victory flags

My feed these days is filled with fear. Articles released seconds before are already reposted, articles weeks old are still being shared, opinions are voiced loudly, in a way I feel like they are screaming at me. Every human I know is scared. I start shaking after just a few minutes of intaking it all. The words I collect as my thumb scrolls by pierce all the way into my marrow. Some days I shut it all out and I feel a little bit better. But right now, in the middle of all of this, sitting in our home, aching for relationships, I am drawn back.

Because I see the bread. Loaves of golden bread in a neat little row, reminding me of a different era. At first I feel a prick of jealousy. I haven’t showered in days , my children are acting like wild animals. No one will be stopping by, so I leave the dishes in the sink and they spill out onto my counters. There is no bread on my counters.

But that photo reaches into my heart and grips it. This bread is not just something yummy to eat because all the shelves are bare. This isn’t a brag. This is a victory flag in a time of change and unrest. My jealousy melts away and suddenly, this person’s joy becomes mine…becomes ours.

From the lord of the flies situation in my home, I could easily look at the craft makers, the bread bakers, the cheerfully posed picture takers and I could just die a little bit inside with an ache that longs to be more like them. But when I stop comparing and start celebrating, everything takes on a new glow. Not only am I surrounded by beauty but I feel the collective hand grasps across the globe…a whispered “We’ve got this.”

It’s the little squares that show:

A mess of paints and eager hands.

The shadow a daffodil makes in the morning sun.

Love through the smudged window.

A makeshift homeschool space with beauty woven through it.

The music people are sharing, freely, purely.

The poetry being written…and read.

Every tiny part of nature being reborn right now. The buds, the blooms, the green shoots that we are holding our breath to find out what they are.

Hands held.

Trees scaled.

Picnics with grandmother’s china on the floor.

Crafts made out of the recycling bin.

Yoga with a neighbor across the street.

Breathless game nights.

A good book and a worn spot on the couch.

A brisk walk.

Countless meals using the cans from the back of the pantry.

Grocery bags by the front door of someone who needs them.

Laughter.

Togetherness.

Resilience.

Because jobs will still be lost, people will still get sick, mental health will still falter but choosing to see and share joy can be the difference in survival.

So break out the camera. Post away the moments you hold dear. Stitch them together like victory flags.

***I am planning a project with your photos of beauty in this time of turmoil. Please email to Helenjgeorge@gmail.com so I can include them!

the sacred birth of delilah ember | amanda's story

Six years ago, I had a new baby girl myself and attended the birth of a baby boy. It was a long labor and it bonded me to Amanda and Kurt as I watched them become parents. Fast forward a few years and I attended the birth of their daughter one special Christmas morning. This third baby came one cold December night. Amanda is the most prepared human I have ever met. She had planned and prepped everything for this birth. It was her first birth at the WNC Birth Center and she was dreaming of a peaceful water birth. But if you’re in the birth field you know, no one can plan for birth…

Amanda show up that night…done. She had been having prodromal labor for weeks, she was throwing up all the time and she just wanted her baby earthside. After being checked she wasn’t quite to a place to be admitted. The midwives were so kind and encouraging and told her to stay two hours to see how things progressed.

It was dark. It was so dark and peaceful in that room as we encouraged Amanda to rest and let her body do its thing. Music filled the room as she softly moaned through the waves. Then she couldn’t sit still. All the while I’m thinking she’s going to have to go home and this might not be it.

Then as her love supported her (literally) she started making sounds that confirmed for me that she wasn’t going anywhere. She got in the shower for relief and right before her two hours was up her water burst.

I thought we had time to fill up the tub, to turn up the lights a bit…but baby was coming.

When she found out the tub couldn’t be filled in time there was a moment where she yelled up into the sky “NOOOOOOOOO”. And then she focused and a few short pushes brought this precious one forth. Not one of her carefully labeled bags had even made it inside.

Immediately. Immediately the veil of weariness lifted and Amanda was so full of love and light. She ate and it stayed down. I just watched her breastfeeding, smiling and eating and bouncing around like a giddy school girl. It was a beautiful sight.

And when those siblings came to meet their baby sister….oh my heart. The tenderness, the joy, the snuggles with their beautiful mama. I felt like I was the fly on the way to a miracle.

