Fixing the Licenced Medwife Problem

This is an excellent press release from Claire Hall- addressing the problem of some licensed midwives. Midwives- or medwives as I call some of them- are under the control of the Medical Machine and the patriarchal godhead that removes all control of birthing from the mother, pushing women through the obstetrical cookie cutter as fast as they can process them.

Some Midwives in Canada and America have fallen prey to the notion that birth is a medical procedure to be managed and controlled. I will not argue that having a midwife attended birth is far better than being dominated and suppressed by omnipotent doctors with a tee off time, but we need to ask ourselves:  is "Better" good enough?  Shouldn't we be striving for "best"?  Many of our licensed midwives do the best they can working within the parameters that they are "allowed", but when those parameters are set up by  oppressive medical associations that both fear and loathe free thinking women and uncontrolled birth, how are they to truly empower women to take charge of their births?  I have met so many wonderful midwives and been horrified by their stories of how hospital administrators and staff undermine their autonomy at every turn, throwing continuous obstacles in their way and raising the hurdles with every passing year. "Jump through this hoop or else!"..... is it any wonder that there are so many medwives now practising in our two countries?

The time has come to break the cycle of control.  The time has come for midwives to take back their power and use it to empower the women they serve.

MEDIA RELEASE: The Licensed Midwife Problem

by Claire Hall on Wednesday, 24 November 2010 at 18:09

MEDIA RELEASE:
Claire Hall invites the Trust Birth Initiative and all those who trust birth to end our medicalised midwife problem. It has been insidious in its encroachment of a woman’s right of autonomy over her own body, birth and baby.  “The pervasive need for licensure creates a one dimensional view of birth – that of treating everything as a potential life threatening emergency – while at the same time creating a legal mine field for practitioners and trampling underfoot the basic human rights of women,” said Claire Hall, a midwife and protector of women’s knowledge.
For decades, women have been subjected to navigating the above ground medical system and myriads of tests and interventions, all the while taking it on faith that their care provider is skilled at attending births. Our current birth statistics indicate clearly that they do NOT possess such skills.  Recent statistics in Australia alone indicate that 67% of women undergo some form of chemical induction/augmentation or major abdominal surgery. Depression and Post Traumatic Shock Syndrome statistics are continuing to rise, and mother/baby dynamics lay shattered all over the industrialised world. This disaster is has lifelong negative implications for the baby, for the mother, for the family, and ultimately for society.   We need to address this issue before the deceptive mantra of “licensed equals’ safety” permanently permeates the public’s conscientiousness.

These statistics reflect a common misconception that birth is inherently dangerous, and that a licensed professional in attendance eliminates this danger. This belief leads women into the hands of a medicalised system that does not understand or respect the true nature of physiological birth without ever realising that the true power and safety lies within themselves.  The knowledge of pregnancy, birth and mothering is the right of ALL women, and it has been progressively hidden from women by the medical profession with protocols and technology.

It is abundantly clear that legislation needs to be introduced to protect women and babies from such assaults and trauma, and all birth attendants must undergo accreditation from lay midwifes in how to sit on hands, and treat birthing mothers with the respect and authority they deserve.  It is the goal of Claire Hall, The Trust Birth Initiative and other representative bodies of women’s rights to ensure women all around the world – not just the 50 states of America – have equal access to safe and affordable pregnancy and birth choices.

Ensuring all birth attendants have a trust and sound knowledge of true physiological birth is the only way we can address this medicalisation of midwifery. The licensed Midwife problem is a pressing issue that needs to be dealt with as a matter of urgency, as true autonomy for women disappears conversely as the amount of licensed Midwives rise.

“It is tantamount to the future of this country, and indeed the world, that the knowledge and authority over birth be returned to the individual woman so that she may choose the safest option for her and her family,”said Claire Hall.

But there is HOPE!!!!

Gloria Lemay is holding midwifery classes- classes that will no doubt teach the true empowerment of women and the real necessary training and skills needed to be a MIDwife!!!  Her courses start in December and will cover these topics:

Dec 2 Female Pelvis-anatomy and physiology
Dec 9 Medical Terminology
Dec 16 Prenatal Clinic visit
2011
Jan 6 Palpation, Blood pressure
Jan 13 Rh negative blood type
Jan 20 Fetal circulation
Jan 27 Pregnancy Induced Hypertension
Feb 3 Cervix—effacement, dilation
Feb 10 Confident nutrition counseling
Feb 17 Gestational diabetes prevention, screening
Feb 24 Anemia and blood work
March 3 Water birth
March 10 Genetics for midwives
March 17 Perineum, preventing tears
March 24 Newborn exam
March 31 Placenta (cut and clamp cord, examining)
April 7 Twins and breech presentations
April 14 Teaching childbirth education

And are you ready for this?  The cost of taking these courses is $7.99 per 60 min session. You can choose individual classes or the entire curriculum of 19 classes ($110)!!!!!!!!!!!!!

For more information about Gloria's amazing midwifery course, please go HERE

For more of Claire Hall's excellent writing, please go HERE

For more information about the wondrous phenomena called BIRTH please visit The Trust Birth Initiative

"You're NOT in Labour"

I just finished reading Gloria Lemay's blog article "You're not in Labour" and I had to smile.

“YOU’RE NOT IN LABOUR”
These are difficult words for birth attendants to say; I would say they are right up there with “I’m sorry, I’ve made a mistake.” They are, also, difficult for the birthing woman to hear. I’ve been on the receiving and giving ends of those words.
RECEIVING END
During my first home birth (second baby, 12 years after my first birth), I “laboured” all day (5 minute apart sensations that I thought “really hurt”) and at 8 p.m., my mw did a pelvic and said “you’re only 3 cms., you’re not in labour. I suggest you send all these people home, stop entertaining, go to bed, get some rest and I have to go help some other midwives at another birth.” I remember a) wanting to kill her 2) knowing somewhere inside that she was right but not liking it and 3) going into the bathroom and crying my heart out. I did as she told me, went to bed and about midnight it swung into a whole different level of intensity. I could see what she meant that I hadn’t been actively having a baby during the day. I gave birth to my baby at 2 a.m. after about 4 hours of very high gear birth sensations.
What did my midwife do for me by “giving it to me straight”?
1. She gave me the benefit of her experience which was what I paid for.
2. She respected me enough to know that I could deal with the truth and she didn’t have to candy coat it for me.
3. She opened up the possibility that, yes, things could get harder but I could manage it.
4. She provided a model for me to give to other women.

