No birth stories yet...

I am still trying to determine to what detail (if any) I want to include my clients' birth stories here. For purposes of confidentiality I haven't yet posted any, as I am waiting for approval from the moms involved. A part of my brain is leaning towards NOT posting them, but instead writing responses to the one or two most crucial events of each; what those events where, how I responded, how it could have been handled better or worse, etc. So should anyone be disappointed that there are no graphically described birth room scenes, I apologize. Perhaps you would like to weigh in on what would be most interesting to read about, keeping in mind this blog is intended to be about becoming a doula, and not a mother.

There are elements of every birth that shape my perspective. Events that were planned and prepared for, more often ones that were not, and I have to learn how to process them. I have to reason out ways to not let someone else's birth experience creep into my brain and try to become mine. This is such an emotionally involved line of work that it seems impossible to me that I will ever be able to walk away from a client and every think of her again as "just a client." You bond with a woman as you help her birth, you fall in love with her and her family, but logistically speaking a doula just can't maintain that level of devotion to every woman she has ever worked with, all the time. So how do I honor each birth, keep a place for each birth, but not become overwhelmed with other people's experiences? Especially when something happens that I really wish hadn't, and it affects me negatively (those of course being the experiences that have the greatest sticking power)? Fortunately I live in an area rich with wonderful doulas, and within that community there is much opportunity for debriefing and processing births. But even with that, I find that parts of my client's births will pop back after a time, unexpectedly-sometimes creeping into the spaces I'm trying to keep reserved for new clients, women whose births are still imminent and should be able to remain clean and fresh, a blank slate if you will. While my past experiences have shaped and improved my skills in this work, that is all I want to take to a birth-my skills and my knowledge. No prejudice or expectations based on past experiences. And that's hard. It's really hard. But I think it's getting easier.

Apparently Money Makes You Smarter

Can I just rant for a minute? I am currently working with a lovely young Somali mother, expecting her first baby, that came as a referal through Open Arms--a wonderful local program that provides assistance (including free doula care) to low-income women. I am ranting about neither her or the program. Yesterday I had a meeting with her, and the first thing she wanted my help with was some paperwork she had from her insurance company for a free carseat. What a nice thing, I though to myself, she won't have to rely on hand-me-downs with questionable safety left in them. Then I began to read the paperwork, and oh-jimminy did it get my dander come up.
It seems that, it the eyes of the folks who give aide to the less fortunate, having little money means you must be stupid. If you aren't stupid, then of course you'd be able to get a great job and earn lots of money, right? She had to take a test on car seat safety. This test was ridiculous. It wasn't that car seat safety isn't important, I'm a self-proclaimed car seat Nazi, it was the way everything was worded, and the way the paperwork explained itself-it all sounded so demeaning, like a kindergarten teacher explaining to her class how to cross the street. What made it worse was that it was NOT easy to understand-I couldn't help with a couple of the questions, as they made no sense to me (the car seat Nazi) and the "study booklet" held none of the information the quiz asked about. Since my client is an immigrant, her English isn't fantastic-she speaks conversationally well and reads fine but couldn't make heads or tales of this packet. I couldn't blame her. So here we have a perfectly intelligent person being treated as though she isn't (because of a language barrier) and being further convinced she isn't by her inability to complete the test that says she is because its so stupid. Got that?
And none of what she had, in my opinion, would help a person use a car seat safely. She needs to be shown how, in person. I realize making copies of a pamphlet is much cheaper than holding classes, but when we're talking about the safety of babies (and well-educated, affluent people are just as likely to hook their car seats up wrong, I've fixed more than a few, so they sould be going to these classes as well) shouldn't it be worth a little face-time with the "car seat safety technicians" the booklet talks about, but doesn't explain how to contact?
At least for this one woman, she has me (ah-aaaah-aaaaahhhhhhhh-that's the heavenly choir singing my praises), and I will make sure she knows how to use a car seat. But that doesn't help the countless other women being put through this ordeal. Having a baby can make you feel so helpless all by itself, no one needs the added "hey, we think you shouldn't even be having this child because you don't have enough money, so that must make you dumb" approach to "helping" women in need.
This is one of the many things I really love about being a doula-doulas just do it. It doesn't matter a woman's circumstances, what has or doesn't, what she knows or doesn't, all that matters is that she is in need of the support of another women, and doulas give that with no reservations. A birth is a birth, and deserves to be respected and cherished. Period.

Missed One!

I am finding that I am no good at prompt postings, so bear with me as I randomly spew events and information that might be months old.