Wamsley family, I am so honored (I think you know this) to have been there for the birth of all three of your babies. The way you support, Kurt, is inspiring. Amanda, you are a birth goddess, pure and simple. You’re strength is staggering. You’ll always have a special space in my heart

This blog post contains beautiful images of raw and real birth and nudity.

the roadside birth adventure of zinnia sue

In my line of work, almost nothing beats repeat clients. I love attending the birth of siblings, and I never grow weary of feeling honored to be invited back. In January I was set to attend the birth of a 3rd sibling, a baby girl after two boys that I had watched their brave mama roar into the world while their tender papa supported her.

I got the call that it was go time early one morning and boy did I know that it was go time after hearing the sounds Leah was making. I jumped in my car, sure I would not make it to the birth center in time. 20 minutes later I got a call from daddy telling me they had barely made it down the road before delivering on the side of the road.

This is their story.

(scroll to see pictures)

I am certain I set myself up for a roadside delivery after weeks of joking with my co-workers about not making it out of the county due to a January blizzard and showing up in the emergency department where I work to give birth to my third child. This was my first winter baby, and weather and road conditions made me a little anxious about the drive to the WNC Birth Center in Asheville, a 45 minute drive in good conditions, where I planned to birth my third (and final) baby. We had no problems making the drive to the birth center with my second son, but every night that I clocked out and walked out of the hospital emergency department, I would take inventory of the nursing staff and doctor on shift making note if it was a good night to show up to have a baby in the ER or not. Don’t get me wrong, I work with some pretty great people, but some doctors and nurses would be better than others for catching babies in the ER.

At 40 weeks and 2 days, I had my 40-week appointment at the WNC Birth Center. I told the midwife, Angie, that I literally thought I felt a baby between my legs after squatting while helping a patient with a leg splint at work. I felt crazy for telling her this, but she confirmed my perception. I was 4-5cm dilated and 80% effaced, almost halfway there! Baby was ready to pop out anytime now. The midwife swept my membranes trying to encourage baby to make her appearance and told my husband and I to stay near Asheville for the day rather than making the drive back to Brevard. We were sure we’d be returning sooner than later to meet our daughter. And January 16th would be an excellent birthday as she would share it with my best friend from school days. We went out for lunch, washed the car, and ran some last minute errands. Contractions were very mild and very irregular the entire day, and I actually attended a 4-hour CPI Nonviolent Crisis Intervention class for work in Asheville that afternoon through the occasional soft tightening in my lower back. After the class, J and I decided to head home as this baby wasn’t coming out today, and I would subsequently be pregnant FOREVER! 

For 2 weeks prior, my parents had been on standby both day and night anxiously awaiting for the phone call to come watch our boys while J and I headed to the birth center. I was concerned this was my hang up and why baby wasn’t coming. My parents live about 20 minutes away plus the drive to the birth center. I was in labor for 11 hours with my first, 6 hours with my second, and if baby number 3 followed suit, I was predicting a somewhat short labor and delivery. So we asked J’s parents to come stay the night at our house the day before baby sister decided to make her grand appearance! We would’ve had a homebirth rather than roadside if we had tried waiting for my parents to make the 20-minute trip to our house. 

So I woke up at 3:33am to a fairly strong contraction that lasted over a minute. Awesome, hooray! I had taken half of a Tylenol PM before going to bed, a fairly regular regimen I had adopted for about a week due to intense nighttime itching and insomnia, and likely with the help of the little 12.5mg of Benadryl, I quickly fell back to sleep after the first contraction. I then woke up to another strong contraction at 3:47am. 15 minutes apart, I thought to myself, I still have time to catch some zzz’s before heading to the birth center. And then 4:05am. Stronger now, unable to open my eyes, had to focus on my breathing, and do some slow counting through the contraction. I thought about calling the on-call midwife at this point and making our way to Asheville, but I thought it was silly to make our move to the birth center after 3 contractions that were a measly 15 minutes apart. I wasn’t really meeting the 5-1-1 criteria, but the contractions were getting significantly stronger. (After the fact, I remembered that at my 39 week appointment, Melissa the midwife had emphasized the getting stronger part rather than focusing on frequency of contractions with this being my third baby, but I totally forgot in the moment.) And then another at 4:22 and 4:45am. I then had the urge to go to the bathroom. Pooping through contractions is not easy, and this is when contractions really started picking up, every few minutes it felt like now. I came out of the bathroom at 5:00am and told J we needed to go to the birth center. He frantically got dressed and then helped me get my shoes on. We grabbed our last minute bags and walked outside while J was on the phone with the on-call midwife, Rani, at 5:14am. J also called our doula, Helen Joy. At this point, I was having very strong contractions about every three minutes that I could not walk or talk through and was making all of the moaning, transitioning noises. Luckily this wasn’t my first birth, and J is very familiar with all of my laboring noises and mannerisms. We both had a feeling we weren’t going to make it to the birth center. He sped through town, 60 to 70 mph with hazard lights flashing. We even drove by a cop car parked at Food Matters. Oh please, don’t pull us over. The cop didn’t even move. He probably knew better.

