Page 67 of Mountain Freedom
“Thank you.” I started to ask her a question, but we were interrupted by a cry. We ran back to the bedroom, where Trudy was gripping the sheets, her face white as she worked through a contraction.
“Fiona!” she said when she could finally speak. “I need the ax!”
Fiona nodded solemnly. “I’ll get it.” She dashed off before I could ask.
I moved to Trudy’s side and attempted to soothe her. Fiona returned quickly, carrying a giant wood ax on her shoulder. I felt all the blood drain from my face as she moved toward the woman in the bed.
“What—” My jaw dropped. I didn’t even know what to ask.
Fiona showed her the ax, then crouched down and shoved it under the bed.
Trudy took a deep breath and smiled. “Thank you, Fiona,” she said, reaching out to squeeze the woman’s hand. “That’s better.”
“Of course, dear. I’m going to get the rest of my supplies, okay? Won’t be much longer now. You called me in the nick of time for this one.” Fiona tenderly stroked the woman’s hair away from her face.
Trudy smiled and nodded, looking peaceful even as another contraction began.
I followed Fiona out of the room. “What just happened?” I sputtered. “What in the world?”
“The ax,” Fiona explained. “It’s an old Appalachian tradition. It’s said to cut the pain.”
My jaw dropped. Again. “But that doesn’t work.”
Fiona’s face crinkled in amusement. “Seems to, doesn’t it?” she said, pointing to the bedroom where Trudy was no longer screaming in agony.
“But that’s ridiculous. It’s an ax.”
“I think you might prefer to think of it as a placebo effect,” Fiona said with a wink. “Sometimes, if you believe something works, it will. Now, come on. Help me carry in the rest of my things. It’s time to get serious.”
The woman marched out of the house on a mission, and I followed her, my jaw trailing somewhere behind me on the floor.
Time blurred then seemedto stand still altogether while I assisted Fiona. It was a completely different experience than the hospital births I had attended, and while part of me still longed for the support staff, monitoring equipment, and sterile environment of a hospital—and the knowledge that NICU was right around the corner—I had to admit that this felt different in a good way. Fiona was as cool as a cucumber, taking everything that came with practiced wisdom, as if she had done this a thousand times before—which she likely had. She was probably more experienced than any doctor in labor and delivery at our little hospital.
Trudy had calmed significantly with Fiona’s presence and with the ax—a placebo effect I still wanted to shake my headat but couldn’t deny. The room felt peaceful, filled with sacred expectation, when she finally pushed her baby into our world.
A healthy nine-pound baby with a head full of black hair and a cry that spoke of lungs as fully developed as I could have possibly hoped for.
“He’s beautiful,” I gasped, already half in love, as Fiona placed him gently on his mother’s bare chest.
“Every baby is,” Fiona said, laughing. “But he’s a handsome one, alright. That hair! And look at that smile. It’s a good sign, you know. A smiling newborn means he has angels watching over him.”
“That he does,” Trudy said, a blissful look of happiness settling on her as she stroked the sweet babe’s cheek. He did indeed appear to be smiling, though I knew it was just a reflex smile and not a real one. But this time, I was wise enough not to ruin the moment.
“What are you going to name him?” I asked.
“I think I’ll name him Gabriel,” she replied, still gazing with love and adoration at this child she had just birthed. “If his daddy approves, that is.”
“Did I hear my name?” A disheveled man ran into the room. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. Did I miss it all?” His eyes lit up when he spied the baby on his wife’s chest, and he rushed over to get his first real look.
Trudy laughed. “You did. Once he decided he was coming, he came quickly.”
“He’s perfect,” the man said, his voice thick with pride. “Has he got all ten fingers and all ten toes?”
Fiona laughed. “He does. I counted ’em twice. We’ll give you two a minute, then be back to deal with the rest.” She motioned for me to follow her out of the room.
“That was wonderful,” I whispered as we closed the bedroom door behind us, giving the couple a moment of privacy with theirnewborn son. I felt almost high from the experience—and from the utter relief that Fiona was right and NICU wasn’t needed after all.
“It always is.” Fiona grinned. “Never gets old. Makes all the hard work worth it.”
