Fierce Mamas

How the Breastfeeding Industry is destroying Breastfeeding.

2011-10-03T19:15:00.000-07:00

Arie Brentnall-Compton

I've spend 10 years (!!) as a loud, active protector of breastfeeding. I've worked within the breastfeeding community, as an LC, been the first person to connect babywearing & breastfeeding as public health issues, a writer & so much more. I've attended countless conferences, tradeshows, speakers' events & taught at just as many. I've been observing an unnerving trend and a concept that James Akre introduced to me over 4 years ago has crystalised of late.

A very large, capital I Industry has built up around "breastfeeding". What started as a small group of committed, WHO Code supporting companies has morphed into thousands of companies marketing "feeding products". Previously Code compliant companies have shifted their focus to "Feeding", offering little or no breastfeeding imagery, or products directly known to interfere with the success of breastfeeding. By creating an industry around the ostensible support of nursing mothers, companies have changed the culture around breastfeeding. The average new mother today is inundated with blog posts, ads, product samples and more more for things like breastfeeding cookies, bracelets, apps, creams, teas, menu plans, covers, hot/cold packs and so much more.

It's an individual's choice to purchase & use what they'd like, make no mistake. The sum total of the entire industry and it's rapid growth over the past few years has accelerated to give the impression to today's first time mother that breastfeeding is expensive, time consuming, requires a lot of paraphernalia & often doesn't work the way they'd planned. It's important to know that the vast majority of these products simply didn't exist even a few years ago. It's also important to note the changes:

-Lansinoh, a beloved product for nursing mothers long endorsed by La Leche League, now sells bottles & other "feeding accessories" in violation of the WHO Code.
-Boppy, one of the first commercial brands of nursing pillow, have rebranded as feeding pillows. There is currently not a single image of breastfeeding on their site or in their marketing.
-Medela, once a Code compliant supplier of pumps & accessories, is now marketing bottles & low quality pumps to mothers.
-Generically, many larger brands of nursing covers (a non-existent product category until about 10 years ago), have shifted their marketing from being a breastfeeding aid (which is debatable) to providing a cover while pumping, bottlefeeding, or simply holding a sleeping baby. The imagery infrequently shows women actually nursing anymore.

I spent upwards of 7 years as a nursing mother. I used a variety of products to make our time nursing a little bit easier, mainly bras & other nursing clothing. There isn't anything at all wrong with using & appreciating the often innovative products designed to serve us during our nursing careers. Indeed (full disclosure), I owned a retail store for 4 years that focused partially on breastfeeding items, although we never sold items we knew interfered with the normalisation of nursing. I also do work as a lactation consultant & breastfeeding educator, with the longterm goal of teaching my way out of a job.

My experiences tell me that all the growth we are seeing does not equate to progress. It appears that breastfeeding initiation/duration rates in many areas are actually on a downward trend. The industry, as a whole, is a death knell for normal breastfeeding.

It's hard for women who have yet to develop a successful nursing relationship to sort out the useful from the useless, the harmless from the harmful. Part of the problem with the growth in items available has been, as I've said, the overall cultural change. While covering with a blanket used to be a choice for women who felt modest or private, mom's groups now regularly have women aplologise to other attendees for having forgotten their nursing cover. When a mother worried about her supply out loud a few years ago, a La Leche League Leader may have helpfully made some suggestions for evaluating if her supply was in fact dropping (it's usually not) & suggested she nurse the baby more to increase the production. That same mother expressing concern on social media today is likely to be sent to purchase a bag of lactation cookies marketed with dubious medical claims. Other products prey on the same fears: bracelets, charms & apps imply you may not remember to nurse on the "correct" side; cookies, teas, supplements imply your supply may be inadequate without them. Nursing covers, hiders, hats & more suggest it's more appropriate to nurse covered with a commercial product.

I want to reiterate that while there will be individuals who found benefit from each of these products, it's not looking like the longterm result of their availability will be a societal increase in breastfeeding initiation or duration. Of perhaps more concern is how quietly some of the lactation industry's biggest players have simply removed the breast from the feeding entirely.

Announcing World Milksharing Week!!!!!

2011-07-04T11:17:00.001-07:00

http://www.worldmilksharingweek.org/

I'm so excited to be asked to be a representative for the first ever World Milk Sharing Week!!!! From September 24-30, 2011, our goal will be to further the mission of promoting human milk as the biologically normal nourishment for babies and children, as well as to celebrate milksharing itself! Stay tuned for more details!

The Marketing of Marketing, or Why You Won't "Be Wildly Successful if you Just Hire The Right Guru"

2011-06-13T19:09:00.000-07:00

I'm from Alberta, a province where young families tend to make a boatload of money thanks to the oilpatch & other industries where skilled trades make 6 figure incomes without blinking. While these families are growing, they want to spend their disposable income on their children, buying them clothes, toys & accessories from businesses selling mainly online & at trade shows. This means we have more than our share of start up businesses aimed at that demographic, with new ones opening daily.

Way back in the day (2006!!), when my partner & I opened our business, there were a handful of local stores where you could purchase a few brands of baby carriers & cloth diapers from, as well as a handful of online Canadian stores. As quickly as we grew, the marketplace did too & there are now more than 20 (at my count) Edmonton-based businesses selling those items.

What's really grown exponentially are the hand made accessories & the trade shows they're sold at. Again, where only a few years ago there were a handful of major trade shows, craft fairs & local markets where companies selling baby & childrens products could exhibit, there are now dozens in the area.

I realise these are local examples, but I think they illustrate the trend really well. No one is making a living doing this because the market is so saturated, so when solicitations for marketing pop up (we get offers weekly!), they're totally tempting to small business.

"Hey Mompreneurs, want to increase sales while looking fabulous & having the dream life you've always dreamed of?!? Subscribe to my blog/e-book/website & attend my momseveningout/wine&cheese/fabworkshop & learn all my secrets!!!"

For no charge, you can often glean some ideas or tips; for a pretty small fee, usually a few hundred bucks, you can hire a marketing consultant to help build your brand. What annoys me as a small business owner is that the marketing of the marketing seems to take precedence over the substance of evaluating the viability of growth of your business.