I missed my last birth. By last, I mean the third I need for my certification to be complete. In order to be fair to me, I will say that prior to signing our contract, the client new that I would be unavialable on three days near her due date. I and another doula were partnering for her, and the other doula would be on-call for those days, while I would be taking the lead during the rest of her "window". Keep in mind that a woman's birth window stretches over five weeks-3 before and 2 after her estimated due date, so the chances of a baby being born on any one particular day are not exceptionally high. I was completely confident it would not be a problem, as this particular client was 15 years old and likely to deliver early, while we were set to be out of town on her "due weekend". Unfortunately we had to change the dates of our trip, and would find ourselves leaving town the night she went into labor (had I known she was about to go, I would have stayed, I even spoke to her that afternoon). My partner doula was in attendance, as where her mother, sister, and partner. Her birth went very smoothly and aside from a hep-lock she was able to labor and birth intervention-free, as she'd wanted.
I am thrilled she had a great birth, and certain that she had good support-in fact, from what the other doula related, my presence may have caused a too-many-cooks sort of situation. But that does not relieve my dissappointment. Much investment goes into my clients-time, materials, education, and emotion are all involved. It's like working to bake a fantastic cake and then handing it over to others to eat, never taking a bite yourself.
The fact that this client was so young was a factor in my sadness as well-I felt very protective of her, very concerned with seeing her treated as a birthing woman, not a child doing something she ought not be doing. That's fine line, and very subject to personal opinion-while I do not advocate teenage pregnancy, once the deed is done these young mothers are still mothers-and need to be treated as such. This client was sweet, polite, and had worked to educate herself about birth as no one else was helping her. She had a fantastic attitude, a bit of anxiety but no fear, and just wanted to meet her baby-on many ways she faced birth with more maturity and grace than many older mothers. It could be argued that her lack of fear was due to lack of persective and experience because of her age, which may be true, but it worked to her benefit.
I did continue serving her, doing my first home visit at 2 days post-partum. After I left I really felt as if I had done my important work for her at that meeting-she was having difficuly breast-feeding, which she really wanted to do, and had no real support at home. The hospital had discharged her without insuring she and the baby knew what they were doing, which in this day and age and that particular facility I believe should be considered neglect. By the end of our meeting the baby had nursed successfully for 30 minutes, with mom feeling much more comfortable and confident. So at least I was able to give her something.

*Unfortunate update--due to lack of support and pressure from family, she has stopped breastfeeding. This is an atrocity in our society that must be stamped out-please please please, if you find yourself in a position to do so support a nursing mom!! Sometimes all they need is the assurance that what they are doing is the best possible thing for their baby, especially if they are being told it isn't by others.*

Learning Everything

So I have a bit of an obsession with learning-which is partly responsible for my doula path. Should the "unknown" cross my awareness I latch onto it and absorb as much information as possible-the Internet is like heroin to me in this particular addiction. I could be a tour guide on the great information superhighway. So anyway, as I get older (yes, I admit it is happening), I realize how much information there is contained inside every human brain-I see a stranger across the street and begin to ponder what experiences brought that person to this place, what effects those experiences have had on his or her character-what makes them happy? Or indignant? Or afraid?

Within the universe of childbirth a mother is placed on a pedestal-we revere her, we listen and question, we frame our projections of our own future experiences from hers. But we forget as we revere that mothers are not the only participants in birth. Theirs, while the most involved, the most profound, are not the only memories. In my unavoidable, compulsive way, I have begun to question others-to absorb their experiences and reflections of how birth has affected them, and I have begun to change the shape of my perspective. I myself am one of these sideline participants. The birth of a child reaches out to us all, touches us, changes us. A stranger's child was born too soon into fear and chaos. A father feels more helpless than ever in his life as his wife struggles with the power of her labor-he cries for the first time in years. A grandfather lies awake all night, hundreds of miles away, waiting with anxiety as his daughter labors-longer and more difficult than expected-and no one remembers to call him in the in the wee hours to tell him his granddaughter was born safely. Birth is powerful-it can heal and hurt.

What is there to learn from those bystanders to birth? The ones who are hurt by it, healed by it, forever and deeply changed by it, but must go home to their same lives--no babe-in-arms validating the reality of their emotions, no scars or tears or aching breasts as badges of honor to commemorate their contribution. So I am listening to them. It is incredible what you can learn from listening to the background of a person's story-perhaps a father has never been to a hospital-a seemingly minor detail, no apparent relevance to the birth he will witness, but so influential-why has he never been? Has he avoided them on purpose? Is there an aversion that may taint the birth of his child, as he tries to block out the smells, the sounds, the ideas that penetrate his experience? Perhaps he grew up in a place where babies were not born in hospitals, perhaps he is no stranger to birth but is made uncomfortable by this sterile, processed environment.

