Abraham's Sorrow

Phil and I were up at 6am to gut and skin the bucks. It took two hours, and in the last 15 minutes we did notice some flies, but overall, we felt like that worked very well. (Except that Phil had a major adrenaline rush after last night's killing, and he couldn't fall asleep until 2am.)

When we had morning Bible reading and prayer, Isaiah prayed that "No animals would die on the farm anymore." We still have an occasional chick dying, and I just hope for ever greater health and well-being.

Phil headed out to put down drip-line. I went to plant out whatever remaining plants I could in the already-plowed and tilled area. We debated whether to have Phil plow or put in drip-line today, and decided it was better to get water to the plants already in the ground. The remaining 219 asparagus in soil blocks will just have to keep being patient.

Our photographer friend is editing our farm promotional photos. She posted a much anticipated preview today. (If you have a chance, take a look at her whole site: some absolutely stunning photographs. And if you really want to be amazed, look at the photos from her wedding: what an amazingly creative person!)

And on that positive note, the post shifts to the sorrowful. ***Graphic Story Follows***

At 11:30, Phil suddenly called me over: "Blessing is giving birth, and I don't think it's going well." Blessing, our one living Babydoll ewe born last year, had apparently come into heat right at the end of the breeding season.

A quick check showed a single hoof protruding, and no progress. I checked my lambing book, and took on the hat of ewe obstetrician. When a bit of tail also showed in the opening, I realized that I was dealing with a hoofling breech. Malpresentation. And, with the tail poking out, the book didn't give much hope for the lamb.

But, what was there to do but do my best to save lamb and ewe. First, I had to push the leg and tail back into the uterus. Then, ideally, I needed to find and grab both rear hooves, then pull out with a contraction.

This sounds so simple in print. But immediately on pushing the foot back in, I was overwhelmed with invisible body parts, none of which made sense. Were there twins?! What were the sharply pointy bones at a sharp angle? Where was the other hoof?! Is that a placenta?

Having had four children, I know enough about childbirth to know that placenta issues are bad news.

I don't much like to think about the next frantic 45 minutes. I was so discombobulated, and Blessing, ever patient, gave little grunts at times when I must have been extra invasive. The womb extends a great distance up into the body; I suspect I didn't go up far enough, or feel deeply enough.

Abraham would come periodically and say, "I'm praying."

Several times I wanted to give up. At one point, I was totally done, when I think I felt two tiny twitches under my fingertips. The lamb was worth fighting for. Another time, I started sobbing, apologizing to Blessing, and Phil said calmly, "Amy stop that. Keep going." It was a good reminder not to give in to emotionalism when I had a serious task at hand.

I finally somehow maneuvered the two front hooves out, and had the head in more or less the right position. But I wasn't able to get the head out with my hand supporting it. If the head wouldn't fit out the pelvis, there was no hope for ewe or lamb. But my hand added a good deal to the circumference that needed to fit. So I got the head close to the pelvis, slipped my hand through, grabbed the teeny mouth with my fingertips, and pulled. And the little black ram lamb came. Dead.

Blessing breathed twice more, then died, too.

I had tried so hard, but it wasn't enough. The outcome was the same as it would have been, despite my intervention. Was this because the ewe was too young to birth? But the lamb wasn't actually stuck: just a bad presentation and an incompetent Amy.

I took the baby and tried to feel what I had felt inside. How are the joints on the rear legs different than the joints on the front legs? (The pointy angles I had felt were leg joints.) What is the difference between butt and head? Rectum and eye? I'm amazed at how desperately I rely on sight. Maybe now my hands have a little more experience for next time.

I had a hard time, though, for a few hours. Phil and I talked it over later, and thought of some things to mitigate the absolute grief and guilt I was feeling. First, we didn't just come upon her after she died. That would have been more guilt than I think I could bear. Second, she didn't linger with internal injuries or trauma. Third, hopefully we will know better what to do, should a cow or ewe have a similar problem in the future. I know that I need to not give up. I have a better understanding of how the uterus fits in a ruminant. I will start administering arnica (for trauma) right away, not wait until after the baby is delivered.

Despite the easing of my distress, I cleaned for hours, not quite ready emotionally to go out and work in the greenhouse.

I noticed that Abraham was quiet all afternoon. He finally asked, "Mom, why did Blessing die?" I started to answer, "Because she had a hard delivery, and that happens sometimes," when I realized what he really wanted to know is one of the questions of the ages: Why did God not answer my prayer?

Abraham especially has seen some beautiful answers to prayer, and since he was voluntarily beseeching God on Blessing's behalf, I can see how he would be hardest hit of all the boys. "First I waited and waited for Blessing to give birth, and I was excited. Then I prayed. And then I was just sad."

That's a hard conversation to have with a 4-year-old. We touched on several things: everyone on earth dies; if we didn't, think how crowded it would be. But God knows the number of our days. He wasn't surprised that this was the day Blessing died. Childbirth has been difficult for women ever since Adam and Eve. Maybe we should have prayed that God would give us wisdom and perseverance, and that we would be His instruments, rather than demanding a particular outcome. It's better to have loved Blessing and be sad that she's dead than not to have known her at all: it keeps life rich to experience the full range of emotions.

Abraham seemed more cheerful after that.

We ended up processing Blessing this evening. We had considered eating one of the Babydolls, just to see how the meat tasted. That seems, I suppose, cruel, but the reality is, on a farm, we all need to eat. I was amazed that the older boys were interested in the butchering process. Even Jadon, who turns white and lies down when reading about eyes and nerves in the Magic Schoolbus book watched the process carefully. "I don't want to miss any of it," he said.
Our resident whippoorwill called to us as we were finishing. "There's the whippoorwill!" said Isaiah, as he went off to examine the internals organs more closely.

That's my life. Difficult tasks, difficult conversations, richness of experience. Plumbing the depths and scaling the heights.