by Harte, Roxy
An unidentified speaker is briefing the group. “Six assassinations have been reported and more than a dozen additional kidnappings.”
As photos flash over the large screen I hold my breath, hoping Celia and my children are not part of the official report.
“As much as I hate to have my fears confirmed, ladies and gentlemen, we are under attack. As of this moment we are at our highest level of alert, and we are at war.”
I back away, reining in my inner soldier that rallies to the battle cry. I have to protect my children, my family. This is not cowardice. What of my duty?
Duty!
Damn it! Duty to whom?
Glorianna shakes my hand after shaking a dozen others. She could as easily be thanking me for my pledge to stay with the fight to the very end as passing me the room key for where Garrett is being kept. Our gazes collide a final time, and all I see reflected in hers is regret. Her anger and sadness have been replaced by something colder and bitterer. “Have you ever felt the joy and peace that can only be found in unconditional love and devotion?”
My children’s faces all come to mind, as does Celia’s kneeled form at my feet. I know it isn’t the answer she wants to hear because she’d rather believe such love isn’t possible but I whisper, “Yes,” just the same.
Her face starts to crumble but she reins in her emotion. “They took my dog. My precious baby girl.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Protect those you love, my darling. They aren’t expendable.”
A woman enters the conference room uninvited and is immediately surrounded, fear and suspicion creating chaos from nothing.
“She’s fine,” I call out, waving her toward me. “She’s with me.”
“Who is she?” Glorianna demands. “Why is she here?”
The young, dark-haired woman nervously approaches. “You called My Darling Angels?”
“Yes. You received payment?”
She nods and reaches into her tote, but I still her hand. Turning to Glorianna, I stroke her cheek. “I know how important Zita was to you, and she wasn’t expendable either. And while I pray you recover her, I also hope you will find room in your heart for a special boy that needs a home.”
As if on cue, the woman lifts a small puppy from her bag. He is a ball of black curls and wide, dark eyes. “I’m sorry, we didn’t have any Bolognese available, but this Bolonka is very precious.”
He is small enough he could fit into a teacup.
“Oh! There’s been a mistake,” Glorianna argues, stepping back as if she’s been struck.
I lift the small puppy to my shoulder. He barks and wags his tail. The other agents crowd closer and it is evident that any distraction from the day’s worries is a welcome one.
“Does he have a name?” Glorianna asks, reaching tentatively to pet him.
“Mischa.”
I hand Glorianna the puppy. “Let him heal your heart while you continue your search for Zita.”
“My baby girl is gone forever. You know it, I know it. The damn bastards.” The puppy licks Glorianna’s cheek and her countenance warms. “Aren’t you just the sweetest boy? Mischa. I’m your new mommy, and I will never leave your side.”
“When you realize how perfect everything is, you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky.”
Prince Gautama Siddhartha
Chapter Twenty-Two
Celia
I breathe through breakfast, hiding the throbbing ache that has made my lower back its home, and every five minutes the contraction that reminds me I am in labor. I dole out cereal, pour on some of the milk I made from powder and distribute spoons, each action measured. I cannot allow the children to see my panic.
I pour myself a glass of juice and take it out to the courtyard. Looking up at the brilliant blue sky, I ask, “Is this your idea of a joke? I wanted a natural birth with a doula! I can’t do this by myself!”
What if something goes wrong during the birth? What if something happens to me and I can’t take care of the children? What if I die? God, we’re in a wilderness, the children could never find their way to safety alone!
“Auntie Ce?”
I turn to find Hektor, my constant shadow. Gripping my belly and gritting my teeth behind a smile, I ask, “Is everything okay?”
He narrows his eyes, looking every inch his father. “The babies are coming, aren’t they?”
I shake my head. “I’m hoping it’s a false alarm. That happens sometimes.”
He goes back into the house. Pushing into my back, I sit on the stone wall and start laughing hysterically. “This is beyond ridiculous!”
Watching cottony white clouds cross the sky, I try to recall what I learned at the Primal Birth Center about the stages of labor and try to fit what I know and what I’m feeling into some schedule. The pain isn’t too bad, the contractions are still spaced far enough apart that I guesstimate I have hours. I would have plenty of time to drive into town and find a hospital—and once there I would have to reveal who I am and who the children are. I don’t know who was staking out the house or why, but popping up on the grid seems like a horrible idea. I focus my thoughts to one. I need you, Thomas! I need you.
I breathe through another contraction and then hurry to the bathroom. As I hurriedly get my pants down and sit in time, I remember reading that some women experience diarrhea at the onset of their labor but oh my God. I’m left worried about getting too far away from the bathroom as waves of cramps roll through my lower back.
I can’t go to town.
I can’t call for help.
I have to do this—alone.
Cleaning myself up, my only thought is how I am possibly going to manage an unassisted birth surrounded by four young children. This experience could potentially emotionally scar them for life. But then I remember a young woman from the Primal Birth Center—Karina. She was pregnant with her third child, her previous two children under the age of five, and as crazy as it sounded at the time she was giving her presentation, she planned for her two children to be at her side, helping her, when the time came for her to deliver.
