i’ve felt like I’m in “palliative care”…working to keep myself comfortable while allowing thoughts and feelings. working to create a world of ease while anticipating the unknown. i’m sure that i’m not dying as much as becoming and labor images keep visiting:
when i was in labor i believed in the goodness of the birthing ball, an orb big enough that i could back on to it without effort. i was weightless, the bottom of my belly meeting the top of the ball, my breathing alone moved me just enough. then a contraction hit and the ball became a magnet for pain, holding the echoes and giving them back to me, over and over, even after the worst had passed. i was stranded on the quivering pain and barely strong enough to lift myself up to stillness. i got off the ball. made sure i was where i could lean on something that wouldn’t waver or roll to my side and let someone make me a baby bird, feeding me water one drop at a time, or sink to my hands and knees and let the ground hold me like a table, ready to be set for a feast.