 HERE to read the entire article on Gloria's blog

I smiled as I read this because her experience was soooooo my last birth!! Contractions in the middle of the night, getting close together, yet still 6-8 minutes apart.  Feeling like "This is IT!" and walking and groaning through contractions....calling the midwives and hearing them say "Well, why do you want us to check you? Are you feeling pushy?  If the contractions are still 6-8 ,minutes apart, then...." and being SOooo angry!  Then insisting that we head to the hospital (there were other reasons besides contractions- and we were 45 minutes away, something that was a panic button for me). Arriving at the L&D ward and the midwife saying "You're 3cm..... I think you should go walk for a while and see if we can't get labour started"  .,...... Labour STARTED?!?!?!!?  Oh my Freakin' Gods!!!!!  It was devastating to me to hear those words and ultimately lead to me almost capitulating to another Caesarean section.  Truth is truth, and i'm so glad that my midwives didn't try to lie to me or hide it.... but..... can we not come up with a better sentence than "You're not in labour"?  There must be a more positive way of stating this fact?  A group of words that gives a more positive light and empowers the mother more?  What do you think?  Suggestions?

"Birth and Violence", Part 1

"Birth Rape" by Dani Arnold-McKenny 2010

"Trauma" "Rape" "Violence"... Shocking words that conjure shocking images, yet when you put the word "Birth" in front of them, immediately you will get a hoard of people pooh poohing you, telling you that there is no such thing, it's all in your head,  or my  two favorites:

"Get Over It!" & "At least you have a healthy baby".

Nothing subjugates modern western women more than those two sentences. Not just because they belittle, humiliate and demean women, but because they are spoken constantly and by the very people that these women thought they could trust: Doctors and Husbands, Fathers and Brothers, Friends and Co-Workers.... and yes, even by their own mothers and sisters and female friends.

... "get over it" as in: Stop your whining and trying to get attention- just grow up and get on with it.

... "at least you have a healthy baby" as in: you have absolutely no value other than as a baby incubator.

And yet women will utter those words to post partum mothers all the time!!!

One article I've read talks about the experience of one women "Lynsey" who was subjected to verbal ridicule and physical assault by her midwife in England:

As a result of this trauma, Lynsey suffered from post traumatic stress disorder and tokophobia (fear of childbirth). She became deeply depressed, had nightmares and flashbacks, trouble bonding with her son, and her marriage nearly broke down because her husband couldn’t acknowledge that she was raped by the midwife and he had stood by while it happened. He begged her to stop calling it rape and to let it go, get on with her life. As so many new mothers can attest, any anger, sadness or disappointment expressed about the birth is usually swept under the rug. Everyone says: “Yes, but it’s all in the past now. You have a healthy baby and that’s all that matters.” As if the woman who endured the birthing experience was merely a passive observer, the emotionless vehicle through which the baby arrived.

We like to think that the bygone era of  "Twilight Birthing" is over, that the Cruelty of Maternity wards during the 40's and 50's is just a bad memory that we try not to talk about, but we have a much bigger problem in our society.  A dilemma that is so pervasive and enigmatic that it stares us in the face daily, yet society as a whole is incapable of seeing it. Sexism is alive and well in our so called "developed nations".  For generations women have fought for the Right to Vote, the Right to advanced schooling, the Right to have "Equal Rights".  We cheered when court battles were won that pushed the Rights of women into the media and force laws to be changed.  Yet When it comes to the ultimate of Human and Womens Rights, the Right to birth in peace, the Right to informed consent and the Right to be treated with dignity, we are kept completely in the dark.  So much so that many many women don't even realize that their Rights have been violated. And when they leave the hospital to begin that incredible journey of motherhood feeling traumatized and degraded, as if they've just returned home from a horrific battle, they are told to smile and get over it.  They are told that the anxiety and depression is just because they are tired and it will get better.  They are told that their inability to bond with their child is just because it's "all new" and that they'll get use to parenting soon. And when they can't "get over it" they are treated as if they are lazy, weak, selfish or even crazy. So these women suffer in silence and internalize their pain until many times it overwhelms them.

 If they were members of the Armed Forces, they  would get attention and treatment and councilling for their Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), but as mothers they are are left to fend for themselves.

More and more women develop some of the symptoms of PTSD.  All of these women suffer birth trauma.  An Australian study found 1 out of 3 women reported a stressful birthing event with three or more trauma symptoms when interviewed 4-6 weeks after a vaginal delivery.  [Creedy et al Childbirth and the Development of Acute Trauma Symptoms: Incidence & Contributing Factors Birth 27(2), 104 – 111]. 

Birth Trauma Canada gives an extensive outline of what causes birth trauma. A vast proportion of  these causes are those things that have "been done to" the mother- medical interventions being forced without full consent or full disclosure, poor labour support, being denied food, water, clothing, courtesy or respect by medical personnel, being ignored, dismissed, disrespected and denied.  I just finished reading the NavelGazing Midwife's article about Birth Rape and wanted to cry as I can remember going through so many of these examples my self through several of my births.

Birthrape: The experience of having fingers, scissors, and/or tools put/pushed/shoved inside a woman's vagina or rectum without her direct (or indirect) permission.

Being coerced, manipulated, or lied to regarding the health and safety of the baby or themselves so the midwife is able to do something to the mother's vagina, rectum, cervix, or perineum, usually with excuses; rarely with apologies.

Some find the definition expanded to:

The midwife taking the woman's Power by using disparaging comments, unsupportive expressions, speaking around her as if she is unable to hear or process requests or information.

and

Even though consent forms are signed in the hospital, birth center, and at home, consent for care does not include the manipulations or coercive words to get women to obey the caregiver....

Directives That Disembody Her Being
* Lift her leg.
* Move her to the bed.
* Grab her knees.
* Put her feet in the stirrups.
* Put her hands on the grips.
* Push her head to her chest.
* Push her chin to her chest.
* Put pillows under her head.
* Put pillows under her butt.
* Pull her down to the edge of the bed.
* Push with her so she knows how to do it right.
* Count for her so she knows how to do it right.
Coercive and Manipulative Remarks
* pressing knees apart - I need to do a vaginal exam.
* C'mon, just let me see what is going on.
* I'll do it quick and fast, I promise.
* I promise to be gentle.
* I just want to see how dilated you are.
 * I'm just feeling your cervix... it might hurt a little. (as manipulations to the cervix are done... from stripping the membranes to manual dilation)
* I'm just feeling your cervix. (as cytotec is put onto the cervix)
* Do you want your baby to die?...