The tips provided essentially boil down to:

-Network, network, network, at gatherings, trade shows, etc. Get to know other business owners & make sure they know you.
-Tweet, Facebook & Blog so you develop a big fan base

These aren't bad suggestions & they certainly reflect the business plan of most small companies these days. The problem is that to charge for your advice, you should be able to establish that these strategies work. I want to see hard data- increased sales volume, sales to a new customer base, increased market share, etc. Hiring marketing help can be a great use of money, if they can provide results- but I don't think the marketing of marketing offers that. Time & money spent on this kind of marketing is likely wasted, save it for a company with legitimate experience in your industry & ability to prove their effectiveness with increased sales.

Legitimate marketing takes a look at your product, the market, your pricing, customer base etc & establishes a concrete & realistic plan for advertising and growth. It does not suggest you spam other businesses by posting your links on their Facebook wall. It does not see "networking" with similar local businesses competing for the same share of the same market as key to your growth and success.

There's nothing wrong with being a small business, making a nice product and earning income you're satisfied with. There's nothing wrong with dreaming big, either!! In a market like ours, though, where it's quite saturated & we're all fighting for pieces of a shrinking pie, a reality check is needed. At the end of the day, I think we as business owners need to stick to what we do best and avoid the fluffy marketing/happiness/lifestyle gurus. Simple concepts like knowing your customers, listening to their needs and providing them with what they're asking for are what builds business long term.

I don't believe in Unassisted Childbirth AKA a rose by another name

2011-02-21T20:43:00.000-08:00

By Lee-Ann Grenier

Two months ago I gave birth to my third child at home in what many would describe as an unassisted childbirth (UC) or freebirth. Throughout the pregnancy and up to his birth this is how I thought of it as I prepared for the arrival of our second son. I felt uneasy with the terminology and others I spoke to felt the same way. "Unassisted Childbirth" sounds reckless and cavalier; to some it implies a complete disregard for medical care even in the event of a true emergency. No one I know who has had a planned unassisted birth would avoid seeking appropriate medical care when necessary. In fact many women attempting freebirth have transferred to hospital when they felt it necessary. Sometimes it can be hard to separate from those who plan to birth without professional assistance and those who have their babies at home (or in the car, or Wal-Mart) by mistake. Media portrayals of these births where everyone is "miraculously fine" often confuse the issue.

The term itself causes some dissension among the families who choose this type of childbirth. The discussion usually centres around what qualifies as UC. Does having an unregistered midwife or a traditional birth attendant count? What if you have a doula, family member, or friend attend the birth? Some people even go so far as to define an unassisted birth as one where no one is present but the mother. Does a birth where one hires a midwife but doesn't call them count, or one where the couple camps out in the vicinity of the hospital qualify? These discussions can become very heated and polarizing.

The term Freebirth can be equally confusing but on a more emotional level. I find this wording invokes feelings of easy painless birth that, in my experience, can be quite deceiving. Free- from what, and for what, were concepts that I wrestled with both during the pregnancy and after the birth. Although a couple that chooses this type of birth might find freedom from the medical establishment, it comes with the heavy price of taking complete responsibility for the birth. There is the freedom to choose how one labours and delivers in this type of birth, but that can also be experienced by a strong woman in a hospital setting (with the right kind of support ;). There is the freedom to provide ones own care and comfort, but there is cost of doing so. The more I wrestled with these concepts the more apparent it became to me that the terms didn't fit.

My son's birth was not unassisted. We had friends come to help in the way that one needs with a homebirth. They dealt with the older children, fetched food and drink, provided warm towels, warmed up the pool and took pictures. We had friends light candles and provide us with their warm thoughts throughout the labour day. My husband supported me both physically and emotionally. We called upon the sage advice of a doula friend over the phone. At the moment of my son's arrival his birth was assisted by me; pushing him into the world, my husband; holding my body, and my dear friend Kirsten providing pushing support and calling the play by play. I suppose the biggest assistance came from the force or energy that created me and gave my body the ability to birth my baby (I call it God, but you have your name for it). So the question that came to my mind after he was born was how could I call this unassisted? Many asked and I felt hesitant to use these words in reply. I felt that if I said Elijah's birth was unassisted it would be very unappreciative of all the people who gave us their love and support on that day.

Elijah's birth was also not free. It was hard work, mentally and physically. It took a whole 12 hour day, and the toll on my body was (understandably) high. We paid a price for operating outside the system (imagine how hard it is to register this kind of birth) in terms of providing our own care and dealing with the feelings other had about our birthing choices. I will admit that we did have the freedom to let my son's birth unfold unhindered.

In the reflective moments since his birth I struggled to come up with the right words to describe the way in which we chose to bring our second son into the world. Eventually it came to me, what we had was a traditional homebirth. We called upon the support we needed to have the birth unfold in the way we wanted it too. If we had required it we would have sought the care of a midwife or the services provided at our local hospital. But we didn't, and this is how birth happened, traditionally. Sisters, mothers and women friends have been birth assistants for eons and at these births more experienced midwives or doctors were only called in when things got tricky, and in this way birth worked, assisted appropriately. So the next time someone asks me if I had an unassisted birth I'll say "No, I had a traditional homebirth." and leave it at that.

Babywearing Caregiver!!!

2010-10-07T07:27:00.000-07:00

Christina Dawn Monroe

What babywearing has meant to Lennox this our journey:
Lennox is 11 months old. He came into my care at 6 months of age. He is exclusively breastfed; his mom was the only one to ever put him to sleep. He is a boob man, for bed time. I was also warned he was not a stroller fan.
I have worked in the childcare field for 15 years (have a degree in early childhood education). As I just recently went back to having a day home. I had not owned a carrier for years. I ordered a babyhawk with my first pay check from Lennox’s parents. Then we waited a further 2 weeks for it to arrive. For one whole month we were carrierless. It was a pretty shitty month.
We had the challenge of dealing with transitioning to reverse cycle breast feeding. You see Lennox does not like bottles (regardless of how many different kinds I tried) and the same went for sippy cups. For liquids we went to feeding with a spoon and mom coming to feed at lunch if needed. Then there was the whole I do not sleep without a breast thank you. Apparently dad had never had any luck either. Did not matter that I walked around with him, he was not left alone to cry. He was only going to sleep because he screamed himself out. Then there was the strollers 3 different kinds. He screamed even louder, with summers so short here we had to go out regardless of the yelling.
The day the package came is the day everything went up hill. It changed everything for the better.
I opened my pretty package and strapped him in and he just relaxed. He was calm for the first time in a month. He quickly learned to sign for his carrier if he needed to be up instead of on the floor exploring. If he needed to be closer to me. We figured out that if we are close and feel safe we can fall right to sleep. He kind of just gives a sigh and passes out. I can then transfer him to a mat or keep in there if we are out. We learned by watching closely that straws are cool (I have an addiction to iced lattes) He would watch me intently, so focused as it is so close to his face. We got him a litter-less juice box and away we went! He snuggles the juice box full of breast milk right between my breasts and drinks it all down! No more spoon feeding milk! We no longer have to use a stroller to go out so we can go many more places; he has a bird’s eye view. We can climb rocks and he can see! He can choose not to wear mittens and be inside my coat instead! Life is wonderful.
Mom thought this was cool borrowed my carrier then ordered herself her very own. Now dad can put him to sleep too!
Babywearing has made Lennox into a much happier little person.

