Baby Tracking

A colleague asked this week whether I'd ever worked with children who held their breath. I responded, "Yes."

One of the families I worked with in the mid 90s had a 10 month old born by Caesarian-Section who began walking when she was eight months old. 

Bright, easy to laugh, and physically precocious, the little one had one problem that caused concern for her parents. Every time mom or dad tried to put her into the carseat, she'd stiffen her whole body, hold her breath until she turned blue, and then she'd pass out. 

The pediatrician said she'd out grow it, but the parents were frantic with worry. They were referred to me by a friend of theirs.

We did a brief telephone intake, during which I asked about the birth and days immediately following. It seemed the problem had been increasing in concern since that first day being driven home from the hospital. It was very unappealing to go out at all. Dad worked. Mom was feeling trapped at home. 

I asked the parents to bring the car-seat into the session. 

My partner Mary Lou and I sat with the parents and their active young walk-a-rounder on the floor in my treatment room.  Mary Lou focused on gathering a couple of pieces of info we hadn't been able to get on the phone. She gave the parents a mini education on birth-trauma resolution, and normalized for them that what seemed like a bizarre behavior, may be functioning as a coping mechanism, helping the nervous system rest from too much activation or dis-regulation. 

I tracked the little girl as she climbed up a small ladder, slid down the wooden slide, walked clockwise around the room, picked up a baby doll, sitting first in dad's lap for a moment, then the car seat, then mom's lap, then helping the baby doll down the slide, and sliding down again herself. 

With each repetition of her clockwise movement routine around the room, she got more animated, went faster, and began to vocalize with little chirps and squeals. She sounded delighted. I kept acknowledging aloud what she was doing... "oh, down the slide, running to dad, butt in the car-seat, hugging mom, baby doll down the slide, you down the slide..." 

Near the end of our time together the young one cuddled up in dad's lap holding the doll. We made an appointment for two weeks later, and the family left - carseat and all. Mary Lou and I listened, but didn't hear any struggle as they got into their car. 

A week later mom called to report that they didn't need to come for a second session, the problem had resolved. 

I wish I could tell you, with some scientific understanding, exactly what happened for the little one during that session. Truth is, I haven't a clue! 

But, doesn't something profound happen for all of us when we feel heard, seen and met? Perhaps that's all it takes in some cases. 

Beyond that, here are some guesses:

Ray Castellino, one of my teachers, says that sliding down a slide can represent coming into life. This little one's air-lift birth didn't allow for two main things: 1) Secreting the hormone that tells her mom's body that she's ready to be born, and to begin labor, please, and 2) Using her own legs and feet to push on down through the canal. Well, she also missed out on the massage that vaginally born folks get while moving through the longest journey of 2.5 inches we ever make. Mom and dad reported that she had some respiratory distress right after birth. This is fairly common in belly birth babies. Mammals require the full body massage of birth to activate all their systems. This is why mama cats lick their kittens from the tips of their noses to the tips of their toes and tails. Stimulation of the skin wakes up all the parts and welcomes them to life!

Perhaps the safety of the set up, the toys available for her to tell her story, and being mirrored as accurately as we could muster, worked to let her nervous system re-regulate. 

What a privilege to hold space and follow the body so it can tell its story without tipping people so deeply into the scary bits that they feel at the effect of the primary event all over again. 

My colleague said she was working with an adult who had a history from childhood of holding her breath to control her emotions. I'm eager to hear how the sessions go with my colleague and her client. 

Wouldn't it be lovely if we could have baby trackers at every birth to support little ones coming through? They could be kept abreast (so to speak) of what was happening on the outside, and what they could expect. Wouldn't it be nice to be part of the conversation - just like an airline pilot let's us know when we're heading into turbulence or in sight of a spectacular work of Nature?