Hearing a crash, I hurry to the kitchen to find a mess of uneaten cereal and milk on the floor. Grabbing a towel, I start cleaning it up. “What were you doing?”
“We were just putting our bowls in the sink. We wanted to help you,” Olympia explains. “Nikkos dropped his.”
I shake my head, wanting to yell and scream and cry with frustration. I don’t but it becomes immediately obvious too that I am not Karina. I force myself to be calm as I push damp cereal back into the plastic bowl with a towel. “Thank you for being so helpful this morning.”
Squatting beside me, Olympia asks softly, “Are the babies coming?”
I meet her gaze, finding wide orbs of wondrous anticipation. There isn’t much point in lying about it. “Yes.”
As soon as I admit the truth, I become calm. I fight back my tears and my panic. I take a deep breath, inhaling. Exhaling. Everything happens for a reason; I honestly believe that. When Jackie introduced me to the idea of Primal Birth and Garrett made it painfully clear that my only option was a hospital birth I should have dropped it, but I didn’t. I’d experienced such a profound resonance with the program, just reading the material, I couldn’t let the idea go. Even knowing that attending the meetings irritated Garrett, my Master, I still went. That has to mean something.
If the basic idea behind the Primal Birth premise is that any woman can give birth unassisted—no midwife, no drugs, no pain—I’ve spent months preparing for this very moment.
“Everything’s going to be fine. Having a baby is a normal part of life,” I assure them. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! I cannot panic. As I stand, a fresh bout of diarrhea is the big distraction.
Sitting on the toilet with four wide-eyed children staring at me from the doorway, I am struck by the hilarity of the situation.
I’m really not sure what to do. Should I boil water? I shake my head. Towels and blankets? I shak
e my head again. I need to build my birthing nest. I hadn’t given nesting much thought because without Garrett’s cooperation, I knew I’d end up in a hospital, most likely drugged and forced into a Cesarean section.
“Oh yes, be careful what you pray for.” I look at the ceiling, not as God-inspiring as the vast Nevada sky, but still looking up to that place above God is watching down on me from. “Very funny.”
How many hours have I spent lying in the dark asking God to deliver me from just that fate? I laugh out loud, still sitting on the toilet, realizing the liquid hitting the water in the toilet isn’t poo. My water broke.
“This is happening. This is really happening.”
None of the children say anything as I manage to walk into the living room and then immediately turn to go right back into the bathroom, feeling like I really need to push. Instinctively I realize it isn’t diarrhea that wants to come out. I don’t go into the bathroom, I sit the children on the sofa, all four of them side by side. “Don’t move.”
I feel horrible when Atso starts to cry and I can’t comfort her but as I hurry to the bathroom and close the door, I realize it isn’t an option.
Grabbing towels, I lay one on the floor and sit on it, my back against the wall. I keep a few more near me, not believing this is happening so fast. “This is not an acceptable birthing nest.”
When another urge to push hits I push. Heart racing, I don’t scream even though I feel like I’m being ripped in two. Between pains—which isn’t nearly long enough—I breathe. What am I doing wrong? This is supposed to be pain-free!
I close my eyes and take myself mentally back to the Primal Birth Center. I hear the facilitator’s voice. You can rule your labor or you can allow your labor to control you.
She’s right, she’s absolutely right. Fear is creating this pain.
When the next contraction rolls through me I open myself to it and drift along with it. Within seconds I am floating on endorphins. I know how to do this.
I need to create my nest and start considering my options. The facilitator had shown us so many options, boxes lined with disposable absorbent pads, or for the more green-conscious—everyone in my group was very green—a plastic kiddie pool lined with blankets and towels. I don’t have either.
The sounds of panic from the other room escalates and I throw open the bathroom door. I hear Atso screaming over all the other voices, crying, “Ommy, Ommy, Ommy.”
I think she has regressed in reaction to the other children’s panic, but as she runs across the room to grab hold of my legs I realize she is crying for me.
“Oh!” I try not to react at all versus overreacting. Looking toward the other three, I ask, “Do want to help Auntie Ce have her babies?”
All four children race forward, overwhelming me with their enthusiasm. I’m most worried about Hektor. He’s a boy, yes, a little boy, but still…
“Do you understand what is going to happen?” I ask the two older children but find all four of them nodding their heads.
“Our mother had Athena-Sophia in the desert.”
I don’t know much about her delivery except that Thomas was there with her. Lucky bitch. “Yes, she did. Did she explain to you how women give birth?”
“We were with her,” Olympia says shyly. “All of us and our aunts and our father.”
I chuckle. “I could go for a few of your aunts being here right now.”
“Or our father,” Hektor adds, making a face.
Taking his hand, I pull him closer so that I can look him in the eye. “Is this okay? I don’t want you to be embarrassed.”
Lifting his chin, he tells me, “I will help you in my father’s absence. He told me that my brothers are inside of you.”
Standing, the urge to push rears within me, and I know I need to move into a position where I can. I warn the children, “This might get messy, and I want you to know that if you need to leave the room you can.”
