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.

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 1/8^th 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.).”

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 3^rd 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.

Nativity Revisited

This is my Christmas story offering from a midwifery/birth point of view. I have been reading The Scientification of Love by Michel Odent (and, in fact, am actually only four pages from the end). It is a very good book with a lot of interesting ideas in it. Tuesday I was sitting at the chiropractor's office waiting for my turn and I read Interlude 3: Nativity Revisited. Wow. Really, very cool. I would like to share it with you.

Until now the image of the Nativity that has come down to us has usually been restricted to a birth in a stable, in the presence of an ox and a donkey. My version of the Nativity is inspired by what I have learned from women who have given birth in privacy. It has also been inspired by 'Evangelium Jacobi Minori', the protogospel of James, the brother of Jesus. This gospel was saved from oblivion in the middle of the nineteenth century by the Austriean mystic Jacob Lorber, who wrote Die Jugend Jesu (The childhood of Jesus).

            According to these texts Mary had complete privacy when giving birth because Joseph had left her to find a midwife. When he returned with a midwife, Jesus had already been born. It was only when dazzling light had faded that the midwife realised that she was facing an incredible scene: Jesus had already found his mother’s breast! Then the midwife said: ‘Who has ever seen a hardly born baby taking his mother’s breast? This is an obvious sign that when he becomes a man, this child will judge the world according to Love and not according to the Law!’

On the day when Jesus was ready to enter the world, Mary was sent a message—a non-verbal message of humility. She found herself in a stable, among other mammals. Without words, her companions helped her to understand that on that day, she had to accept her mammalian condition. She had to cope with her human handicap and disregard the effervescence of her intellect. She had to realise the same hormones as other parturient mammals, through the same gland, i.e. the primitive part of the brain that we all have in common.

            The environment was ideally adapted to the circumstances. Mary felt secure and, because of this, her level of adrenaline was as low as possible. Labour could establish itself in the best possible conditions. Having perceived the message of humility and accepted her mammalian conditions, May found herself on all fours. In a posture like this, and in the darkness of the night, she could easily cut herself off from the everyday world.

            Soon after his birth, the newborn Jesus was in the warms of an ecstatic mother, as instinctive as a non-human mammal can be. He was welcomed in an unviolated sacred atmosphere and was able, easily and gradually, to eliminate the high level of stress hormones he had produced while being born. Mary’s body was warm. The stable, too, was warm, thanks to the presence of the other mammals. Instinctively Mary covered her baby with a piece of cloth she had on hand. She was fascinated by the baby’s eyes and nothing could distract her from prolonged eye-to-eye contact with Jesus. Gazing at each other like this would have been instrumental in inducing another rush of oxytocin, so that her uterus contracted again and returned a small amount of enriched blood from the placenta along the umbilical cord to the baby; and soon after, the placenta was delivered.

            Mother and baby could feel quite secure. Mary, guided by her mammalian brain, stayed on her knees for a short while after the birth. After the placenta was delivered she lay down on her side with the baby close to her heart. Suddenly Jesus began to turn his head from one side to the other, opening his mouth into a round O. Guided by his sense of smell, he came closer and closer to the nipple while Mary, who was still in a very special hormonal balance and still behaving very instinctively, knew how to hold the baby and made the right sort of movements to help her baby find the breast.

            This is how Mary and Jesus transgressed the rules that had been established by the human community. Jesus, as a peaceful rebel who defied convention, was initiated by his mother. Jesus spent a long time sucking vigorously. With the support of Mary he was able to emerge victorious from one of the most critical episodes of his life. In the space of a few minutes he entered the world of microbes, adapted to the atmosphere, separated from the placenta, started to use his lungs and breathe independently, and adapted to the force of gravity and differences in temperature. Jesus is a hero!

            There was no clock in the stable. Mary did not try to time how long Jesus was at the breast before he fell asleep. During the first night after the birth Mary had only a few bouts of light sleep; she was vigilant and protective, and anxious to meet the needs of the most precious little creature on earth.

