I love to meet new doctors and residents in the hospitals I work at. Because the residents often spend time at different hospitals like I do, I get quite familiar with some of them.
On occasion you meet someone who is just born to attend women in birth. Within the last couple of months I have worked with an absolutely amazing young resident. Every client of mine who has spoken to him or been treated by him always says, "Wow, I like that guy!"
Many residents, getting grounded in their doctoring career, are focused really hard on gathering clinical skills, doing as many procedures as possible to get lots of experience. Obviously, this is really important. But sometimes it's to the point of forgetting that attached to this pelvis before them is a woman bringing life into the world. She is having a day she will never forget, a day that will shape her early motherhood. Residents sometimes lose sight of the fact they will be in many cases remembered forever, as the day of a child's birth is an incredibly important day in a family's life. A woman at the end of that day will usually grieve insensitive treatment, it being etched into her mind forever, more so at times than the clinical details of her birth. In their lovey/bondey oxytocin high, mothers will remember their caring attendants of the birth of their precious babies with genuine fondness. Forever.
Given all the crazy hard work residents do, I realize it can become easy to forget about contributing to more than just the clinical aspect of hospital birth. So what's great about my new resident buddy is that while he is gathering skill perfecting experience and working crazy hard too, he never forgets to be kind and respectful. If a woman is working to have an unmedicated birth, he absolutely honours that and doesn't offer any interventions, unless necessary, that could potentially throw a monkey wrench into that heartfelt dream of hers. He doesn't judge. He is curious about his patients' lives, and says things like, "The birthing woman is the Queen in the delivery room." If I say something he may not know about supporting natural birth and breastfeeding, he gets curious and doesn't brush me off as non-medical-therefore-irrelvant.
This is a doctor whom I trust and feel very pleased when I see him walking around the halls in the hospital. He has that skill of being able to click with just about anybody. I know my ladies will be in good hands and will not only have their clinical needs tended to, but their experiences enhanced by his presence.
A doula's 2 thumbs up to Dr. C!
I also want to give snaps to my spectacular sister Motherwitties Sesch and Molly for providing me with back-up when I had 2 ladies birthing at the same time and needed to leave the hospital to be with my son during his dental surgery. I was leaving them both with women having quite challenging labours, and they are always able to just go in there, adapt, and get to work in their unique, marvellous ways. I didn't worry about any of my clients at all in their good hands, and was able to tend to my little boy fully present for him, if not a little tired from having been up all night. I am so blessed to have a team of women I know love this work, and are deeply honouring of whatever a woman needs to feel supported and good about herself during her birth process.
Lastly, another Kudos to the great Montreal OB nurses who are the busiest ladies in town, yet manage to make their patients feel special and supported. Nurses, who have FAR more patient contact than doctors during birth and are often running around non stop their entire shifts, don't usually forget that they are part of a future memory, and act accordingly.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
The Birth of Kayleigh-Savannah
Nineteen years ago today, the world shifted to welcome in a beautiful new being. She happens to be my daughter. Her birth heralded many a change in my world. When her life merged with mine and she began to grow inside me, I found my calling to be a birth attendant. When she emerged from my body, a mother and father were newborn too. So was an Oma, two aunties, and a cousin. The world became a little sweeter that day, and continues to reap the blessings of this good, compassionate, strong, fierce young woman. This is the story of Kayleigh.
Kayleigh's dad and I met 18 months before she was born. The day we met I think we knew we were destined to make a family. I asked him a couple of days after we first laid eyes on each other if he had ever thought of having children. He said that he hadn't thought about it much...would probably consider adopting...but that come to think of it, he might love to have a little girl named Kayleigh (after the song "Kayleigh" by Marillion). With those words, the world of pre-born souls perked up its ears, and a light began to pulse gently, growing and developing, waiting for the perfect moment to spark into life earthside.
I think our child may have been conceived during a thunderstorm in a tent in the Adirondacks. We decided on a whim to go camping out there on my birthday, after having stayed up all night playing Mario Brothers on Nintendo. We left that morning, grabbing a bus. We had planned to stay camping for a few more days after the rain, but missed our dog too much. After taking a canoe out but having to bring it back in quickly because I got a sudden anxiety over sea monsters (even though we were on a lake), we hitchhiked most the way home. We felt a bit odd walking through the US/Canada border after hitching a ride with a guy who listened to the Cowboy Junkies and had a three legged dog named Tripod, but nobody gave us any trouble. We each had a piece of rock hidden in our pockets as our mode of protection against bears and bad guys, but we felt safe in the world. In the middle of my pregnancy, Mitchell used a bit of that rock to put in a pouch he made for me to wear as a kind of amulet of protection.
I could feel my daughter hovering around before she came in. I knew something was going to happen to me, something huge. Before I even missed a period or consciously thought I might be pregnant I was meandering through the "pregnancy and birth" sections of the book store. Mitchell got into a minor bike accident and had a mild concussion, and my mind started to think things like, "he'd better be more careful, because I don't want to be left alone with a child." Hey. Wait a minute! Child? What's going on here? The thought of perhaps having a child left me feeling nothing but excited and happy. There was never a moment of wavering or doubt that this wasn't the perfect thing to do, even though I was only 22, a part time student of English Literature and Creative Writing, and a counter girl at Cafe La Tulipe Noir where I had to don a tuxedo shirt, a bow tie, and a pink visor and apron daily to serve snooty customers cheesecake.
I worked with Mitchell's sister Nancy at La Tulipe. I had a good relationship with her, and trusted her. I mentioned my period might be late. She just gave me a knowing smile. She had had a baby herself at a young age, and her son Jeremy who was then three was an amazing kid we were always trying to steal from her on weekends. We adored Jeremy, and even though Mitchell and I were a pretty new couple, all we wanted to do in our spare time was hang around this little boy. As I washed and folded his sweet little boy clothes one day, I had a strong feeling I would be washing some little clothes for my own kid soon. I bought a pregnancy test. On the same day Murphy Brown found out she was pregnant, the little ball on my pee stick turned blue. Positive.
Naturally, the first person I called immediately was Nancy. "Oh my God, I'm pregnant!" Nancy expressed how great she thought that was, and I was so grateful for such a positive reception of my tender news. Mitchell had no idea. I left the pregnancy test on my desk, and later that evening Mitchell came home, complaining loudly about something that had happened to him during the day. He stopped talking only for a moment to pick up the test and asked, "You're pregnant?" I nodded. Without missing a beat he continued his rant, sat down on the couch, then went silent, breathing rather heavily. We were having a baby. It was a surprise. And it was good.
Next was to tell my family, who were not as receptive. My mom's first reaction was to say, "Oh, NO!" with an exasperated tone that implied I had done something stupid. She didn't intend it to be mean, but of course as a mom she was thinking, "No money, only been with this guy for 9 months, what is my daughter's future?" I don't blame her for that. And she quickly came around. My Nana told me she was glad my Granddad wasn't alive to know I was having a baby out of wedlock, though she herself was very cool about the whole thing.
I'm not sure why this is, but there was never any doubt in my mind that natural birth was the road I wanted to choose. I had always known that. Probably because I come from an unbroken line of natural birthers, my mother having been born at home in Holland, and my mother having given birth naturally to my sisters (twins) and me. My mom only had positive stories of childbearing and breastfeeding, and I have the utmost gratitude that that attitude and belief in birth as a normal process was passed onto me. I would probably not be who I am and do what I do without such a strong legacy as a foundation in my very cells. Even though my mother had 3 children within one year (yes, you heard me correctly), she never complained that it was overwhelming or impossible. She always talked about motherhood as being fun.
I knew unequivocally I was with the very right man to have this baby with on the day we told his mother the big news. We were having dinner at her house with our nephew Jeremy (her grandson), and Mitchell cleared his throat and announced, "So, Jeremy, it looks like you're going to have a little cousin." Mitchell's mom looked up and said, "Say what? You know formula and diapers are expensive, right?" Mitchell said, "Don't worry...we're going to breastfeed and use cloth diapers." How this 22 year old boy pulled this decision out of his hat I have no idea, because we hadn't even discussed it before. But we resonated with its feeling of rightness, and our intuitive mutual connection to our fledgling beliefs made us so happy to be having a baby together.
I felt like the only pregnant woman on earth. I felt so special. I wanted my belly to poke out NOW, so everyone would see how pregnant I was. I felt nauseated, but it wasn't a horrible thing. I felt reassured things were going normally. I had bought a book that was a midwife's guide to birth, so all of it was about natural birth. I never bought one book that was even remotely like What to Expect. I had a gynecologist I really liked, who I had been seeing since I was about 18. When I asked her not to listen to the baby with a Doppler because I was worried about the ultrasound, she said, "Of course!" She informed me she wouldn't be able to hear my baby with a fetoscope then, but that everything looked just fine and we would wait until the baby grew big enough for her to listen to it with a fetoscope. In fact, she appreciated the idea of keeping her auscultation skills intact. I consider myself pretty lucky to have had an OB with such a great attitude.
My husband would walk our big dog Jezebel in Jeanne Mance Park daily, and on his walks he met a couple named Jane and John, who had 2 big white huskies named Yukon and Coltrain. Before I got pregnant, they informed him that Jane was pregnant. One day, Mitchell and I were walking along St. Laurent street. I was feeling pretty green with nausea. I looked up and saw a lovely blonde hippie walking down the street with a swollen belly, flanked by two white dogs. Mitchell said, "Hey, Jane! How are you doing? This is my partner Lesley...she's pregnant too!" Jane looked at me with love and embraced me in the warmest, most present hug I have ever had in my life and said, "That's WONDERFUL! I have something for you." She dug around in her bag and pulled out two books: The Wise Woman Herbal for the Childbearing Year by Susun Weed and Spiritual Midiwfery by Ina May Gaskin. I gratefully accepted these books, and Jane and I exchanged some girl talk. I asked her where she was having her baby, and she said, "At home with a midwife." I han't know that was possible in Montreal. But I immediately asked how I could find a midwife too, because I intuitively knew that no matter now nice my doctor was, I didn't think I was going to enjoy the hospital birth experience. I had assumed that's where all Montrealers went to birth, and was so amazed to know this other option existed, and that I could do it too.
I inhaled the books Jane gave me, and at some point in my careful reading of Spiritual Midwifery, it struck with utter clarity that what I would do with my life was be a birth attendant. Suddenly everything made sense: why I was always so attracted to the birth process, why even as a child I was hungry for birth stories...it was my calling. I have never, not even for one moment, wavered from that belief. I was just so deeply moved to be so overwhelmingly passionate about something that had such meaning to me. How amazing to not only be pregnant, which is pretty great in and of itself, but to discover what I wanted to be when I grew up! Life was fantastic.
I met my midwife Francoise, and loved her right away. I also saw my doctor a couple of more times, who kept her promise and listened to Baby with a fetoscope. I was honest with Dr. B. I told her I was planning to give birth at home. She told me as an OB she had to say she wasn't entirely supportive of that idea, however, if I had to transfer to the hospital for any reason with an emergency in labour, she would do her best to be there for me and would treat the midwife and me without judgement. This made me feel fantastic to know I was covered on all sides. Francoise and Dr. B. suggested I have an ultrasound, because they noted my belly seemed quite large and wanted to rule out the possibility of twins, which run in my family. I agreed. An when I walked into the hospital, I felt so relieved that I would NOT be giving birth there. I told the technician to keep the baby's sex a secret, as I would have felt very strange knowing in advance what the sex of my baby was. I felt deep down she was a girl.
A few family members were a bit challenged with the idea of my choosing to give birth at home. "What if something goes wrong?" they wanted to know. I'm not sure why, but I didn't feel afraid of birthing at home in the least. I felt afraid of being in the hospital. My grandmother put every one's worries to rest, reminding them that she had had her four babies at home, and that in those days where she came from, it was weird to give birth in the hospital where sick people went.
Aside from a few blood sugar issues, pregnancy evolved beautifully. I remember meeting Francoise's back up midwife Kirsten, and she said, "Oh, we just LOVE 22 year olds! They give birth so great!"
Mitchell and I moved to a nice apartment on Park Avenue, having given up our studies to work full time to amass some savings. I stopped working at about six months pregnant, and spent the rest of my pregnancy totally enjoying this new kick of being obsessively clean and organized, which is not part of my normal make-up. At all. I would make Mitchell his lunch and walk the dog over to his work to bring it to him, just like a real housewife. And Mitchell was such a good sport when I made him paint the kitchen twice because I didn't like the colour. I was amazed at how much pleasure I took in smelling clean little baby clothes in their drawers, and the look of clean, white porcelain in the bathroom. I dusted every day. I nested to my heart's content, and enjoyed spending my time reading, resting, cleaning, and preparing for Baby. I fantasized about birth all the time. I knew it would be the hardest thing I had ever done, but I knew I could do it. Just envisioning the moment of my baby being in my arms for the first time would move me to tears.
A few weeks before the birth I met some neighbour children in a park near our library. The girl, who was about 11 said, "You've got a baby in there, don't you? My mom is kind of like a midwife. She helps out at birthings. She had us at home." That was how I met my friend Michelle. She offered to help out and Mitchell and I felt really comfortable with her. She was so warm and open with big hugs and generosity. We had dinner a few times with her and her family and they showed us the photos of their births. I just couldn't believe all the amazing support this baby and I were drawing to us. I felt very guided, and never took for granted that I was walking in a state of grace that was shaping my future in a very important way.
On May 21st, the day before my due date, I woke up to some cramps that felt stronger than the occasional warm up contractions I had been having. At 7am I stood in the shower and and moaned a little, saying, "hmmmm, this is different....I think I'm in labour." Mitchell asked if he should stay home from work. I figured not, because I didn't want to make a big deal of it yet. I knew it could go on for a long time. So off he went. My friend/doula Michelle drove me to my midwife's appointment, as she wanted to meet Francoise. As we waited in Francoise's office, I had a few more waves of sensation, and found I just liked walking and paying attention to them. I had had way worse periods. But they did seem to ask for attention, so I'd stop talking and wander off, walking and breathing gently.
Francoise checked me and said, "Well, you're still 3cm (I had been for 3 weeks), but there is some bloody show and things are softer...maybe I'll see you tonight or tomorrow night."
