The Other Side

The pressure is different from the ones I have felt before. It’s a pressure that I can no longer control and move away from. But it doesn’t feel bad. No, this pressure feels good—natural. I don’t even mind that I can’t control it.

However, with this slight change in how I feel, I know it means an even bigger change must be coming. A change that I can’t stop. A change that I don’t know if I am ready for or even want to happen. Even though I know I am not on my own, it feels that way. In the past and now, I hear voices from people who love me. Their words are never of advice or preparation for anything though. They have always just been words of love. I don’t want the loving words to stop, but with this immense weight of change literally on my shoulders, I wish I could have had some advice before now.

Usually I am surrounded by quiet, except for today; the noise is overwhelming. I can hear yelling, beeping, and much more talking than usual. I wish someone would clue me in on what’s going on. I’m always out of the loop it seems. But I have never wanted for warmth or food or shelter or anything, so I try not to complain or cause trouble.

The pressure is getting stronger every second. I can’t seem to remember when it started, but I am scared. Too scared to make a fuss and let someone know of my discomfort. My discomfort seems a bit insignificant at the moment to whatever pain others must be feeling around me. So I just let the pressure continue on.

Suddenly I realize I am in water, but I only know this because the water is going away. How long have I been wet? Do the others know that we are in water? I wouldn’t know. The pressure is keeping me in the dark. I can’t seem to open my eyes, or even reach my arms up to touch them. Oh no! I can’t move my arms. The pressure must be holding them down too. My discomfort is quickly turning into fear.  

What is happening? Why is no one helping me? I can’t help anyone else. For as long as I can remember, peace and comfort have been my life. Someone is always talking to me or I can hear singing or taste great food, but this. This is a nightmare. A nightmare that no one seems to be doing anything about.

Have I done something? Did I offend or hurt or betray? I barely even move or make noise to avoid causing trouble. But now are we drowning? Are we lost? Are we paralyzed waiting for a certain demise that everyone has accepted instead of trying to stop?

Ah! A light. I still can’t open my eyes, but it is bright enough to shine through my eyelids. It must be daybreak or we are coming out of the darkness of some kind of cave. I try to open my mouth to yell, but the pressure. The pressure seems to be restricting every part of my body; even my mind is having trouble thinking and understanding. In my panic to try and flail my body in any way, I notice I can wiggle my toes. Finally, some movement. At least I am not paralyzed.

The light is getting brighter and brighter, not to mention the sound is starting to pound in my head. Wherever we were, we must have been really lost. The warmth I used to feel without ceasing is gone. The cold envelops me now that the water, that we apparently were in, is gone. How long has this been going on? Time is something I have never really thought about, but now I am noticing it more than ever. I feel like everything is moving in slow motion.

Suddenly the pressure releases. My head is free. I open my eyes despite the light shining directly into them. A huge gust of wind washes over me. Someone is holding and kissing me. I start screaming to let them know we must be in danger. At least I think we are in danger, but everyone seems more calm now. No one is screaming except for me. Maybe the horror is over and we are all safe. As the warmth returns with arms folded around me, I just hope I never have to experience whatever just happened again.

As Suzie lay on the table after twenty-three hours of labor, the last ten seconds were pure bliss. After pushing for an hour, it only took ten seconds for his little head to pop out and the rest of his body to slide out. The doctor held him up and immediately placed the little boy in her arms. Everyone was busy cleaning him and fixing Suzie, but all she could do was kiss and look at her new baby.

All the pain and pressure and fear of the past twenty-four hours melted away as she held him in her arms. She didn’t even mind that he was screaming. No one ever really thinks about what the baby is feeling during birth—just what the mother is feeling. Of course the mother can be seen, can talk, and can express her feelings. As long as the baby comes out healthy, no one worries about what the baby is feeling; but Suzie did.  

Looking into his small, dark blue eyes, Suzie wondered what he was feeling. How the birth had been for him. She knew it must have been more traumatic than people realize. But she’ll never know because he will never remember. All she can do is tell him that she loves him and she’ll always be there for him. She tells him sorry for how hard those last ten seconds must have been, but now they are together forever. She’ll always love him.

Sometimes we just need to overcome ten seconds of fear and uncertainty to reach peace.

Sometimes a simple ten seconds can alter an entire lifetime.