            In the days that followed, Mary learned to recognize when her baby wanted to be rocked. She was so in tune with him that she could perfectly adapt the rhythm of the rocking movements to the demands of the baby. While rocking, Mary started to croon tunes, and words were added. Like millions of other mothers she had discovered lullabies. This is how Jesus started to learn about movement and, therefore, about space. This is how he started to learn about rhythm and, therefore, about time. He was gradually entering a space and time reality. As baby Jesus grew, Mary began to introduce more and more words into her lullabies and this is how Jesus learned his mother tongue.

Odent, Michel. "Interlude 3: Nativity Revisited." The Scientification of Love. London: Free Association, 1999. 124-26. Print.

Isn’t that interesting? If there were more than seven minutes until time to start school for the boys, I would offer some thoughts about this but they will have to wait until later or another day. In the meantime, feel free to ponder this.

Birth is Beautiful!

Good evening! The internet is being difficult today so I thought that I would write a bit here since I haven’t for a few days and because I have something to say for the other blog (this one). Fairly recently, I had a doula shift and when I called in was told that there was a Cesarean scheduled as well as an induction. Mind you, I’m not really telling you this and the only reason I am is because, well, you’ll see. Or read.

I fully meant to be there not later than 7:00 because I haven’t yet had the opportunity to be present for a Cesarean and would like to. Everything was going pretty well: I had Amena’s lunch made, the dogs and cats were fed and watered, I’d showered and was getting dressed. I was almost ready to go and Amena knocks on the door and says that she must have missed the bus. She was out at 6:25 and the Stanley boys across the street weren’t out so it must have already gone by (which is odd, because NO one heard it). Oh, dear! I finished dressing and we left. We didn’t catch up with it until it stopped by Hale Road and then there were three cars ahead of us. It isn’t likely Amena could have run up to the bus before it took off so she didn’t even try. There were no other stops (other than for stop signs) until the school so we were stuck driving the whole way. Not in my plans. Still, what was done was done and the best we can do is accept it and take responsibility for it.

So I went home and ate breakfast. Paul said he would call in and work from home so I didn’t have to get the boys to Joanna’s; she could come over whenever and help them with their work. She ended up taking them to her apartment and Paul had a nice quiet day. And I went to the hospital. Very late, but I did arrive.

I saw Karen on the way in and she mentioned a twin induction. Twins! Wow!

I was there in time to see the baby born via Cesarean. Nice looking baby; daddy was obviously pretty happy. I went in to introduce myself as the doula and was told, very nicely, that they did know about doulas but really didn’t want one because they had a good thing going.

That really is fine. Some do, some don’t. Some say no when they really ought to say yes, some say yes when they really ought to say no. Some don’t care. I am fine one way or another and said that I’d check in from time to time to see how things were going and that is what I did. I did get their recovery room ready and showed dad where it was.

The nurses got the OR ready for in case. I think the plan was for her to deliver there because you never know (this is hospital mentality, mind you, not what I necessarily believe) what might happen when dealing with twins.

I got quite a bit of knitting done but that came to an abrupt stop when chaos erupted. And chaos only erupted because the woman had requested an epidural after initially saying she’d like to go without. The anesthesiologist got up in record time but before he could do anything, the nurse thought she’d better check to see how things were progressing (I really like this nurse). She did and baby A was born! Less than ten minutes later, but after the doctor arrived, baby B was born! Oh my goodness! No time to move to the OR.

The only reason I am telling you this is because I wish every woman who is pregnant, has been pregnant, or may become pregnant, could have witnessed this woman in labor. The only noise I heard coming out of her room was the murmur of quiet voices and louder laughter. When I did step in to see how things were going, she was very relaxed, usually sitting in a rocking chair and she was up moving around quite a bit just going to use the toilet. No lying in bed, no complaining—just letting nature take its course. When things got intense enough that she wanted something for the pain or discomfort, she was ready to deliver. It was just incredible to behold even though I really didn’t get to behold it from the same room. She was right; she and her husband did not need a doula, they had a very good thing going on and it was beautiful. Even though I didn’t get to see it up close, I am so glad that I was at the hospital and was able to witness what I did.