 Where does a woman go for help, when the medical professionals themselves give no credence to their mental state and pooh pooh their birthing experience? Not just Doctors and Nurses, but Midwives too!! Who does a woman turn to for support when she wishes to have another child?  The NavelGazing Midwife goes on to say

"I share them and am writing about them and speaking about them and nearly screaming about them in the hopes that midwives will hear what they are saying that is sending their clients into therapy, pushing them to depressions that require medication and alternative therapies, keeping them from coming back to the midwife at all because of her Power Hunger and covert misogyny. Too many women (in my opinion) find Unattended Birth their only acceptable option after their experiences with professional caregivers in birth."

 Women would rather have their babies at home with just their partner for help and comfort, than to face the very real trauma of dealing with the medical personnel that inflicted them with so much physical, emotional and mental pain and abuse. And some women will forgo having another child altogether to insure that they never have to live through the ordeal again.

Our patriarchal society has for generations kept a close rein on pregnancy and childbirth, insisting that women be denigrated and treated as if they are too stupid to have any control over their own bodies- an automatic incubator that functions within the parameters of the medical machines controlling arms.  If the incubator is unable to fulfil it's designated roll within those parameters then the necessary steps must be taken to put the machine back on track..... regardless of the will of the incubator..I mean "Woman". Though we might look to midwives to change this, they too are under the thumb of "the man", and are under constant pressure from medical associations, hospitals and doctors to toe the line or else loose their privileges in their catchment hospital or even their own midwifery governing body.

So what do you do? Women need to take back their births and use their power to empower other women to follow suit.  Until we stand up for ourselves change will not happen. Until we support each other through our experiences in childbirth and educate and share our knowledge and voices, we will not be free to exercise our Womens Rights to give birth and reclaim our births.

To Quote Amity Reed from "The F Word":

"No means No, even in the delivery room"

"Dump the Jerk"

"Dump the Jerk"..... I have said these very same words so many times to so many women.  And I'm not talking about their husbands, boyfriends or significant others.  I'm talking about their doctors.

This article rings so true for so many women in so many situations in so many places, but rings clearest for pregnant women and their choice (or lack thereof) care givers for their births. Sarah writes about one woman's experience with her Obstetrician:

"I recently heard through the grapevine about a woman whose doctor had scheduled a c-section because of suspected big baby.  (She is of course weeks from her due date.)  But, when the doctors vacation plans changed he no longer needed to schedule the c-section, and told her as much..."

I have heard several versions of this type of story myself, and each time my response was the same: 
"Get the Hell out of there!!"

Women feel especially trapped once they get to 30 odd weeks and the true colours of their doctor start to show.  They feel like it's impossible to change now.  Where will they go?  Who will take them on?  What if they don't find someone else?  They have a right to be concerned, even frightened, about changing everything at the last minute, but nothing is as scary as a doctor who's punching a time clock and pushing every woman through the same mold.

I have encourage several women to change their care provided in the last few weeks of their pregnancies, and worked with them to help them find another Doctor- or even better, a midwife!!  It is possible.  Many of the midwives I know will take on a client in this kind of situation no matter how close to their due date, regardless of how busy or "booked" they are.

But you'll never know if you don't ask! ;>P

Read this article- and pass it on to every woman you know that's stuck in this situation.  Let them know that change is GOOD!!!

Dump The Jerk: Changing Care Providers Before it's too Late!!

The Jerk 

So- your friends have introduced you to this "great"guy.  He makes great money, has a nice car, big new house, good looking, all that seems important.  You get a little closer a little faster than you would have liked and now you feel stuck in the relationship.  As you get to know him better there are some things that really bother you about him.

You don't feel like he respects you at all.  Whenever you mention something that is important to you he just blows it off.  You have been wanting to go see a ballet for months and he just won't go- even though you go with him to countless monster truck shows.  All of your opinions he would just rather not hear, and if you voice them anyways he makes a rude comment about how you don't really know anything.   Sometimes he even scares you a little bit. 

But- he is a great guy on paper, and all your friends love him.  You have been going together for a few months now and it just feels like it would be too hard at this point to get out of the relationship.  You hate being rude and hurting somebody's feelings anyway.

Of course you have a crazy, opinionated friend.  She thinks a man should be respectful of you and what is important to you.  Her husband treats her well, but doesn't have all that fancy stuff.  She is actually happy in her relationship, unlike your friends.  She keeps telling you to dump the jerk before it is too late, and you are stuck with him forever.

Seriously! 

When we think about the above situation, it seems obvious right?  Get out- find somebody good that you actually like and who likes you and respects you.

How many times do we hear this same stupid excuse though about somebody's doctor?  "Oh, I am already 35 weeks, it is just too late to change."  Or maybe this one, "Well, my sister went to this doctor too and I didn't know who else to go with.  He is all right, and he tells me not to worry about anything."

It is not too late to change doctors until the cord has been cut.  Am I being clear enough?  We are talking about the birth of your baby.  This is one of life's BIG events.  It will change you.  I am going to say that again, because it is so important.  Birth will change you.  How do you want your birth to change you?  Do you want it to be full of regrets?  Do you want to feel like a passive participant on a crazy ride where somebody else is behind the steering wheel?  Or do you want your birth to be beautiful and empowering, like you hear it can be?

HERE to read the entire article

A Mothers Victory: My VBA3C Birth Story

“Boobalumba has arrived!”

After three Caesarean sections, I knew I wanted a natural birth for my fifth child. I had written a detailed birth plan describing how I was to be involved and treated during my labour and birth at the hospital, with as little intervention as possible. My plan notwithstanding, this is my story of the very difficult labour and birth of my son on February 8, 2010.

by Danielle Arnold-McKenny


It all started with a week of annoying, stop and start prodromal labour. There really is nothing quite so frustrating as playing the guessing game every time the contractions start. Is this it…this time?! But after a week of lots of contractions and various other questionable symptoms, early evening on Saturday (February 6, 2010) I was pretty certain that we were onto the countdown.

Contractions continued during the night for the first time. Although they slowed right down and became erratic, they kept getting stronger. Sunday morning they slowed to a halt for about three or four hours. When they started up again, it was like being back at square one.

