Friday, March 27, 2015

More Thoughts from Michel Odent

More thoughts from Michel Odent.
Dr. Odent discoursed on the new super-brainy Homo Sapiens.
Babies born vaginally must be able to fit, squeeze, through their mother’s pelvic bones. Before the advent of relatively safe Cesarean birth, mothers with babies whose heads were too large and babies with  mothers whose pelvises were too small, died. Now, there is no reason for a woman or her baby to suffer through a vaginal birth. With Cesarean deliveries so safe, all babies could be born in this manner.
With no restriction on head size, might our brains grow even larger? Odent believes, and his evidence is compelling, that it is quite possible. However, there seem to be myriad problems, consequences, if you will, of being born with the “simplified techniques of Caesarean (Odent, Michel. Childbirth and the Future of Homo Sapiens. London: Pinter & Martin, 2013. Print.)”. One of these, since many cesarean births would be elective without a trial of labor, would be a lessened, eventually lost, ability to love.
It seems that while these new super-brainy Homo Sapiens would have superior intellectual intelligence, they would be lacking in emotional intelligence.
Some might be familiar with the aphorism, “Use it or lose it.” Odent mentions that as women are not given the opportunity for oxytocin to play its part, they may lose the ability to produce it. Since it plays such a big part in every aspect of our lives having to do with love, would we lose the ability also to breastfeed? To care four our offspring? To have sex/make love?
While I was reading this, two things came to mind. One was a story I began writing when I was in high school and which I never finished. In it, on the planet where the story begins, people are grown from test tubes. There is no pregnancy; there is no birth (don’t ask me how, I never got that far; I was 14 or 15). Once to the point of being able to live outside whatever the means of gestation was, people were assigned dormitories. Each was presided over by a male and a female and each had one or two boys and the same number of girls. Sex was not a part of life. Although people had physical characteristics of being male or female, it meant nothing.
The main characters, a boy and a girl from the same dormitory, somehow found reading material introducing them to sex. Please remember at the time I knew very little of the actual mechanics myself. My main characters thought they would experiment and before they got very far, were arrested and schedule to have their memories wiped and to be sent off to another planet in the galaxy to live.
I was planning on having the memory wipes be unsuccessful and thus allow them to discover how different life could be but never got that far.
The second is the 2002 version of The Time Machine which I only recently finished watching (after I read Childbirth and the Future of Homo Sapiens, actually). It has two classes of humans. One looks much the same as we do and one has been adapted to more efficient hunting (and these are actually further divided into more selective/specialized castes). Wouldn’t it be fun or interesting to change that a bit to humans who look like we do today and who have emotional stability as well as humans with much larger heads/brains and who have no empathy but are super intelligent?

Food for thought.

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Some Thoughts after Reading Childbirth and the Future of Homo Sapiens