Michelle wanted to take me to lunch, but I didn't feel like eating much at all. I wanted to be home. So I went and did my routine house tidy. I lay down and took a nap. At about noon Michelle called and told me to eat, so I ate a bit of soup and toast. I just wasn't very hungry. Mitchell came home at about 1pm, and we went to do some groceries. I think we even went to see a movie at the old Rialto Theatre as we lived right across the street from it. Later in the afternoon I began to feel very cranky. The contractions weren't changing much, and I kept thinking all of this might just stop, and if it did I'd be disappointed, because I just really wanted to get the show on the road to meet my baby. I was SO ready for her. My back was feeling tense and sore, and it made me grumpy. Jane came by for a visit, and I sent her and Mitchell off to walk Jezebel because I didn't want to expose them to my bad mood. Mitchell came back, and I was still annoyed because things hadn't really changed. Michelle called to check in, and before she hung up she said, "I just love you SO much!" BOOM, I had a really nice big contraction! After that, they came harder and stronger, and I was happy because finally we were getting somewhere. The sensations were sharper, and I thought these contractions must be "dilators". I called my mom to tell her I was in labour, and I had to put down the phone every time I had a contraction to walk and breath through it, but between I felt normal.
The news was on and I remember feeling interested in watching it between contractions, but that during them, Mitchell and I would laugh and dance. I couldn't just sit still and ignore them, because they were strong. I even crawled around on the floor a bit, cracking up every time Mitchell asked me if I was having another "contractionne". He was going by the book and writing down the time and frequency of the contractions, and they were about every five minutes for a minute or so. That was the last part of the labour we bothered paying too much attention to the time. I felt like I was doing great. The contractions hurt, and I felt like I was working pretty hard to keep on top of them, but that I was happy to be doing it. I felt like I was doing a great job with this labour business...not too badly at all.
I went into the bath after awhile and did some nipple stimulation, because I really didn't want things to slow down. Now the contractions were coming nice and strong, and instead of running around, I breathed slow and long, right down into my belly, and followed my breath out, releasing all the tension into the water. I felt SO good. I had lit candles in the dark bathroom and felt very cozy and peaceful in there. I felt like I could stay there all night. I think Michelle had come over at this point and had sent Mitchell off to bring the dog to his friend's for the night. At some point Michelle noticed that I was a lot less communicative between the contractions, and I started feeling like I wanted Francoise to come over. I got out of the bath, Michelle called her, and she said she was on her way. I noticed a pretty intense pain in my back that seemed to be there regardless of the contractions, and it made me feel tense. I leaned over on my bed during the contractions. Michelle gave me a stupendous massage. Truly, this woman has magic hands. After her massage, the back pain was completely gone.
Mitchell came back home, and Francoise arrived with her assistant Marie Suzanne at about 11:30pm. I was glad to see them because this whole labour thing was getting pretty hard. It didn't seem so fun anymore. I was tired, and wanted to know I was close to having the baby. Francoise checked me and told me I was 4cm. I wanted to throw her out the window. I had been working way over 12 hours for what in my mind amounted to 1 measly, stinking centimetre. At the time, I didn't really understand the irrelevance of numbers in a normally functioning labour, and all I could think was that if I were only 4cm and had to get to 10cm, I was in for a heck of a lot more pain for a much longer time. Waaahhh. I understood in that moment why women chose epidurals, and I was pretty glad I wasn't at a hospital, otherwise I might feel tempted to also. I remember ruing the day I lost my virginity a couple of times, thinking sex was a pretty stupid thing to do. I had hit a wall. When one judges labour in terms of numbers and has an expectation of how things are supposed to progress, the disappointment can be huge. It was a shock to hear Francoise say matter-of-factly, "Yes, 4cm....that's what latent labour is like. I'm going to go unroll my sleeping bag in the baby's room to get some sleep. Marie Suzanne will stay with you." I couldn't believe all this work had just been early labour. Not even enough to warrant my midwife staying awake for! What was I going to do?
So I did what I could. I put one foot in front of the other. I made a mental shift. I figured it was just going to be bigger than I was, but that if so many women had done it, I could too. I walked, and I breathed, I breathed and I walked. As I did so, the room began to fade away. I knew there were people in my living room...Michelle, Marie-Suzanne, Michelle's 11 year old daughter Ovi and our photographer friend Alexandra....but I didn't see them. I was far off in labour land. Between contractions I would find myself in my bedroom in front of the aquarium, the soft bubbling sound very soothing. I saw Mitchell sitting peacefully on the bed, calm and relaxed, enjoying the labour. "Hi, Puppy," he'd say.
At some point I lay down next to Mitchell, Marie-Suzanne sitting next to the bed. I was working hard, and could feel a lot of tension in my body. I would contract and tense up with a ragged breath, and it wasn't feeling great. Then I had a really sharp contraction which made me sit up with surprise at the pain. I literally heard a POP, and my waters broke. There was some blood running down my legs too, but Marie-Suzanne said it was okay. I thought I was going to barf immediately, so I ran to the bathroom, trembling and nauseated. Mitchell followed me in and I could feel a surge swelling and was terrified it was going to engulf me and sweep me away forever. He asked, "Are you okay?" I told him I didn't know what to do. I'll never know what made him, a boy with no experience with labour whatsoever think of this, but he said"why don't you make some noise?" And as that surge peaked I agreed, "ooooookkkkaaaaAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYY". After it was done I said, "Wow! That felt great!" I had suddenly found my way to release tension. I knew my spontaneous vocalizing was very loud, and I was happy I had warned my neighbours not to call the cops if they heard some strange noises in the night. I had read about the animal noises some women made in Ina May's book, but nothing had prepared me for the raw, uncontrollable, MASSIVE power expressing its visiting presence in my body through the vehicle of my voice. I jumped into the shower, as under running water in a quiet, dark space is where I feel safest when challenged physically and emotionally. The Tsunami waves would swell and I would yell, the sound increasing as it peaked, decreasing at it decrescendoed, and I could feel myself rising above pain. Yes, there was pain, but it was not horrible. It was unbearably horrible if I didn't yell. Had I had someone in my face trying to control the way I was expressing myself, I would have begged to be knocked out. Vocalization was my personal deliverance from undo-able to the all powerful. What was more present than pain when I was yelling was the sheer intensity of sensation. Mitchell, in support, vocalized with me, but quietly. Why he was not freaked out by this craziness I have no idea, but he looked perfectly calm, comfortable, and loving, vocalizing with me to keep me company.
When I started feeling a little faint in the hot shower, I got back onto the bed. Mitchell lay behind me and held me really tightly, which felt so good because I truly felt I was either going to explode with sensation or levitate with the energy moving through my body. I wasn't thinking at all about a baby. I wasn't really thinking anything. I was just in the moment fully. There was no other way to be. Nature is brilliant, if only we let her be, and knows just what hormones to release at the right times to put us in the right headspace to cope. Part of me was sort of observing, saying, "Lesley, you're being SO dramatic," and another part knew I was doing just fine. I felt no fear. There was no room for anything but surge and rest, surge and rest. My life was not punctuated by a series of contractions anymore...instead of just riding the waves, I became the whole ocean.
Francoise came into the room and asked me if I felt like pushing. She knew by my sounds the baby was coming soon. "NnnnoooooOOOOOOOOGRRRRRRRRR" I said, as I suddenly felt a strong pressure in my pelvic floor. It was not the overwhelming poo feeling I had heard described, but pressure nonetheless. She said she would check me, and I don't remember the exam at all, but she said, "Yes, you're fully dilated." I was shocked. "That's it?" I thought? Not that I was unhappy...not at all...those were sweet words indeed. But I thought it had to get worse somehow. I thought it was going to get bad. But it wasn't bad. Insane, yes, and stronger than anything I had imagined. But I was not miserable. Francoise told me I could start pushing if I wanted. I had gone from 4cm to 10cm in about 2 hours.
A birthing stool was set up for me by my bed, and Mitchell sat on the bed to support me from behind. I started pushing. In hindsight, my doula mind tells me it was too early to push, as I never had a super strong urge at all. But I was doing what was encouraged. Nobody counted or directed much, but when I started pushing I just yelled and yelled. I was guided to push the energy downwards. I started pushing really hard. Someone held a mirror underneath me. The baby's head was slightly visible already. And stayed that way, coming down, and going up...for about 3 hours. Francoise checked the baby's heartrate frequently, and all was well. I was strong. She said my muscles were unusually tight. I explained I had been a gymnast, in whom crazy strong pelvic floors and abs are the norm. I couldn't believe how much energy I had to put out to move the baby down, and I was getting frustrated that it seemed she wasn't moving much at all.
I looked over at my bed and all I could think of was eating food and sleeping. I was truly in an innocent state of Beginner's Mind, which was a good thing. I have seen enough births to know this kind of second stage in a hospital often leads to surgical or instrumental delivery with possible episiotomy. I didn't know this then...I had no idea there was any need for concern. After about 2.5 hours of pushing, Francoise warned me that if the baby wasn't born in a half hour, we would need to transport to the hospital. That lit a fire under my butt. I pushed harder than I could ever imagine possible, easily maintaining that squatting position on the stool. Michelle wanted me to eat a little honey, but I really just wanted to focus. She handfed Mitchell a banana, as he was stuck where he was.
Francoise told me, "Get up and belly dance." So I did. I got up, shook my hips around, then went to sit on the toilet for awhile. I think this is what did it. Soon after more squatting, the baby finally started coming down past my pubic bone. Francoise asked me to get onto the bed, and I did with Mitchell again sitting behind me. A very long crowning process went on. I don't remember a lot of pain, but finally that huge urge to push came upon me where it hadn't been present before. Francoise informed me that the baby's heartrate had gone down under 100 with the last contraction, and that if I didn't give birth in the next contraction or two, she would have to cut me. I couldn't fathom an episiotomy after all that, so I met her challenge and pushed that kid out. Just before her whole head was born Francoise asked me if I wanted to touch her and I reached down and did so, but the strangest sensation filled my body...it was if I was feeling the ache in her head in me, and it felt wrong to touch her squishy little cranium just then. As her head emerged, she began yelling immediately. The rest of her slipped out easily, and all of a sudden I had a warm, wet, wriggly little baby on me. "Oh my God, oh my God!" I cried. What a holy moment. I can't describe it any other way. The sun was just rising, at 5:27 am on the most beautiful day of the year so far. The cats had given some sympathy yowls at the moment of birth. I was a mother.
I couldn't get over that I had a baby. A Baby! I was almost a little afraid of what I could feel to be a powerful soul in her, though I loved her overwhelmingly already. Francoise gave her some homeopathic Arnica because she had the most bruised head I have to this day ever seen on a newborn. The top of her right ear was folded over tightly, and she had a very swollen double cephalic hematoma. Francoise told me had I given birth in the hospital I had planned, she had no doubt it would have ended in a C-section, even though Baby had been just fine throughout. Her APGARS were 9 and 10, and we later found out she weighed 7 pounds, 8 ounces. Francoise told me she had been born facing upwards, and that she had suspected as much. It was only the 2nd Occiput Posterior baby she had seen born at home to a first time mother. I felt pretty beat up, but was blessed with an intact perineum. The birth was challenging, but it was never what I would call harrowing. There was no sense of danger and I trusted it a problem truly arose, my caregivers would direct me to do whatever was necessary for safety's sake.
The placenta was born, the cord cut, the baby covered with a blanket. "Ahem," said Michelle, "but would you like to tell us what flavour baby you've got?" It hadn't occurred to me at all to check the sex of our child! I peeked under the blanket and saw the cut cord. "It's a BOY!" I yelled happily. "Um, look lower, Honey," said Michelle. "Oohhh! It's a GIRL!" I yelled. "Hi Kayleigh!" we, her mother and father, said. A family was born, and a day was never more perfect. We called our nephew Jeremy right away because we had promised he'd be the first to know. He was happy to have a new baby cousin. Then we called my mom, who was now an Oma. She came over with my sisters Auntie Karen and Auntie Jen, and they bore flowers, gifts, and chocolate. We nicknamed our baby Meeper because of the strange little sounds she made. The midwives brought me yogurt and fruit, and Michelle presented us with the beautiful chocolate birthday cake she had baked while I was in labour, decorated with flowers. I felt like a queen. I never realized how deeply special I'd feel, as if I had just gone through something extraordinary, yet such a normal, everyday part of many a woman's life, happening in places all over the world at the same time.
Kayleigh took to the breast immediately, and suckled like a pro to the crooning of Michelle, who in her South Carolina Southern accent coaxed, "Come on, now, Baby, want a little sugar? Take some of your Mama's pretty ninny." In my very long breastfeeding career, from that day forward nursing was always referred to as "having ninny".
Soon the midwives left, and just before they did I asked, "Wait! How often do I change the diaper? And how often do I feed?" They giggled, and gave me a few practical tips. I really was pretty green. The next day Mitchell had to go back to work and I was alone with my baby, and a pile of cloth diapers full of meconium. I think we did just fine. I remember feeling like this was going to be my life now, and very easily slipping into an acceptance of that. While I felt emotional, I just felt full of love and joy, not blue or sad or overwhelmed. I don't think I had ever had enough time in my young life to be enculturated to believe it would all be so hard and exhausting. We were tired, yes, but Kayleigh just slept with us and everything was easier that way. I didn't read parenting books or anything. I just did what came naturally, which turned out to be everything the attachment parenting experts promote. Not bad for a young, green mom.
That was the beginning. And now today that precious baby girl is a grown-up. She is still very much my child. I look at her sometimes when she doesn't realize it, and am just stunned at how quickly that baby grew...through endless colicky days and nights, tandem nursing, homeschooling in the early years, endless lazy days reading Lucy Maude Montgomery, making peirogis, playgroups, friends, Highland Dance and Circus classes, guitar lessons, makeup, boyfriends, highschool, plays, flute concerts, and now Theatre School. I don't know whether it's because of me or in spite of me...perhaps it's a little bit of both...but Kayleigh is a solid person in the world. She is an amazing friend. She has phenomenal social awareness. She is intelligent, and so talented. I don't know what I did to deserve this very daughter for whom tears of love and pride well up frequently in my eyes, though they're not seen, as I'm not a public cryer. My heart is sometimes too tender to express myself, as I feel the tears may never stop. She has patiently been my "experiment kid", living through the inconsistencies, intentions, trials, and errors of having a mom and dad doing this all for the first time the whole way through. I hope she can forgive me the pain I may have caused her through my unawareness but always be able, in moments of sadness and lonliness we humans sometimes have to endure during dark nights, to draw upon the fact that rarely is a human being as loved as deeply and passionately as her mother and father love her.
As I grew and developed into a mother, I also did as a doula. Had it not been for all the synchronicity Kayleigh brought with her on this side of her existence, I probably would not be here telling this story.
I know you get presents today to celebrate your birthday, but I want to thank YOU, my sweet KK, for the gifts of Motherhood and a life path. These are the best gifts I have ever or ever will receive. Thank you for coming to me and helping me to find my voice in the world. While our time as my being your main authority figure is finished, I embrace our relationship as grown up mother and daughter. When I take you into my arms, you are always my baby, my fancy dress loving toddler, my social butterfly school child, my passionate actress daughter, all rolled up into a magnificent young woman. I am so very proud of you.