I wish more people could see what I did; could understand that birth does not have to be filled with fear of the unknown.

I also tell you this because I know that there are hospitals in this country in which this woman would not have been allowed even a trial of labor. In many, maybe most, she would have been scheduled for a Cesarean. I am so glad that she was able to give birth where she did, in a place where she was able to not only attempt, but succeed in giving birth vaginally to twins. I wish that this were possible in all hospitals.

Have a great day, and tell someone that birth is beautiful!

Pushed Plus a Wonderful Birth Story

As for Pushed, oh my goodness. Just a big wow holy cow unbelievable . . . . There were times during reading that I had to stop and process what I had just read. Taking this book in context with our society today at large and I am inclined to say that we are doomed. I don’t have the time and I don’t want to take the space to literally quote the entire book but I would definitely recommend it for reading if a) you are interested in such things, b) you are pregnant, are thinking of becoming pregnant, or know someone who is, c) you have ever been pregnant, d) are alive. Seriously.

Regarding epidurals: when woman has an epidural, typically she cannot feel anything from the waist down. This rather puts a damper on any major movement. Because the woman cannot feel anything, including pain, she is not able to respond to it and therefore are more vulnerable to injury (Block p 173). If you cannot feel the heat from the stove, you are more likely to touch it and suffer the consequences of doing so. If you cannot feel how coached pushing is affecting you, you are more likely to do and suffer the consequences of doing so.

I had no idea (but was not surprised to learn) that Massachusetts was the first state to make midwifery illegal in 1907 (Block p 216). Isn’t that interesting?

On page 217 we learn that “it has never been scientifically proven that the hospital is a safer place than the home for a woman who has had an uncomplicated pregnancy to have her baby.” This according to a statement in 1985 from the World Health Organization. Try telling that to most doctors and nurses.

Did you know that the state of Virginia actually mandated what position women should give birth in (Block p 247)? Are you freaking kidding me? What state has the right, responsibility, or knowledge to make such a declaration?

This is just good: “...all obstetric patients, are told, in essence: you can give birth here if you don’t go too far past your due date, if your water hasn’t been broken more than a few hours, if your baby is head down, if your baby looks small enough, if your pelvis looks big enough, if your cervix is dilating fast enough, if you’ll wear this monitor and stay in bed, if you’ll have some Pitocin, if you’ll let us break your water, if you’ll lie on your back and push when we tell you to push (Block p 261).” Yeah, pretty much.

Chapter 8, Rights, begins telling the story of three women. One, in 1996, wanted to have a VBAC. Her doctor at first said okay but then redacted. Not being able to find anyone who was supportive of her wishes, she and her husband decided to give birth at home, unassisted. Then she began vomiting and recognized that she was becoming dehydrated so they went to the hospital for some IV fluids. The hospital basically said, “If you’ll have a c-section, we’ll give you an IV; otherwise, forget it.” So a couple of sympathetic nurses bundled her and her husband out before the doctors could corner her. At home, they were confronted by the sheriff, the state attorney, a sheriff deputy, and an EMT squad. They had to take her to the hospital because a judge had issued a court order. So she was strapped by ankle and wrist to a stretcher and taken to the hospital. She and her husband locked themselves in the bathroom for a time and tried to push the baby out but she wasn’t dilated quite enough and she ended up with another cesarean without being provided with an attorney or giving consent (Block pp249-51).

The second woman showed up at the hospital with her husband to give birth to their seventh baby. An ultrasound indicated that the baby was too big but in spite of the fact that her babies were all large (including one at 12 pounds, 4 ounces) and born vaginally, the doctor said nope. They went to a different hospital. At the second hospital they went through the same thing but the attending doctor didn’t tell them to go to another one; instead the hospital was preparing paperwork and petitioning a judge for custody of the baby which was granted. Before the order could be executed though, they took off to another hospital where she “pushed out a perfectly healthy 11 lb, 9 oz baby girl, with nary a tear (Block pp 251-2).”

