Like many of us, I've had several careers in my life, and although they've been varied, my first job set the foundation for all of them. I was a home-birth midwife throughout my 20s. Delivering babies taught me valuable and sometimes surprising things, like how to start a car at 2am. when it's 10 degrees below zero.
Kao i mnogi, imala sam nekoliko karijera tokom svog života i iako su veoma raznolike, moj prvi posao je postavio temelj za svaku od njih. U svojim dvadesetim sam bila babica za porođaje kod kuće. Donošenje beba na svet me je naučilo vrednim i ponekad iznenađujućim stvarima, na primer, kako da upalim auto u 2 ujutru, kada je napolju -10.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
Or how to revive a father who's fainted at the sight of blood.
Ili kako da vratim u život oca koji se onesvestio kada je video krv.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
Or how to cut the umbilical cord just so, to make a beautiful belly button.
Ili kako da presečem pupčanu vrpcu baš onako kako treba da bi bio lep pupak.
But those aren't the things that stuck with me or guided me when I stopped being a midwife and started other jobs. What stuck with me was this bedrock belief that each one of us comes into this world with a unique worth. When I looked into the face of a newborn, I caught a glimpse of that worthiness, that sense of unapologetic selfhood, that unique spark. I use the word "soul" to describe that spark, because it's the only word in English that comes close to naming what each baby brought into the room.
Ali to nije ono ključno što pamtim ili što me je vodilo kada sam prestala da budem babica i počela da radim druge poslove. Ono što pamtim je temeljno uverenje da svako od nas na ovaj svet dolazi sa jedinstvenom vrednošću. Kada bih pogledala u lice novorođenčeta, uhvatila bih nagoveštaj te vrednosti, tog ličnog karaktera koji nema razloga da se izvini, te jedinstvene iskre. Koristim reč „duša“ da opišem tu iskru, jer je jedina reč u srpskom jeziku koja je približna tome što svaka beba donosi na svet.
Every newborn was as singular as a snowflake, a matchless mash-up of biology and ancestry and mystery. And then that baby grows up, and in order to fit into the family, to conform to the culture, to the community, to the gender, that little one begins to cover its soul, layer by layer. We're born this way, but --
Svako novorođenče je jedinstveno poput pahuljice, neuporediva kombinacija biologije, porodičnog porekla i misterije. Onda ta beba poraste, a da bi se uklopila u porodicu, da bi se prilagodila kulturi, zajednici, rodu, to malo biće počne da prikriva svoju dušu, sloj po sloj. Mi smo rođeni takvi, ali -
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
But as we grow, a lot of things happen to us that make us ... want to hide our soulful eccentricities and authenticity. We've all done this. Everyone in this room is a former baby --
Ali kako odrastamo, dogodi nam se mnogo toga što nas natera... da želimo da prikrijemo ekscentričnost i autentičnost naše duše. Svi smo to radili. Svi u ovoj prostoriji nekada su bili bebe -
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
with a distinctive birthright. But as adults, we spend so much of our time uncomfortable in our own skin, like we have ADD: authenticity deficit disorder. But not those babies -- not yet. Their message to me was: uncover your soul and look for that soul-spark in everyone else. It's still there.
sa karakterističnim pravom koje smo dobili na rođenju. Ali kao odrasli, provodimo previše vremena nelagodno se osećajući u sopstvenoj koži, kao da imamo PNA: poremećaj nedostatka autentičnosti. Ali ne i te bebe - ne još uvek. Njihova poruka meni je bila: otkrij svoju dušu i potraži tu iskru duše u svakome. Još uvek je tamo.
And here's what I learned from laboring women. Their message was about staying open, even when things are painful. A woman's cervix normally looks like this. It's a tight little muscle at the base of the uterus. And during labor, it has to stretch from this to this. Ouch! If you fight against that pain, you just create more pain, and you block what wants to be born.
Evo šta sam naučila tokom porađanja žena. Njihova poruka je da treba ostati otvoren čak i kada su stvari bolne. Cerviks žene obično izgleda ovako. To je čvrst mali mišić na otvoru materice. Tokom porođaja, treba da se proširi od te veličine do ove. Joj! Ako se borite protiv tog bola, samo ga povećavate, i blokirate ono što želi da se rodi.
