Rattlesnakes, Motherhood & The Resilient Body

This year’s Mother’s Day was epic. Somewhat terrifyingly so.

I thought it was going to be a regular Mother's Day hike. A few miles. A few lizards. Lunch by the Rio Grande. 

Hiking the Rio Grande near Santa Fe, NM. Photo: Scott Gleeson Blue

But on the way back, quite a ways in the lead of the rest of the fam, I walked right up to a rattlesnake, head raised, rattles a'rattling, ready to strike. I was just several feet away. With a baby on my back. 

I ran back the way I came, as fast as I could, yelling, "RATTLESNAKE!" although I probably didn't need to, the snake's rattle was so very loud. 

It was terrifying. I've never disturbed a venomous snake that closely to elicit such a response. 

We huddled for awhile, comforting the eight year old, trying to solve what was a bigger problem than I've encountered in the wild: on this super narrow trail, there was no way around the snake. 

Normally, you either watch for it to go away or you find another route. 

Unfortunately, to the right was a dense thicket that covered a steep drop down to the river, where the bank fell several feet into rushing water. To the left was a steep, unclimbable cliff. 

We had no way out but forward. And the trail was too bendy and we were now too far away to see whether or not the snake had moved. 

I've read a lot about rattlesnakes because I'm new to them and they freak me out. I remembered reading that, if going into thick grasses where they could easily be hidden, you use a long stick in front of you to alert the snakes to your presence. 

So my husband, Scott, broke a branch of a tree, removing all the little sticks and took the lead, hitting the ground as I tried to remember where exactly I'd seen the snake. 

Moments later: the rattle, the hiss, the abject fear. Scott's body making strange movements. 

Scott pushes the broken branch off to the right toward the snake while Sevi (the eight year old) and I, unable to see it, stand back frozen. Then suddenly, Scott runs past it. 

Sevi and I (and the baby on my back) still need to make it down this trail, but there's still a snake and now no branch. My children and I are painfully separated from the one apparent bit of protection available: Scott and the branch. 

Scott, who has his eye on the snake, starts yelling, "RUN!"

I say I can't see. Were we safe? I need more information. 

"RUN! NOW!"

Are you sure?

"YES! RUN!"

So I push Sevi, who is in front of me crying, and we - me with the now crying baby on my back - run past that hissing rattling snake to the other side.

And all this, too, is part of motherhood:

Poisonous snakes. Running for your life. Dredging up snippets of useful information. Reassuring what is unreassurable. Forcing your children to run blindly past danger. Being resourced just enough that, much of the time, no one gets hurt. Trusting the person in front of you. 

But it reminded me, specifically, of childbirth and those important pieces to remember about having a body and being human:

1. My body is amazing. My ears can hear the sound of a rattle. My eyes can see a snake ready to strike. I can run with a baby on my back with no repercussions. I can yell to alert the rest of the family. My nervous system has a perfectly attuned fight or flight response. And also this: my body can recover beautifully from a c-section and a vbac; my body can handle 54 hour and 36 hour labors respectively; I can have multiple miscarriages and still get pregnant; I can have a traumatic hospital birth and still have a peaceful birth at home; and I can push for three hours and not tear. In the whole spectrum of my childbearing life - even in its losses - my body has been amazing.

2. My inner child tries to run the show. The part of me that thought I'd NEVER make it through my second birth (an hbac) and just wanted out was probably my inner eight year old. She reminds me of my eight year old son on the trail, who felt desperate to have this threat go away and kept saying he was too scared to go on. But he was the only one who could run his own body past the snake. Just like with birth, when you are the only one - whether via a vaginal birth or a cesarean - who can DO childbirth. 

3. Risk is real. I cannot take all danger away from my children or myself, but I can use my intuition and knowledge and experience to help us move anyway and that's often the exact right prescription. Whether you have a home birth or a hospital birth or a birth center birth, there are always risks for mother and child. It's part of the mixed cup of motherhood. It’s part of the mixed cup of life.

4. It's better to go it together. I was the one who suggested we re-approach the snake with a long branch. But my husband was the one who did it and got the snake to retreat enough for us to pass. And he was the one who kept yelling "RUN!" while I was too uncertain to move. Just like during birth, when he called forth my inner warrior so that the eight year old in me could just take a break already and let me get on with the good work of birthing. 

A special thanks to Scott. Had I been alone, I would seriously have considered waiting to complete the hike until nightfall when the snake would have retreated into its den. It's one thing to KNOW what to do; it's another to be WILLING to do it.

Your body is amazing, even its frustrating adaptions.

Your inner child is likely a huge piece of how you’re responding to what’s happening in your body.

The risks you face in your body are real.

Help is available.

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