So I kicked my husband Nick and the kids out of the house to go to a friend’s to watch the Super Bowl. Then I set out to do some serious relaxing: filled the living room with candles, put some of my favourite aromatherapy oils in a burner, put on soothing music, got settled into my super comfy rocking chair, and just…R E L A X E D.

Soon enough the contractions became steady at about 8–10 minutes apart. Nick brought the kids home and tucked them into bed late that night, and we called my best friend Lynda over to be with us.

By 3 AM I was definitely in labour. While still only about 6–8 minutes apart, the contractions were strong enough for me to need to support myself and focus on breathing through them—rocking and swaying. We called our midwife, to put her on alert that the party was definitely on. By 5 AM the contractions were still 6 minutes apart but very strong. I had to decide what to do next.

I knew that the kids would be waking up soon and really didn’t think I could deal with my labour and them. So I made the decision for us to head off to the hospital. It was too early—I knew it was—but I was so tired, having not really slept in two nights. I just wanted to know where I was in my labour, to know how far/fast I was progressing.

I think that this is one of the worst things that most labouring women do—worry about the numbers: how many minutes apart, how many centimetres dilated, how many hours of labour…This turns so easily into a downward spiral.

When we arrived at the hospital, we were met by one of our midwives—and so started that downward spiral. She checked me at 6:30 AM. I was only 3 centimetres…3? Just 3 centimetres?!? Oh gods!!! Immediately I became depressed, completely despondent. Three centimetres was exactly where I’d been when I’d gone to the hospital in labour with my youngest daughter Keira, and exactly where I stayed with that labour, which this one had so far exactly mirrored. Keira’s birth ended up being a Caesarean section…

On my midwife’s advice, Nick and I started walking the hospital hallways, to try to “ramp up the contractions,” as she was convinced that I wasn’t in active labour yet—another very disappointing announcement that brought me down even further. How was I supposed to continue like this? In my opinion, my contractions were damn strong, as strong as they were when I was close to transition with Quinlin, my home-birth, vaginal-birth-after-one-Caesarean (VBA1C) baby.

So we walked the halls, stopping to lean on whatever I had available during contractions. We talked and I cried. I was so despondent, and after two nights of almost no sleep, I was completely exhausted. How was I going to make it through this if the contractions were already this strong and I wasn’t even in “active labour”!?!

Nick was a huge support both physically and emotionally. While we walked, we talked: about my fears, about the “options,” both of us knowing what the “option” was…We returned to our room and talked to our midwife about the jumble of emotions, about the labour and my fears. We decided that we would talk to the obstetrician on call. Even then I knew that we were taking the first step down the road to another Caesarean. But I was so caught up in my anxiety and despondency that I had lost hope.

When the doctor arrived finally at around 9 AM, I was desperate for some relief from the contractions. Luckily I had an OB who wasn’t a pusher. Oh, he definitely wanted me to have the C/S, to remove the “risks” of my trial of labour, and to save the staff from the obvious stress of having a VBA3C on their labour & delivery floor. But he suggested that he see how far along in my labour I was before we made the final decision. For this alone, I have much respect for the man, because at that moment I was so vulnerable that he could have pushed me right down to the operating room himself and knocked me out. I wouldn’t have uttered a peep. But instead he checked me over.

I was 8 centimetres!!!!

From down in the valley of emotional despair so dark and heavy that I could barely breathe, I flew up to the top of the tallest mountain of elation!! 8 centimetres?!? I could do this!!!! Nick’s face lit up in what I knew was a mirror expression of my own. Eight centimetres were unimaginable.

“What do you want to do?” the OB asked. “I want to continue to labour!!!” I almost shouted in excitement.

He then started on the litany of risks, and rules I “had to” follow. He suggested that we break my water to help get things moving along. I readily agreed. Hell, if he’d suggested cartwheels while holding a bottle of nitroglycerine, I’d have eagerly agreed with him!

So he quickly broke my membranes. With a huge rush of lovely, clear amniotic fluid, I instantly felt Baby Boobalumba (as we had nick-named him) drop down a bit farther. Continuing with his sermon, the OB warned me that he’d give me one hour to show some progress, and that we would discuss “the options” when he returned.

For 20 minutes or so, the contractions eased off in severity, while coming closer together. I was laughing between contractions and joking with Nick and my midwife. That break was short-lived, though. Very soon transition fell on me like a lead curtain.

Oh, it was bad.

After an hour, the doctor returned and checked me again. Still 8 centimetres. “Tsk tsk tsk” is what I got, and again he started listing the risks and lecturing me on the dangers of having a uterine rupture if I didn’t hurry up and progress. I argued that Boobalumba moving lower was progress. I immediately lost my high regard for him when he began shushing me and telling me off like a naughty child.

Have I mentioned that I don’t take lightly to someone treating me as an inferior being? Hackles were raised, and Nick quickly set about to calm me down. We were given another hour.

Oh gods!!! Contractions were now never-ending waves that carried away any semblance of humanity I had left. The logical Dani was left behind by the primal Dani, who ruled unchecked over the writhing body that had been human just a few hours before.

Occasionally the logical Dani had flashes of insight that penetrated the haze of transition: thoughts of caged mountain lions screaming in rage at their captors; the lone wolf caught in a trap that gnaws its own leg off to try to escape…for I was the trapped animal, trapped by the hospital staff, policies, doctors, and my midwives. I was hooked up to a fetal monitor that inhibited my ability to move. I was suppressed by people telling me where to go and how to position myself, and reminding me of the clock that continued to tick towards the “deadline.”

Some of what happened that I’m about to relay, I learned later from Nick. At this point my chronological memory that was recording the events as they happened became seriously erratic (resulting in gaping holes big enough to drive a truck through).

At some point during my transition to a blubbering mess, my friend Lynda showed up after taking my kids to her parents’ house. Between Lynda and Nick, I had a small bit of calm to cling to. They took turns talking to me, feeding me sips of water, rubbing my back, and helping me be as comfortable as possible.

Then my second hour was up. The OB arrived and announced that I was still just 8 centimetres and my cervix was inflamed.

I begged for relief. The last piece of human Dani was ready to admit defeat. But I managed to beat back the primal contractions and somewhat coherently tell the doctor that if I could just relax for a minute, just have a moment’s respite to regain control of myself…If I’m heading down the hallway to the operating room anyways, then give me the epidural so that we can try just one last time to finish this dilation thingy that you’re all so hyper about!!

