportunity for me (and an interview scheduled two days after my due date to boot), and you have some idea how crazy our lives felt.
So I did the only thing I know how to do when things are that obviously beyond my control. I prayed. And many prayed with me.
My friend Myra always told me to ask for very specific things in childbirth. So I made a list of requests that seemed very grant-able - not wanting to ask for too many things that were for my own comfort and probably wouldn't get answered. I wrote down in my journal a vague request to feel God's presence, to learn something (but not something too hard), and to have the experience bring me and Tim closer. But as I prayed together with my housemate Caitlyn leading up to the birth, her bold, specific prayers inspired more. "Let Junia have a good latch, and be a good nurser," she asked. "I pray that Cassia would not have any tearing at all, and heal quickly."
"Yeah, and how about a four-hour labor," I chimed in. Four hours sounded nice - quick, but not so fast it feels like a train hit you.
I also picked a Bible verse for my labor - an oldie but goodie. This verse had been my rallying cry back in my ballerina days for every tough performance that felt impossible to get through in my own strength. "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." During Tom's birth I had been so active -starting with a three-mile hike and ending with about four hours of squatting - it left every single muscle in my body sore. I knew for Junia's birth I wanted to let go, surrender, be weak, and let God's strength do the work.
* * *
I figured my body would hold out till after my interview, since that's how I tend to roll. Tim wanted a pi day baby (3/14) and my interview was on the thirteenth, so that sounded ideal. But as pi day turned to evening I wasn't sure if my contractions were imagined. I called Peggy, my midwife, at 8. "Well, you might be in early labor," she laughed. "But you are going to have to hurry if you want her born by midnight for Tim."
That didn't sound like fun, so I decided to try to sleep instead. I was in early labor all night, but managed to snooze - mostly. I woke up at 3 AM and went downstairs for a leftover piece of our pi day celebration. If I was going into labor that night I figured a slice of pecan bourbon pie would give me the calories I needed.
But morning came without much changing. I was still over-analyzing my contractions, second-guessing if I was imagining some to make intervals. By noon I knew they were regular signs of labor, but I still wasn't sure how fast they would progress. Peggy was 45 minutes away though and didn't want to take risks, so she headed over.
I was 4 cm dilated when Peggy arrived, and still not sure when "active" labor would kick in. Then the IV fiasco began.
This girl who doesn't flinch at un-medicated childbirth happens to be a total wimp when it comes to needles. But I tested positive for Group B Strep this pregnancy and had to have antibiotics in my system for four hours to protect Junia on her way down the birth canal.
I nearly fainted each time Peggy tried to wriggle a catheter into my tiny vein. I ended up lying on the couch with a little butterfly IV in my arm, Tim on a bench gently squeezing the bag, and antibiotics dripping as slowly as possible into my bloodstream.
With all the lying down and near-passing out, my body put on the breaks. By the time the antibiotics drained I felt like I was back where I started that morning. Tim looked at his watch. 3:30. "OK, you've got four hours," Peggy said. Quicker than that and the antibiotics wouldn't have time to work. Slower, and she'd have to set up another IV.
Four hours. That sounded really nice again. "Please God, it doesn't seem possible, but let it be four hours," I prayed.
At that point I was willing to do anything to kick-start my labor again, so when Peggy suggested going outside for a walk, I threw a hoodie over my bathrobe, slipped into some rain boots, and began a thirty-minute walk around our block. I stopped, fell into Tim's arms, and moaned through every contraction. We laughed imagining what we must look like to passing cars.
I sent a text to my "birth team" on the walk, hoping the movement would get things going. They all trickled in when I arrived home - the same group from Tom's birth: my sister Zoey and housemate Caitlyn (who were already there), my friends Tanya and Myra, plus a new addition - Rachel, a friend who happens to be an amazing birth photographer.
They all stood there and looked at me, and I felt like a total let down. I put on a pretty good show with all the moaning, but my contractions were still weak and infrequent.