Wearing My Son Through His Withdrawal

2010-10-01T14:55:00.000-07:00

by Stacey Freeman

I am a mom of 5 and foster mom to 3, and huge fan of baby wearing!! My foster baby was dropped off at 10 days old extremely small, sick looking and going through withdrawal. At the same time he was arched backwards and impossible to hold he would just scream. After the first horrible night I went and dug through all by baby boxes in desperate need of my sling (he had been dropped off with only half hour notice, so I had no baby supplies handy. Honestly within 5 minutes he was asleep and content!! For the next 3 weeks he lived in that sling until the withdrawal symptoms had passed only coming out for diaper changes. I slept sitting up on the couch with him snuggled against my chest even.
I am adopting this baby now and he is the most precious happy little boy. I am SO thankful I had that sling!!

On Consent

2010-09-08T09:06:00.000-07:00

Vyky Staples
(professional body piercer and fierce mama)

Informed consent is something I see discussed ad infinitum on blogs, message boards and in print in magazines. Informed consent is a powerful tool to have in our journeys as Fierce Mamas- being able to make an educated decision in regards to our health and wellbeing and the health and wellbeing of our babies. We are their advocates, and it's a duty I hold with utmost importance. We choose for our babies who are not able and ready to choose for themselves.

I want to share with you an event I experienced recently that radically shook me and cemented my beliefs. I was shopping. Seeking retail therapy, actually, as a way to relieve myself of some pent-up stress and to soften the blow of leaving my baby in the care of someone else as I am enrolled in school. My shopping trip was winding down, and I was making my way to the food court to grab a coffee to enjoy on the way home. I was approaching a jewelry store and as I neared it, I witnessed something that made my heart jump into my throat.

A very young baby, I'd guess to be around 3 months old, thrashing and screaming as her mother held her arms with one arm and immobilized her head with the other as a store employee was piercing her earlobes. I noticed the mother herself had tears in her eyes.

I was absolutely shocked and appalled. The whole scene had reduced me to tears, an I quickly had to flee the building where I sat in my car and sobbed over what I had just seen. I couldn't make sense of why the mother of that poor baby would subject her to such a thing. She was clearly acting against her maternal instincts- she herself was in tears- she knew what she was doing to her child was wrong.

Yes- WRONG.

It is absolutely, without a doubt wrong to modify the body of a person unable to consent- whether it be female genital mutilation, male circumcision or piercing the earlobes of a young girl. When a child or baby is unable to make informed consent, you are violating their bodies and you are violating their trust. Children are vulnerable and inherently rely on their parents to make decisions on their behalf. And by making permanent changes to their bodies when they are unable to understand the risks, the procedure, the aftercare and the permanent affects, you are revoking their right to choose for themselves.

Furthermore, the stress respond to the stimulus in question can have devastating effects on the infant. When put under extreme duress, the hypothalamus excretes cortisol. When the brain excretes large amounts of cortisol or is forced to excrete it chronically (such as when a parent allows the child to "cry it out"), it can increase the risk of SIDS, and can, in the long term, affect the memory, attention, and emotional wellbeing of the child. Studies also suggest that this can manifest in adulthood into anxiety and depressive disorders.

This brings me to the question of why anyone would subject their child to such a procedure? Is it that important that complete strangers that you'll never speak to or see again know the sex of your baby? Children are not born with a sense of vanity- that is instilled in them by their surroundings as they grow. Baby girls have no need for bedazzled earlobes- they have a need for parents she can trust unconditionally to make sound decisions on her behalf until she is able to utilize informed consent of her own accord.

To Induce or Not to Induce?

