Stretch the Heart

On Sunday morning, I woke up with a sniffle. I laid in bed planning my day.  Two mamas had recently hired me to support them in their births.  One was being induced on Wednesday and the other on Thursday.  I had a prenatal appointment scheduled with one of them for that afternoon.  We planned to review their birth plan and talk about the induction on Thursday.  I knew this mama very well.  We had been practicing yoga for months together.  Every Wednesday at 5:00 pm she came to my studio and I taught her a private class.  In addition to the physical practice, I prepared her for childbirth with education and a weekly Q&A.  I encouraged her to trust her body.  I talked about surrendering.   She was nervous and often said to me, giggling, “I cannot believe I am going birth this baby.”  I told her by the end of her pregnancy, she’d be ready.  And by 39 weeks she was indeed! The baby had been hard on her body and she suffered from discomfort above and beyond what I typically see.

In addition, she was unsure about her birth team.  Her OBGYN at Park City Hospital left in the middle of her pregnancy.  She had switched both the hospitals and her doctor and was actively questioning her decisions.  I recommended hiring a doula for her birth so she’d have consistent support at her birth.  I sent her evidence-based information about the benefits of doula as well as my package of services.  She hired me.

Around the same time, another first-time mama reached out to me.  A mutual friend gave her my number.  She too was uncertain about what lay ahead with childbirth.  She hired me as a birth coach to talk about the birth with her husband. Like my yogi client, I suggested a doula to help them navigate the birth.  They too hired me.

I had never committed to support two mamas in the same month - and definitely never in the same week. I felt comfortable with the situation because my mentor who backs me up was available.  I knew it would be a lot for me to support back-to-back births, but I’d dig deep and call in my back-up if I needed her.  I’d likely have a few days to rest in between based due dates.

The week prior to their due dates, both mamas scheduled an induction - one day apart.    When I heard the news, I soaked in the information.  I arrived at the belief that I would be exhausted at the end of the births, but I would make it.  I imagined it’d be like taking a redeye two nights in a row.  In the sprit of “this too shall pass” I planned to recover over Memorial Day weekend.   

Since I was going to see my pregnant mama, and I had a runny nose that Sunday morning, I took a COVID test.  In less than one minute, I was looking at a double pink line.  It reminded me of my first positive pregnancy test, but my reaction was different.  I was in shock, but not in a good way.

I’d escaped COVID for twenty-six months.  And this was my time?  My mind went straight to my mamas. I couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t be able to support their births.

I needed to leave my house. I sat outside in my backyard digesting my diagnosis while the rest of my family took rapid tests.  My daughter tested positive.  My husband tested negative. I called my seventeen year-old son who was waking up at a friend’s campout with the news. It’d been prom the night before.   He panicked, came home, and promptly tested negative.

I called both mamas with the news. I cried.  Their concern for me was so sweet.  Of course they understood.   Living in a pandemic, we make plans and remain flexible.

I called my back-up doula and she told me too tested positive for COVID that same day.  What are the chances? I hadn’t seen her in weeks.  We found more doula support for my clients.  We were on Plan C and looking for Plan D.

My daughter and I gathered some things for the week and headed to my parents’ house, since it happened to be vacant.  As I packed the car, I noticed a couple red tulips which came up that morning.  I breathed in the fresh air, drove up the mountain to my parent’s house.  With mild symptoms and a place to hide out, I felt grateful.

When I arrived to the house, my sister texted me a local Telluride news article with a headline which made me sick.  My thirty-seven year-old second cousin died the day before in a motorcycle crash.  He was a brand-new father to a baby girl who was only four months old.  I felt a wash of grief and disbelief pour over me.  I called his brother and wife who live in Salt Lake City with their new baby.  They didn’t pick up but I received a text that they were on their way to Telluride.

My personal COVID drama took a back burner.  Consumed by this tragedy, I walked around the rest of the day numb.  I couldn’t stop thinking about my cousin’s wife, Joanna.  She’s a new mama still on maternity leave. I support so many new mamas in my work that I know well how hard it is even with partner support.  What a bittersweet time ahead for the young family.  The baby’s name is Rae and is already referred to as Joanna’s Ray of Sunshine.  All day, I cried, feeling so sad.  How can life change in one instant?  I wanted to rewind time.

I joined my Sunday night meditation group that night.  As a group, we mourned the Buffalo victims.   My teacher asked, how can there be such beauty and hate in the same world? She shared this reading:

How do we hold the dissonance between gratitude for the blessings in life, and grief over the suffering and pain in our world? 

The question is a koan for our times.

Both are true, and living in the tension and discomfort of this question invites the heart to open more fully.

It’s when we stop asking this question that I become concerned, for what are the alternatives? We either sink into despair, consumed by sorrow, or we turn away and ignore what hurts, focusing only on the goodness or distracting ourselves from the fear and pain...

The road to freedom is long and though we may feel helpless individually, we are not powerless. We can bring more goodness and love into the world through our words, actions and choices. We can speak out against violence and oppression, and work together to pressure elected officials to make policy changes for more equity, dignity and safety in our communities.

We don’t act if we’re lulled asleep by comfort or convenience, nor can we act if we’re overwhelmed with grief.

This is why we need to stretch the heart to include all of it. This is why we need both the immense beauty and gratitude for blessings in life to keep us afloat, and the deep sadness and grief to urge us to action.

I kept thinking about that last line.  I need to stretch my heart to include all of it.  I found deep comfort in her words.

Two days later, the Texas school shooting brought me to my knees.  I’ve been filled with rage.  Sadness.  Grief.

I knew I needed to stretch my heart even more.

I spent the rest of my isolated week with my daughter in a quiet house.  I woke up early and watched the sunrise.  I drank coffee and read.  Together, we watched a new series on TV.  I processed the news.   I prayed for those who loved these children.  Babies.

Over time, I slowly released the guilt I felt of missing two births.  Life goes on.  Both baby girls were born and mamas are doing well.  I visited my yogi client’s house and held her five-day-old baby this afternoon.  I listened to their birth story, bestowed some lactation wisdom, took a photo of the beautiful newborn and drove home filled with satisfaction for my work.  One baby at a time.

It’s impossible to predict the future.  The world is filled with both immense love and beauty and deep, dark sadness and tragedy.   We all need to figure out a way to stretch our hearts to include all of it.