"Why don't we have a dance party?" I suggested. That sounded more fun than walking up and down the stairs while everyone stared at me.
The team jumped into action. Zoey pulled up the dance mix from her wedding, and everyone got down to Hooked on a Feeling. Peggy sat in the corner, filled out her charts, and looked unimpressed. Movement was a good idea, but dancing didn't seem to be speeding anything up.
After a few songs, Peggy pulled me aside and gave me a look. She was as sick of waiting as I was. "Why don't you and Tim go upstairs by yourselves," she said. She had some tricks for us that I won't share here. But if you're ever desperate to jump-start your labor, give me a call and I'll let you know.
Suffice it to say that after about an hour, at 6 PM, I was in hard, hard labor, and ready to get in the tub. "Birth team, assemble!" Tim yelled down the stairs. I walked the short distance from my room to the birthing pool, collapsing with several contractions on the way.
Pain shot through my back with each contraction, and Tim threw his full weight into his hands for counter pressure. Then I'd crumple, shaking, into his arms to rest.
Apparently the surges of hormones between contractions made me say some pretty funny things too, including, "I love you so much. I'm high right now."
I tried so hard to let go and relax, but everything in my body wanted to tense up and brace itself for the pain. "Read me the scriptures," I asked.
Tim read out loud through each contraction and I tried to let go. "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."
Midway through a contraction and that verse got to be too much for me. Tears came down my face listening to my husband remind me of God's grace and my weakness. "Now you're making me cry!" I yelled.
"Is that a good thing?" Tim asked. The pain got too intense for me to answer. I don't know what I would have said.
At some point I felt at the end of myself, and looked around the room for my strong friend Myra. "I'm just here in the corner praying," she said.
"You can pray out loud," I said.
Myra lifted her voice and I don 't think she stopped talking to God until well after Junia was out. I ended up in her arms as she prayed in my ear, me squeezing and hitting her through every contraction, which had become unbearably strong and frequent. I might have bit her once too.
There came a point where I couldn't do it any more. The pain was too intense and I wanted that baby out so badly. But it had been such a short amount of time I assumed I wasn't ready yet. Finally I yelled out, "When can I push?"
"Just wait till you can't not push," Peggy replied nonchalantly. I knew from Tom's birth, when I had pushed too early, that I wasn't a great judge of that. So I sucked it up and held out as long as I could.
And then I just started pushing. It felt like some other force took control of my body. I let out a roar and every muscle in my body flew into spontaneous motion.
I pushed twice before Peggy told me she was crowning. "You're really good at pushing," she laughed.
I couldn't believe it - I had expected an hour of pushing, like I did for Tom.
As she crowned, Myra breathed with me - tiny breaths to resist the urge to push and let her come out as slowly as possible, with minimal tearing.
Then I heard Tim say, "I see her face!" I was on my hands and knees and her little head was coming out, face up, into Tim's outstretched palm.
Then all of a sudden arms were lifting me from all sides and flipping me over. The plan was to let Tim catch her, but Peggy had swooped in to free the umbilical cord and found it hooked around her shoulder. She needed access.
One more push and she was out, and Peggy quickly untangled the cord. And there Junia was, floating in the water with her eyes open, looking up at me.
She reached her arms up and I wondered how long Peggy was going to leave her in there. "When is someone going to pick her up?" I asked.
"She's reaching for you," Peggy replied quietly. With what was left of my energy I lifted my baby out of the water and onto my chest.
I was in utter shock and joy at how quickly she had come out, and apparently announced, "That was the easiest thing I've ever done!"
Then everything got blurry. "I don't have a pulse," I heard. My baby wasn't crying, or breathing, and her body was blue and limp. Peggy started flipping her back and forth on my chest, urging her to cry. Her assistant moved in with oxygen, and my relief turned to confusion. "What should I be doing?" I asked, sure that I had some role in this.