2010-09-08T07:43:00.000-07:00

Tegan Vanden Bosch

It was my ten-week pregnancy check up. Being the nervous new-to-be mother, I had a lot of questions for my OB when I went to my appointment. One of many questions asked, and answered, was as follows:
“So at what point in the pregnancy do we start talking about the labor and delivery process?” I was just curious, I looking for answer akin to “Oh, about 30 or 35 weeks”. I’m a planner; I just wanted a time-line for myself to mentally prepare for every step in the pregnancy and birthing process. Instead I got something quite different.
“Well, we’ll probably induce you at thirty-eight weeks, most likely on a Thursday.”
What?!? Induction? What in the world for??? “I don’t really believe in being induced for a non-medically necessary reason . . .” I started timidly, completely taken for surprise. I hadn’t really been prepared to defend myself in such a manner at this point in my pregnancy.
In a very brisk, business-like manner, the doctor replied “It really is best, that way your husband will know ahead of time and can get off work (she nodded her head to my husband who was sitting in the chair next to the exam table), you’ll be able to get a full night’s rest before the baby comes . . .” and she continued to rattle off another half dozen or so reasons of why she wanted to induce me.
I couldn’t believe it, and at the same time that I was forming an argument in my head for every single reason, I felt powerless to respond. I felt as though my beliefs had just been trampled upon. From previous visits and conversations with this doctor, I knew that she and I stood on the same ground on many issues including contraception, natural family planning and God’s presence in the entire process of marital bliss, including conception. And here she was telling me she was going to induce me? I was only ten weeks pregnant; I wasn’t carrying twins, I didn’t have two uteruses or a uterus with a septum, I didn’t have any reason for being high risk and needing to have my labor induced. This OB had delivered three of my good friend’s babies and they all were able to have completely natural labors (without ever mentioning induction). Why did she suddenly say she wanted to induce me? Why didn’t she listen to what I wanted to say about being induced? Aren’t I the one who will have to carry and birth this baby and live with the choices and decisions and consequent life long memories, not her? I left her office that day stunned, disappointed, ignored and bewildered. I knew that I had a lot to think about.
My attributing factor to this news was that she had recently moved into a solo practice, away from a group practice. In a group practice, an OB is freed from being on call twenty-four/seven; an OB in solo practice doesn’t have that luxury. So for strictly business reasons of pure convenience, it is not unusual for an OB in solo practice to try to schedule as many inductions as possible, whether they are medically necessary or not.
I am not saying I am against inducing women into labor; there are certainly a number of reasons where a woman should be induced for her safety and/or the safety of her child. For example, preeclampsia or eclampsia (where the mother’s blood pressure is extremely high due to the baby), if the baby has had their first bowel movement prior to the water breaking and/or prior to being born, being two weeks past the due date (greater than 42 weeks), and the list of reasons goes on. For the purpose of this paper, I would like to explore medical induction of labor and the reasons for and against doing so. Personally, I think that a healthy baby being born to a healthy mother should be able to arrive in their own time and that the convenience of the mother, or especially the doctor, should not come into play at all.
Therefore, to be induced, or not to be induced, that is the question. The answer, ultimately, will depend on the beliefs of the mother, the beliefs of the doctor, and hopefully foremost, the health of the baby and the mother evaluated together. Technology has progressed a long way in our society, which has given many babies a chance at life whereas before the technology existed, they, and mostly likely the mother as well, might have died in labor. Unfortunately our society has taken that technology and used it for a purpose that is not its original intent: personal convenience.
According to Wilson, the onset of labor, once considered a naturally occurring event, has become one of timing, control, and convenience for both obstetrical providers and expectant women, with nearly two thirds of all labor induction in the US now initiated for non-medical reasons (208). Is this the best practice for the baby and the mother? The induction of labor for non-medically necessary reasons is one of the most controversial issues in maternity care in this country today (Amis 16). The National Center for Health Statistics wrote that in 2002, the rate of labor induction in the United States had a 129% increase from 1989, the first year that data on induction was collected (Simpson and Thorman, 135). Wilson writes that because labor induction is a relative new event, data collection was not routinely collected for induction until 1989 (208).
In the last few weeks of pregnancy, the mother’s body and the baby are preparing for the birthing process. These last weeks are vitally important for a mother and her baby, writes Lothian (43). For a first-time mother, the baby often “drops down” into the pelvis in the weeks before birth (Amis 16). This is part of the preparation for labor by the fetus. The last weeks also allow the baby to prepare for his or her entry in the world by allowing the baby to gain weight and strength, store iron, develop more coordinated sucking reflexes and swallowing ability, develop lung maturity further and also allow for important antibodies to be passed on from the mother to the infant (Lothian 44). Also according to Lothian, waiting for labor to begin on its own is the best way to determine if the baby is ready to enter the world and if the mother is ready to begin the birthing process (44).
Normal term labor is the culmination of a sequence of interrelated hormonal shifts that are mediated primarily by the fetus, the placenta, the fetal membranes, and the mother’s endocrine system (Romano and Lothian 94). In an article by Amis, she states that researchers now believe that when a baby is ready for life outside his mother’s uterus, his body releases a tiny amount of a substance that signals the mother’s hormones to begin labor (16). When a woman goes into labor naturally, there are hormones called prostaglandins, which cause the cervix to soften and ripen. The quantity of prostaglandins released increases when the body is ready to deliver the baby (Moran and Kellem, p 32). There are also hormones released that stimulate uterine contractions to begin. According to Romano and Lothian, spontaneous onset of term labor signifies the fetus’ readiness to be born as well as the mother’s physiological receptiveness to the process (94). As the birth approaches, the mother may have a surge of stress hormones that may aid in the birth of the fetus (Romano and Lothian 95). All of these phenomena’s are completely natural and doctors and midwives agree that the natural onset of labor is the best way to deliver the baby.
To define what exactly labor induction is: labor induction is the intentional initiation of uterine contractions before their spontaneous onset. According to ICEA (International Childbirth Education Association), labor induction is a process using various mechanical methods and chemicals to initiate uterine contractions before the onset of spontaneous labor with the goal of accomplishing a successful birth (31). According to Wilson, “an indicated induction is recommended as a therapeutic option when the benefits of birth outweigh the risks of continuing the pregnancy, as seen in certain high risk conditions with fetal compromise. Such conditions include eclampsia, preeclampsia (hypertension in the mother that is directly related to the pregnancy), premature rupture of the membranes, and suspected intrauterine fetal growth restriction” (208). Labor may be induced if it is more risky for your baby to remain inside your body than to be born. According to the American College of Obstetrics and Gynecologists, labor may be induced if: you water has broken and labor has not begun; your pregnancy is post term (more than 42 weeks), you have high blood pressure caused by your pregnancy, you have health problems such as diabetes that could affect your baby, you have an infection in the uterus, your baby is growing too slowly (Amis 16-17).
When labor is brought on artificially, a number of events are not allowed to occur or occur prematurely. When labor is induced artificially, the drug Pitocin (oxytocin) is given intravenously in the hospital setting. Two main functions of prostaglandins are to regulate hormone activity and to contract the smooth muscle of the uterus (ICEA 36). Sometimes drugs called “ripening agents”, such as Cervidil or Cytotec, are given to soften the cervix and prepare it for labor (Amis 17). Pitocin is given after the cervix has ripened (ICEA 37). “Interfering with or replacing the natural hormones that orchestrate labor, birth, breastfeeding, and maternal attachment may have consequences that we do not yet understand,” writes Amis (19).
As with all obstetric conveniences, there is growing evidence that the decision to induce for non-medically necessary reasons increases risks of interventions and complications, including, but not limited to: a longer labor compared to spontaneous labor, artificial rupture of membranes, significant discomfort, epidural anesthesia or increased need of other types of analgesia, maternal fever, hypotension, prolonged second stage of labor, operative vaginal birth, episiotomy, vacuum or forceps assisted vaginal birth, fetal heart changes, shoulder dystocia (where the baby’s shoulder gets stuck behind the mother’s pelvic bones), babies born with low birth weight, need for birth by cesarean section, need for admission to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU), jaundice that required treatment and a lengthened hospital stay (Simpson and Thorman 135) (Amis 18) (Romano and Lothian 96). “Medical induction of labor also nearly doubled the risk of overall cases of amniotic-fluid embolism, and the association was stronger for fatal cases” (Kramer et al 1444). Because due dates are not an exact science, and there can be up to a two week error window for the actual due date, a medically induced baby at 38 weeks can actually only be 36 weeks old. This is one of the reasons that babies born after elective induction can have poor outcomes such as low birth weight or jaundice requiring treatment. They were accidentally born before they have reached full maturity, which is defined as reaching 37 completed weeks (Amis 8).
Besides, adverse maternal outcomes, such as cesarean sections, there are other reasons that might warrant waiting for spontaneous onset of labor, such as the addition of escalating health care expenditures, including additional supply and labor costs, added lengths of hospital stay, and increased neonatal and maternal morbidity and mortality. Delivery with spontaneous onset of labor is significantly lower than the cost of delivering following induction, particularly those ending in a cesarean birth (Wilson 212). There is also the chance that the mother may have to an intravenous line and continuous electronic fetal heart monitoring. In many settings, the mother must stay in bed or very close to the bed, and this does not allow the mother to walk freely or change positions in response to labor contractions, possibly slowing the progress of labor. The mother may be unable to take advantage of a soothing tub bath or a warm shower to ease the pain of labor contractions. Artificially induced contractions often peak sooner and remain intense longer than natural contractions, increasing the mother’s need for pain medication (Amis 8). The afore mentioned natural interventions all help the mother to have an “easier” labor and to help the labor progress along at a natural rate. A tub bath or a warm shower can be relaxing to the mother and may even help with pain distraction. Being artificially induced removes the ability to utilize these techniques, which can lead to an increased need for pain relief in the form of medications.
When it comes to the increased cost that is associated with elective induction of labor, Romano writes that women with induced labors were twice as likely to end up having their baby by cesarean delivery and in addition to this, their baby was more likely to need to be admitted to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). These factors resulted in a significantly high increase in the average cost of labor (53).
The matter of convenience is often brought up as a reason to induce labor artificially. According to Amis, hospitals can provide extra nurses on during shifts when inductions are scheduled, the family can prepare for the birth by making work and family arrangements and the physician can schedule the birth on days and during hours that are convenient for them (17). However, the benefits must be weighed with the risks (Simpson and Thorman 135). What is not convenient about artificial induction is when the induction doesn’t go as planned: for example, the induction does not work and the mother is sent home only to return another day and try again, when there are delays in the hospital and when the induction leads to a cesarean birth, consequently leaving the mother to recover from major abdominal surgery rather than vaginal birth, or if the baby has breathing problems and/or has to be admitted to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) (Amis 17).
What are the alternatives for the impatient healthy mother who wants to induce? Do chemical and mechanical interventions have to be used to bring about labor? No, labor can be induced by natural means, such as sexual intercourse or nipple stimulation. In ICEA’s statement, they state that sexual intercourse and nipple stimulation are natural methods that may help to stimulate contractions and improve the inducibility of the cervix. During the act of intercourse, prostaglandins are released into the bloodstream and may act on the uterus and the cervix. Prostaglandins are also contained in semen and may act directly on the cervix after ejaculation during intercourse. Nipple stimulation increases oxytocin that may also act on the uterus to start contractions (34).
If these methods do not work, and the mother is still considering elective induction when there is not a medically necessary reason, then elective inductions for primiparous (first time) women should be offered with caution, particular for women with advanced maternal age (Wilson 213). Furthermore, studies have indicated that medical procedures, such as “epidural analgesia, induction, augmentation of first stage of labor, instrumental vaginal delivery and emergency caesarean section, and a prolonged labor” were all associated with a negative experience of labor and birth (Waldenstrom et al 22). Kramer writes that the “substantially raised risk in women whose labor was medically induced should be a cause for concern, in view of the increasing tendency for clinicians to induce labor, and especially for routine induction at term or after term” (1448). Both the mother and the practitioner should take all of these things into consideration when making the decision for elective induction. The mother should be fully informed of all the risks and possible complications, as well as the comfort techniques (walking, tub bathes, etc) that a medical induction does not always allow.
Ultimately, waiting for labor to begin on its own increases the likelihood that you will have positive lifelong memories of your birth experience and decrease the possibility of complications for both you and the baby (Amis 6). Though I did not have all of the knowledge that is contained in the paper at that ten-week OB appointment, I knew in my heart that waiting for my baby to be born in her own timing was the best way to go. Instinctually, I felt that inducing my baby when there was no medical reason present was not what was best for her, and for me. Having reviewed the literature in the writing of this paper, along with taking birthing classes and reading various birthing books and non peer-reviewed journal articles, I can now say that my instincts were right on. As for the OB that wanted to induce me, I decided not to continue with her for the duration of my pregnancy and found a midwife who has treated me with much more respect for my wishes, for which I am truly grateful.