Then the human spark slipped away, having said its final piece, and the primal Dani took over again. Nick discussed it all with the doctor. They arranged to get me an epidural, and Nick bargained a further half hour to see if we could achieve the final 2 centimetres that they wanted.

Immediately the room seemed to fill with people. Two maternity nurses bustled in to set up an IV…I remember biting the head off one for even thinking about putting the IV into the back of my hand…my second midwife was there.…the noise levels rose substantially and I felt like I was in a stadium surrounded by overwhelming crowds. I vaguely recollect my midwife checking me again and saying that she thought the cervical lip could be moved…and she did something down there that wasn’t pleasant.

Then they all decided that I needed to be lying down right now. “Take the pressure off the cervix”…“let the swelling go down”…snippets of directions, with me arguing that I didn’t want to lie down. I can’t lie down, I won’t lie down…yet somehow they had me down flat on the bed, taking away the last vestige of control that I had over this three-ring circus.

More people flooded into the room. The anaesthesiologist came with cartloads of paraphernalia. At some point they kicked Lynda out of the room on some flimsy excuse, leaving me with one fewer island of support to cling to.

At this point I remember feeling “the push.” I told “them” that I needed to push, that I felt that pressure, that I needed to poop…and I remember “them” telling me not to push, that it was too early, that I wasn’t fully dilated to the golden 10. They rolled me to my side to get ready for the epidural, hands on me everywhere, voices ordering me to do this and do that, curl into a ball, hold still, don’t move…I tried to follow orders. The small inner voice of logic screamed at the primal me to listen: “Don’t move, you idiot!! That’s a needle in your spine!!!”

All of a sudden my primal self was engulfed by an all-consuming command to push…Out of the confusion of the moment, standing out from the roaring crowds came the scream: “I have to push!!! I have to push!!!!!”

The crowds yelled back at me: “Don’t move!!” “Don’t push!!!”…

What came next is a moment of clarity that I will remember to my last breath. It came so clearly and so powerfully that it is permanently etched into my brain. I pushed. With every fibre of my being. Every muscle, every tendon, every vital organ. I pushed once, then again. And I felt Baby Boobalumba burst through some invisible barrier and move down into my vagina. I felt every contour, every millimetre of his descent.

A primal growling scream rose out of me that was pure energy. I was filled with a sense of exhilaration as endorphins flooded my system. I CAN DO THIS!!!! I CAN BIRTH MY BABY!!!—only to be cut off by grabbing hands and barking orders from the madding and maddening crowds…“Stop!! Don’t push!! Don’t move!!”

Voices tumbled overtop each other. “Is the baby coming?” “Can you see the head?” “I can see the head!” “Turn her around!” “Lie on your back!” Voices bellowing at me…

The human Dani fought with the primal Dani to take back control. The human Dani knew logically what she needed to do. Knew that she needed to retake control of her body, not just from the primal Dani, but from all of these people who were trying to control her.

I needed to get up. I needed to get off my back and upright. I needed to find my voice and make these people all shut up and listen to me.

Another contraction and another push. This time my midwife cheered me on: “Push!!!!!” and I did, feeling the baby’s head start to crown, the burning that brought with it that all-encompassing need to keep pushing—only to have it all come to a crashing halt. The epidural kicked in, to block all sensation of the contractions.

The voices yelled at me to push, but the urge was simply gone. Along with the realization that my guide had disappeared came the awareness that I couldn’t breathe. “They” kept yelling at me to push, to lie back and grab my legs and pull them back…but I couldn’t find my centre, couldn’t breathe in the air deeply enough to get a full breath, couldn’t feel the contractions to cue me to push…I needed to get up. I had to get up, I tried to tell them to let me up…but they just kept pushing me back down and telling me to grab my legs…

“Tsk tsk tsk we missed another contraction.” “Dani, you have to push, the baby’s head is half way out!!! You have to push!!!”

HELLO?! I’m perfectly aware of exactly where the baby’s head is, thank you very much!!!!

I tried again to tell them that I couldn’t feel the contractions, that I couldn’t breathe…but the crowds drowned me out with their incessant commands and annoying nattering verbal diarrhea.

I reached down and felt the top of my baby’s head, and ran my fingers through the masses of soggy hair. Someone pushed my hand away and forced me to grab the back of my thigh. The human Dani sighed in resignation. They couldn’t hear me, they wouldn’t listen. I had no choice but to do it “their” way. So ignoring the roaring of the masses surrounding me, I breathed in as deeply as I could and P U S H E D.

The relief of his head coming fully out is one that every woman who has given birth can no doubt relate to. Again I reached down. I wanted to birth my baby. I wanted to grasp his slippery body as it came out of me, as we started our journey as two separate beings. I wanted to be the first to hold him. Then someone pushed my hands away again and forced them back to my legs. And so again I pushed as “they” ordered, and Baby Boobalumba was born.

Strange, but as soon as he was delivered onto my belly, the human Dani completely took over. I immediately reminded my midwife not to clamp the umbilical cord, and asked for a warmed blanket to put over both of us.

Once the cord was cut a few minutes later, my midwife asked me to push to deliver the placenta. At that point one of the nurses made a motion to press on my belly. I immediately slapped her hand away and told her No, then told my midwife that I did not want any cord traction applied. As the epidural was now firmly in place and I had no feeling at all, I concentrated on muscle memory and pushed…hard, delivering the placenta in one quick swoosh.

When one of the nurses tried to rub Boobalumba down with a towel, I pushed her away again. After that, no one interfered with me and the baby; no one tried to weigh him or measure him or clean him. They left me alone to be with my baby.

Now that clarity had returned, I could concentrate on him and interact with the people around me as a rational being again. I immediately started asking Nick for details and found out only then that Lynda had been kicked out of the room and he had run out into the hallway as soon as Boobalumba was born to grab her and bring her back in. He also told me that the nurses wouldn’t allow him to take a picture as our son was crowning. That made me so angry.

Oh, I was mad, really mad!!!

But on the surface I was able to enjoy the victory for what it meant to me personally: a validation that I was not broken. Though the birth had not gone even remotely as I had wished, and my birth plan was basically trampled on by galloping hordes, I did it.

