Birth joys
Birth joys
Posted 03:18am (Mla time) Jan 23, 2005
By Cecinia L. Vallejera
Inquirer News Service
WHILE haggling for the best price at "wagwag" stores or scouting for choice cuts in the local meat shop, I would occasionally meet people who greet me effusively. Of course, I'd reciprocate the gesture, although most of the time I do not quite recognize who they are. Usually, taking the cue from there, they would then take it upon themselves to tell me how they came to know me. They'd explain that their mothers had told them I was the midwife at their birth. They would then name their mothers (many of whom I have no recollection).
I have been a midwife these past 42 years, and my, you can just imagine how many women I have assisted in birth. Some of them even have grandchildren now. And a good number of the babies I have pulled out of their wombs are now professionals-engineers, teachers, etc.
These 42 years have given me many good laughs-at how mothers cope with the pain of childbirth, each in their own ways; and how fathers respond to their wives during labor. The whole experience has provided me insights into the wonderful world of parenthood.
Talk about mothers who seem to lose their minds when the pain of labor sets in. They lie on the floor, yell at their husbands or bite their nails. There was one mother I assisted in 1987 who went up and down the stairs; nobody could stop her and she begged to be left alone.
Then there are mothers who curse their husbands to hell with the nastiest expletives, blaming them for the extreme pain. Hah! As if they did not enjoy, too, the romance that went along with their child's creation! And, of course, there are the those who, at pain's peak, swear to the highest heavens never to give birth again, only to get back the next year, and the next, and the next, for their regular pre-natal check-ups.
I'll never forget Sarah, a classmate of one of my children, who gave birth the "ideal" way. Sarah is every midwife's ideal mom. Tell her to calm down, and she will. You can see the pain on her face-and her attempt to conceal it-but you will never see her fret or lose her composure. She will follow your every instruction, such as "breathe deeply, push, push, slowly now, bear down." If all mothers in labor were like Sarah, then midwives would have no nightmares.
Now, about husbands. I've seen a husband gently wiping the tears and sweat from his wife's face while the latter kept crying that she could die anytime soon as she could no longer bear the pain. The husband stood by her, comforting her and building her strength with loving words. Writhing in pain, the wife asked if he'd marry again should she die. Already weeping himself, the husband replied, "Mama, wag kang magtatanong ng ganyan, hindi ka mamamatay, kayanin mo (Mama, don't ask me that question, you're not going to die. You're going to make it)." It was then that our janitor, who was called in to replace the already messy sheets on the delivery table, butted in, "Kayanin mo misis, kung ayaw mong iba na 'yung magsuot ng mga duster mo at magdilig ng mga halaman mo (Madam, if you don't want somebody else wearing your housecoat and water your garden plants, you better make it)."
Another husband was so overwhelmed to see that his firstborn was a baby boy, but he had to rejoice discreetly to avoid hurting his mother-in-law who wanted a baby girl as her first apo (grandchild). When I asked for baby clothes, he took out neatly ironed baby stuff, all colored pink, embroidered with the name "Clarissa," which were obviously prepared by the granny. Extremely overjoyed, he treated us to a sumptuous merienda of pancit palabok and siopao. I later stood as one of the ninangs (godmothers) of the baby who was named Clarence. I wonder if the granny ever bothered to change Clarissa to Clarence on the baby's pink clothes.
Not to forget the irresponsible husbands and fathers. They're no good, but I'll devote a few lines for them here. After all, I saw them also playing roles in my 42-year craft. Many of them are mere "sperm" donors. All they do is just impregnate their wives and go on their merry ways as if there's nothing to care in the world. There was one time when a diabetic mother was huffing and puffing while trying to let out a 6.7-pound baby girl. The only one who accompanied her was a little girl barely 10 years old. I later found out the child was the woman's eldest in a brood of six, with the baby as the seventh. "And where is your father?" I asked her in the dialect. "He's with our neighbors drinking tuba and playing cards." Oh, the good-for-nothing fellow!
Sure, there are the guys who run away upon knocking down their girlfriends. The poor, cowardly "deserters." I don't mean they have to marry their sweethearts as marriage is not a solution to an unwanted pregnancy, but at least they should learn to face the consequences of their actions. In here, the prominent actors I see are the grandparents. It is in such situations where I see cold-hearted grandfathers suddenly turn mellow upon seeing their apo; and nagging wives suddenly become doting lolas to new grandchildren. And yet, a few moments back, they were cursing their poor daughter's fate. The next moment, each of them swears the baby has inherited their looks, taking turns impatiently to hold their grandchild. Also, it is almost always during this time where they realize that they have a daughter with whom they had been remiss in providing guidance and understanding-though they may never openly admit this. Hatred melts into compassion, and before the mother is discharged from the maternity house, the parents have sworn to take care of the baby, send the daughter back to school and help her move on with her life.
Forty-two years in the midwifery service, and still counting, until late next year when I turn 65 and finally retire from government service. I am sure that with almost one more year to go, more mothers, fathers and grannies will give me reasons to laugh and ponder at the wonder that is called parenthood. What a wonderful thing to be a part of the process of procreation!
