ICAN Cowichan Valley on TV!

ICAN of the Cowichan Valley has been lucky enough to get some coverage on our local cable TV channel!  I make some stupid faces, and unfortunately, the parts about how to prevent c-sections and promote VBAC got cut in favour of my ridiculous comments about Ricki Lake (the interviewer asked the dreaded celebrity question and I got stumped, having prepared to talk about things that are much more “serious” and on point), but still…good publicity.  I should also point out that Haley, who speaks about her c-section after 24 hours of labour, had a VBAC with her second baby, seen in the clip (who is, not incidentally, totally adorable).

This comes at a good time, as we’re gearing up for some great events this fall.  Our September meeting will be an open topic support group, but we’re going to have some thematic action for the rest of 2011!  Each meeting will still have a support group component, with topics determined by the women in attendance.  But we’ve also got some amazing guest speakers lined up.  In October, Sarah Juliusson of Island Mother is going to speak about giving birth by cesarean again, to help participants transform a cesearean into a connected, and confident birth experience.  Our November meeting will be a birth plan workshop with Cindy Storie-Soth of Cowichan Childbirth, who will help women to articulate a vision for their birth that identifies their values and priorities, while being flexible and responsive to the unpredictability of any birth experience.  And we’ll end the year with a screening of The Business of Being Born, and a discussion of how the issues raised there apply (or don’t) to birthing women in Canada, as well as some brainstorming about how we can develop individual strategies to help improve the care we receive.

Lots more plans cooking for 2012, so stay tuned!

What Did Your Doula Do For You?

Giving Birth with Confidence has launched a blog carnival focusing on doulas! I’m psyched about this, because I love doulas, and this is why. It’s an older post, but it still is really the best way I can express what my doula did for me, and why I am such a huge believer in this kind of labour support.

Like Cara at Giving Birth With Confidence, Ialso want to shout, “Every woman deserves a doula!”  Doulas are awesome. And I’ve been learning a ton about how many different kinds of doulas there are over at The Radical Doula. I used to think it was just birth doulas and postpartum doulas, but I’ve discovered that there are full-spectrum doulas who attend women through a variety of experiences including pregnancy loss and termination, doulas who work with women in custody, and so many more who provide women with much-needed personalized support. 

So if you are pregnant or know someone who is pregnant, or going through a pregnancy-related experience and need support, consider finding a doula. If you can’t afford to hire one, there are often student doulas who are happy to provide services free of charge in order to gain needed experience. You can find a doula through DONA International among other professional organizations, or by asking your doctor, midwife or other birth professional.  If you’re local, ICAN Cowichan Valley keeps an up to date list of local birth and postpartum doulas, so comment here  if you need help finding the right support person for you.

In defense of heroism

How many times have you heard something along the lines of, “There is no medal for having a natural birth,” or “Don’t be a hero—have an epidural/scheduled c-section/other intervention of choice”?

Well, it occurred to me yesterday as I was on the return leg of my after-work run, that one reason I loved giving birth to my first child with no pain medications was that when all was said and done, I did feel like a hero. Not because giving birth unmedicated made me superior to other women: not in the slightest. This is not about relative judgments. Rather, I felt like I’d just beaten my own personal best—I did something that, going in, I wasn’t at all sure I could do, and that turned out to be much harder work than I’d ever imagined.  (They don’t call it “labour” for nothing, let me tell you.)  The feeling I had after giving birth was something like the feeling I get when I run faster or further, when I lift heavier weights or increase my endurance so I can do more reps: stronger and more powerful than I’d ever been before.

And, yes, heroic. I know that millions of women give birth unmedicated all over the world. It’s utterly common. But it’s still a big deal for each and every individual woman, just like each and every baby is a big deal for an individual family, despite the fact that there are 7 billion of us crawling around all over this little planet.

I’d argue that every birth is heroic. Every woman who gives of her body in that way, who grows and births a child, is doing something fundamentally heroic and worth honouring. At our last ICAN meeting, we talked about the idea of “cesarean courage.” Pushing your body to its limits, bringing your child into the world safely with only your own labour (in both senses) to thank is an amazing, empowering experience. And putting your body on the table—telling a doctor who you may not ever have even met before, yes, cut me open, bring my baby into this world, whatever you have to do to me in the process is collateral damage—may feel anything but empowering at the time, but is actually an incredible testament to a woman’s strength in a time of crisis, and to her willingness to do whatever it takes to save someone else’s life. I’m not sure there’s a better definition of heroism than that.