Happy Birthday!
Monday, May 17, 2010
From the Sublime to the Ridiculous
I will try to keep this from being too long winded. You doulas out there..you know how I feel. We are specialists at supporting the birth process, helping maintain a modicum of its normalcy in a hospital environment that at times can be positively nuts. And oh the suppression sometimes. The suppression of anger, shock, sadness, and even fear. Where did all the logic go? Who killed the wise, ancient woman inside the hearts of many medical practitioners? Not all, obviously, but some? The fact that normal, physiological birth in a hospital setting is considered radical, and that some of my ways of supporting birth are considered annoyances in the light of the Holy God of Protocol, weigh on me heavily. I know all of you have hard times sometimes stomaching the environment, and get tired of your questions to try to gently advocate for your clients being met with rolling eyeballs, snide side glances, or outright ridicule. This is especially frustrating when a lot of the things we as support people know to be the truth about birth are published as studies and validated BY medical people. Are we the only ones reading them? It's not like our information comes from the Barefoot Hippie Encyclopedia. In most cases, anyway.
Let me walk you through a few scenarios that illustrate the source of many doulas' ire. I was with a client who was on her hands and knees on the hospital bed absolutely grooving with her contractions. She was in a trance between, and when one came she would open her eyes widely, say, "Oh guys, this is INTENSE!" then vocalize in that way that gives you goosebumps because it is an utterance of pure, unadulterated, feminine power. The yells got more and more guttural. I was just standing there enjoying those baby arriving sounds, not needing to do anything for this woman but protect her space. I could hear whispers in the background..."she won't keep her monitor belt on, and it's very annoying." I understand these kinds of births ARE hard on nurses, because they cannot monitor the woman they way they are supposed to. But another nurse kindly said, "oh, don't worry, I'll just hold the monitor." So she got on her knees on the floor to hold the transducer on my client's belly, and I sent her a silent blessing, as she healed the moment. There is no need to express annoyance. The labouring woman needs nothing else to bear but the intensity of her labour. To feel like a burden or doubt that she's doing okay given impatient comments in the room is hurtful. I would like expressions of annoyance or words that indicate the woman, having an experience of a lifetime, is being a drag on the busy nurse's day to be kept to a minimum. Birth is awe inspiring. It hasn't lost its magic for me in over 16 years of practice. If a woman wants me to stand on my head to accommodate her in labour, I will. HELLO, this woman is giving life, People! She is bringing a new human being into the world! Do we really need a vision of an angel to appear over her head, or a white bearded sky dude to materialize and put a finger over his lips to indicate to the annoyed to shut up and respect the fact that something very special is happening in the room? Because you're just not going to find anything that embodies the sacred in the here and now more than a birthing.
I was with a woman pushing spontaneously her own way. She was a first time mama, labouring like a lioness...making powerful noises, her body doing its baby ejection thing. She didn't need anything but an occasional sip of water. After easing into pushing like this totally on her own without any guidance or examinations, seeming to be having a pretty good time, a resident marched in, made her flip over onto her back, and did an exam, saying, "Okay, now it's fine for you to push..let's get you set up." Inside I'm seething, but as my Navelgazing Midwife blogger buddy says, "Buy a hospital ticket, get a hospital ride." If I'm a hospital birth supporting doula, I have to support what is, not always what I wish would be. When I'm supporting a woman and the environment is especially challenging, I often think of the theme song from the United States of Tara, which is a tv show about the chaotic, sometimes joyful, often devastating life of a wife and mother with multiple personalities. The song goes, "I know we'll be just fine, when we learn to love the ride." But oh, what a ride! You never know when you walk into the hospital what you're going to be met with. Some days everything clicks and converges to support an amazingly lovely normal birth. Other times, it seems as if everyone is in an awful mood and are taking it out on you. Sometimes it's downright violent. Going to the hospital is sometimes like dealing with a whole building with a dissociative identity disorder. I can never promise a client any consistency of kindness or respect there, and that seems incredibly wrong. Should these things not be at the foundation of patient care? It's not that some of people are uncompassionate in their hearts, it's just that sometimes compassion is squelched by duty, overwork, worry, stress, and responsibility, ultimately making the kind treatment of a patient secondary to smooth running of the institutional machine.
I digress...back to my story. This lady is told to start pushing, and on her back continues to do it the same way she has been, emitting nice yells and not holding her breath. The baby is already partially visible. She hasn't pushed spontaneously for long, and already we can the head a little. She is told, "You're not pushing correctly. It's not good for you to waste your energy yelling. It's not good for you to push for longer than you need to. You need to take a deep breath, block your air, force your energy..." yada yada..turn purple, bug out your eyes, hold your breath, strain your perineum. The mother does so and hates it. I whisper to her that she has done a tremendous job listening to her body so far, having moved her baby down without any guidance at all. I try to do this in a way that will evoke no criticism or ridicule. But it's hard. There is such an attachment to one way of doing things, any variation tends to be looked upon as radical and some kind of hippie doula thing, instead of a physiological fact, supported by lots of smarter and more educated folk than I. A nurse heard me and said, "No, it's logical, if you take a deep breath and..." yada yada...pretend you're a pop gun, intra-uterine pressure, must-be-yelled-at-to-not-yell, harder harder HARDER.....NOW YOU'RE PUSHING PROPERLY!!!!! As if those previous independent maternal efforts had been worthless, because they were not sanctified. There is no trust. Did I argue that had she been left alone on her knees she may not have had to have pushed so hard to move the baby down, as being turned onto the back closes the pelvis by 30%? If the baby is trying, in executing her little cardinal movements, to push the sacrum away with her face, initiating the extension of her head, does it not make sense that having the sacrum immobilized between the bed and the head could impede things, and that the purple pushing serves as compensation for this fact, the pulling of the knees to the ear creating a little more space but actually creating a powerful strain on the poor perineum? No, I did not argue, because I had to tend to the lady before me. I didn't want to create tension. That maybe the fetal distress that created a need for an episotomy and ensuing 4th degree tear may have been avoided I truly cannot say...not my place to judge given my lack of clinical knowledge. But I can say the undermining of power and personal preferences of a woman in birth is shocking, and that it seems to me there is always some emergency that comes up and everyone thanks God the mother and baby were in those good hands. And yeah, sometimes that's the honest truth. But a lot of the time I think the problems are created by interference that is supposed to serve as precaution and preparation for emergency. As I get older it gets harder to reconcile that we have not struck a balance and achieved the great outcomes we COULD have, like in the Netherlands, where obstetric care is used for problems, and midwifery care is used for normal birth. When birth is in the hands of those who consider it...well, normal..isn't it interesting how fewer emergencies there actually are. And when the unexpected does occasionally arise, we have those wonderfully gifted OBs to do the jobs they're great at, which is to identify and treat birth complications. I am grateful for their presence, I truly am. But do we always need such hardcore protection for something that is usually pretty straightforward and normal? Isn't it apparent that to turn a woman doing her own thing, bringing her baby down in her own way, onto her back to start poking around and telling her what to do and how to do it is an intervention that probably causes more problems than it prevents?
And the blame. There is so much blame on women and natural birth. The mom is yelling, so she's not doing well and is "out of control". She is "not handling it". How many traumatized women are walking around buying that either their pelvises are too small or their babies were too big? Perhaps in some cases this is true, but I know SO many women who believe this about their bodies, you'd think we would be on the edge of extinction with all the inadequacies of our bodies. A client of mine was told that her shockiness and fatigue after birth to the point of not being able to hold her child was attributed to having experienced the strong sensations (called "traumatizing pain") of labour instead of having been cut and torn completely. And sometimes if something does go wrong in natural birth, the fact that the mother chose to do it that way is implied as the probable cause. Do we realize yet the power we have in our hands with all our great technology and life saving skills is not realized when our attitudes towards women and birth are still medeival?
Let me outline a beautiful scenario to end this rant, moments such as these restoring my faith and joy in the possibility of gorgeous hospital birth. Imagine a woman in the throes of spontaneous pushing. She is dancing and writhing to the rhythm of her own contractions. The nurse is a little frantic, trying to get her to lie down. As much compassion as I have for this actually very nice nurse, it's not my job to make her life convenient. I simply behold the work of my client, offering myself as something solid to lean against and cling to, which she does liberally. In walks a doctor I have not seen...a young feisty woman. The nurse is trying to tell the woman how to push. This doctor is with a resident she's teaching. The doc says quietly to her resident, "you know all this talk about telling a woman to push? Well, studies show we're probably doing the woman a disservice, making her uncomfortable and putting tremendous strain on all of her, including her perineum. It may take a little longer to see the baby, but it's gentler." The nurse suggested to this doctor to "break the bed" to get her pushing "properly" and the doctor efficiently said, "you can listen to the fetal heart, I'll worry about the delivery." She proceeded to tell her resident, "Mothers seem to know what they're doing, and we don't really need to tell them much...our job is to follow." And follow she did, contorting into whatever position was necessary to safely accommodate the woman who liked to move around a lot to give birth the way she wanted. What a beautiful treat for everyone! Why can't it all be like this?
Don't give up, Doulas. I keep doing this job because the incidence of amazingly gorgeous, normal birth experiences in hospitals is on the rise in my neck of the woods. It could be because having been around for a little while and knowing the staff of most hospitals here fairly well seems to help set a tone when I come in with my client. When we're a room full of trusted friends, the energy is good, and we all appreciate each other. There are fantastic medical practitioners who truly do care about the woman's experience of birth, and can seem to balance being accommodating to those needs and providing the medical care they have signed on for. It IS possible. Keep at it, Ladies. We need you! Don't get discouraged. You are making a difference, and I love you all for it.
Let me walk you through a few scenarios that illustrate the source of many doulas' ire. I was with a client who was on her hands and knees on the hospital bed absolutely grooving with her contractions. She was in a trance between, and when one came she would open her eyes widely, say, "Oh guys, this is INTENSE!" then vocalize in that way that gives you goosebumps because it is an utterance of pure, unadulterated, feminine power. The yells got more and more guttural. I was just standing there enjoying those baby arriving sounds, not needing to do anything for this woman but protect her space. I could hear whispers in the background..."she won't keep her monitor belt on, and it's very annoying." I understand these kinds of births ARE hard on nurses, because they cannot monitor the woman they way they are supposed to. But another nurse kindly said, "oh, don't worry, I'll just hold the monitor." So she got on her knees on the floor to hold the transducer on my client's belly, and I sent her a silent blessing, as she healed the moment. There is no need to express annoyance. The labouring woman needs nothing else to bear but the intensity of her labour. To feel like a burden or doubt that she's doing okay given impatient comments in the room is hurtful. I would like expressions of annoyance or words that indicate the woman, having an experience of a lifetime, is being a drag on the busy nurse's day to be kept to a minimum. Birth is awe inspiring. It hasn't lost its magic for me in over 16 years of practice. If a woman wants me to stand on my head to accommodate her in labour, I will. HELLO, this woman is giving life, People! She is bringing a new human being into the world! Do we really need a vision of an angel to appear over her head, or a white bearded sky dude to materialize and put a finger over his lips to indicate to the annoyed to shut up and respect the fact that something very special is happening in the room? Because you're just not going to find anything that embodies the sacred in the here and now more than a birthing.
I was with a woman pushing spontaneously her own way. She was a first time mama, labouring like a lioness...making powerful noises, her body doing its baby ejection thing. She didn't need anything but an occasional sip of water. After easing into pushing like this totally on her own without any guidance or examinations, seeming to be having a pretty good time, a resident marched in, made her flip over onto her back, and did an exam, saying, "Okay, now it's fine for you to push..let's get you set up." Inside I'm seething, but as my Navelgazing Midwife blogger buddy says, "Buy a hospital ticket, get a hospital ride." If I'm a hospital birth supporting doula, I have to support what is, not always what I wish would be. When I'm supporting a woman and the environment is especially challenging, I often think of the theme song from the United States of Tara, which is a tv show about the chaotic, sometimes joyful, often devastating life of a wife and mother with multiple personalities. The song goes, "I know we'll be just fine, when we learn to love the ride." But oh, what a ride! You never know when you walk into the hospital what you're going to be met with. Some days everything clicks and converges to support an amazingly lovely normal birth. Other times, it seems as if everyone is in an awful mood and are taking it out on you. Sometimes it's downright violent. Going to the hospital is sometimes like dealing with a whole building with a dissociative identity disorder. I can never promise a client any consistency of kindness or respect there, and that seems incredibly wrong. Should these things not be at the foundation of patient care? It's not that some of people are uncompassionate in their hearts, it's just that sometimes compassion is squelched by duty, overwork, worry, stress, and responsibility, ultimately making the kind treatment of a patient secondary to smooth running of the institutional machine.
I digress...back to my story. This lady is told to start pushing, and on her back continues to do it the same way she has been, emitting nice yells and not holding her breath. The baby is already partially visible. She hasn't pushed spontaneously for long, and already we can the head a little. She is told, "You're not pushing correctly. It's not good for you to waste your energy yelling. It's not good for you to push for longer than you need to. You need to take a deep breath, block your air, force your energy..." yada yada..turn purple, bug out your eyes, hold your breath, strain your perineum. The mother does so and hates it. I whisper to her that she has done a tremendous job listening to her body so far, having moved her baby down without any guidance at all. I try to do this in a way that will evoke no criticism or ridicule. But it's hard. There is such an attachment to one way of doing things, any variation tends to be looked upon as radical and some kind of hippie doula thing, instead of a physiological fact, supported by lots of smarter and more educated folk than I. A nurse heard me and said, "No, it's logical, if you take a deep breath and..." yada yada...pretend you're a pop gun, intra-uterine pressure, must-be-yelled-at-to-not-yell, harder harder HARDER.....NOW YOU'RE PUSHING PROPERLY!!!!! As if those previous independent maternal efforts had been worthless, because they were not sanctified. There is no trust. Did I argue that had she been left alone on her knees she may not have had to have pushed so hard to move the baby down, as being turned onto the back closes the pelvis by 30%? If the baby is trying, in executing her little cardinal movements, to push the sacrum away with her face, initiating the extension of her head, does it not make sense that having the sacrum immobilized between the bed and the head could impede things, and that the purple pushing serves as compensation for this fact, the pulling of the knees to the ear creating a little more space but actually creating a powerful strain on the poor perineum? No, I did not argue, because I had to tend to the lady before me. I didn't want to create tension. That maybe the fetal distress that created a need for an episotomy and ensuing 4th degree tear may have been avoided I truly cannot say...not my place to judge given my lack of clinical knowledge. But I can say the undermining of power and personal preferences of a woman in birth is shocking, and that it seems to me there is always some emergency that comes up and everyone thanks God the mother and baby were in those good hands. And yeah, sometimes that's the honest truth. But a lot of the time I think the problems are created by interference that is supposed to serve as precaution and preparation for emergency. As I get older it gets harder to reconcile that we have not struck a balance and achieved the great outcomes we COULD have, like in the Netherlands, where obstetric care is used for problems, and midwifery care is used for normal birth. When birth is in the hands of those who consider it...well, normal..isn't it interesting how fewer emergencies there actually are. And when the unexpected does occasionally arise, we have those wonderfully gifted OBs to do the jobs they're great at, which is to identify and treat birth complications. I am grateful for their presence, I truly am. But do we always need such hardcore protection for something that is usually pretty straightforward and normal? Isn't it apparent that to turn a woman doing her own thing, bringing her baby down in her own way, onto her back to start poking around and telling her what to do and how to do it is an intervention that probably causes more problems than it prevents?