I recently read five books by Michel Odent. He is a French obstetrician who practiced in a French hospital for many, many years before attending home births. I could tell you much more about him but it would be quite as easy for you and easier for me if you just search his name. I’m sure there are those who do not like what he has to say but so much of what I read resonates with me that I cannot ignore it.
The first book I read of the five is Childbirth and the Future of Homo Sapiens. Chapter 6 is titled “Should we criminalize planned vaginal birth?” I have to admit I was worried when I first read this. Everything that I’ve read by Michel Odent and everything I’ve heard him say (I’d previously read two or three other books as well as a couple of articles and watched interviews with him) does not indicate that he would ever even think such a thing let alone verbalize or encourage it. Further reading allayed my fears, however; he has not gone the way of so many in the medical field.
I thought that I had pretty good birth experiences with each of my babies. Even Alisha’s birth in a hospital wasn’t too awful, generally speaking, even though I’m convinced this was so because she was born so soon after our arrival. As I continued reading I began to wonder if I should at the least reevaluate or perhaps redefine good. Good will stand. Based on the knowledge that I had at the time, each birth was pretty good. There are aspects of each that made each better in some ways than the others and overall, they remain. . . good.
Optimal, however, they were not.
Let me draw for you a picture of what I now would consider to be an optimal birth.
It is quiet other than the noises made by the laboring woman and the soft clicking of the midwife’s knitting needles which is barely audible due to the fact she is using wooden needles. The laboring woman moans upon occasion in an almost involuntary manner as her body I gripped by previously unknown sensations. The room is lit only by (sunlight, candles, diffused light, flickering light from the fire, etc.). No one else is in the room although the midwife has an assistant in another area of the house and the laboring woman’s partner is (outside splitting wood, inside reading, pacing, etc.)
The laboring woman is free to move about as she wishes; there are snacks for her to nibble on and there is water to drink. Mostly, she ignores these things and moves about from one position to another in order to be as comfortable as possible.
The midwife glances up from time to time. She is there only to keep her senses open in the event she may be needed for something beyond the laboring woman’s ability to cope with. Her practiced ears, eyes, and general awareness tell her that the woman is progressing well and that the baby should be born relatively soon.
There is a tub of water in the even the laboring woman desires to utilize it. As her labor continues and the sensations intensify, she does get in. The midwife keeps her awareness more closely directed to the woman in the water but mainly because a woman in labor sometimes requires assistance getting back out. Also, the baby might well come while she is there.
The woman leans on the side of the tub, head cradled in her arms as the rest of her body floats, weightless in the water. As a contraction grips her, she leans back and wedges her feet at the junction of the bottom and edge of the pool and she grunts, sometimes barely audible, sometimes very loudly as if with great effort.
The midwife smiles, knowing it will not be long now at all. She finishes the row she is working on, briefly examines the work she has completed and tucks it away in her bag. The laboring woman is still at work; there is no need for the midwife to do other than she has been. Still, the future in unknown and it is easier to jump up with nothing in one’s hands than with and easier to devote full attention, even if from a distance, with no other distractions.
The woman is becoming more vocal. Her moans and grunts are louder. Sometimes she sounds very much as if she belongs in a faraway jungle.
After the noise of a very great effort, the midwife smiles again as the woman in the tub leans back with a baby in her arms. She looks at her watch to note the time for later reference and continues to observe.
The baby has apparently found his or her first meal; the midwife can hear the small suckling sounds of delight. The new mother coos to her baby, drinking deeply of the huge eyes, taking in every sound and smell and touch.
Eventually, the midwife collects the placenta in a bowl and notifies the father that his partner has given birth. He and the midwife’s assistant return to the birthing room with the midwife. She (ties, clamps) the cord and the father cuts it.
The midwife and her assistant clean up and put away everything they think they will not need and then sit back, waiting.
Finally, the baby, a boy, is examined enough to know he is 20 ½ inches long and 8 pounds, 3.5 ounces, and doing very well. The  mother is examined enough to know she has a very small tear, less than 1/8th of an inch which is not worth the bother of stitching. Mother and baby are bedded down and the midwife and her assistant finish cleaning and putting away. The new family is left with instructions of what to expect and will be visited the following day.
This baby was born under what I would consider to be optimal circumstances. The mother was allowed to labor under ideal circumstances and to birth her baby in the same manner. There was no spoken language to stimulate the neocortex. There was only natural, subdued light and the room was warm enough. There were no drugs administered and the woman was able to move only as much as her mammalian self-determined was necessary.
The pregnancy was optimal as well. This woman was not told she was spilling ketones or that she may have gestational diabetes. She was encouraged to eat well, get enough sleep, and exercise. The midwife was knowledgeable. She would have been able to step in and do what needed to be done in the event such became necessary, including referring her to a doctor.
Are we losing this ability? From what I’ve read and observed, I think we are.
If we can believe what Dr. Odent has written, and I think we can, every single time any interference is made with the normal, natural process of birth, there are consequences. It seems that we are witnessing these consequences. Indeed, many, if not most of us, are living with them.
For example, it was determined that I am group B strep positive before Amena was born. One way of dealing with this is for the mother to take antibiotics. While there is some risk to the baby without dealing with the GBS, there are consequences to a mother taking antibiotics just prior to delivery.  Would you care to guess what one of them is?
Asthma.

We really need to do as Antoine Béchamp, who “knew about germs and . . . understood pasteurization before Pasteur” said: “Instead of trying to determine what abnormal conditions disease is composed of, let us first know the normal conditions which make us healthy (Odent, Michel. Childbirth and the Future of Homo Sapiens. London: Pinter & Martin, 2013. Print.).”

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

Daniel's Birthday (#18)

On January 3, 1997, a Friday, I wrote: “The baby is really moving around right now. It must be time for me to go to bed. Two times I can count on lots of movement are in the morning and when I go to bed.”


Tuesday, January 21, 1997: “Tomorrow I’ve got an appointment with Dr. David.” It is interesting to note that Dr. David Wilson was the doctor who delivered Sydney, Dan’s daughter, when Liz Travis, who helped us with Laura’s birth, thought that Lyn, Sydney’s mother, was not progressing sufficiently to warrant a homebirth. He had divorced, moved to Utah, remarried, and moved back to Scott Valley. He and his wife, Renee, who was an RN almost ready to sit for her midwifery exams, attended homebirths. 
Two days later, “Tomorrow I guess I ought to begin my before-the-baby-comes projects. The biggest project is diapers.”


Friday, February 6, 1997: “Just before Salem [Oregon] the baby got tired of sitting still and started stretching rather painfully.”
Friday, February 28, 1997: “Our baby’s quilt is almost done—all I need to do is finish sewing on the binding.”