What about the grandmother who birthed 5 babies in hospitals? How will the birth of her grandchild, in warm water and soothing sounds, outside the control of OBs and RNs, alter her perceptions of her own births-does she regret? Or is she just happy to see birth a new way?

What of the many who can't see birth? Are present, but do not see. Those who see only pain, agony, and blood? Those who would rather not know, remain out of touch, perhaps even sleep through their own birth experiences? What is to be learned from them? Early intervention, I would think. They tend to be a tough crowd.

Listen hard to the stories. Listen to the background. Is there pain behind words of joy? Is there no joy at all? Is there unrealized trauma that may come screaming into the foreground at any time? Is there laughter, anger, fear, power, triumph? Why? What was the cause? The affect? Does the teller even realize it is there? Should it be realized?

It is boggling, how much information there is. It is daunting to admit that I can never know it all, but exhilarating to see that there will always be something more to learn. I will take my learning and attempt to shunt it through others in the hopes of enhancing their experiences with birth. Perhaps they won't want it. But maybe they will. If I can, through my obsessive quest to answer every question, provide someone else with answers and shed even a teensy bit of light on their path, then I will feel I have done my work.

Voyage Underway

How do you begin a journey that started on its own? Really I'm not just starting out, but joining a movement already in progress.



For those who don't know (and if you've talked with me for more than ten minutes, you do) I am passionate about pregnancy,childbirth and the crucible of becoming a mother. I am equally passionate about infancy and facilitating the optimal growth environment for fledgling humans. For me, these two passions are intertwined-a tortured pregnancy and/or traumatic birth can (and will) have an impact on those first crucial months of a life, a time already fraught with peril, turmoil, and poop.



In my estimation, the best possible scenario for birth and life is to sail through with as little disruption as possible. In the matter of childbirth, "disruption" can be anything that detracts from the natural process of a woman's body-a body designed to handle all the much and guck just the way it should. So how do we as women approach this issue? Many of us don't--too many allow themselves to be shuffled in and out of examining rooms like products being checked for flaws, then slapped with an "inspected by Fred" sticker and ushered out the door.



I didn't want to be one of those women. I didn't want to find myself terrified and confused, being wheeled to a cold sterile ER for a surgery that might not be needed if my baby didn't come out the way a doc had been taught it would-I wanted to be in control, to feel what my body was doing so that I knew what needed to be done, and when. I wanted to listen to my labor, to follow its cues and deliver my baby in the safest way possible.



My first was in a hospital, fast and "easy" (if you discount the tremendous pain). "Easy" because everything happened as it should, without any meddling. I wouldn't call that easy, I would call it normal. The second time around, after a score of eye-opening experiences, I went in search of other ways. Childbirth is called the most natural thing in the world, until you take it and strap in to a table, to machines, to medications and chemicals, making it decidely UN-natural. In my quest for a NATURAL natural birth, I encountered a remarkable birth center full of remarkable mid-wives who did the most remarkable things-they welcomed me warmly, made me feel at home, and treated me like a normal person. A normal person getting ready to expel another equally normal person. They talked with me, laughed with me, hugged me and cared for me as if I belonged to them-and made the process beautiful. They made me beuatiful. No longer a clunky chunky "patient" with a cup full of pee. I was in charge there and my word was law (well, not completely, the law was law first, my word second-they do have regulations to follow), which became a moot point as I never had to fight for anything.



After a long frustrating labor my daughter was born into love, gently and naturally. Born into a room full of people we knew and trusted, who were there to support and encourage, not pass judgmenets, lay edicts, make impossible timetables no human body will pay the least attention to. She came from my body into warm water, and together with one of my midwives we brought her through the surface into air and life. As she lay on my chest, squalling and blowing raspberried, I thought that nothing could be more extraordinary.

Plus I felt AWESOME. Not just physically well. AWESOME. In that moment I knew without a doubt that I had that I could climb Mt Everest without a backwards glance, and then-just for good measure-rocket myself into space. Power. Strength. And incredible love. Awesome.

I knew then what I had always known, but in a different way-I needed to help other women feel this. Do this. Throw off the shackles of modern medicine, and birth the way THEY wanted to. And thus the journey, already in progress, began.