"Blow on her face, and talk to her," Peggy said.
"Come on Junia, the world needs more strong women like you," I heard my sister's voice saying. We all talked to her and prayed for a long minute and 22 seconds.
Then, finally, she let out a weak cry. She was with us. I sat in that tub and held her so tight.
Then everything was blurry again. The water was so red, I was getting a shot of pitosin. Sometime in the midst of this Peggy realized my placenta had detached early (probably pulled off by the shortened cord around my baby's shoulders) and Junia might not have had oxygen at the very end of her journey. That could have been why it took her so long to come around.
It was also the reason the first words I heard were "I don't have a pulse." Peggy was talking about the umbilical cord. Later, my semi-retired midwife who is on birth number 700-and-something, smiled and said she never was worried.
As I hobbled into bed and snuggled this new tiny human, my friends gathered around and marveled at all the answered prayers.
Junia Grace Burke was born at 7:22 PM, almost exactly four hours after that dose of antibiotics made it into my system.
She lay on my belly and slowly crawled up to my breast. She latched on perfectly as Peggy examined me. "Not a scratch - it looks like you didn't even have a baby..."
I don't know why it surprises me so much that every little prayer was answered, down to the minute she was born. God's Grace is something we do not earn by merit or hard work. It is simply a gift, made so much more beautiful when we realize our own weakness and powerlessness to attain it.
Junia's birth was such a vivid picture of God's grace to me. Her first minute of life was a deep reminder that she herself is a gift. We are beyond grateful.
Photos by Rachel McNeeley, https://rjmphotography.org
As Junia's due date approached I was reminded again and again of how little control I had over what was about to happen.
My midwife's mother was close to death, and my own mother, who was supposed to care for Tom during and after the birth, was having mysterious health problems and was unsure how long she'd have to postpone her trip. Throw in the fact that my husband had quit his job and we had no idea when and what he'd find next, plus a new potential job opportunity for me (and an interview scheduled two days after my due date to boot), and you have some idea how crazy our lives felt.
So I did the only thing I know how to do when things are that obviously beyond my control. I prayed. And many prayed with me.
My friend Myra always told me to ask for very specific things in childbirth. So I made a list of requests that seemed very grant-able - not wanting to ask for too many things that were for my own comfort and probably wouldn't get answered. I wrote down in my journal a vague request to feel God's presence, to learn something (but not something too hard), and to have the experience bring me and Tim closer. But as I prayed together with my housemate Caitlyn leading up to the birth, her bold, specific prayers inspired more. "Let Junia have a good latch, and be a good nurser," she asked. "I pray that Cassia would not have any tearing at all, and heal quickly."
"Yeah, and how about a four-hour labor," I chimed in. Four hours sounded nice - quick, but not so fast it feels like a train hit you.
I also picked a Bible verse for my labor - an oldie but goodie. This verse had been my rallying cry back in my ballerina days for every tough performance that felt impossible to get through in my own strength. "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." During Tom's birth I had been so active -starting with a three-mile hike and ending with about four hours of squatting - it left every single muscle in my body sore. I knew for Junia's birth I wanted to let go, surrender, be weak, and let God's strength do the work.
* * *
I figured my body would hold out till after my interview, since that's how I tend to roll. Tim wanted a pi day baby (3/14) and my interview was on the thirteenth, so that sounded ideal. But as pi day turned to evening I wasn't sure if my contractions were imagined. I called Peggy, my midwife, at 8. "Well, you might be in early labor," she laughed. "But you are going to have to hurry if you want her born by midnight for Tim."
That didn't sound like fun, so I decided to try to sleep instead. I was in early labor all night, but managed to snooze - mostly. I woke up at 3 AM and went downstairs for a leftover piece of our pi day celebration. If I was going into labor that night I figured a slice of pecan bourbon pie would give me the calories I needed.