Monday, March 3, 1997: “Well, this is an odd time [3:05 am] to be writing but the baby appears to be on the way. Therefore, I thought it best to write while I have the time and it’s quiet.
“So far, there isn’t much to tell. . . . I [am] up. My mom is up but she’s at her house still. I had a gush of water a little more than an hour ago and dribblings since then. I’ve had only four really good contractions but lots of little ones.” Renee Wilson was hoping Daniel would be born on the 3rd because it was her birthday. That was not to be.


Tuesday, March 4, 1997: “This morning at 12:20 a little baby boy was born. . . I broke the mold and had a boy. He hasn’t a name yet—we have trouble with the naming.
“Labor was long—he wasn’t in any hurry to get here I guess but once hard labor began he came more quickly. I don’t know how big his head was but it was bigger than any of my other babies. It took two pushes to deliver his head and then I had to push harder to get his shoulders and the rest of his body out.


“He weighed 7# 12 oz and was 20 ½” long. He has dark hair that will probably get lighter because his eyebrows and lashes are light. 
“He is a beautiful baby. He nursed like there was no tomorrow this morning. He fell asleep around 3:30 and has been awake long enough to have his diaper changed and his clothes changed but not to eat. I hope he decides he’s hungry soon.”


Three days later: “. . . baby finally has a name. . . Daniel Brent.”
March 17, 1997 at Shakleford Falls.
Alisha, Laura, me with Daniel, Sydney and Joanna.
Labor was long. The Wilson’s came and they left. They came again later and had to bring their 2-year-old because their older children all had previous commitments and couldn’t babysit. That wasn’t a problem. I don’t remember if she was put to bed in the girls’ room or in the little hall by the bathroom. Either way, she, like our girls, slept. My mother was there for much of the labor; I don’t remember if Becky was or not. 


March 18, 1997. Joanna giving two-week-old baby Daniel lots of lovin'.
At one point in time, I was in the bedroom alone, getting through contractions as best as I could. While they weren’t comfortable, they weren’t painful either but I was alone. I could hear everyone in the livingroom talking and I wondered why. Wasn’t I the one doing the work? Weren’t they here to support me? Why were they out there seemingly oblivious to what I was doing? After my previous three births, I was not used to being alone. I’d had someone with me constantly during each of them so this was something completely new. I did not like it.
April 2, 1997.
In spite of the fact that I have been criticized for voicing this, I do not see what the purpose is of letting a woman labor alone. I believe that part of a good midwives strength is the fact that she is with the woman. During a time the woman may not be able to voice concerns, she needs to have someone with her. In a hospital perhaps it is not as critical as it seems that most women who labor and birth in a hospital are connected to monitors which may alert staff to potential problems. At home, there are no mechanical monitors; the monitors are the people—midwives, family, friends—and they should be with her.


April 8, 1997.
Daniel 5 weeks old.
I don’t know when it was, but Dr. Wilson came in to do an exam and when he was done he told me that I was not ready to push. Oh yeah? I thought. How do you know I’m not ready to push? I was so ready I could barely contain myself. I am not sure if I actually started pushing on the sly then or not; I wouldn’t be surprised if I did. 
April 15, 1997.
Daniel 6 weeks old.
Much of my labor was on all fours as it was the most comfortable. Either Dr. Wilson or Renee had to remind me to get my front up more because I was sagging and by being more upright, I would be getting extra help from gravity. I do not remember much from the actual birth; I do believe that I was still on all fours. I do remember hearing that the baby was a boy—how exciting that was! I know that I had some tears because I remember being stitched up. It was such a relief to have a baby out that the stitching didn’t seem like a big deal. I had a boy! 

May 4, 1997.
Daniel two months old.
I am writing this part on Daniel's birthday, 2015. He would be eighteen years old today. What a blessing it has been to have him in our family. While I still miss him and often shed tears, I wouldn't trade the terrible feelings of missing him or the tears for anything (unless there was a way to turn back the hands of time and keep the accident from happening and even then, my not having an eternal perspective, I might not). It is enough to know that the reason for the feelings is because of the amount of love.
March 9, 1997.
Daniel five days old.
(Picture is slightly out of sequence.)
Since Daniel was born, especially in the last few weeks, I have done a lot of reading about birth. I have come to realize that although I did not like being left alone while I was in labor, it may have been the best thing to happen to both Daniel and me. Why? Well, I'll tell you.
May 18, 1997.
Because we were alone, we were able to share our hormonal cocktail better than I was able to with any of my other babies (with the possible exception of Joseph). We were on our own planet with no one around to tell us that we needed to do thus and such. You may notice that when Dr. David (who really was splendid) came in, he told me it wasn't time to push. In retrospect, it was really quite lovely being able to move and do whatever felt good/right.
August 5, 1997.
Mr. HappyPants at five months, one day.
Did the manner of Daniel's birth have anything to do with the rest of his life? After reading what I have been, I have to think that it did. I'm glad. I can't imagine Daniel being anything other than what he was while he was with us and I can't imagine him being any different in the eternities.

While I miss him incredibly, I am so glad that he was with us while he was and that we can be together again one day.