As we came over Little Mountain, I kept looking at the clock with every contraction, 5:17, 5:19, 5:21, 5:22. I do not recommend sitting in front of clock during transition, very discouraging, and I felt like we were crawling down the highway despite the speedometer reading 70mph. And then I said it, the exact phrase I had said twice before, just minutes before my two sons were born…  “I don’t want to do this anymore.” On the phone the entire time with the midwife, J drove maybe another half mile before pulling over just before Turkey Pen access area and less than a half mile from the county line. Baby was coming. My body needed to get her earth side. J called dispatch, and first responders were at the car moments later, and then EMS. As a nurse in the emergency department, I work closely with EMS. We all know each other well, and through the blur of labor, I remember Emily, the paramedic, coming to my side of the car and saying, “It’s Leah!” Through what felt like one continuous, never-ending contraction, Emily told me the impossible. “Leah, we need to get you out of the car and to the stretcher. ” Nope, can’t do it, impossible, not through these contractions. I could not move at this point. I just needed to push this baby out. Emily grabbed my legs and another responder, not sure if it was Donnie the other paramedic or a first responder but I remember it did not smell like J, turned my torso so my legs were now out of the car, and with this change in position, baby was coming! I told the paramedics to stop and with two big pushes, baby was out. Emily caught her, and I quickly took her to my chest as she let out a little cry. 

A paramedic asked the baby’s name, and after the wild ride of a delivery, I needed some time to make sure the name we had picked out prior to birth was going to fit this wild child. Baby and I both checked out great once in the ambulance, but I still had not delivered my placenta. With a pending placenta delivery and due to the location and speed of the delivery, I agreed to make the ambulance ride to the Transylvania Regional Hospital emergency department rather than getting back into our Prius and continuing our trip to the birth center. 

When we rolled through the ER doors, I first saw Amber, and she made a gesture as if she had won the bet and correctly guessed the 32-year-old roadside delivering mama. I was embarrassed and hung my head in shame, but I was so relieved to see Amber, a dear friend, coworker, and previous L&D nurse. I quickly realized that my worst nightmare of showing up to the ER was actually going to work out in my best interest. My coworkers provide great care to all patients, but we really go above and beyond when taking care of our own. Baby and I were getting priority care, and my coworkers gladly obliged to my refusal of most standard ER interventions- IV access, blood draw, etc. My coworkers don’t get excited about my resting heart rate of 48, and they know this isn’t my first unmedicated birthing rodeo. Dr. Huggins was totally onboard with discharging me after a little intramuscular Pitocin to help deliver my placenta and send me on my way to the birth center where the midwife would take over our care. I fear that hospitals in neighboring counties wouldn’t have let me go so easily and definitely would have required more explaining on my part. 

Our birth doula and photographer joined us in the emergency department as well as my parents. We then drove to the birth center where Melissa the midwife and Asha the nurse continued mine and baby’s care for the afternoon. Our two older sons, Roan and Carver, and J’s parents met our sweet baby sister at the birth center, and then we were discharged home later that afternoon. Having a third child wasn’t exactly in the plan for J and I but our family certainly feels complete with a sister now.

After looking at Turkey Pen area trail maps (think Squirrel, Bradley, Cantrell, Mullinax) and road names (280, Boylston, Limousine), we decided to stick with our original baby name, Zinnia Sue. Zinnia seemed wild enough to fit our wild child, and J and Roan filled our home with cut stems from our zinnia patch all summer long while our baby sister grew in my belly. And Sue after my great aunt.  She is currently 100 and still lives independently. I have so many great memories of visiting her house at Wolf Mountain while growing up. Sleeping weighted under colorful handmade quilts, the smell of biscuits and bacon swirling up the stairs from the wood cook stove in the morning, fishing from a rinky-dink johnboat on Tanassee Lake, visiting and singing with other mountain folk, and all of her stories and most amazing laugh. I pray that our children get to experience and appreciate Appalachian culture and history and the treasures that come with unhurried mountain living.