The third woman and her husband found an OB who would support a VBAC. However, he was not available when she went into labor. She labored at home as long as she could before going to the hospital where things progressed normally and quickly. The OB on call was paged and he announced that he was going to do a cesarean after which he injected something to stop contractions into her IV. Finally, the woman’s OB showed up and saved her from the section but did feel necessary (but asked her permission first) to cut an episiotomy because she was not able to push (Block pp 252-3).

Wow. Just wow. Compare to the following:

In spite of being excited to tell you Mally’s birth story, I’m somewhat hesitant to as well. I think this is because birth is an extremely personal experience. Not only that, but I have to rely on my memory of what she told me. Anyway, it is such a good story.

As I mentioned a few days ago, Mally and I sat together at Kim’s bridal shower Saturday and talked shop, so to speak. She was somewhat concerned approaching the end of pregnancy because this time she knew better what to expect whereas with Juliet, she was going in blind. We all do, don’t we? Even if we have witnessed birth or taken classes before giving birth the first time, we really don’t know how we are going to deal with the whole process; we really don’t know exactly what to expect. With Juliet, she said that they really went to the hospital too soon and this time she’d like to wait.

She said that she went home, and felt kind of crampy during the evening. Contractions began at a rate of about every 20 minutes. That would certainly indicate that things were beginning but not that birth is necessarily eminent and she thought that the baby would probably come the next day (Sunday). She did go to bed around 11 but by midnight her contractions started picking up and she couldn't sleep in between them anymore. That's when she knew she was truly in labor and baby was on his way. They went to the hospital at about 2:00 in the morning and she was already six or seven centimeters dilated. She asked about getting an epidural but her doctor mentioned that things were progressing nicely and that an epidural often slows labor down. Mally realized that if things slowed down, then Pitocin is more of a reality and so she did not get the epidural. The baby was born at 6:00 am. She did tear a little but, honestly, in my opinion having experienced a little tearing as opposed to a cut, I’d rather have a tear.

Mally mentioned that her mother never had any pain meds with her births and had told her that the pain of birth goes away once the baby is born. Mally was amazed to find that it is true. There are still after birth pains but the actual pain of labor and birth are gone once the baby is born. It is amazing how you can hear someone, someone you trust, say something but until you actually experience it, you don’t really believe it.

I think Mally is awesome and a wonderful example of what can be accomplished by a woman. I applaud her doctor, Rebecca Worden, for being honest.

(Honestly, we’d be going to the Worden’s if they weren’t so good but because they are, they are so busy they cannot take new patients—bummer for us.)

Block, Jennifer. Pushed: The Painful Truth about Childbirth and Modern Maternity Care. Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Lifelong, 2007. Print.

Alisha's Birthday, Revisited two days late

On Monday, May 12, 1986, I wrote: “It’s hard to believe that in less than two months (Alisha was supposedly due the end of June, beginning of July) [we] will have a little person to hold. It’s weird in a neat kind of way. We’ve got a baby now, we just can’t hold Baby yet. I imagine it will be hard at times but I think it will be worth it.”

The next day I wrote: “The baby is moving right now. It feels funny. It’s kind of like your legs feel after a hike in the hot weather and the blood is really pumping through your vessels only bigger. If you know what I mean. I had to get up to go to the bathroom about 4 million times because of Baby.”

On June 29, 1986, I finally wrote about the birth. “Saturday, May 31, I had the baby. She’s a girl and we named her Alisha Marie. I guess I had an easy labor. Everyone says I did. It was short, I know that much. I went to the hospital at two and went into the delivery room at three. At 3:24, I had a new baby and she let everyone know she was here.

“Alisha was 6 pounds (actually 5 pounds 15 ¾ ounces) and 20 inches. Last Wednesday she was up to 6 lb. 11 ½ oz. and still 20 inches. She lost to 5 lb. 6 oz.”

Friday, July 18, 1986, I wrote: “Having a baby is definitely worth all the fatness, lost sleep, and everything.”

Some things were not as I remembered. Mainly that we got to the hospital at 2:00 rather than the 3:00 I remembered.