I'll never forget the magic that would happen when a woman stopped resisting the pain and opened. It was as if the forces of the universe took notice and sent in a wave of help. I never forgot that message, and now, when difficult or painful things happen to me in my life or my work, of course at first I resist them, but then I remember what I learned from the mothers: stay open. Stay curious. Ask the pain what it's come to deliver. Something new wants to be born.
Nikada neću zaboraviti magiju koja se događa kada žena prestane da se odupire bolu i otvori se. Kao da su sile univerzuma primetile šta se dešava i poslale pomoć. Nikada nisam zaboravila tu poruku, i sada, kada mi se teške ili bolne stvari dogode u životu ili na poslu, naravno da im se prvo opirem, ali onda se setim šta sam naučila od majki: ostani otvoren. Ostani radoznao. Pitaj bol šta će poroditi. Nešto novo želi da se rodi.
And there was one more big soulful lesson, and that one I learned from Albert Einstein. He wasn't at any of the births, but --
Bila je još jedna velika duboka lekcija, a nju sam naučila od Alberta Ajnštajna. On nije bio ni na jednom od porođaja, ali -
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
It was a lesson about time. At the end of his life, Albert Einstein concluded that our normal, hamster-wheel experience of life is an illusion. We run round and round, faster and faster, trying to get somewhere. And all the while, underneath surface time is this whole other dimension where the past and the present and the future merge and become deep time. And there's nowhere to get to.
To je bila lekcija o vremenu. Na kraju svog života, Albert Ajnštajn je zaključio da naše uobičajeno iskustvo života, kao hrčaka koji trče na točku, jeste iluzija. Mi trčimo naokolo, sve brže i brže, pokušavajući negde da stignemo. A sve vreme, ispod površinskog vremena postoji čitava jedna dimenzija gde se prošlost, sadašnjost i budućnost spajaju i postaju duboko vreme. Ne postoji mesto na koje treba stići.
Albert Einstein called this state, this dimension, "only being." And he said when he experienced it, he knew sacred awe. When I was delivering babies, I was forced off the hamster wheel. Sometimes I had to sit for days, hours and hours, just breathing with the parents; just being. And I got a big dose of sacred awe.
Albert Ajnštajn je nazvao ovo stanje, ovu dimenziju, „samo postojanje“. Rekao je da je, kada ga je iskusio, upoznao sveto strahopoštovanje. Kada sam porađala majke, bila sam primorana da siđem sa točka za hrčke. Ponekad sam morala da sedim danima, satima i satima, i da samo dišem sa roditeljima; samo da postojim. I ja sam primila veliku dozu svetog strahopoštovanja.
So those are the three lessons I took with me from midwifery. One: uncover your soul. Two: when things get difficult or painful, try to stay open. And three: every now and then, step off your hamster wheel into deep time.
To su tri lekcije koje sam ponela sa sobom iz rada kao babica. Prva: otkrij svoju dušu. Druga: kada stvari postanu teške ili bolne, pokušaj da ostaneš otvoren. I treća: s vremena na vreme, siđi sa svog točka za hrčke u duboko vreme.
Those lessons have served me throughout my life, but they really served me recently, when I took on the most important job of my life thus far.
Te lekcije su mi koristile kroz ceo život, ali su mi posebno koristile nedavno, kada sam preuzela najvažniji posao svog života do sada.
Two years ago, my younger sister came out of remission from a rare blood cancer, and the only treatment left for her was a bone marrow transplant. And against the odds, we found a match for her, who turned out to be me. I come from a family of four girls, and when my sisters found out that I was my sister's perfect genetic match, their reaction was, "Really? You?"
Pre dve godine je moja mlađa sestra izašla iz remisije retkog raka krvi, i jedino lečenje koje joj je preostalo je bila transplantacija koštane srži. Uprkos verovatnoćama, našli smo odgovarajućeg davaoca, a ispostavilo se da sam to ja. Rođena sam u porodici sa četiri devojke, i kada su moje sestre saznale da ja genetski savršeno odgovaram, njihova reakcija je bila: „Stvarno? Ti?“
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
"A perfect match for her?" Which is pretty typical for siblings. In a sibling society, there's lots of things. There's love and there's friendship and there's protection. But there's also jealousy and competition and rejection and attack. In siblinghood, that's where we start assembling many of those first layers that cover our soul.