And the blame. There is so much blame on women and natural birth. The mom is yelling, so she's not doing well and is "out of control". She is "not handling it". How many traumatized women are walking around buying that either their pelvises are too small or their babies were too big? Perhaps in some cases this is true, but I know SO many women who believe this about their bodies, you'd think we would be on the edge of extinction with all the inadequacies of our bodies. A client of mine was told that her shockiness and fatigue after birth to the point of not being able to hold her child was attributed to having experienced the strong sensations (called "traumatizing pain") of labour instead of having been cut and torn completely. And sometimes if something does go wrong in natural birth, the fact that the mother chose to do it that way is implied as the probable cause. Do we realize yet the power we have in our hands with all our great technology and life saving skills is not realized when our attitudes towards women and birth are still medeival?
Let me outline a beautiful scenario to end this rant, moments such as these restoring my faith and joy in the possibility of gorgeous hospital birth. Imagine a woman in the throes of spontaneous pushing. She is dancing and writhing to the rhythm of her own contractions. The nurse is a little frantic, trying to get her to lie down. As much compassion as I have for this actually very nice nurse, it's not my job to make her life convenient. I simply behold the work of my client, offering myself as something solid to lean against and cling to, which she does liberally. In walks a doctor I have not seen...a young feisty woman. The nurse is trying to tell the woman how to push. This doctor is with a resident she's teaching. The doc says quietly to her resident, "you know all this talk about telling a woman to push? Well, studies show we're probably doing the woman a disservice, making her uncomfortable and putting tremendous strain on all of her, including her perineum. It may take a little longer to see the baby, but it's gentler." The nurse suggested to this doctor to "break the bed" to get her pushing "properly" and the doctor efficiently said, "you can listen to the fetal heart, I'll worry about the delivery." She proceeded to tell her resident, "Mothers seem to know what they're doing, and we don't really need to tell them much...our job is to follow." And follow she did, contorting into whatever position was necessary to safely accommodate the woman who liked to move around a lot to give birth the way she wanted. What a beautiful treat for everyone! Why can't it all be like this?
Don't give up, Doulas. I keep doing this job because the incidence of amazingly gorgeous, normal birth experiences in hospitals is on the rise in my neck of the woods. It could be because having been around for a little while and knowing the staff of most hospitals here fairly well seems to help set a tone when I come in with my client. When we're a room full of trusted friends, the energy is good, and we all appreciate each other. There are fantastic medical practitioners who truly do care about the woman's experience of birth, and can seem to balance being accommodating to those needs and providing the medical care they have signed on for. It IS possible. Keep at it, Ladies. We need you! Don't get discouraged. You are making a difference, and I love you all for it.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Happy Mother's Day
Happy Mother's Day, Ladies!!!!! This goes out with special warmth to all of you who are having your very first Mother's Day today.
I like the concept of Mother's Day as a reason to take some special time to honour ourselves and each other for our important role, but I don't buy into the whole Cards and Flowers thing. Partly because I'm not a sappy person. I enjoy sappy people immensely, but I'm not one of them. The only things I'm really sentimental about are old baby clothes, teeth, placentas, and silky locks from first haircuts. I don't have a backlog of birthday cards or a piece of wall that marks my childrens' changing height...I don't have baby scrap books or anything like that. I care about my children as much as the next guy, but I'm not bogged down with material momentos. I'm way too disorganized for that. Kudos to those who are good record keepers. My traditions are kept by simple storytelling, otherwise we'd lose our history entirely.
A perfect Mother's Day to me would be to sleep without one single, solitary interruption, have all the tedious things I normally have to do on a Sunday to make sure chaos doesn't reign supreme the rest of the week taken care of for me, and freedom from having to decide what's for supper. Being a mom is hard. Harder than anything. I don't mean it's not joyful, heartwarming, amazing, fulfilling and all those great things. But it is complicated. Often it is overwhelmingly stressful. Let's be real...on occasion, a day that would honour ourselves would mean taking a day off from all of this, so we could come back refreshed, centred, and ready to keep going strong. I am SO grateful to have children. They are the reasons for my being. They enrich me beyond measure, and I let them know that all the time. I would like Mother's Day to be a nationally enforced Mother's Day Off Her Regular Duties day. Not only would it make us feel good, it would remind others just how much stuff we do all the time. It would also give us time to connect to the magic of being a mother. It can be hard to step back and get some perspective when we're always trying to get on top of all that needs to be done to make things run at all, never mind smoothly.
I decided this Mother's Day to do something special, something that would make me feel really connected to the joy and amazement of motherhood, and to make my youngest child feel special too. I finally decided to bury Finn's placenta, which has been sitting in the freezer for nearly 5 years, patiently waiting for me to figure out what to do with it. In the photos, you can see it's pretty knarly looking, having been frozen for 5 years. Today, we planted it along with a gorgeous baby flowering crabapple tree, fitting for the strong, sweet, beautiful Finnie he is. He placed a rose in beside it to say, "Thank you". I contemplated with some sadness how this will be the last of my placentas I say goodbye to. I have had at least one (and at times 3)6 year or under child to care for for 18 years. This planting symbolizes the completeness of my family. Before we planted, I found a tiny crow's feather beside a white rose bush my husband had planted last week. To me, this was auspicious, as crows have always meant nothing but good things in my life. Crow reminds us that magic is real, and provides us with good luck on our travels. I will keep that feather for Finn, as a symbol of his link to that which helped form and nourish him so well. I know many of you Westerners think this is gross, weird, and hokey, giving second thought to a used up organ that looks like liver...but there you go. I will officially have to bow out of the Facebook Group "I have a placenta in my freezer...I'm not kidding," because it is now safely in the ground, nourishing a tree that will grow and become a protective, beautiful part of our home's landscape.
Happy Mother's Day, Friends. I hope you were able to create a little magic today to honour yourselves.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
An Interesting Perspective on Post- Datism
I came across this from a couple of friends who sent this to me a year or two ago. It really sheds an interesting light on the fears surrounding postdatism. It is an exerpt from a forum on the subject, by an Australian doctor.
"In the eight years when I practiced homebirths as a registered
doctor, out of 1,190 bookings I had 106 post mature babies (more than forty-
two weeks) of which three went to forty-eight weeks, a few more went to
forty-six weeks, and lots went to forty-four weeks—and all those babies
fared very well. I did lose one at forty-two weeks, which is not outside
the obstetricians' limit. Of those 106 post mature babies, only one fitted
the textbook description of post maturity, looking like a little wrinkled
old man with stained skin, but that baby was extremely alert, and insisted on
looking around the room instead of suckling.
What decided me to do no inductions for post-maturity was a very early
mother in my homebirth series who refused induction despite my anxiety,
went to forty-four and a half weeks and gave birth to a chubby pink,
strong,healthy baby, with absolutely no sign of post maturity. If I had lost
one of those 106 babies who went past forty-two weeks, obviously I would have
done some deep soul-searching, but I doubt whether I would have changed my
mind.
Babies mature at different rates, not at exactly forty weeks, just as
we adults do not become senile at seventy years.
Some might say I was lucky to deliver 106 post mature babies without
losing one, but remember that my clients were mostly very health-conscious,
especially regarding diet. None of them was driven to homebirth by
financial difficulties—quite the reverse. In Australia it is far cheaper to
birth your baby in hospital. I should also mention that I tend to disregard
meconium as a supposed sign of fetal distress, because of other possible causes,
for example, if the mother took laxatives.
I feel the advice from the midwives was always correct. I would not
rely on ultrasound to establish dates. The best check, if the mother presents
early enough, is that before ten weeks the fetal heart is more than 160,
often 180, but by twelve weeks it usually settles to 144 or less. But my
present mood is—don't be fussy about dates. When you estimate the due date (I
use 283 days, i.e. nine months and ten days, slightly more accurate than
the received forty weeks), also advise the prospective parents not to tell
friends and relatives the precise date, but be vague, like "before the new
year" or "before Thanksgiving," so that they will not be pestered by
nervous well-wishers if they go past the "due" date.
Marion's response in The Birthkit Issue 25 is very good ["A CNM
Discusses Post maturity Syndrome"], but I must take issue with one sentence. She
says "Post maturity syndrome has recognized signs, and that's why the
pediatrician who tried to resuscitate Barbaranne's baby knew it was forty-four
weeks." With the background of my experience with post mature babies, which is
far more comprehensive than most other practitioners under the rule of
induction at forty-two weeks or earlier, I have to assert categorically that the
so-called recognized signs of post maturity are fallacious because
babies mature at different rates. Those signs are practically never due to
real post maturity, they are more likely to be due to other factors like a
severe illness during pregnancy, or placental infarction well before term. I
knew that post maturity signs were unreliable long before I ever started
attending homebirths, because I can still remember the famous and respected
pediatrician Kate Campbell telling us students about post mature
babies having long hair and long fingernails and other signs, and premature
babies having the reverse. But once I got into general practice and was
delivering babies in hospital, I noticed that those signs were most unreliable,
and that some babies born before term had long fingernails and hair, and
some babies born after term did not. In any case I cannot share Marion's
confidence that the pediatrician who tried to resuscitate the baby
knew it was forty-four weeks, even though he said so. I know pediatricians and
obstetricians better than to trust a statement like that."
Dr. John Stevenson
Victoria, Australia
"In the eight years when I practiced homebirths as a registered
doctor, out of 1,190 bookings I had 106 post mature babies (more than forty-
two weeks) of which three went to forty-eight weeks, a few more went to
forty-six weeks, and lots went to forty-four weeks—and all those babies
fared very well. I did lose one at forty-two weeks, which is not outside
the obstetricians' limit. Of those 106 post mature babies, only one fitted
the textbook description of post maturity, looking like a little wrinkled
old man with stained skin, but that baby was extremely alert, and insisted on
looking around the room instead of suckling.
What decided me to do no inductions for post-maturity was a very early
mother in my homebirth series who refused induction despite my anxiety,
went to forty-four and a half weeks and gave birth to a chubby pink,
strong,healthy baby, with absolutely no sign of post maturity. If I had lost
one of those 106 babies who went past forty-two weeks, obviously I would have
done some deep soul-searching, but I doubt whether I would have changed my
mind.
Babies mature at different rates, not at exactly forty weeks, just as
we adults do not become senile at seventy years.
Some might say I was lucky to deliver 106 post mature babies without
losing one, but remember that my clients were mostly very health-conscious,
especially regarding diet. None of them was driven to homebirth by
financial difficulties—quite the reverse. In Australia it is far cheaper to
birth your baby in hospital. I should also mention that I tend to disregard
meconium as a supposed sign of fetal distress, because of other possible causes,
for example, if the mother took laxatives.
I feel the advice from the midwives was always correct. I would not
rely on ultrasound to establish dates. The best check, if the mother presents
early enough, is that before ten weeks the fetal heart is more than 160,
often 180, but by twelve weeks it usually settles to 144 or less. But my
present mood is—don't be fussy about dates. When you estimate the due date (I
use 283 days, i.e. nine months and ten days, slightly more accurate than
the received forty weeks), also advise the prospective parents not to tell
friends and relatives the precise date, but be vague, like "before the new
year" or "before Thanksgiving," so that they will not be pestered by
nervous well-wishers if they go past the "due" date.
Marion's response in The Birthkit Issue 25 is very good ["A CNM
Discusses Post maturity Syndrome"], but I must take issue with one sentence. She
says "Post maturity syndrome has recognized signs, and that's why the
pediatrician who tried to resuscitate Barbaranne's baby knew it was forty-four
weeks." With the background of my experience with post mature babies, which is
far more comprehensive than most other practitioners under the rule of
induction at forty-two weeks or earlier, I have to assert categorically that the
so-called recognized signs of post maturity are fallacious because
babies mature at different rates. Those signs are practically never due to
real post maturity, they are more likely to be due to other factors like a
severe illness during pregnancy, or placental infarction well before term. I
knew that post maturity signs were unreliable long before I ever started
attending homebirths, because I can still remember the famous and respected
pediatrician Kate Campbell telling us students about post mature
babies having long hair and long fingernails and other signs, and premature
babies having the reverse. But once I got into general practice and was
delivering babies in hospital, I noticed that those signs were most unreliable,
and that some babies born before term had long fingernails and hair, and
some babies born after term did not. In any case I cannot share Marion's
confidence that the pediatrician who tried to resuscitate the baby
knew it was forty-four weeks, even though he said so. I know pediatricians and
obstetricians better than to trust a statement like that."
Dr. John Stevenson
Victoria, Australia
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Hypervigilance and Negligence
The more I doula (yes, I use the word "doula" as a verb with impunity), the more I see terrible imbalances in hospitals between hyper vigilance and negligence.
I'm not a clinician of any sort, and I appreciate the medical care that is given to my clients to help them have a safe birth. But some things don't look so safe, and it strikes me as very strange sometimes what is focused on, and what goes under the radar.
I have questions. If a woman's waters have been broken for a certain amount of time, infection becomes a huge concern for the hospital staff. Synto is started if labour doesn't start at what they deem is an appropriate time. I know there are other reasons besides infection women are told to go immediately to the hospital when their waters are broken, but the reason mainly told to the birthing women themselves is so the staff can monitor for and treat potential infection. But if a woman has to hang out in the hospital, which is crawling with germs, and be examined frequently (they say they won't do it a lot with broken waters but still do anyway a lot of the time), which pushes bacteria wombwards, how does this help her deal with potential infection? Not only that, but a couple hospitals here don't use sterile gloves for examining a woman with broken waters. Many staff members will come into the room, NOT wash their hands, rummage around in the little box with the regular examination gloves, and do vaginal exams with those. So their hands, which have goodness knows what germs on them, contact the gloves they wear for the exam as well as some other gloves in the box (which will contaminate the hands of those who HAVE washed). And then they examine the cervices of women whose waters are broken telling them how worried they are about infection. Hmmmm. Meanwhile, evidence shows labour stimulation can increase the rate of C-section....which increases the chance of infection.