Writing this down now, a little over a week later, I am able to verbalize many things that at the moment were just notes stored away for later analysis. The basic need for understanding and support for the VBAC mother. Support and care that are different from what other birthing mothers need.

My personal story is one of vindication of a VBA3C mom. We are not broken. We are perfectly capable of birthing our babies without the surgeon’s knife. My story will, I hope, inspire those that were there—the OB doctor, the labour & delivery nurses, my midwives—to realize that it is possible if only women are given the choice.

I wasn’t given the “choice.” I demanded that they allow it. I didn’t have their support or their understanding. I had to rely solely upon myself and my husband, knowing that if we wavered even for a moment, as we came so close to doing several times, we would be engulfed by the medical machine and processed as yet another number.

Sure, our birth is a number, but a very different and more important one: the first VBA3C in Cambridge Memorial Hospital (Cambridge, Ontario, Canada) and by the Cambridge Midwives Group. I hope that through my experience they will open doors to more VBAC mothers. I hope that my story inspires others to make choices for themselves and to learn from my mistakes and my victories. We can do it. But we have to fight for our rights and continue to fight to make changes so that other women will not have to fight the battle I did.

Victory: My VBA3C

Introducing Kael Lachlan Rodney Arnold-McKenny, Born Monday Feb 8th at 12:21 in the afternoon. 7lb 2oz and about 19 inches long

Boobalumba Has Arrived!!!

It all started with a week of stop and start annoying prodromal labour. There really is nothing quite so frustrating as playing the guessing game every time the contractions start: is this it..... THIS time!!!? But after a week of lots of contractions and various other questionable symptoms, on Saturday early evening, I was pretty certain that we were definitely on the count down. Contractions continue during the night (for the first time) and although they slowed right down and became irratic, they kept getting stronger. Sunday morning the contractions slowed to a halt for about 3-4 hours, and when they started up again, it was like being back at square one. So I kicked Nick and the kids out of the house to go to a friends to watch the superbowl, and I set out to do some serious Relaxing: filled the living room with candles, put some of my favorite aromatherapy oils in a burner and put on soothing music- got settled into my super comfy rocking chair and just.... R E L A X E D. Soon enough the contractions were steady at about 8-10 minutes apart. Nick brought the kids home and tucked them into bed late that night, and we called my best friend Lynda over to be with us. by 3am I was definitely in labour and the contractions- while still only about 6-8 minutes apart- were strong enough to need to support myself and focus on breathing through them- rocking and swaying . We called our midwife to put her alert that the party was definitly "ON". By 5am the contractions were still 6 minutes apart but very strong and I had to decide what to do next.

I knew that the kids would be waking up soon and I really didn't think I could manage to deal with my labour AND them... So I made the decision for us to head off to the hospital. It was too early, I knew it was, but I was so tired, having not really slept in two nights and I just "Wanted to KNOW" where I was in my labour, to know how far/fast I was progressing. I think that this is one of the worst things that most labouring women do- worry about the Numbers: how many minutes apart. how many cm's dilated. How many hours of labour..... so easily turning into a downward spiral.

We arrived at the hospital and were met by one of our midwives, and so started the above mentioned downward spiral. She checked me at 6:30am and I was only 3 cms.... 3? JUST 3 centimetres?!? Oh gods!!! I was immediately despondent and completely depressed. 3cms is exactly where I was when I'd gone to the hospital in labour with keira...and exactly where I STAYED with my labour with keira (which this labour had so far exactly mirrored) - which ended up in a Caesarean section.

On my midwifes advice, Nick and I started walking the hospital hallways- "to try to ramp up the contractions" as she was convinced that I wasn't actually in active labour yet... another very disappointing announcement that brought me down even further. How was I supose to continue like this? By my opinion, my contractions were Damn strong- as strong as they were when I was close to transition with Quinlin (my VBA1C home birth baby).

.. So we walked the halls, stopping to lean on whatever I had available during contractions, and we talked and I cried....I was so despondent, so depressed, and after 2 nights of almost no sleep I was completely exhausted. How was I going to make it through this labour if the contractions were already this strong and I wasn't even in "active labour" yet!?! Nick was a huge support both physically and emotionally. While we walked we talked: about my fears, about the "options", and we both knew what the "option" was.... We returned to our room and talked to our midwife about the jumble of emotions, about the labour and my fears, and we decided that we would talk to the OB on call.... I knew then that we were taking the first step down the road to another C/S, but I was so caught up in my anxiety and despondency that I had lost hope.

When the Doctor arrived finally at around 9am I was desperate for some relief from the contractions. We talked and I will say that luckily I had an OB who wasn't a Pusher: Oh, he definitely wanted me to have the C/S- to remove the "risks" of my TOL , and to save the staff from the obvious stress of even having a VBA3C in their L&D floor- BUT, he made the suggestion that he check me to see how far along in my labour I was "before" we made the final decision. For this alone, I have a big amount of respect for the man, because at that moment I was so vunerable that he could of pushed me right down to the OR himself and knocked me out, and I wouldn't of made a peep..... But instead he checked me.

I was 8 cm!!!!

From down in the valley of emotional despare so dark and heavy that I could barely breath, I flew up to the top of the tallest mountain of elation!! 8 cm?!? I COULD do this!!!! Nick's face lit up in what I knew was a mirror expression of my own. 8cm was unimaginable.

"What do you want to do?" the OB asked.
"I want to continue to labour!!!" I almost shouted in excitement.

Of course, he then started on the litany of risks, and rules I "had" to follow. He sugested that we break my water to help get things moving along which I readily agreed to (hell, if he'd sugesting cartwheels while holding a bottle of nitroglycerine I'd of eagerly agreed with him!). So he quickly broke my membranes and with a huge rush of lovely clear amniotic fluid I instantly felt baby Boobalumba drop down a bit farther. Continuing with his sermon, the OB warned me that he'd give me "One hour" to show some progress and that we would discuss "the Options" when he returned.

For the 20 minutes or so, the contractions eased off in severity though getting closer to gether. I was laughing between contractions and joking with nick and my midwife..... that break was short lived though as very soon TRANSITION fell on me like a lead curtain.

Oh it was BAD.

After an hour the Doctor returned and checked me again- still 8 cm. Tsk tsk tsk is what I got, and again he started on listing the risks and lecturing me on the dangers of having a uterine rupture if I didn't hurry up and progress. I argued with him that the fact that Boobalumba was lower WAS progress and he immediately lost my high regard of him by shushing me and telling me off like a naughty child.