There are many different ways to feel empowered by birth. This Empowered Birth Week, I’m thinking of all the women I know who have shared their birth experiences, and shown their incredible strength as they birth naturally, as they birth after induction, as they consent to life-saving interventions, as they fight back against a system that causes needless problems during their births, as they stand up to their own fears to birth their babies safely, as they birth their babies and then watch them struggle in the NICU, as they birth their babies in the comfort of their own homes, as they give birth in custody, as they birth babies for other families, as they birth in as many different circumstances as there are different women. None of them will get medals (although my mother did get me a really beautiful engraved watch after Clea was born), but all of them, each and every one, embodies a unique kind of power that deserves both celebration and respect.

About that school registration form in California…

Since this story came out the other day, about an elementary school in California asking parents to indicate on an application form whether a child was born vaginally or by c-section, I’ve had a blog post brewing.  But I’m spurred to actually write it now because of discussion currently ensuing on The Unnecesarean’s Facebook wall.  Evidently, a lot of people believe that it’s both acceptable and wise for a school to ask this question on a registration form. 

To be frank, I first read about this story on The Onion, and was sure that it was a joke.  It struck me as particularly funny-weird because I was asked the very same question on the application form for Annika’s first daycare, and I thought it was kind of hilarious that The Onion would do a spoof of something I thought couldn’t possibly have actually happened to other real-live people. 

At the time when I was asked, I recall doing the head-scratch and wondering why on earth the daycare needed to know this information.  When I asked, the daycare provider told me that it was so she could assist my child with healing from her birth.  Cue vomit.  

It’s no big secret that I hated my c-section and that I wish that my daughter’s time on earth could have started differently.  But the truth of the matter is that my sadness is more to do with me than with her; I’m big enough to admit that any concerns I’ve had about her experience of those first hours of life are more projections of my own experience of trauma than genuine worries about her.  All evidence suggests that she’s fine and has been from the start.  The c-section really sucked for me:  and that matters enough on its own without trumping up some story that my daughter is forever damaged by the way she came into this world.  

This is not to say that the circumstances of a birth are never relevant.  It’s certainly possible for a child’s birth to have an impact on cognitive function, and that is something of which schools need to be aware.  A friend who is a school psychologist explained this to me when I started ranting about the ridiculousness of asking the question.  People who are trained in assessing such things need to ask questions about birth to ensure that they don’t miss any clues that could help them assist a child in need of educational intervention. 

But there are at least two major differences between what my friend described and what I’m talking about now.  The first is that a specialized psychological or educational assessment, performed for a child with an identified need, is very different from a general school application form, which is circulated among a wide variety of people.  The second is that the question rests on an irrelevant dichotomy rooted squarely in the ideology of the person asking.

If the goal of asking about the circumstances of birth is to understand whether or not a child needs particular kinds of support, the question needs to avoid the red-herring, limited c-section vs. vaginal birth dichotomy, and instead be open-ended:  how was your child’s birth?  A vaginal birth can be chock-full of potentially traumatic complications and/or interventions.  Moreover, while I certainly advocate allowing the physiological process of birth to proceed unhindered (some people call this natural birth), I also acknowledge that unhindered processes can sometimes be really hard on everyone involved. 

The point is:  vaginal or natural birth does not necessarily equal peaceful birth, and c-section does not automatically equal trauma.  A question that assumes that one type of birth is inherently more traumatic than another type of birth with no qualifications or consideration of individual circumstances is asinine, and the response to it is irrelevant.

**Edited to acknowledge the school’s appropriate response to the controversy.

First ICAN Cowichan Valley meeting: Success!

The first ICAN Cowichan Valley meeting took place at my house this past week, and my immediate response was why did it take me so long to get around to organizing this?!  I wish I’d done this 4 years ago, when I was postpartum with my daughter.  If you’re unfamiliar with what ICAN does, you can read their mission statement and more information here.  It’s critical to have an organization advocating for women, and supporting women who experience cesarean sections, and ICAN does incredible work in many different ways, both through its central office and local chapters all over the world.

The turnout for the Cowichan Valley meeting was better than I expected.  Out of respect for confidentiality, I’m not going to write anything about the women who came, but suffice it to say that there is a clear need for this group in our community.  It’s gratifying to feel like we’re doing something for one another in the immediate sense of offering face-to-face emotional support, information and resources.  More than that, it’s energizing to be taking concrete steps to make a bigger change:  to ensure that women have access to VBAC, to talk about how to make the c-sections that do happen more family-centred and woman- and baby-friendly, to strategize around how to talk with our care providers and ensure that we’re being heard, before c-sections happen as well as afterward.

These meetings are small steps, to be sure, but sometimes even the tiniest movement is meaningful.