I had a client recently whose waters broke with an exam, and she was told that in 4 hours, if she didn't birth, she'd be given an IV and Synto, etc. But hello, the water was thick with brown meconium, and was pouring out in great gushes. After all this talk of infection and interventions for the prevention of infection, I wonder why nobody thought to listen to the baby's heart after those waters released. As a doula, if I see meconium in the waters, I high tail it to the hospital. I have to, because I'm not in a position to monitor a baby. I understand that meconium is a potential sign of distress. So if it's a potential sign of distress, why would they have waited over an hour before monitoring the baby, favouring to focus on the evils of potential infection?
I have seen incredible hyper vigilance over a woman's pain with a pointed obsession to eradicate it, but lack of attention to the actual birth. I have heard doctors, even when their patients are fully dilated, strongly encourage them to take an epidural because the pain will only get worse (?????). Some are so focused on draping those sterile sheet jobbies all over the mom because birth is all dirty and we need to prevent infection (again) for her and her baby (?????), the baby practically falls on the floor because the actual WOMAN is receiving no attention when she's yelling THE BABY IS COMING! Or, they go and cut a woman's perinuem par routine, which can cause terrible pain and infection, in spite of all this talk about HAVING to do things to prevent infection. Or in all the fuss about pain and infection, the damn resuscitation equipment has not been checked to ensure it's working properly (and yes, I have been in situations where a baby needed this equipment and it wasn't immediately available because it hadn't been properly set up).
I have stories. Oh, I have stories. I don't tell most of them to protect the privacy of my clients. I also don't want the mistake of one person to colour a person's entire view of the hospital. I don't want to breed mistrust. But maybe this is why doulas are having issues in the hospital...not because we actually offend and antagonize the staff with even our most gentle questions, but because we are the witness in the room.
I'm feeling a little raw from a couple of RIDICULOUS things I have seen in hospitals this past week. I don't expect perfection from nurses and doctors, and many of the things that go on are not their fault...sometimes it's administration and understaffing or auxiliary staff issues. But it would be nice to be able to trust that the important things will be tended to immediately, the rare potentials will be inconspicuously prepared for but not obsessed over, said obsession leaving little room for presence for the here and now, and people saying things that make SENSE. I cannot tell you how tired I am of reasons being seemingly plucked out of the air to justify actions. I heard someone say to a client of mine who wanted to push on her side, the practitioner being very uncomfortable with this position, "well, um..it's not safe to push that way because the pressure of your arm against your inner thigh could cause an embolism." How's that for evidence based practice?! How's that for fear mongering? Even an honest, "I'm just not comfortable with this position due to a lack of experience with it,' would be acceptable rather than that garbage. I just don't get this system sometimes. Not at all. And nobody seems to be able to give consistent answers, and culpability can be iffy. But if I even take on a tone in my voice that is perceived as (though it isn't intended to be) snippy, I could potentially be black listed, laughted at, yelled at, insulted, and hated on sight. Doula work is beautiful, amazing, and wonderful....but it is not for the feint of heart.
I'm not a clinician of any sort, and I appreciate the medical care that is given to my clients to help them have a safe birth. But some things don't look so safe, and it strikes me as very strange sometimes what is focused on, and what goes under the radar.
I have questions. If a woman's waters have been broken for a certain amount of time, infection becomes a huge concern for the hospital staff. Synto is started if labour doesn't start at what they deem is an appropriate time. I know there are other reasons besides infection women are told to go immediately to the hospital when their waters are broken, but the reason mainly told to the birthing women themselves is so the staff can monitor for and treat potential infection. But if a woman has to hang out in the hospital, which is crawling with germs, and be examined frequently (they say they won't do it a lot with broken waters but still do anyway a lot of the time), which pushes bacteria wombwards, how does this help her deal with potential infection? Not only that, but a couple hospitals here don't use sterile gloves for examining a woman with broken waters. Many staff members will come into the room, NOT wash their hands, rummage around in the little box with the regular examination gloves, and do vaginal exams with those. So their hands, which have goodness knows what germs on them, contact the gloves they wear for the exam as well as some other gloves in the box (which will contaminate the hands of those who HAVE washed). And then they examine the cervices of women whose waters are broken telling them how worried they are about infection. Hmmmm. Meanwhile, evidence shows labour stimulation can increase the rate of C-section....which increases the chance of infection.
I had a client recently whose waters broke with an exam, and she was told that in 4 hours, if she didn't birth, she'd be given an IV and Synto, etc. But hello, the water was thick with brown meconium, and was pouring out in great gushes. After all this talk of infection and interventions for the prevention of infection, I wonder why nobody thought to listen to the baby's heart after those waters released. As a doula, if I see meconium in the waters, I high tail it to the hospital. I have to, because I'm not in a position to monitor a baby. I understand that meconium is a potential sign of distress. So if it's a potential sign of distress, why would they have waited over an hour before monitoring the baby, favouring to focus on the evils of potential infection?
I have seen incredible hyper vigilance over a woman's pain with a pointed obsession to eradicate it, but lack of attention to the actual birth. I have heard doctors, even when their patients are fully dilated, strongly encourage them to take an epidural because the pain will only get worse (?????). Some are so focused on draping those sterile sheet jobbies all over the mom because birth is all dirty and we need to prevent infection (again) for her and her baby (?????), the baby practically falls on the floor because the actual WOMAN is receiving no attention when she's yelling THE BABY IS COMING! Or, they go and cut a woman's perinuem par routine, which can cause terrible pain and infection, in spite of all this talk about HAVING to do things to prevent infection. Or in all the fuss about pain and infection, the damn resuscitation equipment has not been checked to ensure it's working properly (and yes, I have been in situations where a baby needed this equipment and it wasn't immediately available because it hadn't been properly set up).
I have stories. Oh, I have stories. I don't tell most of them to protect the privacy of my clients. I also don't want the mistake of one person to colour a person's entire view of the hospital. I don't want to breed mistrust. But maybe this is why doulas are having issues in the hospital...not because we actually offend and antagonize the staff with even our most gentle questions, but because we are the witness in the room.
I'm feeling a little raw from a couple of RIDICULOUS things I have seen in hospitals this past week. I don't expect perfection from nurses and doctors, and many of the things that go on are not their fault...sometimes it's administration and understaffing or auxiliary staff issues. But it would be nice to be able to trust that the important things will be tended to immediately, the rare potentials will be inconspicuously prepared for but not obsessed over, said obsession leaving little room for presence for the here and now, and people saying things that make SENSE. I cannot tell you how tired I am of reasons being seemingly plucked out of the air to justify actions. I heard someone say to a client of mine who wanted to push on her side, the practitioner being very uncomfortable with this position, "well, um..it's not safe to push that way because the pressure of your arm against your inner thigh could cause an embolism." How's that for evidence based practice?! How's that for fear mongering? Even an honest, "I'm just not comfortable with this position due to a lack of experience with it,' would be acceptable rather than that garbage. I just don't get this system sometimes. Not at all. And nobody seems to be able to give consistent answers, and culpability can be iffy. But if I even take on a tone in my voice that is perceived as (though it isn't intended to be) snippy, I could potentially be black listed, laughted at, yelled at, insulted, and hated on sight. Doula work is beautiful, amazing, and wonderful....but it is not for the feint of heart.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
I'm Still Here
It has been awhile since my last blog...just to let you know I'm still here. I am focusing all of my energy right now into fundraising endeavours for my trip to Madagascar, as well as preparing for the Doula Training Intensive this summer. Preparing a training manual is no easy feat. So much of my writing energy is being used at the moment.
I had Friday off...meaning no clients, students to speak with, births, classes to teach, or school holidays at home with the kids. Of course, there was some administration to tend to, but I spent most of my day cleaning, laundering, and meal planning, and WOW is this weekend ever going smoothly! We woke up early and went out for groceries and a few anuals to fill in the garden as the perennials take up their rightful spaces in my young gardens. To not have a weekend spent mucking out a terribly neglected mess of a home is such a blessing! To not have to spend all Sunday doing the week's laundry makes me wonder at the possibilities of the day open to us tomorrow. I'm thinking of buying an apple tree to plant in my yard, and to finally get that last placenta out of the freezer and committing it to the earth. My little Finn is quite excited about the idea of planting his placenta. He is fascinated with his umbilical cord, and likes to look at it on occasion, but is fine with finally burying it.
We spent most of the day out and about and planting in the black and white garden, and will now cook a lovely dinner. A normal weekend like this is heavenly. I think I'm going to try to take every Friday off just to clean, prepare, and schedule. I turn on music and it doesn't even feel like a chore as the broom and I dance our way along. My daughter Oona cooked some lovely banana chocolate chip muffins for dessert. Maybe I will even just put up my feet and watch some hockey with my husband tonight. Or maybe a game of Trivial Pursuit with the kids. Or a walk to the lake with the dog. Ah, the evening is young. I will wait until the kids are in bed to do a bit of work.
I had Friday off...meaning no clients, students to speak with, births, classes to teach, or school holidays at home with the kids. Of course, there was some administration to tend to, but I spent most of my day cleaning, laundering, and meal planning, and WOW is this weekend ever going smoothly! We woke up early and went out for groceries and a few anuals to fill in the garden as the perennials take up their rightful spaces in my young gardens. To not have a weekend spent mucking out a terribly neglected mess of a home is such a blessing! To not have to spend all Sunday doing the week's laundry makes me wonder at the possibilities of the day open to us tomorrow. I'm thinking of buying an apple tree to plant in my yard, and to finally get that last placenta out of the freezer and committing it to the earth. My little Finn is quite excited about the idea of planting his placenta. He is fascinated with his umbilical cord, and likes to look at it on occasion, but is fine with finally burying it.
We spent most of the day out and about and planting in the black and white garden, and will now cook a lovely dinner. A normal weekend like this is heavenly. I think I'm going to try to take every Friday off just to clean, prepare, and schedule. I turn on music and it doesn't even feel like a chore as the broom and I dance our way along. My daughter Oona cooked some lovely banana chocolate chip muffins for dessert. Maybe I will even just put up my feet and watch some hockey with my husband tonight. Or maybe a game of Trivial Pursuit with the kids. Or a walk to the lake with the dog. Ah, the evening is young. I will wait until the kids are in bed to do a bit of work.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Memories of England
I am blessed to have family in the UK. This means I get to visit England every couple of years, and LOVE visiting London and the English countryside. My sisters live in London, and so does my little nephew Antony...any excuse to visit him is a good one.
My father is originally an Englishman, born in the town of Goole in the Yorkshire region. The Everest family has apparently been there for around 1000 years or so. He came to Canada at the age of 14, and a few years later met my mother who herself was originally from Holland (born at home just after the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands ended).
I feel a strong connection to my English roots. My Great Great Grandmother Charlotte, whom I have spoken of here on occasion, was a doula in Goole many years ago. Obviously, the word "doula" was not used back then. My Nana was raised by her Granny (Charlotte) after the death of her mother, and Nana used to tell me stories of waking in the middle of the night to knocks on Charlotte's window. She used to keep a broom outside her house so the husbands or mothers of labouring women could use the end of the broomstick to tap on her upstairs bedroom window to fetch her. Charlotte was known in town as a wonderful helper to families. She wasn't a midwife...she was just the lady in the town the midwives consulted when they were having issues with babies not making timely appearances. From all accounts, Charlotte would come into the house, assess the situation, get the woman in some crazy position, and then the baby would usually come out soon after. She knew how to keep the environment calm. Midwives trusted Charlotte to labour-sit their clients when they were at other births and couldn't make it to the home yet. Often the midwife would show up to the house with the baby already born, the house clean, and food prepared. When someone died, Charlotte was called to comfort the family and lay out the body.
I would give anything to go back in time and talk to this Great Great Grandmother of mine, who was apparently an amazing story teller. I wish I could have sat at her feet as she rocked in a chair by the fire, soaking in years of wisdom, becoming rich with story. I have dreams of going to births with her, learning the nuances of her ability to hold a space with such calm.
My Great Great Granddad was apparently a bit of a lush, so after coming home from a birth Charlotte would sometimes have to dress herself in her husband's clothes, pull his cap down low over her face and pretend to be him, working on their barge which distributed coal and other goods. Without her taking over on these hungover occasions, they wouldn't have had any livelihood, as her doula work didn't pay more than a loaf of bread or cake now and then. My Nana told me when one of her husband's fellow barge drivers would pass Charlotte on the dock, they'd say, "Hiya, Ned," and she'd lower her voice, tuck her hat down a little lower over her face and answer, "Hiya," My Nana, also an exceptional story teller, told me Ned would wake up from his stupor and say, "Ah, Charlotte....for all thy faults, I love thee still." There is even a family story of Charlotte having been chased by Jack the Ripper in Leeds, but as Nana would say, "Ah, but that Charlotte...she could spin a yarn!"
What touches me most, is that Charlotte was completely uneducated. My Nana would see her pick up a book sometimes, but more often then not, she held it upside down. Her skills as a doula were gleaned from observation, common sense, and intuition...the very definition of MotherWit. Hence the name of my doula company, in honour of Charlotte.
My heart is full thinking of you, my doula sisters out in the UK, continuing the work of the traditional birth supporter like Charlotte, now within the new high tech birth culture. If you've ever encountered a soft, firm, reassuring voice in your right ear you can't identify when you're in a really sticky birth situation, feel your shoulders drop as a calm envelops you and you suddenly know exactly what to do, know it might be Charlotte, or perhaps even one of your own Great Great Grandmothers whispering down their support. Light a candle for her when you're finished, whisper back your thanks, and always trust that voice. As a Native American Grandmother said to me once, "We are the answer to our Ancestors' prayers."
My father is originally an Englishman, born in the town of Goole in the Yorkshire region. The Everest family has apparently been there for around 1000 years or so. He came to Canada at the age of 14, and a few years later met my mother who herself was originally from Holland (born at home just after the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands ended).
I feel a strong connection to my English roots. My Great Great Grandmother Charlotte, whom I have spoken of here on occasion, was a doula in Goole many years ago. Obviously, the word "doula" was not used back then. My Nana was raised by her Granny (Charlotte) after the death of her mother, and Nana used to tell me stories of waking in the middle of the night to knocks on Charlotte's window. She used to keep a broom outside her house so the husbands or mothers of labouring women could use the end of the broomstick to tap on her upstairs bedroom window to fetch her. Charlotte was known in town as a wonderful helper to families. She wasn't a midwife...she was just the lady in the town the midwives consulted when they were having issues with babies not making timely appearances. From all accounts, Charlotte would come into the house, assess the situation, get the woman in some crazy position, and then the baby would usually come out soon after. She knew how to keep the environment calm. Midwives trusted Charlotte to labour-sit their clients when they were at other births and couldn't make it to the home yet. Often the midwife would show up to the house with the baby already born, the house clean, and food prepared. When someone died, Charlotte was called to comfort the family and lay out the body.
