189/365 - Episode Goal: Have a baby

There is a reason we have medication for pain.  That's because it hurts.

When my dear friend asked me to be her coach for the birth of her first baby, I was flattered and honored and accepted on the spot.  I'd had three kids, including twins, after all....how hard could it be?  Later, when she told me she wanted to do it au naturale, I was a little more skeptical about my experience.

My first daughter was born under the calm, reasonable conditions of an epidural.  My second pregnancy was twins, and I didn't have a choice - Midwives wouldn't take me, and every OB I called asked, "When would you like to schedule your C-section?"  I settled for the doctor that required a mandatory epidural and birth in the operating room, just in case.  Sadly, the anesthesiologist was a little busy when I finally asked for said epidural.  I made it through transition and was in the operating room ready to push when he kindly showed up to administer a spinal - the only option at that point.  According to procedure, I had to have either an epidural or a spinal in the event an emergency C-section was necessary for baby #1 or baby #2.  Let me tell ya, there's nothing like straddling a gurney, your body wracked with the worst pain ever imaginable, and being asked to hold still while someone puts a needle in your back.  Strangely, since then I've often thought I might like to have another baby without drugs, just because I had been so close to doing it naturally before.

After going through it with J last week, though, I can honestly say I no longer need that experience.  The pain I witnessed in my good friend during her labor was unbearable.  Much harder for her, I'm sure, but it was enough to make me recommend the pain meds to every expectant mother from that point forward.

But I probably won't.  And here's why...

J's willingness to endure the pain of childbirth allowed for some incredibly amazing experiences to occur, not the least of which was the immeasurable counter moment of joy when J finally held her baby to her chest for the very first time.  The change in J was not unlike the dramatic change I witnessed when my grandmother died - the body has a way of releasing life that transcends understanding unless you see it first-hand.

What was truly transformative, though, are two key moments during J's labor, when her pain was clearly the gateway to something more powerful...

The first was when J was in the jacuzzi tub, trying unsuccessfully to relieve the contractions she felt so strongly in her back.  J's friend, Mary, and I were on either side of her, holding her arms and coaxing her through each wave of pain.  The nurse had gone out to find a stool or towels or something - I don't remember now - but that might have been the first time we were alone with J since active labor had begun.  Mary and I began praying for J, and all of a sudden, it was so clear that J, through her pain, was being given an opportunity to let go of her past life and all the times she had been told she wasn't strong enough, wasn't good enough, wasn't capable of handling what life dished out.  Through her strength, she was entering into a new destiny being written for her, a sacred passage into a life of freedom to be who she was called to be - not because of the pain itself, but because she was willing to endure it.

And then, after another hour or more of that pain, she didn't have the strength to endure it anymore.  She thought she was ready to push, but she was still at 8 cm, and the doctor suspected the baby was posterior.  J just wanted the baby out, didn't want anyone to touch her, and she started crying every time another contraction came on...

This time, we asked J to pray with us, to articulate her trust in God's strength now that hers was gone.  I remember lying down on the floor next to her afterward, in between contractions, and we revisited the "episode goal" cheerfully identified by her and her nurses 16 hours earlier.  It was, very simply, "Have a baby."  J was wimpering and asking for help to just get the baby out.  I checked with the nurse to see if there was anything else we could try...  She reluctantly suggested that meds might her help body relax enough to be ready for the baby to come.

So, I asked her, "Jess, what's more important?  To have this baby, or to have this baby without pain meds?"  That's when she willingly surrendered, and we called for the anesthesiologist.  Half an hour later, J gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, without the assistance of any pain medication.  Darn those anesthesiologists who don't get there in time!

Sometimes, we're expected to endure pain to demonstrate how strong we are.  Other times, we're asked to surrender our strength and our will to a power greater than ours, even if in the end, we still get exactly what we were striving so hard to achieve all on our own.  Life happens when we learn when to stay strong and when it's time to surrender.

188/365 - Childbirth, in six words

Interminable pain surrenders to infinite love.

187/365 - Legacy

“I always tell them that I do not care about the rating, only that they try their hardest and get the most out of the experience.” ~Bill Thomas

Funny, I've been saying this exact same thing about competitions to my own students for years, but I never realized that I should have been crediting Bill Thomas, my grade-school, junior high, and high school band director.  Until today.

I started playing flute in 5th grade and was Mr. Thomas' student for eight of the twelve years he was the band director at Minster Local Schools.  He was, by far, my favorite teacher.  OK, I confess I had a crush on him in grade school - all the flute players did - but my naive admiration eventually grew into a truly collegial relationship, if not by the time I graduated from high school, then certainly during college when I came home to assist with some of his classes and a few summer band camps.  Shortly after I finished my music education degree, Mr. Thomas even called to offer me a job - this was just after he had moved from Minster to take a position with a larger band program in the Cincinnati area.  I was just about to start my graduate degree, though, with very different plans for my life.  Honored though I was, I graciously declined.  I'm sad to say we lost touch after that...  Can it possibly be over fifteen years since we last spoke?

Today, reviewing applications for the U-M School of Music, Theatre & Dance, I saw the name "Bill Thomas" on the resume of a music applicant from Ohio.  I wondered if it could possibly be the Bill Thomas who had sparked my own musical development so long ago...  I looked up the girl's high school online, and when I found a biography that mentioned his tenure in Minster, I knew that it was indeed the same Mr. Thomas!  His name showed up in quite a few posts about the school's band program, but when I went to look for his contact information, I couldn't figure out why he wasn't included on the school's directory.

That's when I found the article about Mr. Thomas' retirement earlier this year and the quote I posted above.  I tearfully read about his thirty years of teaching and the incredible legacy he created for his students and colleagues.  It's humbling to consider that I, too, am part of Mr. Thomas' legacy and that I have the privilege of passing along some of the wisdom he once bestowed on me.

Well, Mr. Thomas, I always try my hardest and continue to get the most out of every experience, with heartfelt thanks to you!

186/365 - This just in!

Study shows that nine out of ten surveys prove there are statistics to confirm whatever you want to believe is true.

185/365 - Gypsy Pond Music

Outside my office window I can see the 2012 installation of Gypsy Pond Music at the U-M School of Music, Theatre & Dance.  Many will question, "Is this really music?"  You could argue this is just a grown up version of every boy's throwing-rocks-at-frogs contest, but as I watch people get drawn to the shore to pull on the buoys or lob a rock at the brass gong in the center of the pond, I realize that this installation is doing what many artists strive to do all the time: it fosters awareness and inspires artistic curiosity; it invites the "audience" to invest some of their own energy in the creative process; and for those who risk participating, it provokes them to persist until they can "hear the music."

I'll up Professor Rush's challenge and double-dog-dare you to check it out yourself.