But morning came without much changing. I was still over-analyzing my contractions, second-guessing if I was imagining some to make intervals. By noon I knew they were regular signs of labor, but I still wasn't sure how fast they would progress. Peggy was 45 minutes away though and didn't want to take risks, so she headed over.
I was 4 cm dilated when Peggy arrived, and still not sure when "active" labor would kick in. Then the IV fiasco began.
This girl who doesn't flinch at un-medicated childbirth happens to be a total wimp when it comes to needles. But I tested positive for Group B Strep this pregnancy and had to have antibiotics in my system for four hours to protect Junia on her way down the birth canal.
I nearly fainted each time Peggy tried to wriggle a catheter into my tiny vein. I ended up lying on the couch with a little butterfly IV in my arm, Tim on a bench gently squeezing the bag, and antibiotics dripping as slowly as possible into my bloodstream.
With all the lying down and near-passing out, my body put on the breaks. By the time the antibiotics drained I felt like I was back where I started that morning. Tim looked at his watch. 3:30. "OK, you've got four hours," Peggy said. Quicker than that and the antibiotics wouldn't have time to work. Slower, and she'd have to set up another IV.
Four hours. That sounded really nice again. "Please God, it doesn't seem possible, but let it be four hours," I prayed.
At that point I was willing to do anything to kick-start my labor again, so when Peggy suggested going outside for a walk, I threw a hoodie over my bathrobe, slipped into some rain boots, and began a thirty-minute walk around our block. I stopped, fell into Tim's arms, and moaned through every contraction. We laughed imagining what we must look like to passing cars.
I sent a text to my "birth team" on the walk, hoping the movement would get things going. They all trickled in when I arrived home - the same group from Tom's birth: my sister Zoey and housemate Caitlyn (who were already there), my friends Tanya and Myra, plus a new addition - Rachel, a friend who happens to be an amazing birth photographer.
They all stood there and looked at me, and I felt like a total let down. I put on a pretty good show with all the moaning, but my contractions were still weak and infrequent.
"Why don't we have a dance party?" I suggested. That sounded more fun than walking up and down the stairs while everyone stared at me.
The team jumped into action. Zoey pulled up the dance mix from her wedding, and everyone got down to Hooked on a Feeling. Peggy sat in the corner, filled out her charts, and looked unimpressed. Movement was a good idea, but dancing didn't seem to be speeding anything up.
 |
| "Ooga Chaka, Ooga Ooga" |
After a few songs, Peggy pulled me aside and gave me a look. She was as sick of waiting as I was. "Why don't you and Tim go upstairs by yourselves," she said. She had some tricks for us that I won't share here. But if you're ever desperate to jump-start your labor, give me a call and I'll let you know.
Suffice it to say that after about an hour, at 6 PM, I was in hard, hard labor, and ready to get in the tub. "Birth team, assemble!" Tim yelled down the stairs. I walked the short distance from my room to the birthing pool, collapsing with several contractions on the way.
Pain shot through my back with each contraction, and Tim threw his full weight into his hands for counter pressure. Then I'd crumple, shaking, into his arms to rest.
Apparently the surges of hormones between contractions made me say some pretty funny things too, including, "I love you so much. I'm high right now."
I tried so hard to let go and relax, but everything in my body wanted to tense up and brace itself for the pain. "Read me the scriptures," I asked.
Tim read out loud through each contraction and I tried to let go. "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."
Midway through a contraction and that verse got to be too much for me. Tears came down my face listening to my husband remind me of God's grace and my weakness. "Now you're making me cry!" I yelled.
"Is that a good thing?" Tim asked. The pain got too intense for me to answer. I don't know what I would have said.
At some point I felt at the end of myself, and looked around the room for my strong friend Myra. "I'm just here in the corner praying," she said.
"You can pray out loud," I said.
Myra lifted her voice and I don 't think she stopped talking to God until well after Junia was out. I ended up in her arms as she prayed in my ear, me squeezing and hitting her through every contraction, which had become unbearably strong and frequent. I might have bit her once too.
