Man of Steel?

I have long had a working theory of life that says, ‘women are much stronger than men.’ I have seen this born out again and again in other people. It flies in the face of Victorian thinking of women as ‘the fairer sex.’ This last week, it was brought to life in a very real way for me.

I observed this from an early age. Whenever someone died in our community, there was a machine that began moving. Women came around each other, cooking meals, comforting each other, dropping kids off at school, and cleaning house for the hurting family. The men always seemed to hang out in another room laughing and joking, however, even from an early age, I saw the tightness around their eyes and the speed to anger during these times. They never faced the pain and never dealt with the loss.

When I was first out of high school, I worked for a time as an apprentice to a blacksmith. One thing I learned about steel is that if you expose it over time to heat in a process called annealling, the steel is stronger because it is flexible. But, if you take steel and suddenly heat it and suddenly cool it, it becomes brittle and will break or shatter.

As I have grown, especially since working in ministry, I have observed this more and more in people. Women are like willows along a river bank, bending in the wind, supporting each other through intertwined branches. Men try to stand alone against troubles and end up breaking when it becomes too much. Obviously, there is some generalization to this, but I can say that experience has shown me that this is more true than not.

There is a reason that you see many more single moms than single dads. This could be the reason that many widowers follow their wives into the grave within a few months, but many widows continue on for years. It likely has some bearing on the difference in life expectancy for men versus women.

As a husband and dad, the hardest thing for me is to see my wife or daughters hurting. I want to take the pain away, to protect them, no matter what it takes. I would walk through broken glass, run through fire, or stand in the way of a bullet to save any one of them. I have long been a man who could handle emergencies, keeping a cool head when others lose theirs, seeing the route out of trouble and directing others when the going gets rough.

But, what do I do when the chips are on the table and there is nothing I can do to affect the outcome? How do I deal with that place where physical strength and mental knowledge are useless to make a difference. What happens when it is my wife or child on the line and there isn’t anything I can do about it? That’s where I find my breaking point.

This last week, I watched my wife show a strength beyond what I ever realized that she had. She had practiced pregnancy exercises, relaxation techniques, pushing past pain. Together we educated ourselves on the issues of birth and pregnancy and made choices on the care and medical intervention that we wanted. When it came time for labor and delivery, she heroically faced 26 hours of intensifying contractions without medications that might harm the baby. She handled it well.

We had two ladies with us who handled it all well too. Zabrina, our doula stayed through the whole experience, supporting, encouraging, and educating us. Our dear friend Kris was also there, helping out, timing contractions, and encouraging Becky.

I handled it well too. I was there for the education and practice (not to mention the conception). I exhorted her, encouraged her, and took care of her. I prayed with her, rubbed her back, talked her through the pain, told her how beautiful she was, held her hand, and brushed her hair. I stayed strong, buoyed by her example. If she could handle the pain well, then I could walk by her side and help her through it.

That was all well and good until the circumstances were taken out of our hands. After 19 hours, she was dilated 9 cm and almost there, but six hours later, there was still no change and the contractions were not strengthening to push the baby out. Her blood pressure was getting dangerously high and she was weakening. Two doctors were in conflict as to what to do. One suggested Pitocyn to increase the contractions. Our doctor was called and he said that could be very dangerous, possibly hurting the baby or my wife because he believed the baby was stuck (shoulder dystocia). As they began to discuss the risks and dangers to both mom and baby...

I broke.

I have known two men who went home from the hospital as single fathers of a brand new born baby with no wife due to death during or after delivery. It still happens.

The combination of being awake for 40 hours and physically and emotionally charged for 26 of those hours had stripped away any defenses that I had.

I broke.

I laid down with my wife and held her, wanting to protect her to take the damage on myself.

I broke.

The nurses and doctors came and went, but I wasn’t much use.

I broke.

Fortunately, my wife stayed strong and helped make the decisions. Fortunately, Zabrina and Kris stayed strong and helped through those important moments. Fortunately the doctor and the nurses did their duty well. My beautiful wife and my lovely new daughter are safe and healthy.

I recognize the truth of male weakness in this area. I’m not sure what lesson to take away from it all, I can only share my observations at this point.

From now on, I hope that all I have to face involves easy stuff like bullets, flames, and broken glass. These I can handle. Just like Lois Lane to Superman and Mary Jane to Spiderman, the women in my life are my greatest strength and greatest weakness. I'm just glad that I have such a tough wife who is able to leap tall buildings and stop trains with her bare hands.

Thank you Becky, Thank you Zabrina, Thank you Kris, Thank you Dr. Holeman and most importantly, Thank you dear Lord.

War Stories

I take my own life in my hands to write this blog entry, but there are times when you have to stand up and share the truth though it endangers your very life. I risk upsetting the most dangerous and unpredictable of human beings…

The pregnant woman.

There is no more deadly beast.

Pregnancy seems to be a right-of-passage for women, without which, other women who have been through it don’t consider you “woman-enough.” As a man, I watch as a disinterested, uninvolved party; I am the narrator on the Discovery channel watching another species, trying to understand the unusual behavior that they are observing.

It is interesting to watch the herd behavior when a young woman becomes pregnant. She shares, with excitement, the amazing news that she will now be involved in the miracle of life. The matriarchs of the herd begin to gather around this new pregnant woman shaking their heads, moving into place as part of an amazing and unusual instinct.

Each woman takes her turn in a carefully orchestrated ritual, as old as time itself: the telling of war stories. First, one woman tells her story of pain and horror, speaking of hours of labor, blood, sweat, and pain. She is usually the youngest, the most recently pregnant, and the one who has little experience in telling her story.

Then, the next woman goes, telling a slightly worse tale, each woman topping the previous story. Somehow, by instinct, they know where there story fits among the others so that each has a turn increasing the terror of the poor new mother. They put Navy Seals to shame as they recount their tales of tearing of flesh, muscles cramping, screams of pain, and blood gushing.

Finally, the last woman, the one with the most gruesome story takes her turn. Any men who may have stayed for a story or two have long since run away in squeamish shock and revulsion. We just aren’t strong enough to take this kind of pain. The new mother is beginning to look green and is reconsidering whether she wants to be part of this awful experience. This final story will be the worst of all, a tale of woe that would terrify the stoutest of hearts. With relish and a careful use of all of the dramatic storytelling tools, this final Queen of the Matriarch shares her account of struggle in the trenches of the birthing room. Nothing is left hidden, all is fair game. Bodies are torn apart, deep scars are left, death is approached. Listeners are left bereft of hope, shell-shocked with fear and emotional exhaustion.

You have to wonder why anyone would go through this, and yet most of these women have more than one child.

As a man, I have observed this behavior time and time again. I have to wonder why they don’t encourage each other. “It’s hard, and it will hurt, but you’ll make it through, we did.” It’s no wonder that so many women have epidurals despite the potential for harm to both mother and baby.

Maybe someone could suggest to these women that there is a better way.

Of course the narrator on the discovery channel never sits down with a group of lionesses to suggest a better way of finding food.

I’m not brave enough or stupid enough to challenge a group of moms. I know they can smell fear.

I think I’ll just stick to observation from the jeep.