After Tina and I married and set up house at 10986 Carter Road, we soon realized that life wasn’t just honey and roses. We spent a lot of time those first weeks in the corn field husking corn. This was something I enjoyed and was a pro at. Tina on the other hand didn’t have experience husking corn. The first day I helped her strap the hook onto her right hand and showed her how to grasp an ear with the left hand, swipe across it with the hook, then pull the remaining husk together with the left hand while grabbing the now exposed ear in the right hand, by this time the left hand has moved to the base of the ear to provide support and a quick twist and jerk dislodges the ear from the stalk and sends it flying into the wagon all in one smooth series of motions. Simultaneously, you never skip a beat as you already have your focus on the next ear and take a quick step forward to repeat the rhythm. It was possible to pretty much launch another ear by the time the first hit the wagon, keeping a continuous stream of ears thudding onto the metal sides.
Tina bravely set off beside me, but of course, she couldn’t keep up, so I took three rows, husking one to the front of the wagon, turned around and husked one back, then took the third one forward, just like Dad used to when I was just learning to husk. The weather was mostly pleasant. I greatly enjoyed working outside in the cool weather of an Ontario fall, often there was a low fog when we set off in the morning. The field we were husking in was surrounded by forest, secluded — with nothing but nature, the team, and the wagon — as good a honeymoon as any. I kept an eye on Tina’s work and occasionally gave her tips and pointers on how to more efficiently husk. It didn’t take long to realize though that she just wasn’t too receptive to advice on how to husk. This irked me a little… I knew how to properly husk corn. I had learned the skill from my dad who had been taught by his dad. If she is in the process of learning to husk would it not be wise to learn correctly in the beginning?
There were other little things that began showing up. Tina did not enjoy washing dishes, so those tended to just pile up till the end of the day. And oh my, did she have a sweet tooth. There was one candy bar left over from our wedding day. I fantasized about sharing that with Tina in a romantic moment some time. Then abruptly the thing had disappeared.
Then about a month into life together she begins suggesting that we were already parents in the making. Wow!! That was a lot to take in, am I ready to be a dad? With that development, Tina was often tired. Frequently, at the end of the day when I came into the house, it didn’t feel quite cared for and Tina was asleep on the couch again. I didn’t know much about caring for a woman’s heart. I did try to be understanding, and I enjoyed doing the dishes more than she did. So we managed to get by. Yet there were moments where I felt disappointed in how immature the girl was I had married. And an undercurrent of criticism of how she managed the house began to develop. Her family and their ways didn’t quite match up to my ideals either.
I soon connected the dots that whenever Tina ate something sweet she would crash. Should be an easy fix. Stop eating sweets and feel better. Turns out that is as hard or harder than learning the art of husking corn.
I myself was also observing a fairly strict diet, my health had been on a decline for several years and I had recently realized that I reacted negatively to wheat. Tina did well to learn how to bake and cook without wheat. Still, my health was not the best. And I continued to seek answers.
That first winter we had several sheep, a few of which needed to be milked. We enjoyed having fresh sheep milk around and Tina and I worked together to make yogurt and cheese. We enjoyed the feeling of self-reliance in being able to make our own food.
I began having spells where I felt quite ill and nauseous. I soon realized that this happened whenever I consumed milk or yogurt. So I set out to eliminate all milk for two weeks. Sure enough at the end of two weeks when I ate milk again I immediately felt bad in the stomach. With this development our small home dairy project ground to a halt. Now Tina needed to learn to cook without milk in addition to not using wheat flour.
As the months moved along, I looked on with pride as Tina’s body began changing. I was the father to the little child that was growing. We dreamed and talked about being parents, it was going to be a girl we guessed. We wanted to have a natural birth. I had developed a pretty deep mistrust of doctors and hospitals. Tina occasionally wanted to talk about the birthing process, and had some books she was reading. I listened with one ear but mostly didn’t concern myself too much, when the time came we’d do what needed done. My mom had given uneventful birth twelve times and I was familiar with animals giving birth and had been present and assisted mother goats many times. I also remembered how Dad used to worry and worry about his goats and then over time, he realized that the less he worried and intervened the better the outcome in most instances.
We contacted the local Amish midwife, and Tina started attending the prenatal classes. These bugged me a little as they consisted mostly of the midwife and other experienced mothers sharing horror stories of birthing gone wrong. We also let our parents know we wanted to be alone for the birth. I kind of knew that my mother-in-law had had some bad experiences, and wanted to protect ourselves from that energy.
One day Tina came home from the prenatal class with a worried look on her face. They could not find a heartbeat and we need to go get things checked out right away! I made an appointment and hitched up trusty Sir Ben and off we trot towards town. It was with a great sense of relief that we worked our way home later that afternoon, the nurse practitioner had found a healthy heartbeat and believed all was well.