There came a point where I couldn't do it any more. The pain was too intense and I wanted that baby out so badly. But it had been such a short amount of time I assumed I wasn't ready yet. Finally I yelled out, "When can I push?"
"Just wait till you can't not push," Peggy replied nonchalantly. I knew from Tom's birth, when I had pushed too early, that I wasn't a great judge of that. So I sucked it up and held out as long as I could.
And then I just started pushing. It felt like some other force took control of my body. I let out a roar and every muscle in my body flew into spontaneous motion.
I pushed twice before Peggy told me she was crowning. "You're really good at pushing," she laughed.
I couldn't believe it - I had expected an hour of pushing, like I did for Tom.
As she crowned, Myra breathed with me - tiny breaths to resist the urge to push and let her come out as slowly as possible, with minimal tearing.
Then I heard Tim say, "I see her face!" I was on my hands and knees and her little head was coming out, face up, into Tim's outstretched palm.
Then all of a sudden arms were lifting me from all sides and flipping me over. The plan was to let Tim catch her, but Peggy had swooped in to free the umbilical cord and found it hooked around her shoulder. She needed access.
One more push and she was out, and Peggy quickly untangled the cord. And there Junia was, floating in the water with her eyes open, looking up at me.
She reached her arms up and I wondered how long Peggy was going to leave her in there. "When is someone going to pick her up?" I asked.
"She's reaching for you," Peggy replied quietly. With what was left of my energy I lifted my baby out of the water and onto my chest.
I was in utter shock and joy at how quickly she had come out, and apparently announced, "That was the easiest thing I've ever done!"
Then everything got blurry. "I don't have a pulse," I heard. My baby wasn't crying, or breathing, and her body was blue and limp. Peggy started flipping her back and forth on my chest, urging her to cry. Her assistant moved in with oxygen, and my relief turned to confusion. "What should I be doing?" I asked, sure that I had some role in this.
"Blow on her face, and talk to her," Peggy said.
"Come on Junia, the world needs more strong women like you," I heard my sister's voice saying. We all talked to her and prayed for a long minute and 22 seconds.
Then, finally, she let out a weak cry. She was with us. I sat in that tub and held her so tight.
Then everything was blurry again. The water was so red, I was getting a shot of pitosin. Sometime in the midst of this Peggy realized my placenta had detached early (probably pulled off by the shortened cord around my baby's shoulders) and Junia might not have had oxygen at the very end of her journey. That could have been why it took her so long to come around.
It was also the reason the first words I heard were "I don't have a pulse." Peggy was talking about the umbilical cord. Later, my semi-retired midwife who is on birth number 700-and-something, smiled and said she never was worried.
As I hobbled into bed and snuggled this new tiny human, my friends gathered around and marveled at all the answered prayers.
Junia Grace Burke was born at 7:22 PM, almost exactly four hours after that dose of antibiotics made it into my system.
She lay on my belly and slowly crawled up to my breast. She latched on perfectly as Peggy examined me. "Not a scratch - it looks like you didn't even have a baby..."
I don't know why it surprises me so much that every little prayer was answered, down to the minute she was born. God's Grace is something we do not earn by merit or hard work. It is simply a gift, made so much more beautiful when we realize our own weakness and powerlessness to attain it.
Junia's birth was such a vivid picture of God's grace to me. Her first minute of life was a deep reminder that she herself is a gift. We are beyond grateful.
"Ask, and it will be given to you. search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. Is there anyone among you who if your child asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if your child asks for fish, will give him a snake? If you then who are evil know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your father in heaven give good things to those who ask him!" -Matthew 7: 7 -11
Photos by Rachel McNeeley, https://rjmphotography.org
What a great story. Every birth is a drama, but you know how to tell it. And every picture brought tears to my eyes. Can't wait to see this little miracle girl!
ReplyDeleteThanks Dad :-)
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