„Savršeno joj odgovaraš?“ Što je prilično očekivano za sestre. U sestrinskoj zajednici postoji mnogo stvari. Tu je i ljubav, prijateljstvo i zaštita. Ali su tu i ljubomora, takmičenje, odbacivanje i napad. U sestrinstvu počinjemo da prikupljamo mnogo od tih prvih slojeva koji prekrivaju našu dušu.
When I discovered I was my sister's match, I went into research mode. And I discovered that the premise of transplants is pretty straightforward. You destroy all the bone marrow in the cancer patient with massive doses of chemotherapy, and then you replace that marrow with several million healthy marrow cells from a donor. And then you do everything you can to make sure that those new cells engraft in the patient. I also learned that bone marrow transplants are fraught with danger. If my sister made it through the near-lethal chemotherapy, she still would face other challenges. My cells might attack her body. And her body might reject my cells. They call this rejection or attack, and both could kill her.
Kada sam otkrila da odgovaram svojoj sestri, počela sam da istražujem. I otkrila sam da je pretpostavka na kojoj počiva transplantacija prilično jednostavna. Uništi se sva koštana srž kod pacijenta koji boluje od raka uz pomoć ogromne doze hemoterapije, a onda se ta srž zameni sa nekoliko miliona zdravih koštanih ćelija davaoca. Onda se čini sve moguće da se omogući da se te nove ćelije prime kod pacijenta. Takođe sam naučila da transplantacija koštane srži nosi mnogo opasnosti. Ako bi moja sestra prošla kroz gotovo smrtnu dozu hemoterapije, i dalje bi je čekalo mnogo drugih izazova. Moje ćelije bi mogle da napadnu njeno telo. Njeno telo bi moglo da odbaci moje ćelije. To nazivaju odbacivanjem ili napadom, a i jedno i drugo bi moglo da je ubije.
Rejection. Attack. Those words had a familiar ring in the context of being siblings. My sister and I had a long history of love, but we also had a long history of rejection and attack, from minor misunderstandings to bigger betrayals. We didn't have the kind of the relationship where we talked about the deeper stuff; but, like many siblings and like people in all kinds of relationships, we were hesitant to tell our truths, to reveal our wounds, to admit our wrongdoings.
Odbacivanje. Napad. Te reči su imale poznati prizvuk u kontekstu sestara. Moja sestra i ja smo imale dugu istoriju ljubavi, ali smo isto tako imale i dugu istoriju odbacivanja i napada, od manjih nesporazuma do većih izdaja. Nismo imale onu vrstu veze gde smo razgovarale o dubljim stvarima; ali, kao mnoge sestre i kao mnogi ljudi u svim vrstama odnosa, suzdržavale smo se da kažemo svoje istine, da otkrijemo svoje rane, da priznamo svoja nedela.
But when I learned about the dangers of rejection or attack, I thought, it's time to change this. What if we left the bone marrow transplant up to the doctors, but did something that we later came to call our "soul marrow transplant?" What if we faced any pain we had caused each other, and instead of rejection or attack, could we listen? Could we forgive? Could we merge? Would that teach our cells to do the same?
Ali kada sam saznala za opasnosti odbacivanja ili napada, pomislila sam da je vreme da promenimo to. Šta ako ostavimo transplantaciju koštane srži doktorima, ali da uradimo ono što smo kasnije nazvale našom „transplantacijom duševne srži“? Šta ako bismo se suočile sa svim bolom koji smo izazvale jedna drugoj, i umesto da odbacimo ili napadnemo jedna drugu, da li bismo mogle da se saslušamo? Da li bismo mogle da oprostimo? Da li bismo mogle da se spojimo? Da li bi to naučilo naše ćelije da učine isto?
To woo my skeptical sister, I turned to my parents' holy text: the New Yorker Magazine.
Kako bih ubedila svoju sumnjičavu sestru, obratila sam se svetom tekstu svojih roditelja: časopisu Njujorker.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
I sent her a cartoon from its pages as a way of explaining why we should visit a therapist before having my bone marrow harvested and transplanted into her body. Here it is.
Poslala sam joj crtež odatle kako bih joj objasnila zašto treba da posetimo terapeuta pre nego što doktori prikupe moju srž i presade je u njeno telo. Evo ga.
"I have never forgiven him for that thing I made up in my head."