Works Cited

Amis, D. "Care practice #1: labor begins on its own." Journal of Perinatal Education 16.3 (June 2007): 16-20. CINAHL with Full Text. EBSCO. 7 Mar. 2009 .

Amis, D. "Care practices that promote normal birth #1: labor begins on it own... including commentary by Gaskin IM." Journal of Perinatal Education 13.2 (Mar. 2004): 6-10. CINAHL with Full Text. EBSCO. 7 Mar. 2009 .

"ICEA position statement and review: induction of labor." International Journal of Childbirth Education 18.1 (Mar. 2003): 31-40. CINAHL with Full Text. EBSCO. 7 Mar. 2009 .

Kramer, MS, et al. "Amniotic-fluid embolism and medical induction of labour: a retrospective, population-based cohort study." Lancet 368.9545 (21 Oct. 2006): 1444- 1448. CINAHL with Full Text. EBSCO. 7 Mar. 2009 .

Lothian, JA. "Saying "no" to induction." Journal of Perinatal Education 15.2 (Mar. 2006): 43-45. CINAHL with Full Text. EBSCO. 7 Mar. 2009 .

Moran, DE and Kallam,GB The Gift of Motherhood: Your Personal Journey Through Prepared Childbirth. Customized Communications, Inc: Arlington. 2008.

Romano, AM. "Research summaries for normal birth." Journal of Perinatal Education 15.1 (2006 Winter 2006): 52-55. CINAHL with Full Text. EBSCO. 7 Mar. 2009 .

Romano, AM, and JA Lothian.. "Promoting, protecting, and supporting normal birth: a look at the evidence." JOGNN: Journal of Obstetric, Gynecologic, & Neonatal Nursing 37.1 (2008 Jan-Feb 2008): 94-105. CINAHL with Full Text. EBSCO. 7 Mar. 2009 .

Simpson, KR, and KE Thorman.. "Obstetric "conveniences": elective induction of labor, cesarean birth on demand, and other potentially unnecessary interventions." Journal of Perinatal & Neonatal Nursing 19.2 (Apr. 2005): 134-144. CINAHL with Full Text. EBSCO. 7 Mar. 2009 .

Waldenström, U, et al. "A negative birth experience: prevalence and risk factors in a national sample." Birth: Issues in Perinatal Care 31.1 (Mar. 2004): 17-27. CINAHL with Full Text. EBSCO. 7 Mar. 2009 .

Wilson, BL. "Assessing the effects of age, gestation, socioeconomic status, and ethnicity on labor inductions." Journal of Nursing Scholarship 39.3 (Sep. 2007): 208-213. CINAHL with Full Text. EBSCO. 7 Mar. 2009 .

Freebirth FAQ

2010-08-25T16:14:00.001-07:00

Fierce Mamas support the choice to freebirth! We have been persecuted for it, sometimes very publicly, so it is essential that we keep talking about it to make sure women understand it as a valid birthing option.

We need audience participation to do this well!! Please post your questions about freebirth in the comment section here. Over the next few days, 3 freebirthing women will answer your questions; we will reassemble the entire thing to create an FAQ here on Fierce Mamas. No question is too big or small, although I will be deleting questions of the disrespectful variety ;)

-Arie

Rowan’s Birth Story

2010-08-10T09:12:00.000-07:00

by Laurinda Reddig

Two years ago today, I gave birth to a beautiful 8lb 11oz baby girl named Rowan. She never breathed on her own, and lived for just one day, so I never felt up to writing her birth story. Now, with my second daughter Willow asleep on my chest, I will try to write Rowan’s story…
My second pregnancy was much more difficult than the first. We had decided not to find out the gender but everyone thought that since my morning sickness was much worse than with my son, continuing throughout the pregnancy, it was a good chance she was a girl. Unlike my first birth, I had a lot of Braxton Hicks and regular early contractions every evening for weeks before my due date. After the fourth false alarm, we headed back home on Friday morning to wait for the real thing.
When I woke up from a nap on Saturday evening, my due date, I told my 3 year old son Griffin to tell the baby it was time to come out. He did just that, and about 15 minutes later my water broke. We headed to the birth center, stopping for ice cream to share with the midwives. Things progressed slowly, as we watched a movie and enjoyed the ice cream. I perched on a birth ball, crocheting a cocoon for the precious life we awaited.
Once the battery ran out on our laptop the movie was over, so we tried to get things moving. I started walking up and down the stairs, pausing for contractions, and realizing the difference between these and the ones I had been feeling for weeks. As things intensified, I went into the birthing suite to try the tub. After a little while I got a little overheated and decided to get out to go to the bathroom.
As I sat in the bathroom, I suddenly felt my baby drop and engage. My son had also not dropped until I was almost ready to push. But this time was different. I could feel my baby struggling, thumping on my pelvic bone repeatedly. My midwives immediately checked her heart rate and discovered it was erratic. They moved me to the bed, trying all sorts of different uncomfortable positions, but her heart rate did not improve. All of the strange positions flared up my asthma, so they gave me an oxygen tube. Meanwhile, they had called the paramedics who were in the lobby of the building. They checked inside to be sure that the cord was not tight around the baby’s neck and gave me the option to try pushing.
As soon as I was in position on the birth stool, which helped to open the way, the baby’s heart rate went back up. After just 3 or 4 long, hard pushes, our baby was born into the waiting arms of her father who handed her to me. As he handed me this tiny slippery baby, my first thought was to check the gender, a girl. Then I held Rowan to me and realized that she was not breathing.
My midwife immediately gave her oxygen from the tube, and began CPR. As I knelt next to them, still attached by the umbilical cord, my midwife and I saw a spot where the cord appeared to have been kinked at some point. As soon as the cord was cut, the paramedics loaded the gurney with our precious baby. My midwife and one assistant went along to continue CPR, and my husband stayed with them and Rowan.
I was left with the second apprentice midwife and my doula. We were informed that another ambulance was there, “to take mom to be with her baby”. We tried to push the placenta out, but it was not coming, so we went along to the hospital.
When we arrived in the hospital ER, I could not even see my baby. No one would give me any answers. They finally explained that Rowan’s organs were in severe failure, and they needed to cool her body down to slow it down and transport her to a hospital with a NICU for further tests. I was finally able to see Rowan when they wheeled her incubator into my room on her way to the ambulance which would transfer her. She looked so small, connected to so many tubes which were all that were keeping her alive. For a few moments, they opened the incubator so I could hold her cold, motionless hand.
My midwives tried to help me get my placenta out, but after the adrenaline of the situation and the ambulance transfer it may not have been possible. Apparently the OBs upstairs chose not to answer their calls and the ER guy actually asked the midwives if they could help. I was left bleeding in the ER for several hours, nearly passing out more than once. It was also during this time that the ER guy pulled off what was left of the umbilical cord and tossed it out with the rest of the waste, so we will never know exactly what the kink we saw was. It may have been caught when her head engaged, or been a kink that had gradually cut off her oxygen over the course of time, or even an aneurysm at some point. We will never know.
When an OB finally deigned to see me, I was put under full anesthesia for a D&C. When I came to in the recovery room, I choked on the oxygen they shoved into my throat raw from a breathing tube. Again, no one would answer my questions. The nurses would not even look me in the eye. I could not stand their looks of pity, when no one would tell me what was going on.
I was relieved to be greeted by a smiling nurse who brought me to my room and made me as comfortable as she could. I will never forget that nurse. As soon as I was settled into the room I was told that my husband needed to talk to me on the phone. He tried to explain to me what the doctors had said, but it basically meant that they were waiting for me to get there before they took our little Rowan off life support. He also asked if we should bring Griffin to the hospital, but at the time I did not see the point and thought it would scare him. The same kind nurse discovered that they could not send me because the other hospital was short staffed. She offered to drive there on her own to transfer with us so I would not have to wait any longer.
My mother rode in the ambulance with me, feeding me the chocolate chip oatmeal cookies she and my son had made when I first went in to labor. The same recipe we have made during each of my labors. I did not taste the cookies at all. The trip was slow as the bridges were blocked off for a bike race. The paramedic asked if they were waiting for me to make decisions about our baby and I said yes. I actually smiled when they used the sirens to pass the blocked traffic, even though we were not technically an emergency.
I finally arrived at the hospital where my baby was, but I still could not see her. They wheeled me into a postpartum room, complete with nursing gown hanging in the bathroom and large print of a father laying with his baby on his chest, much like the first picture we took of my husband when we came home with our son. I immediately asked them to take the picture down, and noticed that the next time we came back to the room it was gone.
Eventually I was wheeled into the NICU to see my daughter. My family was all there, gathered around our poor baby who lay motionless except for the small movement of her chest from the machines that kept her breathing. The doctor explained again, the second time for my husband and my father. Even if they could repair the damage to her body, at some point her oxygen was cut off too long, damaging her brain too severely for normal functioning.
Once the decision was made, I was wheeled back to my room to eat and rest. As we passed through the postpartum ward, I saw older children there to meet their new siblings. I suddenly realized how important it was for Griffin to come meet her. My sister had had a baby just 4 months before and he had been in the waiting room when her son was born. At three years old, he knew what was supposed to happen, and would be very confused if we just did not come home with a baby. But that is another story*.
When I returned to the NICU they wheeled me into a large closet to choose a handmade quilt to wrap Rowan in. That quilt, and the crocheted afghan she was wrapped in are some of the few things we were able to bring home to remember our baby. Looking through the pile of handmade quilts to choose a bright pink and green one for Rowan, I began to think of how Rowan’s short life could make a difference to other parents going through the same thing. As we prepared to say goodbye to our first born daughter, I was envisioning the Remembering Rowan Project*, donating blankets in her memory.
My husband and I got the chance to bathe our baby, wash her hair, and dress her in a simple white gown. My father played his harp, something beautiful for Rowan to experience during her short life. They removed the tubes pumping oxygen and medicine which was all that kept her body going. They had a large double rocking chair where we sat with Griffin to introduce him to his baby sister and explain why she was not coming home with us. Then he took a walk with his uncle while the rest of the family gathered together to each have a chance to hold her, kiss her, and say goodbye to our precious baby. Then the nurse took her vitals and recorded her time of death.
I had to stay overnight in the hospital after all of the blood loss. As they wheeled me back to my room, it felt so strange to leave our baby in the NICU knowing we would never see her again. They told us we could bring her back to the room with us, but that just seemed creepy. We had already said goodbye. It was only her body and holding it longer would not have brought me any comfort. I am not sure her spirit ever really inhabited that body. I have come to believe that there is a small spark that comes at the moment of birth, seems to me babies would get really bored in there for nine months. Call it the soul or the spirit or whatever. But I have to believe Rowan’s tiny spark just never connected, and instead she is everywhere, in everything.

