Emergence

"I don't think you understand what I'm saying."

Cece has that certain look in her eyes — a black stillness that terrifies me.  For over twenty minutes now, she has repeatedly asserted that she "can not do this."  The midwife, on the other hand — sitting in the lotus position on the corner of the bed — smiles and blithely assures Cece that she can.

My mind reels back twenty-six plus years, to November of 1987, to Cece's birth — an emergency c-section performed by a male OB-GYN entailing terrifying complications in the aftermath; forward eighteen months to May, 1989 and the successful natural birth of Sebastian by midwife; forward to April, 1994 and another emergency c-section for Dante.  In the first instance, I blamed the doctor; in the second, I credited the midwife;  and finally, I blamed institutional incompetence and Dante's whopping ten pounds of birthweight.

Despite the first crisis with Cece, I entered the next two labors with confidence.  The midwife I rushed to when I became pregnant again assured me that Cece's situation, with her cord round her neck like a noose, was incredibly rare.  "It's like being struck twice by lightning" Patsy claimed, "and it should have been handled differently."

'Handle it differently' is  exactly what Patsy did when she discovered Sebastian in a posterior position and (GASP!) also wrapped in his cord:  a twist, a turn, a change of my position, and of course patience — something sorely lacking during Cece's birth — and VOILA!  A healthy, howling Sebastian!  Dante's birth — miles away from Cleveland, where Cece and Sebastian were born — was also attended by a midwife, but she was nothing like Patsy!  However, I don't think even Patsy could have prevented the panic that characterized Dante's delivery.  Just minutes into my labor, Dante flatlined, and an anesthesiologist was nowhere to be found!  Nurses, midwife, emergency staff, all scuttling around whispering, looking toward the door, waiting for the phone to ring and/or for an anesthesiologist to finally appear.  Not only was I sure that Dante was in trouble, I was positive that my own life was on the line as well.

"I can not do this."  Cece says it again.

Trying to hide my concern from Cece, I peek from the midwife's face to the nurse's, looking for reassurance, but their expressions are vague, their voices silent.

An adult, As far as I'm concerned . . .

is someone who makes an adult decision and lives up to the responsibilities of that decision.  Of course, it's not that simple.  Think of the astronomical number of people who fall outside Arnett's proscribed age range - who do not qualify as "emerging" - yet have failed to live up to one or more of their responsibilities.