Living in rural Hawaii is not usually so terrifying
Has to be the time I was at a neighbor's to be the child minder when said child's mum went into labor, attended by a lay midwife, a white woman from somewhere in the US midwest.

The baby was born with the caul over his face, and emerged greyish-blue, limp, and not breathing. The couple (also white) didn't recognize that the midwife's loud calls of "Ha!" meant "breathe!" in Hawaiian, but I did and it terrified me. The couple and I were in stunned, petrified silence, and long, terrifying moments passed and still the baby did not breathe.

The midwife ordered us to pray. I felt a palpable evil in the room, a malevolent presence, suffocating us as we tried to remember the words to the Lord's Prayer. Our voices trailed off as we watched the midwife performing infant resuscitation, and I fought the feeling that someone or something nearby did NOT want us to pray. I struggled to breathe too, and for the sake of the couple and their baby, I remembered some of the words and prayed loudly, their voices joining mine as we gained confidence and comfort in the ritual. "Again! Louder!" commanded the midwife, and we prayed again. It seemed to lift the sense of heaviness and evil, and calmed the parents as we watched the midwife work on their son.

Finally, finally, the baby inhaled sharply, and started to cry. With each cry, he got less blue and more pink. We nearly collapsed with relief as the midwife handed the angry, squalling baby to his mum.

He's nearly 15 years old now, and I still remember the abject terror and evil presence I felt on the night he was born. And I still cannot feel anything but patience, gratitude, and joy when I hear a baby crying.
( kila is reading clocks upside-down as usual, Thu 5 Apr 2012, 19:12, Reply)