i am currently a member of the vagina monologues 2010 cast at my university, and i have been thinking a lot about the final monologue that is performed, “i was there in the room”. the monologue talks about all the physicality mixed with pain and otherworldliness and joy and so many other emotions that arise in the miracle of childbirth. it is written from the point of view of the author, eve ensler, as she witnessed the birth of her granddaughter.
this monologue carries a greater significance to me now after i was graced with the opportunity of witnessing my first vaginal birth in guatemala, delivered by a mayan midwife.
it was amazing to watch the dynamics between these two women – the young, first-time mother howling into the unforgiving silence, calling on the saints to end the pain, while la comadrona fought against her resistance, pulling her knees up towards her chin, spreading her wide and forcing her to push. it was almost comical to see them struggle against each other, and so vastly different from the gentle, supportive, alternative birth assistant that one visualizes in american culture, cooing words of encouragement into the woman’s ear and rubbing her feet with lavender oil. while i couldn’t understand the admonishments in quiché, it was clear that the midwife was using her years of experience and wisdom in the ways of pregnancy and birth and women’s health to strong-arm this overwhelmed indigenous woman to face the reality of the sacrifice she was about to make.
the escalating pain with each contraction, the timid and resistant birth-naive vagina “a deep well with a tiny stuck child inside//waiting to be rescued”, and she was scaling, scaling amidst the shouts of the midwife, clutching a rag to her forehead, trying and giving up at the same time, and the finger was turning, turning, offering a glimpse of what was to come.
it happened so fast. when it seemed like the young woman could take no more, the child crowned and seemed to flow effortlessly into the wise comadrona’s arms. she cut and burned the cord to its ashen demise, wiped him clean, and handed the little one to me to swaddle in bits of cloth as she prepared for her other patients of the day. i kneeled at the bed, clothing him and staring in complete awe at a tiny new addition to this world. what was so very ordinary to these women was an incredible wonder to me, an immense gift, a tribute to the organic power of women. i was there in the room. and it was beautiful.
The heart is able to forgive and repair.
It can change its shape to let us in.
It can expand to let us out.
So can the vagina.
It can ache for us and stretch for us, die for us
and bleed and bleed us into this difficult, wondrous world.-eve ensler