„Nikad mu nisam oprostila za tu stvar koju sam izmislila u svojoj glavi.“
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
I told my sister we had probably been doing the same thing, carting around made-up stories in our heads that kept us separate. And I told her that after the transplant, all of the blood flowing in her veins would be my blood, made from my marrow cells, and that inside the nucleus of each of those cells is a complete set of my DNA. "I will be swimming around in you for the rest of your life," I told my slightly horrified sister.
Rekla sam sestri da smo sigurno i mi radile isto to - nosile smo okolo izmišljene priče u svojim glavama koje su nas razdvajale. Rekla sam joj da, nakon transplantacije, sva krv koja će teći njenim venama biće moja krv, koju su stvorile moje ćelije, i da je unutar nukleusa svake od tih ćelija potpuni sklop moje DNK. „Plivaću u tebi ostatak tvog života“, rekla sam svojoj pomalo preplašenoj sestri.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
"I think we better clean up our relationship."
„Mislim da je bolje da raščistimo naš odnos.“
A health crisis makes people do all sorts of risky things, like quitting a job or jumping out of an airplane and, in the case of my sister, saying "yes" to several therapy sessions, during which we got down to the marrow. We looked at and released years of stories and assumptions about each other and blame and shame until all that was left was love.
Ugroženo zdravlje utiče na to da ljudi čine različite rizične stvari, kao što je davanje otkaza ili skakanje iz aviona, a u slučaju moje sestre, pristanak na nekoliko seansi tokom kojih smo išle do srži. Posmatrale smo i oslobodile godine priča i pretpostavki koje smo imale jedna o drugoj, krivicu i stid, sve dok nije preostala samo ljubav.
People have said I was brave to undergo the bone marrow harvest, but I don't think so. What felt brave to me was that other kind of harvest and transplant, the soul marrow transplant, getting emotionally naked with another human being, putting aside pride and defensiveness, lifting the layers and sharing with each other our vulnerable souls. I called on those midwife lessons: uncover your soul. Open to what's scary and painful. Look for the sacred awe.
Ljudi su rekli da sam hrabra jer sam se podvrgla prikupljanju koštane srži, ali ja ne mislim tako. Ono što se meni učinilo hrabrim bila je ta druga vrsta prikupljanja i transplantacije, transplantacija duševne srži, emotivno svlačenje sa drugim ljudskim bićem, ostavljanje po strani ponosa i odbrambenog stava, podizanje slojeva i to što smo jedna sa drugom podelile naše ranjive duše. Pozivala sam se na one lekcije koje sam naučila kao babica: otkrijte svoju dušu. Otvorite se ka onome što je zastrašujuće i bolno. Tražite sveto strahopoštovanje.
Here I am with my marrow cells after the harvest. That's they call it -- "harvest," like it's some kind of bucolic farm-to-table event --
Tu sam sa svojim ćelijama srži nakon njihovog prikupljanja. Tako to nazivaju - „prikupljanje“, kao da je reč o nekoj vrsti događaja gde seljak prikuplja sa farme -
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
Which I can assure you it is not. And here is my brave, brave sister receiving my cells. After the transplant, we began to spend more and more time together. It was as if we were little girls again. The past and the present merged. We entered deep time. I left the hamster wheel of work and life to join my sister on that lonely island of illness and healing. We spent months together -- in the isolation unit, in the hospital and in her home.
A uveravam vas da nije tako. Ovde je moja hrabra sestra kako prima moje ćelije. Nakon transplantacije, počele smo da provodimo sve više vremena zajedno. Bilo je to kao da smo iznova postale devojčice. Prošlost i sadašnjost su se spojile. Ušle smo u duboko vreme. Napustila sam točak za hrčke u životu i u poslu kako bih se pridružila svojoj sestri na tom usamljenom ostrvu bolesti i izlečenja. Provele smo mesece zajedno - na infektivnom odeljenju, u bolnici i u njenoj kući.
Our fast-paced society does not support or even value this kind of work. We see it as a disruption of real life and important work. We worry about the emotional drain and the financial cost -- and, yes, there is a financial cost. But I was paid in the kind of currency our culture seems to have forgotten all about. I was paid in love. I was paid in soul. I was paid in my sister.