I remember that contractions started sometime in the early morning. I’d been experiencing Braxton Hicks contractions and so I didn’t think much of those I was having this particular day. We’d spent the night at Fernando’s parents; I don’t remember if the plan was for me to stay there that day or to go home to Grandma and Papa’s but I ended up going home. Now that I think about it, that was most likely the plan because my mom and sisters were planning on spending the day there.

Papa was reading the paper or a book or watching television and I was sitting in the chair that I often did to work on homework. It was good for that because Papa had made it and the arm rests were parallel to the floor so I could put a board across the top and have a sort-of-desk. It worked well and I did lots of school work there. I wasn’t doing any homework this day, however. I’m not sure if contractions were getting uncomfortable or not but they were coming fairly often but I still didn’t have a clue what that meant. At some point, my water broke. I knew enough to know that that was a sure sign that something some happening. I looked at Papa and he looked at me and I said, “Uh, oh.”

Grandma was taking a bath and I went through the kitchen into the hall at the bottom of the stairs and knocked on the bathroom door. “I think we have a problem,” I said. I must have told her what had happened although I have no recollections of it. She said I should call the hospital and would wait for my mom to come. Then we’d go to the hospital. I called the hospital and waited for my mother. Becky and Marie stayed with Papa while Grandma, my mom and I went to the hospital. The road never seemed so bumpy as it did that day.

We arrived at the hospital at 2:00 (I am not sure why I always remembered it being 3:00). I hadn’t done any paperwork so that all had to be done before I could be admitted. It being my first baby and a good four to six weeks before the due date the doctors had come up with, they weren’t in any hurry. I wished they would but one of the women said, “Oh, it’s a good thing you aren’t in a hurry.” I remember thinking, ‘Who says we’re not?’

Once I was admitted, things are somewhat blurry. Dr. Saunders, the doctor I usually saw, was out climbing Mt. Shasta (can’t find fault with him for that—it was a beautiful day). Dr. Morris was available but he was the only doctor in the practice I hadn’t met. Now, I am not sorry, Dr. Morris was very good and I’m glad I had him rather than the other doctor in the practice that I had met but didn’t like.

They told me to go to the bathroom. I was scheduled for a cesarean section due to the fact that I had vaginal warts and the doctors weren’t sure if I’d be able to stretch enough to get a baby out. I think they hooked me up to a monitor and they must have done a vaginal exam because they were amazed at how far dilated I was. So far that it made the C-section not an option (which I now thank my lucky stars for). It being customary hospital practice to hook up an IV, I must have had one but I do not remember it if I did. I honestly do not remember if I had any pain medication. If I did have the IV, it would have been easy enough for them to give it. I remember Grandma calling Fernando and saying that if he wasn’t there for the birth, he’d have her to answer to. He made it. I remember that at one point he told the doctor that if it came to a choice between me and the baby, it would be me.

At some point, they told me to push. They told me to use the Valsalva maneuver (which I did not know by name then). I was supposed to hold my breath and push with all I had. I did. I don’t remember how many times I pushed but out came a baby and she squalled. I don’t remember Apgar scores; neither do I really remember anything much else. I do know that I had an episiotomy which must have been stitched up. Fernando stayed with me while my mom and Grandma went with the nurses to the nursery to clean Alisha up. I do not remember at what point they brought Alisha back but I’d fallen in love before the birth so it didn’t matter. I wasn’t the most confident mother, but I also knew that I could do what mothers for eons before me had done.

Now, looking back, I notice some things that I didn’t at the time. The pushing was overmuch. I don’t know why they have women push like that when it is not often necessary. I pushed so hard that I had broken vessels in the whites of my eyes, on my face, and on my chest. Why? Alisha wasn’t a large baby; great amounts of force were not needed. I also don’t understand why an episiotomy was done other than it was pretty routine at that time. Again, she wasn’t a large baby. Maybe, due to the amount of force I was exerting, I would have torn. If I’d have been having the kind of birth with her I did with Joseph, it’s possible there would have been no tears. Whatever the case, it happened as it happened and I had a new baby and she was my world.

This is Alisha taken in January of 1987