There were two women in the room that were not pregnant.
One was in the front of the birthing class holding a plastic model of the female pelvis and the other was a glutton for punishment. The second one was me.
In an attempt to be a supportive friend, I found myself in a room surrounded by shifty nervous husbands and very pregnant women. You see, a good friend was having a baby and her husband was away. She asked for some company and support in his absence, and in a moment of what I can only assume was temporary insanity, I agreed to fill his place at the childbirth class.
I really did learn a lot at the class and while there was a lot of information to take in, I was impressed with two take away points from that afternoon. The first, and most important lesson is: women who are struggling with infertility should not attend birthing class. Or at least, if you have been trying to have a baby for years, the decision to willingly place yourself in a room full of occupied uteruses should not be entered into lightly. I spent most of the class fighting back tears and asking myself a barrage of questions.
"Will I ever get to experience this?"
"When will it be my turn?"
"Do these women even realize what a gift they've been given?"
I tried to be supportive. I really did. I put up a strong front. I smiled and took notes. I drove her home, hugged her, and bawled my eyes out the whole drive home.
Which brings me to the second lesson from that day. I learned to let the pain overtake me. Back in the class we had to watch several videos of women in labor. We saw the different methods of pain management they chose and the various consequences of those choices. We followed laboring women who chose between oral pain medication, epidurals, and natural birth. They saved the natural choice for last and during this woman's post-pardum interview she stated, "You just can't spend all your energy fighting the pain. You have to let it overtake your body and guide you through your labor." Her pain had a purpose...maybe mine did too.
That statement, "You have to let it overtake you," kept running through my mind and I gripped the steering wheel and headed home. I stopped fighting what I was feeling and let my pain overtake me. I grieved right there on the highway. And I found out something.
When I let go and stopped trying to fight the fears and doubts I felt bubbling up in my throat and heart, when I just let the pain overtake me, when I stopped fighting...
it guided me.
Through the pain and onto the other side. The pain was still there, but my energy was free to be spent on other things. I was able to talk about my experience and share my feelings with my husband when I got home. I was able to hear the fear and anticipation in my friend's voice when she talked about her upcoming birth. Able to find freedom from jealously and bitterness that so easily entagles us when we aren't getting what we want. And I was able to hear the voice of God whispering sweet answers to all my questions and fears.
And sometimes I still feel like I'm in that car. Gripping the wheel as I find my way home through the tears. But I'll get to the other side, past the pain and onto the blessing on the other side. As long as I let myself be simply overtaken.
One was in the front of the birthing class holding a plastic model of the female pelvis and the other was a glutton for punishment. The second one was me.
In an attempt to be a supportive friend, I found myself in a room surrounded by shifty nervous husbands and very pregnant women. You see, a good friend was having a baby and her husband was away. She asked for some company and support in his absence, and in a moment of what I can only assume was temporary insanity, I agreed to fill his place at the childbirth class.
I really did learn a lot at the class and while there was a lot of information to take in, I was impressed with two take away points from that afternoon. The first, and most important lesson is: women who are struggling with infertility should not attend birthing class. Or at least, if you have been trying to have a baby for years, the decision to willingly place yourself in a room full of occupied uteruses should not be entered into lightly. I spent most of the class fighting back tears and asking myself a barrage of questions.
"Will I ever get to experience this?"
"When will it be my turn?"
"Do these women even realize what a gift they've been given?"
I tried to be supportive. I really did. I put up a strong front. I smiled and took notes. I drove her home, hugged her, and bawled my eyes out the whole drive home.
Which brings me to the second lesson from that day. I learned to let the pain overtake me. Back in the class we had to watch several videos of women in labor. We saw the different methods of pain management they chose and the various consequences of those choices. We followed laboring women who chose between oral pain medication, epidurals, and natural birth. They saved the natural choice for last and during this woman's post-pardum interview she stated, "You just can't spend all your energy fighting the pain. You have to let it overtake your body and guide you through your labor." Her pain had a purpose...maybe mine did too.
That statement, "You have to let it overtake you," kept running through my mind and I gripped the steering wheel and headed home. I stopped fighting what I was feeling and let my pain overtake me. I grieved right there on the highway. And I found out something.
When I let go and stopped trying to fight the fears and doubts I felt bubbling up in my throat and heart, when I just let the pain overtake me, when I stopped fighting...
it guided me.
Through the pain and onto the other side. The pain was still there, but my energy was free to be spent on other things. I was able to talk about my experience and share my feelings with my husband when I got home. I was able to hear the fear and anticipation in my friend's voice when she talked about her upcoming birth. Able to find freedom from jealously and bitterness that so easily entagles us when we aren't getting what we want. And I was able to hear the voice of God whispering sweet answers to all my questions and fears.
And sometimes I still feel like I'm in that car. Gripping the wheel as I find my way home through the tears. But I'll get to the other side, past the pain and onto the blessing on the other side. As long as I let myself be simply overtaken.
Comments
lots of prayers going your way
jill