The Long Line of Strong Women
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“You can do this, you come from a long line of very strong women.” Its my mothers voice, and shes saying this because Im in labor, and Im scared. I havent stated my fear, but she knows because shes my mother. I havent prepared for this. I havent taken any birthing classes, and Ive been induced at 42 weeks. I never even wanted to be induced, but I decided to go ahead with it. Its been 12 hours, and Ive only seen a doctor twice. The maternity nurses are amazing and lovely though. Im determined to do this without an epidural, but Ive read about the induction process. I know that its hard on the body, and I know that I will probably be begging for something stronger for pain soon, and I know that I might end up with an emergency cesarean. The prospect of a cesarean scares me more than anything. I have never had major surgery, and I never want to. So I am heeding the words of my mother, and I am praying to my grandmothers, all of my grandmothers, to help me through this. I am relying on the strength of my ancestors.
So I stop thinking about what my doctor has said about my crooked cervix, and that Im not dilating at all. I ignore that each time Ive seen him, hes said something about a cesarean and is putting my body on impossible time limits. Instead, I think of my grandmothers. First, my fathers mother. A short, soft spoken, mostly smiling, tough woman of Japanese and Alaskan Native descent. She gave birth to eleven kids. She has lived most of her life away from her own mother and siblings, marrying the army sergeant she loved and didnt see for many years while he was in Vietnam. My amazing grandma who loves babies, bingo, has more friends than I do, and can make the best sticky buns possible.
We used to have annual family summer picnics at Flaming Geyser National Park. Wed barbecue, play games, float down the river, and have an amazing day with extended family. Of course, my grandma, aunts, uncles, and cousins would bring their fishing gear. Usually by midday the only one left fishing would be Grandma. The park ranger came around, my cousins and I were splashing in the shallow part of the river, probably trying to catch a crayfish. “Youre allowed to fish, but you wont catch any fish in the river here. Youd have better luck further up,” she told my grandma. “Oh, Im fine,” Grandma replied with her quiet, shy kind of laugh. The park ranger shrugged and left, and after a while, my cousins and I went back to the picnic site for some hot dogs.
We started a game of badminton, and an hour or so later, Grandma appeared walking down the trail back toward the picnic area. “Oh my gawd, Moms got a fish,” my Aunt said, while laughing. My cousin stood up, “Jesus, that thing is going to flip her over.” It was too! It was more than half as long as she is tall, and was still flapping its tail, struggling to get back to the river. I looked over as my dad, uncles, and older cousins went to help her. She had the biggest smile I have ever seen on anyone. She told them all in her quiet, gentle