I would give anything to go back in time and talk to this Great Great Grandmother of mine, who was apparently an amazing story teller. I wish I could have sat at her feet as she rocked in a chair by the fire, soaking in years of wisdom, becoming rich with story. I have dreams of going to births with her, learning the nuances of her ability to hold a space with such calm.
My Great Great Granddad was apparently a bit of a lush, so after coming home from a birth Charlotte would sometimes have to dress herself in her husband's clothes, pull his cap down low over her face and pretend to be him, working on their barge which distributed coal and other goods. Without her taking over on these hungover occasions, they wouldn't have had any livelihood, as her doula work didn't pay more than a loaf of bread or cake now and then. My Nana told me when one of her husband's fellow barge drivers would pass Charlotte on the dock, they'd say, "Hiya, Ned," and she'd lower her voice, tuck her hat down a little lower over her face and answer, "Hiya," My Nana, also an exceptional story teller, told me Ned would wake up from his stupor and say, "Ah, Charlotte....for all thy faults, I love thee still." There is even a family story of Charlotte having been chased by Jack the Ripper in Leeds, but as Nana would say, "Ah, but that Charlotte...she could spin a yarn!"
What touches me most, is that Charlotte was completely uneducated. My Nana would see her pick up a book sometimes, but more often then not, she held it upside down. Her skills as a doula were gleaned from observation, common sense, and intuition...the very definition of MotherWit. Hence the name of my doula company, in honour of Charlotte.
My heart is full thinking of you, my doula sisters out in the UK, continuing the work of the traditional birth supporter like Charlotte, now within the new high tech birth culture. If you've ever encountered a soft, firm, reassuring voice in your right ear you can't identify when you're in a really sticky birth situation, feel your shoulders drop as a calm envelops you and you suddenly know exactly what to do, know it might be Charlotte, or perhaps even one of your own Great Great Grandmothers whispering down their support. Light a candle for her when you're finished, whisper back your thanks, and always trust that voice. As a Native American Grandmother said to me once, "We are the answer to our Ancestors' prayers."
Saturday, April 24, 2010
100th Blog-iversary
Wow, 100 blog posts already! Am I a windbag or what?! I only started writing this blog a few months ago, and here we are at 100 so soon.
To celebrate, I wanna send you all some sugar. To my enthusiastic readers, love to you! Your responses and stories keep me inspired. To my devoted sister bloggers, I read you voraciously and appreciate you deeply, even if I don't always have time to comment.
Thank you all so much for dropping in.
Love and light,
Lesley
www.MotherWit.ca
To celebrate, I wanna send you all some sugar. To my enthusiastic readers, love to you! Your responses and stories keep me inspired. To my devoted sister bloggers, I read you voraciously and appreciate you deeply, even if I don't always have time to comment.
Thank you all so much for dropping in.
Love and light,
Lesley
www.MotherWit.ca
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Fundraising Help to Realize the Madagascar Project!
Hi Everyone! As you know from previous blogs, this doula is destined for Madagascar. The cause? To fulfill a request from a group of mothers and midwives in the area of Mahatsinjo to help them empower themselves to improve the health of women and children. Many women do not give birth in good health and there is a high rate of infant death, often from preventable causes. The women want information on family planning and the midwives want some obstetric training, among many other things. We will work together to identify areas of need. We as the visiting group are very excited to talk to these women and learn from them. I am so curious to hear how they help a woman experiencing a long birth cope with pain and fatigue, and to know about some of the massage techniques they use to treat infertility. These are some very experienced traditional midwives, who attend many many births. But they lack equipment and some aspects of training that could potentially create better outcomes in challenging situations. Some equipment would also make their lives easier.
To any of you out there who know companies willing to donate equipment and especially funds, it would mean so much to us, the Malagasy and North American members of Taratra Reny sy Zaza.
We need:
Mechanical Hanging Scales (12 lbs, SKU0188) $67.00 (need 4)
D-Ring Flannel Sling (SKU954) $13.00 (need 4)
Rochester Pean Miltex® hemostats for cord clamping 7" straights
Rochester Pean 7" curved hemostats
Blunt/blunt scissors 7" (can be used for cord cutting, episiotomy and tongue - tie clipping etc.)
Fetal Stethoscope (SKU2055) $15.00 (need 4)
Portable Headlights - the LED kind
Retractable Tape Measure (SKU0361) $18.00 box of 6 (need 1 box)
Blood pressure cuffs (donation approved by Medical Exchange International)
Stethoscopes, of the regular cheap variety: http://www.1cascade.com/ProductInfo.aspx?productid=7655 can be used with the BP cuffs and for regular infant/maternal screening.
Gloves: Small and Medium (SKUSM112, SKUMD112) $10.00 (need 8 boxes) (1 non latex for me please!)
Watches: (need 4)
Old fashioned thermometers (last forever if they don't get broken, no batteries to replace, and more reliable even though they are slow)
DeLees
Cord tape: http://www.1cascade.com/ProductInfo.aspx?productid=1199 the non-sterile ones listed come with a neat dental floss style cutter, but of course will need to be sterilized.
10 french vinyl catheters with the Luer style end to them - they can be used as an in-out urinary catheter, to assist infant feeding (either gavage or SNS style), and in a pinch can be hooked up to a syringe and used as a suction device (like a DeLee)
Dopplers
doppler gel...
Icterometers? http://www.1cascade.com/ProductInfo.aspx?productid=0179
pregnancy wheels
Pregnancy tests
"pee sticks" http://www.1cascade.com/ProductInfo.aspx?productid=8176
rehydration salts
Drugs: Misoprostol, Ampi, Amoxi, Cipro
We need funds to purchase some tickets and supplies for the travel there (most of that is already funded by the African Woman's Development Fund, as well as this equipment.
So far, we have a comedy night planned for June 3rd (more info about that soon), we are hoping to hold a silent auction, and screen the film Premier Crie. But we need funds really soon for the ticket purchase. If there is anyone out there willing to donate funds to this project, please contact me at info@motherwit.ca, or see more information on donations, check out http://www.sadabe.org/support.html
Any help and suggestions would be most welcome.
Thanks, all,
Lesley
To any of you out there who know companies willing to donate equipment and especially funds, it would mean so much to us, the Malagasy and North American members of Taratra Reny sy Zaza.
We need:
Mechanical Hanging Scales (12 lbs, SKU0188) $67.00 (need 4)
D-Ring Flannel Sling (SKU954) $13.00 (need 4)
Rochester Pean Miltex® hemostats for cord clamping 7" straights
Rochester Pean 7" curved hemostats
Blunt/blunt scissors 7" (can be used for cord cutting, episiotomy and tongue - tie clipping etc.)
Fetal Stethoscope (SKU2055) $15.00 (need 4)
Portable Headlights - the LED kind
Retractable Tape Measure (SKU0361) $18.00 box of 6 (need 1 box)
Blood pressure cuffs (donation approved by Medical Exchange International)
Stethoscopes, of the regular cheap variety: http://www.1cascade.com/ProductInfo.aspx?productid=7655 can be used with the BP cuffs and for regular infant/maternal screening.
Gloves: Small and Medium (SKUSM112, SKUMD112) $10.00 (need 8 boxes) (1 non latex for me please!)
Watches: (need 4)
Old fashioned thermometers (last forever if they don't get broken, no batteries to replace, and more reliable even though they are slow)
DeLees
Cord tape: http://www.1cascade.com/ProductInfo.aspx?productid=1199 the non-sterile ones listed come with a neat dental floss style cutter, but of course will need to be sterilized.
10 french vinyl catheters with the Luer style end to them - they can be used as an in-out urinary catheter, to assist infant feeding (either gavage or SNS style), and in a pinch can be hooked up to a syringe and used as a suction device (like a DeLee)
Dopplers
doppler gel...
Icterometers? http://www.1cascade.com/ProductInfo.aspx?productid=0179
pregnancy wheels
Pregnancy tests
"pee sticks" http://www.1cascade.com/ProductInfo.aspx?productid=8176
rehydration salts
Drugs: Misoprostol, Ampi, Amoxi, Cipro
We need funds to purchase some tickets and supplies for the travel there (most of that is already funded by the African Woman's Development Fund, as well as this equipment.
So far, we have a comedy night planned for June 3rd (more info about that soon), we are hoping to hold a silent auction, and screen the film Premier Crie. But we need funds really soon for the ticket purchase. If there is anyone out there willing to donate funds to this project, please contact me at info@motherwit.ca, or see more information on donations, check out http://www.sadabe.org/support.html
Any help and suggestions would be most welcome.
Thanks, all,
Lesley
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Be Who You Are, Do What You Feel
There are so many "shoulds" when it comes to birthing and parenting. There are so many ideals, many of them conflicting, it is amazing women in the childbearing year aren't walking around with their heads literally spinning.
One of the "isms" I now find many of my clients getting caught up in is goal/achievement oriented perfectionism. They are terribly terribly worried they are not going to do something perfectly "right", and end up damaging their babies permanently. But what does "right" mean?
I was sitting in a cafe with my new student Kat, who is a circus performer among other interesting things, and I just loved the way she described her concern about the "swinging of the pendulum, from one extreme to another." Which is a poor mama supposed to do, unassisted birth where she is to trust Nature implicitly and believe any issue that arises is a reflection of her deep seated emotional traumas, or a scheduled C-section to bypass all potential obstetric concerns? Should she exclusively breastfeed until child led weaning even if she feels revulsion in her very core every time the kid eyes her boobs because it is emotionally damaging to impose weaning upon a child, or should the child be well versed in bottle feeding immediately after birth so as not to become too clingy? Is "middle ground" too "suburban"? What is middle ground anyway? What will my friends think? Will my mother-in-law judge me? Which book is the right book?
I have women telling me they are afraid to put their hopes anywhere because if birth goes awry and they end up needing an intervention, they don't want to feel disappointed in themselves. Why would they feel disappointed in themselves?! We are so afraid to become disappointed in ourselves if we veer from our own sense of ideal. Why are we so hard on ourselves, especially in an arena that is as unpredictable as birth and mothering? The arena in which we are the most vulnerable and needing tenderness is sadly the one in which we are so judgmental of ourselves and others.
Every woman's birth and parenting experience simply is what it is. I don't have any answers as to how it should be for any given woman. For example, women are expected to be full of love and awe for this baby flying onto their chest immediately after birth. Yes, it is true, the vast majority of women are over the moon to receive their babies in their arms right after birth...but the occasional woman needs a few moments to come back to herself before embracing her child. And what is wrong with that? It's not exactly natural for a baby to be "delivered" onto us after birth, as nice as this image might be. Without people between our legs to catch the infant, we'd probably kneel or squat on the ground, give birth, and take the baby to us when we were good and ready, which may be in a minute or so after birth. We must not allow this mom who feels a need to take a breather before receiving her baby to feel like she's defunct and lacking in maternal instinct.
Another example is the "breast crawl" rage. I do love a good breast crawl, but it is something I never knew about when I was having my own babies. My gut maternal instinct was to take my babies to my heart and offer them my breast when they seemed ready for it. I don't think I did anything "wrong" because breast crawl is "supposed" to be the be all and end all. By all means, if this is what a woman wants to do, this is her prerogative, and I fully support that as an amazing start to breastfeeding. But again, it is an ideal. Others may find it a bit intellectual to watch the cool crawlie thing the baby happens to be able to do.
I am tired of a generation of new mothers feeling like they're failing every time they do something that veers from their or another's version of "ideal". We do our best. If a mom really wants a natural birth and ends up receiving an epidural, the last thing she needs is my judgement. Why don't we focus on the really positive aspects of her labour instead? If a nurse or doctor sweet talks her into giving her baby a bit of formula in the hospital after I've left, even though it was against her better judgement (but she was told she was starving her baby with her inadequate boobs), yes we'll hold the space for her to express her feelings about this when I talk to her postpartum. And then we'll move on, because really, in the grand scheme of things, it's not the end of the world that in a fit of desperation the baby received a "dose" of formula. No, it's not a good situation at all, and yes, the hospital shouldn't have done it. But what's done is done, and wallowing in the quagmire of "I should have" or "If only I had been strong enough to.." leads to a lack of presence for the situation at hand, which is to mother a new baby . Getting too hung up on our "failures" heals nobody.
Besides, there are so many little perfections to achieve in the realm of birth and mothering, it's impossible for us to please every expert, every friend, every family member. And really, that's quite a good lesson in letting go of the "pleaser" impulse within many women. Mothers need to be strong, and to protect their sense of "rightness". This is often why new moms are very strong advocates of what they do, and I think this is a beautiful thing. But it's important to temper that passion with wisdom, knowing that what is bliss for one mother may be trauma for another, and doing what our hearts tell us is where it's at. If my client chooses an epidural and feels proud of herself for how she gave birth and is a really happy mom, I'm nothing but happy for her. If I come to a new mother's house 8 days postpartum, the mother has a baby with a pacifier in his mouth, and she's gleaming with pride telling me she tried out the binky by chance and found everyone got an extra hour of sleep and her milk production/sore nipple issue improved with that rest, I say, "Bravo!" even though pacifiers are not "supposed" to be used in the first six weeks after birth.
The more perfection experts put out there, the more judgement there is upon that mom who discovers that her baby may have different needs from her neighbour's baby, who follows the rules to a "T" of whatever "The _______ Whisperer" book is all the rage at the time (insert whatever you can think of in that blank, "whisperer" being the mot du jour for "expert"). I would like to write a book for new parents called There Is No Master Plan. There are as many ways to birth and parent as there are parents and babies.
I have heard enough criticism of women over the years to make me step back and see that fellow mothers can eat each other alive when armed with a load of ideals. I was at a birth once in which the mother's friend said, "well, I don't know why you yelled like that. I was focused inwardly, and was really quiet." My plump, vigorous newborn was blissfully nursing at my plump, vigorously spurting breasts and a friend walked in and said, "you shouldn't be holding your breast like that." I've had mothers try to talk the doctor into forcing their daughters to take an epidural during labour. It's hard to come out unscathed with all of these intense belief systems being projected onto our unique relationships to our babies from every angle.
