Five months after Oliver was born, in August, my best friend Pam was expecting her second child. About a week before her due date, her husband came down with pneumonia. Pam called and asked if I would be her partner for the birth if it happened while Chris was sick — they don’t even let people with pneumonia near a birth ward, much less in it. I agreed, and I think we were both sure it wouldn’t be necessary.

Pam and I are dear friends, have been for decades, and we both value our privacy. We don’t end conversations with love (until recently), we avert our eyes when dressing together, and we don’t pry too much. So when the phone rang at 2 a.m. one night, just after we talked, I knew what it was about, and I was worried and excited. I was glad to be able to support Pam during her time in need, worried that she would miss Chris so much that I wouldn’t be much help, and also worried about being away from Oliver for so long (he was about 5 months old — still lots of nursing). I packed a lot of bottles and a pump and drove my visiting mother-in-law’s stick shift Miata to Baltimore. I met Pam in the emergency room, where she was tiredly waiting.

Pam with baby Samantha and me with baby Oliver a few weeks after Sam’s exciting birth.

I think both of our guards were down more than usual — it was the middle of the night, we were both way away from our comfort zones, and we were both worried about what would happen next. We started talking, checking in with how she was doing, and tracking her progress. The pain was intense but not regular, and they admitted her soon after and gave her a birthing room. Having just given birth months earlier, I was filled with advice but also aware of how little what you ‘think’ is going to happen is what actually happens. I tried to spend a lot of time listening.

Neither of us are big huggers, so I didn’t rub her back or hold her hand. We talked, a lot, and wondered what was happening with her son and husband at home. We wondered if her baby would be a boy or a girl, and if her parents would arrive before the birth (yes, just!). We breathed. We passed the time, together.

I was aware that the precious gift of Pam’s trust and time at this very private time came at the expense of her ill husband, and was grateful and yet wished he could be well. We called him often. As the hours passed, the pain became more intense, and the silences lingered. I was hoping she’d be okay, and she was, too, and we were both preoccupied with the baby to come.

I left to pump a couple of times; the hospital had a nursing room.

A few hours later, just after her beloved parents arrived from Kansas, Pam’s pain began in earnest. She had an epidural (I think?) but the pain was intense, and the pushing wasn’t helping. I could tell it was getting really close, and called Chris on the cell phone. Hearing his voice cheering her on made her cry, really cry, and push harder. He knew she could do it; we all did.

Watching Pam in pain, trying so hard and willing her body forward, was in some ways harder than when I had given birth. Seeing a dear friend in pain, and being unable to alleviate that pain, was a truly complicated experience. While I urged my husband not to say, “you’re right, it is harder to watch than to give birth,” I genuinely felt that a little bit during Pam’s labor.

Finally, after hours of labor, out came sweet baby Samantha, a girl. Pam’s relief was palpable, Chris was overjoyed, and they were both relieved: They had only chosen a name for a girl. Merrily and Lee (Pam’s parents) were overcome with joy.

I left soon after, gathering my many bottles of milk to return to my own (enormous by comparison) baby. But that day, in that room, being witness to one of the most private, powerful and transformational events in a person’s life — not just being witness, but assisting in, being needed in, was a huge gift to me. It showed me how much Pam trusted me, and taught me how much I could trust her in return. It made me prize her strength, and prize my own when I gave birth again. And, it made me finally allow someone other than Jason into my birthing rooms, and both Pam and Julie were witnesses when Eleanor was born, just over three years later.

Trust, whether that means trusting the world with endless thank you notes  or trusting your best friend with your time of need, is a life lesson I learn again and again, and often my lessons take place with my dear friend Pam. Thanks, Pam, for sharing the beauty of Sam’s birth with me.