Naša zajednica koja živi brzim tempom ne podržava niti ceni ovaj vid rada. To vidimo kao prekid stvarnog života i važnog posla. Brinemo o emocionalnoj iscrpljenosti i finansijskim troškovima - i, da, postoji finansijski trošak. Ali ja sam plaćena u valuti koju je naša kultura izgleda zaboravila u potpunosti. Plaćena sam ljubavlju. Plaćena sam dušom. Plaćena sam bliskošću sa svojom sestrom.
My sister said the year after transplant was the best year of her life, which was surprising. She suffered so much. But she said life never tasted as sweet, and that because of the soul-baring and the truth-telling we had done with each other, she became more unapologetically herself with everyone. She said things she'd always needed to say. She did things she always wanted to do. The same happened for me. I became braver about being authentic with the people in my life. I said my truths, but more important than that, I sought the truth of others.
Moja sestra je rekla da je godina nakon transplantacije najbolja godina njenog života, što je iznenađujuće. Propatila je mnogo. Ali je rekla da život nikada nije bio slađi i da je zahvaljujući ogoljavanju duše i tome što smo jedna drugoj rekle istinu, nepomirljivo postala ono što jeste u odnosu sa svima. Rekla je stvari koje je oduvek trebalo da kaže. Učinila je stvari koje je uvek želela da učini. Isto se dogodilo i meni. Postala sam hrabrija i autentična prema ljudima u svom životu. Rekla sam svoje istine, ali još važnije od toga, zahtevala sam istinu od drugih.
It wasn't until the final chapter of this story that I realized just how well midwifery had trained me. After that best year of my sister's life, the cancer came roaring back, and this time there was nothing more the doctors could do. They gave her just a couple of months to live.
Tek na kraju ove priče sam shvatila koliko me je dobro posao babice istrenirao. Nakon te najbolje godine života moje sestre, rak se burno vratio, i ovog puta nije postojalo ništa više što su doktori mogli da urade. Procenili su da će živeti još samo nekoliko meseci.
The night before my sister died, I sat by her bedside. She was so small and thin. I could see the blood pulsing in her neck. It was my blood, her blood, our blood. When she died, part of me would die, too.
Noć pre nego što je moja sestra umrla, sedela sam pored njenog kreveta. Bila je tako sitna i mršava. Mogla sam da vidim krv kako pulsira u njenom vratu. Bila je to moja krv, njena krv, naša krv. Kada je umrla, deo mene je takođe umro.
I tried to make sense of it all, how becoming one with each other had made us more ourselves, our soul selves, and how by facing and opening to the pain of our past, we'd finally been delivered to each other, and how by stepping out of time, we would now be connected forever.
Pokušala sam da razumem smisao svega toga, kako nas je to što smo postale jedno u međusobnom odnosu učinilo više onim što jesmo, onim što suštinski jesmo, i kako smo se suočavanjem sa bolom iz naše prošlosti i otvaranjem ka njemu konačno predale jedna drugoj, i kako ćemo time što smo iskoračile iz vremena sada biti zauvek spojene.
My sister left me with so many things, and I'm going to leave you now with just one of them. You don't have to wait for a life-or-death situation to clean up the relationships that matter to you, to offer the marrow of your soul and to seek it in another. We can all do this. We can be like a new kind of first responder, like the one to take the first courageous step toward the other, and to do something or try to do something other than rejection or attack. We can do this with our siblings and our mates and our friends and our colleagues. We can do this with the disconnection and the discord all around us. We can do this for the soul of the world.
Moja sestra me je ostavila sa toliko stvari, a ja ću sada vas da ostavim samo sa jednom od njih. Ne morate da čekate situaciju gde je pitanje života ili smrti kako biste raščistili odnose koji su vama važni, da ponudite srž svoje duše i da je zatražite od drugog. Svi to možemo. Svi možemo da budemo nova vrsta službe za pružanje pomoći, oni koji čine prvi hrabri korak ka onom drugom, i koji čine ili pokušavaju da učini nešto drugo osim odbijanja i napada. Možemo to da učinimo sa svojom braćom i sestrama, sa svojim partnerima, sa prijateljima i kolegama. Možemo to da učinimo sa onim od čega smo odvojeni i sa svim neslaganjem oko nas. Možemo to da učinimo za dušu sveta.
Thank you.
Hvala vam.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)