Q: Why make such a big deal about birth? A: Feminism

People often ask why I invest so much energy in birth activism, and why I care so much about how women have babies.  After all, babies are born every minute of every day, all over the world.  Why make such a big deal about it?

I started caring about pregnancy and birth when I started linking it to my identification with feminism.  I’d always known about both:  for the duration of my childhood, my mother was a family doctor with a busy obstetrical practice, and she was (is) a feminist.  I don’t recall her linking the two explicitly, at least not to me.  (Although we did have a book about Judy Chicago’s Birth Project on our coffee table, and I understood without any doubt in the 1970s that the fact my mother was a doctor at all was because of this feminism thing that she and her friends sometimes discussed.)  But I knew from the time I could be conscious of anything that supporting pregnant and birthing women was worthwhile and that feminism, defined very simply as empowering women to do whatever we wanted to do, was good.

I got that birth mattered, and that women deserved to be treated with care and respect.  I remember little things like my mother’s answer when I asked why she had short nails without nail polish:  so she wouldn’t scratch her patients when she was delivering their babies.  That made deep sense to me as a child, illustrating in an utterly comprehensible and practical way the things we can all do to make women more comfortable when they are vulnerable and in need.

Birth mattered and it also seemed absolutely mundane, and often annoying.  I was not amused as a child by having trips to the park and the pool interrupted because my mother was on call and some lady was having a baby.  I did like making pictures with all the colourful tape at the nurse’s station in the hospital where I sometimes had to wait for my mother while she worked.  But I didn’t like having to wait. And sometimes I was impatient:  I once told her to “just do a c-section” when a patient seemed to be laboring for an awfully long time, interfering with whatever it was I wanted my mother to do for me.  Yeah.

It was all very matter of fact until after my first baby was born.  I realized then that birth might be common but it’s actually never mundane, and that all the care and respect that I received as a pregnant and laboring woman—that I took for granted from a family doctor who my mother had trained—was not necessarily the norm.  I learned after the fact that I was lucky to have grown up believing the things I believed about women and to have had the kind of birth I had, and that my total, unfailing trust in my doctor and my mother’s medical angle on birth might be worth questioning, even though they believed in the medicine they were practicing and my outcome was good.

My daughter’s birth almost fifteen years ago radically altered the way I understood women’s relationship with medical approaches to childbirth.  The high I felt after giving birth, the incomparable sense of accomplishment and power, was so incongruous set alongside my unquestioning willingness to let my doctor manage my pregnancy and to accept—even anticipate—interventions simply because they were ‘normal.’  I began a long process of reframing and rethinking, asking questions, demanding justifications, searching out evidence of benefits and risks, wondering what ‘normal’ even meant and why anyone automatically believed, in the context of intervening in pregnancy and birth, that it was good.

It didn’t take long for me to recognize that the framework for my analysis was feminism.  Feminist thinking made it possible for me to de-center medicalization without demonizing individual doctors, and to explore other approaches such as midwifery without romanticizing them.  Feminist thinking encouraged me to look at pregnancy and birth first from the perspective of the women who experience it, and consider the ways in which ‘normal’ pregnancy and birth are constructed by particular social, historical, political and economic contexts.  Feminist thinking made it impossible for me to look uncritically at any action that interfered with women realizing or being supported in realizing the unhindered potential of their bodies, and allowing their bodies to take up space, and be noisy, messy and inconvenient.

It probably comes as no surprise that this has all led to some *cough* interesting conversations between me and my mother.  We agree on the fundamentals:  birth is not a medical emergency, interventions should be kept to a minimum, and women deserve respect.  We agree on many critical points, including a shared sense that today’s skyrocketing caesarean rate is a problem and the importance of supporting all women in making truly informed decisions about their own reproductive health.  But then there are other topics, such as the relative safety and advisability of homebirth, where the discussion gets a little more complicated and I have to remind her:  intentionally or not, you raised me to think this way.

Believing in women’s bodies and their capacity to grow, birth and feed babies without undue intervention, and in women’s right to control their own reproductive labour—not only whether they give birth, but how they give birth—is central to my belief in women’s capacity to be agents in their own lives and effective political actors.  I don’t reject medical intervention when a woman needs it.  I do reject the dominant medical model that says intervention is almost always necessary.  And I reject the notion that just because birth is common we shouldn’t care about it or that birth activism makes mountains out of molehills. Minimizing issues that are unique to women is a time-honored tool in the war against us.  And it’s often in the struggle for autonomy in our everyday lives—including what some consider the mundane, uninteresting work of pregnancy, birth and mothering—where we discover what power really means.

Previous Older Entries

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

%d bloggers like this: