Blind Date
I got a call on Friday from an OB caseworker at a clinic that I'd offered volunteer doula serves with. She had a Muslim couple set to be induced this weekend, both immigrants from Iran, he speaks English, she doesn't. Her induction is tonight, though I just found out that there are some early signs of labor happening. It's exciting, it's a little scary, it's a lot of things.
The one thing on my mind right now is: how do I prepare to step into this incredibly intimate experience with two strangers? How do I enter an intimate experiential space with a woman who doesn't share my language? Does it matter that we don't speak the same language--will other, alternative, languages present themselves? There's the language of context, where we assume what we're communicating based on where we are, what's happening, what happens in that place. There's a language of sympathy, read in facial expressions, in a touch, a laugh. Then there's translation; presumably her husband will be translating everything for her. What will that feel like? What will the dynamic be?
And, strangers. For the last birth I attended, I knew her as well as I could know someone that I'd been meeting with a handful of times, sessions where she'd describe what was happening between her and her OB, what she'd been practicing in classes, laughing about her husband setting up a crib, things like that. I didn't really feel that I knew her until I stepped into the delivery room and witnessed a wide range of intense emotions and deep, deep sensations, with zero social niceties. It was about as real as real gets. It was awesome. There was a moment of strange fusion during the birth where I felt connected, to her, to the baby, to God, to other women, to other children, even to myself in the future and any children I might have (insh'Allah). I don't know how to describe it in any other way. And maybe it didn't even matter that we'd met a few times before, because it wasn't me as a personality that she needed, it was companionship through fire itself.
I can do that, again, and again, and again. I think. I hope. And maybe it's easier that they don't know me as me. To them, I'm likely another in a set of characters they're interacting with around the birth--caseworker, midwife, doula. They don't need to know me, or that I'm a volunteer full of my own fears about experience and inexperience, or fears about my capacity for witnessing good and bad, joy and suffering alike. I can just be what they need, when they need it. Which is in about six hours...
The Morning After
What a long night. What a long, long night.
1. Knowing a couple ahead of time is important.
2. Language is important.
I wouldn't turn down a request to volunteer with a stranger in need, but having worked with this couple last night, I can see how important it is to get to know people. It's not just about comfort--that wasn't the issue, but it certainly could have been--it was about expectations and preparation. It's valuable knowing whether a couple has prepared for a birth (mentally, emotionally, physically, nutritionally, etc), because it lets me prepare myself. I know what techniques to draw upon, for example. Last night they had zero preparation, and it became clear that they had zero preparation for what to do after the baby arrived. This was a far cry from the experiences I've had working with and communing with people for whom preparation is a major component of pregnancy.
Language...had she delivered vaginally, or had I accompanied her for the cesarean, we could have communicated in those moments. There was empathy, and touch, and eye contact, and smiles, but it was in between words in another language. There was so much going back and forth through her husband, through a translator over the phone, through a family friend who showed up late, that not being able to speak her language became an impediment because I was no longer part of the team, or so it felt. The focus was on translation, and on the people who could do it, and those people in turn offered their support to her, such that what I was able to do in the moment was reduced to a hand on her arm or a smile, but I mostly felt like I was taking up space. What I was able to do was to take time to confirm that her husband understood what the nurses were saying, and to explain things to him slowly and clearly, which in turn he could explain to her.
Without going into detail, I'll say that it was intense, educational, but a little sad. I couldn't stay for the surgery and had to work today, so I haven't seen her, so insh'Allah all are well.