Have I mentioned that I don't take lightly to someone treating me as an inferior being? Hackles got raised, and Nick quickly set about to calm me down. We were Given another hour.

Oh gods!!! Contractions were now never ending waves that carried away with it any semblance of humanity that I had left. Occasionally interesting flashes of insights penetrated through the haze of transition: thoughts of caged mountain lions screaming in rage at their captors. Comparisons between myself and the lone wolf caught in a trap that gnaws it's own leg off to try to escape.... for I was the trapped animal. trapped by the hospital staff, policies, doctors and my midwives - hooked up to a fetal monitor that inhibited my ability to move, inhibited by people telling me where to go , how to position myself and reminding me of the clock that continued to tick towards the "Dead line".

Now some of what I"m about to relay is what I learned happened later from Nick. At this point my chronological memory that records the events as they happen becomes seriously irratic with gaping holes big enough to drive a truck through.

At some point during my transition to blubbering mess, my girlfriend Lynda showed up after taking my kids to her parents house. Between Lynda and Nick, I had a small bit of calm to cling to as they took turns talking to me, feeding me sips of water ,rubbing my back and helping me get as comfortable as possible.

Then my second hour was up. The OB arrived and announced that I was still just 8cm, that my cervix was inflamed.....I begged for relief. I was ready to admit to defeat. I managed to beat back the contractions and somewhat cohearantly tell the doctor that if I could just relax for a minute, just have a moments respite to gain control of myself again.... If I was heading down the hallway to the Operating Room anyway, then give me the epidural so we could try just one last time to finish this dialation thingy that they were all so hyper about..... Nick discussed it with the Doctor and they arranged to get me an epidural and Nick bargained a further half hour aftewards to see if we could achieve the final 2 cm that they wanted.

Immediately the room seemed to fill with people- two maternity nurses bustled in to set up an IV and I remember biting the head off one of them for even thinking about putting the IV into the back of my hand.... my second midwife was there... the noise levels rose substantially and I felt like I was in a stadium surrounded by over whelming crowds. I vaguely recollect my midwife checking me again and saying that she thought the cervical lip could be moved.... and that she did something down there that wasn't' pleasant. Then they all decided that I needed to be laying down: RIGHT NOW. "Take the pressure off the cervix" "let the swelling go down".... snippets of directions, with me arguing that I didn't' WANT to lay down. I CAN'T lay down. I WON'T lay down.... yet somehow they had me down flat on the bed, taking away the last vestige of control that I had over this 3 ringed circus.

More people flooded into the room- the anesthesiologist with cart loads of paraphenalia. At somepoint they kicked Lynda out of the room on some flimsy excuse, leaving me with one less island of support to cling to.

At this point I remember feeling "The Push". I remember telling "them" that I needed to push, that I felt THAT pressure, that I needed to poop.... and I remember "them" telling me not to push, that it was too early, that I wasn't fully dilated to the golden 10. They rolled me to my side to get ready for the epidural, hands on me every where, voices ordering me to do this and do that, curl into a ball, hold still, don't move.... I tried to follow orders. The small inner voice of logic screamed at myself to listen, "don't move you idiot!! that's a needle in your spine!!!" But the primal me all of a sudden was engulfed by an all consuming command "PUSH" ....Out of the confusion of the moment, standing out from the roaring crowds came a scream "I HAVE TO PUSH!!! I HAVE TO PUSH!!!!!"

The crowds yelled back at me "don't move!!" "Don't Push!!!" ...

What came next is a moment of clarity that I will remember to my last breath, it came so clearly and so powerfully that it is permanently etched into my brain: I PUSHED. With every fiber of my being. Every muscle, every tendon, every vital organ.... I pushed once, then again. And I felt baby boobalumba burst through some invisible barrier and move down into my vagina, felt every contour every millimetre of his decent. And a primal growling scream rose out of me that was like pure energy. I was filled with a sense of exhilaration as endorphins flooded my system.....I CAN DO THIS!!!! I CAN BIRTH MY BABY!!! Only to cut off by grabbing hands and barking orders from the maddening crowds "Stop!! Don't push!! don't Move!!..." Voices tumbled over top of each other "Is the baby comeing?" Can you see the head?" "I can see the Head!" "Turn her around" "Lay on your back!" bellowing voices barking orders at me.....

The human Dani fought with the primal dani to take back control. The human logical Dani KNEW what she needed to do. Knew that she needed to take back control of her body- not just from the primal Dani, but from all of these people who were trying to control her. I needed to get up. I needed to get off my back and upright. I needed to find my voice and make these people all shut up and LISTEN TO ME.

Another contraction and another push. This time my midwife cheered me on "Push!!!!!", and I did, feeling the baby's head start to crown, the burning that brought with it that all encompassing need to keep pushing..... only to have it all come to a crashing halt: The epidural kicked in, to block all the sensations of the contractions. The voices yelled at me to push, but the urge was simply gone. Along with the realization that my guide had disappeared came the fact that I couldn't breathe. "They" kept yelling at me to push, to lay back and grab my legs and pull them back.... and I couldn't find my centre, couldn't breathe in the air deep enough to get a full breath, couldn't feel the contractions to cue me to push..... I needed to get up. I HAD to get up, I tried to tell them to let me up.... but they just kept pushing me back and telling me to grab my legs.....

"tsk tsk tsk we missed another contraction."

"Dani you HAVE to push, the baby's head is half way out!!! You HAVE to push!!!"

HELLO?! I'm perfectly aware of exactly where the baby's head is thank you very much!!!!

I tried again to tell them that I couldn't feel the contractions, that I couldn't breathe..... but the crowds drown me out with their incessant comands and natteringly annoying verbal diahreah.

I reached down and felt the top of my baby's head and ran my fingers through the masses of soggy hair. Someone pushed my hand away and forced me to grab the back of my thigh. The human Dani sighed in resignation. They couldn't hear me, they wouldn't listen. I had no choice but to do it "their" way. So ignoring the roaring of the masses surrounding me, I breathed in as deeply as I could and P U S H E D.

The relief of his head coming fully out is one that every woman who has given birth can no doubt relate to. I again reached down. I wanted to birth my baby. I wanted to grasp his slippery body as it came out of me, as we started our journey as two seperate beings. I wanted to be the first to hold him.... then someone pushed my hands away again and forced them back to my legs. And so again I pushed as "they" ordered, and baby boobalumba was born.