Spring turned to summer, and day by day the time drew closer. Our due date came and went and we waited on. Finally late in the afternoon one day in July Tina informed me that business was getting real. One of Tina’s sisters stopped in to check on us and we told her we were expecting things to move forward that night. We got some bit of supper together and sat down to eat. This was a special time, a mixture of anticipation and suspense. I looked forward to spending the next few precious hours alone with Tina. At some point I would alert the midwife, but not just yet.
Before we are quite finished with our meal, Tina’s mom and dad are at the door. We invite them in and sit awkwardly around the kitchen table. Dad asks about whether we have called the midwife yet.
“No, not yet.”
“Well, you need to right away!”
“Ok, I can do that.” I leave Tina with her parents and walk across the street to ask Cousin Sam to hitch up and fetch the midwife’s assistant. The midwife herself is currently at the hospital with her granddaughter who was in labor with complications. So I called the hospital and spoke with her telling her that there was no rush, but we would need her sometime that night. “Ok, she would be right out. And could someone go to her house and get her supplies?”
I return home and ask Dad to go fetch the supplies. Then we sit around stiffly and wait. At some point, Tina and I went for a short walk, but this was not at all the atmosphere I had envisioned for us! Soon Dad is back lugging in big bags of stuff and a large oxygen tank. The midwife arrives and her assistant. Dad and Mom leave, wishing us well.
The midwife bustles in and asks to examine Tina. “Oh wow!” She gushes, “You have made progress. You should have a baby very soon!” So we settle earnestly into having a baby. But progress seems slow, especially to the midwife who has her granddaughter on her mind. The clock keeps ticking, closer and closer to midnight. Surely by how the midwife talked at first, we would have had a baby before midnight. Finally, we go to bed and doze restlessly between contractions. Every so often the midwife checks on us again. In the wee morning hours, she believes it is time to start “pushing”. The hours drag by amid calls of “push”, and “now push again”. The grey of dawn begins to show and then it gradually becomes quite light outside. Still, there is no baby yet.
It begins to become apparent that the midwife doesn’t have a clue what she is doing. “Maybe we started pushing too soon before the cervix was ready… Do you think we should break her water now? Maybe that would help.”
I shrug, “I’m not sure.” In my mind I’m asking what are you here for?
She gets a plastic thing out of her bag, it reminds me of a drain opener, and begins sawing and tearing. I cringe, this is hideous.
More pushing. Tina is in significant pain with each push.
My Dad stops in and through tears, I instruct him about getting an order of produce ready for a truck that would be coming at noon. And also our animals need to be fed.
The forenoon drags on. Tina is exhausted. It’s hot, but we can’t open the windows as we don’t want to disturb the neighbors. The midwife believes Tina would benefit from some oxygen, so she gets her supplies, only to find that the tank is empty. She wrings her hands, “What should we do?” she addresses me.
We decided to call 911. The assistant runs across the road to the community phone to do so. Around twenty minutes later we hear the sirens. Fire trucks, police, and an ambulance descend upon our tree-lined property. Paramedics storm into our house barking orders, making another attempt at birthing the head that is now visible. No luck, Tina gets loaded onto a stretcher and hurried out the door. I trail after and manage to catch a ride in the passenger seat. Our midwife joins the paramedics in the back, and off we drive. Tina still in labor, now with new energy from the oxygen that is being provided.
I am praying desperately, and wishing I could be at her side. At the same time, I can hardly stand the moans that filter to the front. Finally, there is one last heart-wrenching groan and then the shrill cry of a little one. We continued to the hospital. When we get there I hurry to the back as the stretcher is being unloaded. Tina smiles weakly but with pride at me, snuggled in beside her is a wee little baby girl.
At the hospital, we are informed that some pretty major tearing had taken place, but that Tina should heal with time. After a few hours, we are on our way back home with a hired driver.
I get Tina settled in at home and walk out to feed the chickens. There is so much to process. This was not at all what I had envisioned, and it seemed like I probably knew more about how a birth should NOT go after one child than the midwife did after 100. I knew in my heart of hearts that this was not how God intended the birthing process to take place. I felt completely let down and betrayed. Here I lived in a community that supposedly provided for its members. If as a community we could get something so natural as giving birth so completely wrong what else did we not understand?!
As I feed the chickens, Cousin Sam pulls up in his open buggy and stops by the road to ask how we are doing and express his sympathy. I appreciate that. I also hear a rumor drifting around to the extent that perhaps now Jason has gotten a glimpse of real life.
The next few weeks are a challenge. Tina is ill, very ill. She lies in bed with a high fever, barely doing more than nursing little Hannah. I pray and feed her all the supplements and vitamins I know to fight off an infection. Finally after two weeks and large amounts of vitamin C she begins to improve. Life begins to settle into a new normal, now with three in the family and a widening crack in my trust in the community.
P.S. You may wish to read the next post Professor Stoll.