Let us also remember that babies are resilient. Yes, they are tender and vulnerable, but they are STRONG. If a baby ended up being separated from his mother for awhile after birth and the mother discovers later in life that this was a "bad" thing, it does not mean she's irrevocably damaged her child with her "ignorance". People find healing from releasing the wounds of the past and focusing on the present. A baby who has been separated from his mother will heal from loving, focused presence NOW. You can't go back in time, really. You can go back with therapeutic techniques, and this can be a great thing for some wounds, in mothers and babies alike. But sometimes focusing upon something that may really be small in life's grand order may just make it all bigger than it needs to be, rather an attempt to assuage guilt from not being perfect than an impetus for true healing. That's for the individual to determine, not an "expert".
I'd like to remind people that whether you're shooting ideals from the left or shooting ideals from the right, shooting at people is still violent, and you can end up injuring a vulnerable being. Instead, let us mother authentically, being who we are, and doing what we feel...and allow others to mother in their own authentic way. There are many paths to enlightenment.
One of the "isms" I now find many of my clients getting caught up in is goal/achievement oriented perfectionism. They are terribly terribly worried they are not going to do something perfectly "right", and end up damaging their babies permanently. But what does "right" mean?
I was sitting in a cafe with my new student Kat, who is a circus performer among other interesting things, and I just loved the way she described her concern about the "swinging of the pendulum, from one extreme to another." Which is a poor mama supposed to do, unassisted birth where she is to trust Nature implicitly and believe any issue that arises is a reflection of her deep seated emotional traumas, or a scheduled C-section to bypass all potential obstetric concerns? Should she exclusively breastfeed until child led weaning even if she feels revulsion in her very core every time the kid eyes her boobs because it is emotionally damaging to impose weaning upon a child, or should the child be well versed in bottle feeding immediately after birth so as not to become too clingy? Is "middle ground" too "suburban"? What is middle ground anyway? What will my friends think? Will my mother-in-law judge me? Which book is the right book?
I have women telling me they are afraid to put their hopes anywhere because if birth goes awry and they end up needing an intervention, they don't want to feel disappointed in themselves. Why would they feel disappointed in themselves?! We are so afraid to become disappointed in ourselves if we veer from our own sense of ideal. Why are we so hard on ourselves, especially in an arena that is as unpredictable as birth and mothering? The arena in which we are the most vulnerable and needing tenderness is sadly the one in which we are so judgmental of ourselves and others.
Every woman's birth and parenting experience simply is what it is. I don't have any answers as to how it should be for any given woman. For example, women are expected to be full of love and awe for this baby flying onto their chest immediately after birth. Yes, it is true, the vast majority of women are over the moon to receive their babies in their arms right after birth...but the occasional woman needs a few moments to come back to herself before embracing her child. And what is wrong with that? It's not exactly natural for a baby to be "delivered" onto us after birth, as nice as this image might be. Without people between our legs to catch the infant, we'd probably kneel or squat on the ground, give birth, and take the baby to us when we were good and ready, which may be in a minute or so after birth. We must not allow this mom who feels a need to take a breather before receiving her baby to feel like she's defunct and lacking in maternal instinct.
Another example is the "breast crawl" rage. I do love a good breast crawl, but it is something I never knew about when I was having my own babies. My gut maternal instinct was to take my babies to my heart and offer them my breast when they seemed ready for it. I don't think I did anything "wrong" because breast crawl is "supposed" to be the be all and end all. By all means, if this is what a woman wants to do, this is her prerogative, and I fully support that as an amazing start to breastfeeding. But again, it is an ideal. Others may find it a bit intellectual to watch the cool crawlie thing the baby happens to be able to do.
I am tired of a generation of new mothers feeling like they're failing every time they do something that veers from their or another's version of "ideal". We do our best. If a mom really wants a natural birth and ends up receiving an epidural, the last thing she needs is my judgement. Why don't we focus on the really positive aspects of her labour instead? If a nurse or doctor sweet talks her into giving her baby a bit of formula in the hospital after I've left, even though it was against her better judgement (but she was told she was starving her baby with her inadequate boobs), yes we'll hold the space for her to express her feelings about this when I talk to her postpartum. And then we'll move on, because really, in the grand scheme of things, it's not the end of the world that in a fit of desperation the baby received a "dose" of formula. No, it's not a good situation at all, and yes, the hospital shouldn't have done it. But what's done is done, and wallowing in the quagmire of "I should have" or "If only I had been strong enough to.." leads to a lack of presence for the situation at hand, which is to mother a new baby . Getting too hung up on our "failures" heals nobody.
Besides, there are so many little perfections to achieve in the realm of birth and mothering, it's impossible for us to please every expert, every friend, every family member. And really, that's quite a good lesson in letting go of the "pleaser" impulse within many women. Mothers need to be strong, and to protect their sense of "rightness". This is often why new moms are very strong advocates of what they do, and I think this is a beautiful thing. But it's important to temper that passion with wisdom, knowing that what is bliss for one mother may be trauma for another, and doing what our hearts tell us is where it's at. If my client chooses an epidural and feels proud of herself for how she gave birth and is a really happy mom, I'm nothing but happy for her. If I come to a new mother's house 8 days postpartum, the mother has a baby with a pacifier in his mouth, and she's gleaming with pride telling me she tried out the binky by chance and found everyone got an extra hour of sleep and her milk production/sore nipple issue improved with that rest, I say, "Bravo!" even though pacifiers are not "supposed" to be used in the first six weeks after birth.
The more perfection experts put out there, the more judgement there is upon that mom who discovers that her baby may have different needs from her neighbour's baby, who follows the rules to a "T" of whatever "The _______ Whisperer" book is all the rage at the time (insert whatever you can think of in that blank, "whisperer" being the mot du jour for "expert"). I would like to write a book for new parents called There Is No Master Plan. There are as many ways to birth and parent as there are parents and babies.
I have heard enough criticism of women over the years to make me step back and see that fellow mothers can eat each other alive when armed with a load of ideals. I was at a birth once in which the mother's friend said, "well, I don't know why you yelled like that. I was focused inwardly, and was really quiet." My plump, vigorous newborn was blissfully nursing at my plump, vigorously spurting breasts and a friend walked in and said, "you shouldn't be holding your breast like that." I've had mothers try to talk the doctor into forcing their daughters to take an epidural during labour. It's hard to come out unscathed with all of these intense belief systems being projected onto our unique relationships to our babies from every angle.
Let us also remember that babies are resilient. Yes, they are tender and vulnerable, but they are STRONG. If a baby ended up being separated from his mother for awhile after birth and the mother discovers later in life that this was a "bad" thing, it does not mean she's irrevocably damaged her child with her "ignorance". People find healing from releasing the wounds of the past and focusing on the present. A baby who has been separated from his mother will heal from loving, focused presence NOW. You can't go back in time, really. You can go back with therapeutic techniques, and this can be a great thing for some wounds, in mothers and babies alike. But sometimes focusing upon something that may really be small in life's grand order may just make it all bigger than it needs to be, rather an attempt to assuage guilt from not being perfect than an impetus for true healing. That's for the individual to determine, not an "expert".
I'd like to remind people that whether you're shooting ideals from the left or shooting ideals from the right, shooting at people is still violent, and you can end up injuring a vulnerable being. Instead, let us mother authentically, being who we are, and doing what we feel...and allow others to mother in their own authentic way. There are many paths to enlightenment.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Don't Underestimate Your Power
I ran into the midwife of my fourth birth this weekend at a workshop. She had just popped by for the end of it, so I only encountered her briefly. I haven't seen her for a few years, and when I did my heart gave a little flutter. The emotional connection you forge with someone who has been with you for a short but very intense, intimate event in your life is bonding. You don't bond with everyone who may see you birth. I didn't bond with the nurses or doctors at my second kid's birth, as lovely as they were. But I bonded very strongly with my midwives, as I chose them to be the physical and emotional keepers of my birthing space.
People who know me well know I usually keep my emotions pretty close to my heart. It's not that I'm not an emotional person...I most definitely am, perhaps even more than the average person. I am moved deeply. It's just that I'm not emotionally effusive. In public anyway. Most of my bestest friends have not even seen me cry before, even in the face of some pretty intense things. I don't think my mother has even seen me cry since I was 14. I tend to hold it in until I get space alone. I have always been this way. I remember hiding under tables as a child to sob inconsolably when I heard a sad story, and didn't like people looking at me and calling attention to it. I'm just sort of private that way. As a student of psychotherapy, most students took the opportunity to do a session with the trainer while the rest of the class observed, and most were absolutely transformed, having felt safe and enveloped by the group's loving energy. We who observed learned so much and I was always grateful for those brave souls who could bare their innermost selves so easily. Yet I never took that opportunity to be observed in session, as I just felt like my emotional expressions were not something I wanted shared in a group. So if you ever see me in a very emotional situation but don't see me being emotionally expressive, please don't assume I'm unfeeling. I just process it in a more solitary way.
Anyway, the relationship with the one who holds the space for your birth is a different thing. My midwife knows all my physical and emotional history. A woman's social masks are let down throughout the natural birth process, and we become raw. There's not much of me my midwife hasn't seen. She knows the dynamic between my husband and me (having seen us labour together), she knows first hand how I respond to pain, stress, and fear. She understands my deepest needs as a woman to express my birth authentically and undisturbed. She has seen pretty much everything my body is capable of emitting up close and personal. We met my son at the same time. There is really nothing more intimate than that.
When I saw Isabelle this weekend, she came up to me and gave me a huge hug, and it just felt SO good to be in her presence again. I have been fully myself before her in a way nobody else (except for those who attend my birthings) has seen. I am absolutely safe with her. I chatted with my midwife for a bit, and she told me how she had such fond memories of Finn's birth, that her apprentice learned so much by attending a birth that was "held" as opposed to "managed". I said to her, "You said something to me that I will never forget. You told me I was a woman who owned my birth...I'm not sure why, but that moves very deeply, resonates through all my cells, and I am just SO grateful for those words." And as I said that, tears arose unchecked, and they could, because it was Isabelle who was standing in front of me...there is no point in my hiding anything from her. There are probably not that many people I trust more.
Isabelle told me she always teaches her students to be so careful with the language they use. She said, "The words that come out my mouth could potentially be somebody's magic words." She certainly spoke mine.
As doulas, midwives, nurses, and doctors, it's important to never underestimate how deeply entrusted we are with someone's most vulnerable, raw, authentic self. We witness their heroic journeys, see them emerge with their babies, hearts wide open, and a few words gleaned from our observations can support or warp their impressions of themselves for better or for worse. This is an emotional responsibility unlike any other. We must always remember to hold our ladies (and their partners) tenderly. We must be so gentle with their vulnerable, fledgling mother/father selves. Our words and actions could potentially hold some powerful magic. They may stimulate a healing impulse, or soothe away deeply embedded self-doubts. Isabelle's words touched my spirit in such a profound way, they create waves of power and strength within me each time I utter them them to myself...years later. Nobody can ever take them away from me. I am a woman who owns my birth.
People who know me well know I usually keep my emotions pretty close to my heart. It's not that I'm not an emotional person...I most definitely am, perhaps even more than the average person. I am moved deeply. It's just that I'm not emotionally effusive. In public anyway. Most of my bestest friends have not even seen me cry before, even in the face of some pretty intense things. I don't think my mother has even seen me cry since I was 14. I tend to hold it in until I get space alone. I have always been this way. I remember hiding under tables as a child to sob inconsolably when I heard a sad story, and didn't like people looking at me and calling attention to it. I'm just sort of private that way. As a student of psychotherapy, most students took the opportunity to do a session with the trainer while the rest of the class observed, and most were absolutely transformed, having felt safe and enveloped by the group's loving energy. We who observed learned so much and I was always grateful for those brave souls who could bare their innermost selves so easily. Yet I never took that opportunity to be observed in session, as I just felt like my emotional expressions were not something I wanted shared in a group. So if you ever see me in a very emotional situation but don't see me being emotionally expressive, please don't assume I'm unfeeling. I just process it in a more solitary way.
Anyway, the relationship with the one who holds the space for your birth is a different thing. My midwife knows all my physical and emotional history. A woman's social masks are let down throughout the natural birth process, and we become raw. There's not much of me my midwife hasn't seen. She knows the dynamic between my husband and me (having seen us labour together), she knows first hand how I respond to pain, stress, and fear. She understands my deepest needs as a woman to express my birth authentically and undisturbed. She has seen pretty much everything my body is capable of emitting up close and personal. We met my son at the same time. There is really nothing more intimate than that.
When I saw Isabelle this weekend, she came up to me and gave me a huge hug, and it just felt SO good to be in her presence again. I have been fully myself before her in a way nobody else (except for those who attend my birthings) has seen. I am absolutely safe with her. I chatted with my midwife for a bit, and she told me how she had such fond memories of Finn's birth, that her apprentice learned so much by attending a birth that was "held" as opposed to "managed". I said to her, "You said something to me that I will never forget. You told me I was a woman who owned my birth...I'm not sure why, but that moves very deeply, resonates through all my cells, and I am just SO grateful for those words." And as I said that, tears arose unchecked, and they could, because it was Isabelle who was standing in front of me...there is no point in my hiding anything from her. There are probably not that many people I trust more.
Isabelle told me she always teaches her students to be so careful with the language they use. She said, "The words that come out my mouth could potentially be somebody's magic words." She certainly spoke mine.
As doulas, midwives, nurses, and doctors, it's important to never underestimate how deeply entrusted we are with someone's most vulnerable, raw, authentic self. We witness their heroic journeys, see them emerge with their babies, hearts wide open, and a few words gleaned from our observations can support or warp their impressions of themselves for better or for worse. This is an emotional responsibility unlike any other. We must always remember to hold our ladies (and their partners) tenderly. We must be so gentle with their vulnerable, fledgling mother/father selves. Our words and actions could potentially hold some powerful magic. They may stimulate a healing impulse, or soothe away deeply embedded self-doubts. Isabelle's words touched my spirit in such a profound way, they create waves of power and strength within me each time I utter them them to myself...years later. Nobody can ever take them away from me. I am a woman who owns my birth.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Benevolence
The Great Lady Birth was kind today. As doulas, we all want our clients to have wonderful births, obviously. But occasionally a birth comes along as a blessing for a person who is particularly worthy of it.
I attended the third birth of a lady today. I was present for her first and second births. Those births were hard. To say the least. Due to anatomical issues, this lady is unable to have an epidural work for her. Not that she's necessarily into them, but it can be scary for many women to know if, on the off chance something comes up and surgery is necessary, birth will be under general anaesthesia. To make things even more challenging, this lady's first 2 births were induced. The first birth was over 24 hours of the type of labour that is not riding waves, but being slammed with mechanical Synto contractions with barely time to breathe between the onslaughts. It was white pain, the type that makes it impossible to relax and find resources within. This is not a woman unfamiliar with pain, due to health issues in her life, and this "practice" was undoubtedly in her favour, as she heroically birthed her baby vaginally. An epidural by the most experienced anaesthetist in the hospital was attempted several times, but to very little avail, so at some point she just accepted this as her experience and went with it. Residents and nurses would come in to check in on her, and would leave the room looking white and pinched, as there was very little they could do to help with pain that was beyond the scope of normal birthing sensations. Her husband and I stayed by her side, just being present, and so thankful when it was time to push, as at least that went smoothly. She welcomed her baby with joy, but was left quite shaken by such a difficult birth.