I remember yet another option presented at the Primal Birth Center, an underwater birth. I was so moved by the video we were shown, the baby moving effortlessly from the womb into the world. I want to try it. I start to run water into the tub. “Auntie Ce is going to climb into the tub. I think the water will be helpful since I don’t have any grown-ups here to help me.”
I can’t worry about the repercussions now. The boys are insistent on coming out. I test the water, making sure it is a comfortable lukewarm. Pulling the caftan over my head, I have a flash of embarrassment as I step into the tub but realize the children aren’t reacting to my nudity. They are young. Very young. Maybe they haven’t been taught false modesty yet. I carefully lower myself into the water, knowing I’ve made the right decision as soon as I settle. My entire body relaxes. I keep the water running until it covers my belly and breasts.
The water seems to intensify the contractions, but I accept the pain as it moves through my body. I put the children to work. “Olympia, I need you to get the bed ready for me. Add extra blankets. I want you to bring some extra towels in there too. I’m going to need to wrap the babies in something to keep them warm.”
She starts to leave the room, anxious to help but I stop her. “Take Atso. She can help carry towels.
“Hektor, I need you to find a pair of shoelaces. Take Nikkos with you.”
Excited to be helping, all of the children hurry from the room. I sigh, relieved to have a private moment. I take the time to examine myself. Pushing two fingers into my vagina, I try to gauge how dilated I am. It seems like an impossible task until a contraction pushes against my fingers and I realize I am feeling the top of one of the babies’ heads. I bend my knees to lift my hips, which is made easier in the water. Relaxing against the back of the tub, I float. The baby’s head presses against my fingers as I gently push. The contraction seems to carry the baby’s head through the birthing canal. I’m stretching, I can feel my labia pulled taut. I breath in, breath out. The baby crowns.
Olympia returns with Atso and stops in her tracks, watching with awe.
I breathe in and out, feeling the contraction move my baby forward. Feeling with my fingers, I push against my stretched labia and feel the moment the head slides free. I breathe a sigh of relief, but know I’m nowhere close to done.
I can’t believe how calm I am, how relaxed. I slide my hand under the baby’s face, feeling the miracle of his transition from the world within my womb to the one outside. I’m glad I chose the water. It seems less jarring—for him and for me.
I push gently, feeling my baby’s neck and shoulders slowly slide out. I grip him under his arms and the rest of the body slithers free quickly. I’m so surprised, all I can do is stare at him under the water, but then he opens his eyes and I pull him onto my stomach, cradling him close. He blinks, looking at me, and I remember I’m supposed to be checking his airway. Even though I can tell he’s breathing, growing pinker, I use a hand towel to wipe his face. He doesn’t like the roughness of the cloth and starts to cry. It’s such a small sound, not a big, throaty cry at all, which worries me, but as his body grows a deeper shade of pink from fingers to toes, I know he’s going to be all right.
I hold him against my chest, tears streaming down my face. God, oh God, thank you. I suddenly realize he’s still attached to me by his umbilical cord and the cord is still attached to the placenta. I remember something about not pulling the cord tight, to let it stay loose, but I have another baby that needs to come out. I might not have thought this through completely.
A pain hits that is worse than all the previous ones. “God!”
Pain, not the urge to push. Just pain, wrapping around me, shooting through me.
“God!” I scream.
Hektor comes to the door and, seeing the bloody water, he starts to cry. He wasn’t present for the gentle beauty of my first baby’s birth. “Auntie Ce?”
“It’s okay, it’s okay!” I try to convince him, I try to convince myself. Shit, oh shit! The last thing I wanted was to scare the children. “Olympia, I n
eed you to get into the tub with me.”
I make room for her between my legs and she climbs in. She is still wearing her clothes, shorts and a t-shirt. “Sit down, I’m going to hand you the baby to hold. Keep his head supported above the water.” I hand her the baby and she cradles him close to her chest. “See the cord attaching me to the baby? It has to stay loose, so stay close to me.”
Another pain hits and I hold in the scream, breathing through it. I push without the urge to do so and press high on the top of my belly, because it seems like the right thing to do and then, finally, with the next contraction there is the urge to push. I push and push and push.
Again. Push. Push. Push. I feel between my legs, expecting to feel the baby crown but instead realize a foot has pushed out of my body. “Oh God, please let this baby come out. Please.”
Fighting panic, I move to a squat in the water. Isn’t that what the facilitator told us to do in the event of a breech? Why didn’t I pay closer attention?
Puuuushhhh!
Finally there is a stretching sensation and I reach down, feeling both of the baby’s legs present. I pull gently, feeling his torso and the umbilical cord. It isn’t around his neck. Slowly and easily, I push. The baby’s body coming out isn’t nearly as dramatic the second time around, but it is a relief. A miracle as I hold his ankles and catch his body underwater. Pulling him to the surface, I wipe my second son’s face free of mucus and am rewarded with a lusty wail. “I know you didn’t want to come out.”
Nestling him close, I hold him against my chest as I lower myself back into the water. I breathe through the contractions, which seem much weaker but manage to clear out the placenta in a gush of water and blood. I worry about the kids seeing the water turn red with blood and goo but there doesn’t seem to be much I can do about it.