Posted 03:18am (Mla time) Jan 23, 2005
By Cecinia L. Vallejera
Inquirer News Service
WHILE haggling for the best price at "wagwag" stores or scouting for choice cuts in the local meat shop, I would occasionally meet people who greet me effusively. Of course, I'd reciprocate the gesture, although most of the time I do not quite recognize who they are. Usually, taking the cue from there, they would then take it upon themselves to tell me how they came to know me. They'd explain that their mothers had told them I was the midwife at their birth. They would then name their mothers (many of whom I have no recollection).
I have been a midwife these past 42 years, and my, you can just imagine how many women I have assisted in birth. Some of them even have grandchildren now. And a good number of the babies I have pulled out of their wombs are now professionals-engineers, teachers, etc.
These 42 years have given me many good laughs-at how mothers cope with the pain of childbirth, each in their own ways; and how fathers respond to their wives during labor. The whole experience has provided me insights into the wonderful world of parenthood.
Talk about mothers who seem to lose their minds when the pain of labor sets in. They lie on the floor, yell at their husbands or bite their nails. There was one mother I assisted in 1987 who went up and down the stairs; nobody could stop her and she begged to be left alone.
Then there are mothers who curse their husbands to hell with the nastiest expletives, blaming them for the extreme pain. Hah! As if they did not enjoy, too, the romance that went along with their child's creation! And, of course, there are the those who, at pain's peak, swear to the highest heavens never to give birth again, only to get back the next year, and the next, and the next, for their regular pre-natal check-ups.
I'll never forget Sarah, a classmate of one of my children, who gave birth the "ideal" way. Sarah is every midwife's ideal mom. Tell her to calm down, and she will. You can see the pain on her face-and her attempt to conceal it-but you will never see her fret or lose her composure. She will follow your every instruction, such as "breathe deeply, push, push, slowly now, bear down." If all mothers in labor were like Sarah, then midwives would have no nightmares.
Now, about husbands. I've seen a husband gently wiping the tears and sweat from his wife's face while the latter kept crying that she could die anytime soon as she could no longer bear the pain. The husband stood by her, comforting her and building her strength with loving words. Writhing in pain, the wife asked if he'd marry again should she die. Already weeping himself, the husband replied, "Mama, wag kang magtatanong ng ganyan, hindi ka mamamatay, kayanin mo (Mama, don't ask me that question, you're not going to die. You're going to make it)." It was then that our janitor, who was called in to replace the already messy sheets on the delivery table, butted in, "Kayanin mo misis, kung ayaw mong iba na 'yung magsuot ng mga duster mo at magdilig ng mga halaman mo (Madam, if you don't want somebody else wearing your housecoat and water your garden plants, you better make it)."
Another husband was so overwhelmed to see that his firstborn was a baby boy, but he had to rejoice discreetly to avoid hurting his mother-in-law who wanted a baby girl as her first apo (grandchild). When I asked for baby clothes, he took out neatly ironed baby stuff, all colored pink, embroidered with the name "Clarissa," which were obviously prepared by the granny. Extremely overjoyed, he treated us to a sumptuous merienda of pancit palabok and siopao. I later stood as one of the ninangs (godmothers) of the baby who was named Clarence. I wonder if the granny ever bothered to change Clarissa to Clarence on the baby's pink clothes.
Not to forget the irresponsible husbands and fathers. They're no good, but I'll devote a few lines for them here. After all, I saw them also playing roles in my 42-year craft. Many of them are mere "sperm" donors. All they do is just impregnate their wives and go on their merry ways as if there's nothing to care in the world. There was one time when a diabetic mother was huffing and puffing while trying to let out a 6.7-pound baby girl. The only one who accompanied her was a little girl barely 10 years old. I later found out the child was the woman's eldest in a brood of six, with the baby as the seventh. "And where is your father?" I asked her in the dialect. "He's with our neighbors drinking tuba and playing cards." Oh, the good-for-nothing fellow!
Sure, there are the guys who run away upon knocking down their girlfriends. The poor, cowardly "deserters." I don't mean they have to marry their sweethearts as marriage is not a solution to an unwanted pregnancy, but at least they should learn to face the consequences of their actions. In here, the prominent actors I see are the grandparents. It is in such situations where I see cold-hearted grandfathers suddenly turn mellow upon seeing their apo; and nagging wives suddenly become doting lolas to new grandchildren. And yet, a few moments back, they were cursing their poor daughter's fate. The next moment, each of them swears the baby has inherited their looks, taking turns impatiently to hold their grandchild. Also, it is almost always during this time where they realize that they have a daughter with whom they had been remiss in providing guidance and understanding-though they may never openly admit this. Hatred melts into compassion, and before the mother is discharged from the maternity house, the parents have sworn to take care of the baby, send the daughter back to school and help her move on with her life.
Forty-two years in the midwifery service, and still counting, until late next year when I turn 65 and finally retire from government service. I am sure that with almost one more year to go, more mothers, fathers and grannies will give me reasons to laugh and ponder at the wonder that is called parenthood. What a wonderful thing to be a part of the process of procreation!
posted by Dante at 2:45 PM
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