Strange, But as soon as he was delivered onto my belly, the human Dani completely took over again. I immediately reminded my midwife not to clamp the umbilical cord, and asked for a warmed blanket to put over both of us. Once the cord was cut a few minutes later, my midwife asked me to push to deliver the placenta. At that point one of the nurses made a motion to press on my belly and I immediately slapped her hand away and told her no, then told my midwife that I did not want any cord traction applied. As the epidural was now firmly in place and I had no feeling at all, I concentrated on muscle memory and pushed....HARD, delivering the placenta in one quick swoosh. After that, it went according to "the plan". At one point one of the nurses tried to rub Boobalumba down with a towel and I pushed her away again, but after that no one interfered with me and the baby, no one tried to weigh him or measure him or clean him. The left me alone to be with my baby.

Now that clarity had returned I could concentrate on my baby. Could interact with the people around me as a rational being again. I immediately started asking Nick for details and found out that Lynda had been kicked from the room, and that Nick had run out into the hallway as soon as Boobalumba was born to grab her and bring her back in. He also told me that the nurses wouldn't allow him to take a picture as our son was crowning. That made me so angry. But mostly I basked in the warmth of knowing that I DID IT!!!!

Oh I was MAD.

REALLY MAD!!! But on the surface I was able to enjoy the victory for what it meant to me personally: a personal validation that I was not broken. Though the birth had not gone even remotely as I had wished and my birth plan was basically trampled on by galloping hordes. I DID IT.


Writing this down, now over a week later, I am able to verbalize many things that at the moment were just notes that were stored away for later analysis. The basic need for understanding and support for the VBAC mother. Support and Care that is different than what other birthing mothers need. My personal story is one of vindication of a VBA3C mom. We are not broken. We are perfectly capable of birthing our babies without the surgeons knife. My story I hope will inspire those that were there- the OB Doctor, the L&D Nurses, my midwives- to realize that it IS possible. That it is something that can be achieved if only women are given the choice. I didn't have the "choice". I Demanded that they allow it. I didn't have their support, nor their understanding. I had to rely solely upon myself and my husband, knowing that if we wavered even for a moment- as we came so close to doing several times- we would be engulfed by the medical machine and processed as yet another number. Our birth is now a number, but one that is important: the first VBA3C to be born in Cambridge Memorial Hospital, and by the Cambridge midwives group. I hope that through my experience they will use that to open doors to more VBAC mothers. I hope that my story inspires others to make choices for themselves and to learn from my mistakes and my victories. We CAN do it. But we will have to fight for our Rights, and continue to fight to make the changes needed so that other women will Not have to fight the same battle.

Ina May Gaskin

For all of my friends and readers out there who are childbirth activists, who are home birthing guru's, who are midwives and midwifery students, doulas and childbirth educators, who are concerned mothers who educate and research continuously so enable themselves to make the best decisions for themselves and their families.....

a new blog has been born! One that I know I will be following closely as the author is none other than one of my greatest heroes: Ina May Gaskin

So, book mark this new blog for future reference http://www.inamay.com/?p=313

"Beyond Choice"

Sheila Kitzinger is a Natural Childbirth Advocate and a champion of birthing women world wide. She tirelessly campaigns for women to have the information they need to make choices about childbirth and is a strong believer in the benefits of home birth for women.

Sheila's books are a must read for anyone interested in childbirth!!

For more information and links to brilliant articles and books please visit Sheilas web site:
http://www.sheilakitzinger.com/


Beyond Choice

By Sheila Kitzinger

Elective Caesareans

Caesarean section is presented in the USA as a way of "keeping your vagina honeymoon fresh". In Britain, too, it is promoted by some obstetricians as a method of keeping your vagina fresh and rosebud sweet, and saving your bladder from destruction. The implication is that this is how you can keep young, hold on to love - and keep your man. A woman has only herself to blame if she lets her body sag and her insides fall out. The modern way is to have your face injected with botulism and when it comes to childbirth, keep your perineum and pelvic floor daisy fresh by opting for a Caesarean.

Women are not told about the side-effects. More than 93,000 Caesareans are performed every year in the UK. In some hospitals there is a 25% rate. Many obstetricians are no longer able to turn a breech baby in order to avoid a Caesarean. They have become deskilled. You might think that high Caesarean rates would reduce instrumental deliveries. But no. Forceps and ventouse deliveries are also on the increase...

HERE to Read the whole Article

Seven Tips for Creating a Calm, Joyous Homebirth

by Gloria Lemay

© 2008 Midwifery Today, Inc. All rights reserved.

[Editor's note: This article first appeared in Midwifery Today Issue 88, Winter 2008.]

As cesarean and induction rates in hospital climb to astronomical levels many women are turning to homebirth. When interventions become excessively high, the risk/benefit ratio of being in a hospital swings more dramatically into the “riskier” zone, and even physicians and nurses begin choosing homebirth. Just removing your birth from a hospital setting doesn’t guarantee that it will proceed in a natural, flowing manner. Too many women learn the hard way that a midwife can bring a hospital mentality and interventions right into the home and negatively affect the course of the birth. How can you assess the type of midwifery practice that you are purchasing? Here are some tips to help you assess the care that will be provided by midwives:

1. Ask to see a video of some births your midwife has attended. This is the modern age. Many people videotape their births and an experienced midwife will have been given many copies of videos with permission to share them with other families. Videos tell you a lot more than photo albums. Be wary of the midwife who won’t give or show you videos. Watch the videos for things like: Is the father playing an active role in the birth? Are the attendants quiet when things are normal and healthy? Is the cord left to pulse until the placenta is born? Does the baby breathe spontaneously without routine suctioning? Are the baby and mother locked in eye contact with no disturbance? Is a water tub part of the birth?
   
   Watch the time clock on the video to see whether the birth of the placenta occurs in a leisurely way or whether the midwife wants it out in less than 30 minutes.
   

HERE to read the entire article

Gloria Lemay is a lecturer, midwifery educator and traditional birth attendant in Vancouver, BC, Canada. She specializes in VBAC and waterbirth. She has served birthing women for 29 years and was honored with a nomination for the 1996 Woman of Distinction Award by the YWCA in her community. She is a contributing editor of Midwifery Today and an Advisory Board Member of ICAN.