* Read more about the Remembering Rowan Project and her other crafty ventures on Laurinda's Blog. She also wrote an essay on helping her three year old understand the loss of his sister.

A Lesson In Security

2010-08-03T14:05:00.000-07:00

When I was a freshman in high school, my grandpa died. And as a family we made the 12+ hour car trip to go to the funeral and be a part of the family.

We stayed at my grandma's house. My parents and brothers slept upstairs and I slept downstairs in the livingroom on the couch. One night I woke up to a guy rubbing my leg. Twice. I kicked him. Twice. And then I went upstairs to sleep with my parents.

Yes, as a freshman in high school, I went and slept with my parents. Why? Lots of reasons.

I knew the difference between good touch and bad touch. Not necessarily because I was "told" the difference, but because I grew up with good touch. Lots of it.

Also, I was obviously secure enough in my relationship with my parents that I could, even as a teenager, seek them out in the middle of the night in a strange house because something was wrong.

Why am I telling you this? Because it's important.

Recently one of my facebook friends asked how to get his five-month-old to sleep on his own. My response was that he shouldn't have to sleep on his own. Mom and dad are their children's security. And as they grow older, even if they aren't sleeping with you, you are still their security. And if the roots of security are there, your children, even as teenagers, will know even in the middle of the night in their grogginess that they can come to you if they need to. Period.

I taught high school for four years. Several times each year I had a girl come to me with a boy problem. It's just how it is. But of those several times, I remember a select few and their reactions when I said, "You know you dont' have to . . . " The stunned silence and then the anger that suddenly flooded her face made me cringe. I distinctly remember one storming out of the room, not mad at me, but mad. And another one responded with, "Why didn't anyone tell me that?!"

Things could have been so much different that night when I was sleeping in that livingroom. But I knew that I didn't have to.

No, we did not co-sleep with our parents, but their bed was not off limits. We were always close to our parents, physically and emotionally, and our needs were always met in a timely manner. We knew that we could count on them and it was as simple as that. We were their priority. They were our security.

Before we had children, my husband and I took a vacation and went to the coast for a week. I distinctly remember walking up a path behind a family with two girls who looked to be about age 10 and 13. Both of them were holding hands with their dad on the way up the trail. I remember thinking that is how I wanted it to be when we had our kids.

Now, watching our girls attack their daddy when he gets home and seeing them pile on him to read books every night, I know that they are getting their fill of appropriate touch. And to me, that is one fo the very best ways to build their security and protect them from the realities of this world. They are still little, yes. We do our best to keep them safe. But some day they won't be little any more. And when they are big, I want them to be able to come to us, even in the middle of the night, crawl in bed and feel safe.

Please don't push your children away. They need you. You are their security. They are your priority.

By Heidi Donnelly

Sometimes, we do not win.

2010-05-26T23:52:00.000-07:00

You can fight and be fierce and never surrender your power...and still not win. Sometimes they are stronger, sometimes they have power you do not. Sometimes, they take what is yours from you, without your consent. You still need to fight- we are counting on you. Your children, your partner, your self, are all counting on you. You can be loud, or quiet, you can fight actively or resist passively, whatever suits your heart and the situation.

Our world is one that does not respect the autonomy of women as mothers.