Between babies one and two, there were experiences of potentially life threatening illness, and a terrible loss. Conception was difficult, but finally baby #2 was on his way. This birth was just like the second, though only half the time, thank goodness, but still terribly difficult. This lady remains thoughtful and kind throughout her labours, though where she finds the strength, I don't know. Baby 2 was born vaginally as well, even though she had been offered the opportunity to birth via C-section because of the nature of her last birth. Unfortunately, she had to be separated from her baby soon after because of an emergency which arose for her after the birth. This was the most traumatic part of the birth for her. Still, she weathered these situations with equanimity, always, as a very spiritual person, figuring she must be a pretty strong woman to have the universe send her such challenges. No feelings of victimization for this lady, which after all she's been through, demonstrates what a strong character she truly is.
She called me again a few months ago saying she had just found out she was pregnant...around 4 or 5 months pregnant! This was a shock, as she had been told the possibility of getting pregnant again was pretty much nil. She felt she had fully reclaimed the health and strength of her body, was in a great place with her kids and husband, and needed to take some time to adjust to the idea of having another baby. But in her usual style, she dug deeply, and looked forward to the arrival of a new baby, though the thought of giving birth again was scary. This is a lady who associates hospitals with illness and suffering, and so didn't want to have to give birth there again, but because of her history, there was just no other feasible way for her to feel truly safe. We met prenatally and had a good pep talk, and she told me a few different ways she wanted to approach labour. She wanted to avoid being induced this time if she could (due to physical concerns, it's not something easily debatable at all after a certain point), and found a wonderful Naturopathic Doctor to do some homeopathic magic with her. She did a lot of emotional/spiritual work, and took extremely good care of herself, keeping fit and healthily nourished.
Another induction was set up, but lo and behold, I got a call at 3am today, and she told me she was having some good contractions. They were not too long and not too intense, and was hanging out with her hubby and mom. She told me she'd call later. I felt a little nervous for some reason, not able to go back to sleep....when this happens, I usually call back to check in, because sometimes these little niggling concerns are intuitions. I was reassured that all was well, but that she really wanted to stay home for longer. Fair enough. I went back to sleep. At 6am I checked back in, and labour was definitely stronger, but she sounded great. She was happy. She was going to wait at home until rush hour passed. Of course I was thinking that we had an hour drive, that labour sounded strong, and her mother and hubby were becoming antsy, but she was insistent. She knew what she was doing.
I went over at nine, and she was sitting on a birth ball in a dark room full of candles, vocalizing beautifully. She looked at me, took my hand, and her eyes filled with tears. "Lesley, I don't want to go to the hospital." This being in natural labour was so different from the inductions. She didn't have the same tension in her body and fear in her eyes. The energy of Synto can be dark, making people feel like they're in a bad trip instead of a dreamy endorphin trance. She had hated that place. It had suffocated her while she was tied to a bed, IV, and monitor. Now she was labouring...well, naturally, and doing beautifully. My heart ached for her, because I wanted nothing more than to just stay there and hold the space for her and her husband to give birth peacefully and undisturbed, the way she had always wanted. But that is not the role I have signed on for. Besides, even though she was expressing this love of being home, she was resolved about going to the hospital. I think she just needed to grieve a little. We got ready to go, and in the car she could feel the baby moving down. She was still chatty with me between the contractions, so I knew we were not in a mad dash to the hospital.
My client was feeling really awful about getting out of the car and being exposed to all the people in the hospital who would stare at the vocalizing labouring lady. She was also really scared of being examined by an unknown resident. So I shielded her as best I could. Of course, the elevator was acting wonkily, and we had to wait for awhile. She just snuggled into me, vocalizing into my shoulder while her husband parked, and it just looked like we were two friends hugging, so nobody bothered us, trying to get her into a wheelchair. Finally we walked into the elevator, and lo and behold who was there? Her beloved doctor! They hugged and the doctor expressed how happy she was to see her in labour. She suddenly felt much better about being on the elevator. I mentioned to the doctor she seemed to be in pretty active labour, and a few good strong contractions proved that. It was lovely seeing Doc L., who is an incredibly compassionate, dedicated OB, really invested in her patients personally. It was also pretty great to see her do a little labour support, rubbing my client's back, and having her slow her breathing down.
As my client prepared to be monitored for the standard 30 minutes, she said, "that's pretty amazing we ran into Doc L., isn't it? That makes me feel good." I also reiterated how nice it was that her own trusted doctor was going to do a vaginal examination instead of someone she didn't know. The doc checked her gently, and said she was 4cm. At first she was a little disappointed, but the doc reassured her that the cervix was completely thinned out, and this made her a lot happier.
After being admitted, which took awhile with questions, etc., my client finally got up and really got things going. She was getting to a place where she was wondering if she could do it, and we reminded her of how well things were going, of how different the energy was from the last times....much lighter and more expansive. We went to the jacuzzi room, which is dark, warm, and humid....a perfect environment for a labouring lady. As she was standing, having contraction after contraction, coping gorgeously, I heard a little grunting happen....ever so subtly... if you weren't listening carefully you might have missed it. She really wanted to get into the bath, and I thought," hmmmmmm....I know they don't like catching babies in there, and I know she is showing signs of being in second stage....and it's a third baby....conundrum." She said she felt hot, so I ran back to the birth room and grabbed some cool washcloths. When I got back 15 seconds later, there was a puddle of brownish amniotic fluid on the floor and a clearly pushing client. The nurse popped in, and my client announced she would NOT be moving. But as the waters were brown, the nurse wanted me to get her to come back to the room. It wasn't far, so between contractions we shuffled over. Her mom was in the room and looked at us with surprise, realizing the baby was coming. My client got on the bed and of course, was being told NOT to push, though it was clear there was nothin' gonna stop her.
I just whispered into her ear to let her body follow her baby. My client really didn't want the resident present to examine her, and the nurse told him to leave her alone, that if the baby was going to come, it was going to come, and an exam wasn't going to change anything. The baby's head birthed by itself the next contraction, and the resident caught the body and lifted a pink, yelling little boy into my client's arms. No tears. Easy placenta birth. Minimal bleeding. Great start to breastfeeding. A beautiful, yummy baby, born 1 hour after arriving at the hospital. My client looked at me with a huge smile and said, "I MOSTLY did it at home!" We were over the moon. I said, "Hon, everyone deserves a great birth...but you REALLY REALLY deserved this great birth." She said, "Yup, I sure did. And I'm SO proud of myself. I love my baby."
Thank you, oh Great Lady Birth, for your benevolence today! You couldn't have picked a better person to bestow such kindness upon.
Lesley
www.MotherWit.ca
I attended the third birth of a lady today. I was present for her first and second births. Those births were hard. To say the least. Due to anatomical issues, this lady is unable to have an epidural work for her. Not that she's necessarily into them, but it can be scary for many women to know if, on the off chance something comes up and surgery is necessary, birth will be under general anaesthesia. To make things even more challenging, this lady's first 2 births were induced. The first birth was over 24 hours of the type of labour that is not riding waves, but being slammed with mechanical Synto contractions with barely time to breathe between the onslaughts. It was white pain, the type that makes it impossible to relax and find resources within. This is not a woman unfamiliar with pain, due to health issues in her life, and this "practice" was undoubtedly in her favour, as she heroically birthed her baby vaginally. An epidural by the most experienced anaesthetist in the hospital was attempted several times, but to very little avail, so at some point she just accepted this as her experience and went with it. Residents and nurses would come in to check in on her, and would leave the room looking white and pinched, as there was very little they could do to help with pain that was beyond the scope of normal birthing sensations. Her husband and I stayed by her side, just being present, and so thankful when it was time to push, as at least that went smoothly. She welcomed her baby with joy, but was left quite shaken by such a difficult birth.
Between babies one and two, there were experiences of potentially life threatening illness, and a terrible loss. Conception was difficult, but finally baby #2 was on his way. This birth was just like the second, though only half the time, thank goodness, but still terribly difficult. This lady remains thoughtful and kind throughout her labours, though where she finds the strength, I don't know. Baby 2 was born vaginally as well, even though she had been offered the opportunity to birth via C-section because of the nature of her last birth. Unfortunately, she had to be separated from her baby soon after because of an emergency which arose for her after the birth. This was the most traumatic part of the birth for her. Still, she weathered these situations with equanimity, always, as a very spiritual person, figuring she must be a pretty strong woman to have the universe send her such challenges. No feelings of victimization for this lady, which after all she's been through, demonstrates what a strong character she truly is.
She called me again a few months ago saying she had just found out she was pregnant...around 4 or 5 months pregnant! This was a shock, as she had been told the possibility of getting pregnant again was pretty much nil. She felt she had fully reclaimed the health and strength of her body, was in a great place with her kids and husband, and needed to take some time to adjust to the idea of having another baby. But in her usual style, she dug deeply, and looked forward to the arrival of a new baby, though the thought of giving birth again was scary. This is a lady who associates hospitals with illness and suffering, and so didn't want to have to give birth there again, but because of her history, there was just no other feasible way for her to feel truly safe. We met prenatally and had a good pep talk, and she told me a few different ways she wanted to approach labour. She wanted to avoid being induced this time if she could (due to physical concerns, it's not something easily debatable at all after a certain point), and found a wonderful Naturopathic Doctor to do some homeopathic magic with her. She did a lot of emotional/spiritual work, and took extremely good care of herself, keeping fit and healthily nourished.
Another induction was set up, but lo and behold, I got a call at 3am today, and she told me she was having some good contractions. They were not too long and not too intense, and was hanging out with her hubby and mom. She told me she'd call later. I felt a little nervous for some reason, not able to go back to sleep....when this happens, I usually call back to check in, because sometimes these little niggling concerns are intuitions. I was reassured that all was well, but that she really wanted to stay home for longer. Fair enough. I went back to sleep. At 6am I checked back in, and labour was definitely stronger, but she sounded great. She was happy. She was going to wait at home until rush hour passed. Of course I was thinking that we had an hour drive, that labour sounded strong, and her mother and hubby were becoming antsy, but she was insistent. She knew what she was doing.
I went over at nine, and she was sitting on a birth ball in a dark room full of candles, vocalizing beautifully. She looked at me, took my hand, and her eyes filled with tears. "Lesley, I don't want to go to the hospital." This being in natural labour was so different from the inductions. She didn't have the same tension in her body and fear in her eyes. The energy of Synto can be dark, making people feel like they're in a bad trip instead of a dreamy endorphin trance. She had hated that place. It had suffocated her while she was tied to a bed, IV, and monitor. Now she was labouring...well, naturally, and doing beautifully. My heart ached for her, because I wanted nothing more than to just stay there and hold the space for her and her husband to give birth peacefully and undisturbed, the way she had always wanted. But that is not the role I have signed on for. Besides, even though she was expressing this love of being home, she was resolved about going to the hospital. I think she just needed to grieve a little. We got ready to go, and in the car she could feel the baby moving down. She was still chatty with me between the contractions, so I knew we were not in a mad dash to the hospital.
My client was feeling really awful about getting out of the car and being exposed to all the people in the hospital who would stare at the vocalizing labouring lady. She was also really scared of being examined by an unknown resident. So I shielded her as best I could. Of course, the elevator was acting wonkily, and we had to wait for awhile. She just snuggled into me, vocalizing into my shoulder while her husband parked, and it just looked like we were two friends hugging, so nobody bothered us, trying to get her into a wheelchair. Finally we walked into the elevator, and lo and behold who was there? Her beloved doctor! They hugged and the doctor expressed how happy she was to see her in labour. She suddenly felt much better about being on the elevator. I mentioned to the doctor she seemed to be in pretty active labour, and a few good strong contractions proved that. It was lovely seeing Doc L., who is an incredibly compassionate, dedicated OB, really invested in her patients personally. It was also pretty great to see her do a little labour support, rubbing my client's back, and having her slow her breathing down.
As my client prepared to be monitored for the standard 30 minutes, she said, "that's pretty amazing we ran into Doc L., isn't it? That makes me feel good." I also reiterated how nice it was that her own trusted doctor was going to do a vaginal examination instead of someone she didn't know. The doc checked her gently, and said she was 4cm. At first she was a little disappointed, but the doc reassured her that the cervix was completely thinned out, and this made her a lot happier.
After being admitted, which took awhile with questions, etc., my client finally got up and really got things going. She was getting to a place where she was wondering if she could do it, and we reminded her of how well things were going, of how different the energy was from the last times....much lighter and more expansive. We went to the jacuzzi room, which is dark, warm, and humid....a perfect environment for a labouring lady. As she was standing, having contraction after contraction, coping gorgeously, I heard a little grunting happen....ever so subtly... if you weren't listening carefully you might have missed it. She really wanted to get into the bath, and I thought," hmmmmmm....I know they don't like catching babies in there, and I know she is showing signs of being in second stage....and it's a third baby....conundrum." She said she felt hot, so I ran back to the birth room and grabbed some cool washcloths. When I got back 15 seconds later, there was a puddle of brownish amniotic fluid on the floor and a clearly pushing client. The nurse popped in, and my client announced she would NOT be moving. But as the waters were brown, the nurse wanted me to get her to come back to the room. It wasn't far, so between contractions we shuffled over. Her mom was in the room and looked at us with surprise, realizing the baby was coming. My client got on the bed and of course, was being told NOT to push, though it was clear there was nothin' gonna stop her.
I just whispered into her ear to let her body follow her baby. My client really didn't want the resident present to examine her, and the nurse told him to leave her alone, that if the baby was going to come, it was going to come, and an exam wasn't going to change anything. The baby's head birthed by itself the next contraction, and the resident caught the body and lifted a pink, yelling little boy into my client's arms. No tears. Easy placenta birth. Minimal bleeding. Great start to breastfeeding. A beautiful, yummy baby, born 1 hour after arriving at the hospital. My client looked at me with a huge smile and said, "I MOSTLY did it at home!" We were over the moon. I said, "Hon, everyone deserves a great birth...but you REALLY REALLY deserved this great birth." She said, "Yup, I sure did. And I'm SO proud of myself. I love my baby."
Thank you, oh Great Lady Birth, for your benevolence today! You couldn't have picked a better person to bestow such kindness upon.
Lesley
www.MotherWit.ca
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