When we are pregnant, we are offered threats and fear tactics. We are not given evidence based health care.

When we are birthing, we are cut- more than 1 in 4 of us are cut. We are threatened with the lives of our babies. We are not given evidence based health care.

Some of us choose midwives, who are threatened by the medical system as well. Increasingly, they cannot provide evidence based care, when they must answer to the traditional standards of care provided by OB/GYNs.

Wishing to avoid those threats, some of us choose freebirth. We are threatened with the removal of our children from our homes. We are punished when we seek appropriate care from mainstream practitioners.

We try to breastfeed our babies- most of us do not succeed in breastfeeding them to recommendation. We struggle to receive proper care in a system that does not want us to nurse our babies.

If any of the above sound extreme, they are. Some of us have great experiences, others are raped, abused, punished, lied to. Some of us go home with no baby, victim of the infant mortality rates. Some of us do not go home, victim of the maternal mortality rates.

As long is it is happening to one, it is happening to us all. It is happening to us all. We need to fight- quietly or loudly, with the weapons we have at hand- the love for our children, our sisters, our friends, our selves.

Young Punks.

2010-05-05T22:42:00.000-07:00

Punk: A young person, especially a member of a rebellious counterculture group.

Anarchist: It seeks to diminish or even abolish authority in the conduct of human relations.

I am raising punks. Anarchist punks. 3 of them. Maybe more.

The alternative parenting bubble I live in seems to be mostly inhabited by 2 groups- punks (& other alternative types appropriate to the era during which they came of age) & conservative people devout to various religions. Seems like an odd convergence, but it really isn't. We all live outside the largely secular, conformist mainstream that encompasses most of North America. We all believe that mainstream society & culture has more potential to hurt our children than to help them grow safely. We all want better for our families & are finding better, more often than not, on the fringes of society.

The punk scene has always centred around questioning &/or rejecting authority, so it should come as no surprise that as they become parents, those in the counterculture will question & reject the norms around birth & parenting too. Hospital birth? Fuck that. Public school? Fuck that too. And fuck your vaccines, your processed garbage food and your behaviouralist parenting too.

Wow, I sound angry, don't I?! That's because I am. I am angry that in order to birth my babies safely, to feed them in a healthy way, to educate them in a way that respects their individuality, I have to say fuck so much. Really. I am angry that it is so much work. Why do I have to be fierce to protect my kids? You mean society won't do that for me? Hell no, they won't. It is up to me & their dad. So I choose to raise tiny little anarchist punks.

I don't make them share. I don't make them go to school. I don't make them eat junk food that will kill them before their time, making them sick on the way there. I don't subject them to public health policy that I am nowhere near convinced is in their best interest. I don't make them follow rules that don't make sense. I let them choose their own birth day.

I am teaching them to question authority. Yes, even mine. I certainly do say "Because I am your mama & I said so!!" more often than I ever intended to, but I also am ok with them standing up to me. I am fierce, I can get over that. We talk about how to be safe in the world, how to make their own choices & be responsible for those outcomes. I let them fall, cry, hurt. I help them get back up.

I am teaching them that the world is good, despite the negative aspects. I point out how many people love them, how we can always count on friends to be there for us. I make sure our door is always open & that there is always food & drink & friendship to share with anyone who shows up at it.

I am teaching them to rock out- to sing and scream and dance their joys & frustrations loudly enough that the heavens will hear them. I am teaching them to love art, music, the land, everything that holds beauty. I want them to trust the earth we stand on, the plants & animals & people that grow on it. I want them to travel, so they see that our culture, our political system, our way of being is not the only one.

I am teaching them to take care of themselves. To eat, sleep, make good food from scratch, to move their bodies as much as they need. I want them to care for their souls by having integrity. I want them to be intuitive, spiritual beings who know God. Whoever that is. I want them to love; themselves & others.

I want them to stand up, to speak up, when they see something wrong. I want them to say "shut up" when they hear bigotry, to say "fuck that" when they see violence. I want them to always be willing to help those being marginalised. I want them to know they are perfect beings worthy of everything good this life has to offer them. I want to empower them to take it if no one is giving that to them.

I am raising punks. Maybe you should too.

By Arie Brentnall-Compton

How Every Mother Can Improve the U.S. Maternal Mortality Rate

2010-04-23T09:07:00.000-07:00

Christine Sheets-Nutile

In January of this year, the Joint Commission issued an alert1 to U.S. hospitals which stated, “trends and evidence suggest that maternal mortality rates may be increasing in the U.S.” The national rate is currently three to five times GREATER than that of European countries.2 Unbelievably, a woman giving birth in the U.S. today has a greater risk of dying than a woman birthing in 40 other countries.2

The Commission (which is the leading health care accreditation and standards group in the United States) went on to state that between 28-50% of maternal deaths were PREVENTABLE. In fact, half of the most common errors were related to post-operative care following caesarean sections.1

Recent reports also show that, in the U.S.,3 rates of both labor induction and c-section are TWICE the World Health Organization’s recommendations.2 As we are seeing, these medical interventions (while common) are not without risk.

Labor induction typically involves the use of synthetic oxytocin. This artificial substitute interferes with a woman’s own oxytocin receptors and can lead to postpartum hemorrhaging, delayed or inhibited bonding with her newborn and difficulty establishing breastfeeding.4 A medically induced labor also significantly increases a woman's chances of having an unplanned c-section.5

The risk of a mother’s death after a c-section is more than three times greater than a mother who gave birth vaginally.6 Over a 10 year period, California had a 50% increase in c-sections AND a 50% increase in maternal mortality.7

A Climate of Coercion

The current mainstream birth culture in the U.S. is simply appalling. Pregnancy and birth are treated as a disease and acute trauma-waiting-to-happen. Many women are not given complete information about the birth process. More and more cases are being reported of maternity patients being coerced into submission; their basic human rights are ignored or even revoked through the courts.

Serious medical interventions are presented as a matter of course and focus exclusively on the expected benefits. Risks and adverse effects are usually not even acknowledged! The provider states whatever he or she believes will result in the mother's compliance with the provider’s desired course of action.8

According to “Evidence-Based Maternity Care” (Sakala and Corry), a truly informed choice “requires access to a range of options, good understanding of best evidence about benefits and harms of offered care and of alternatives and solid support for the choices women make.” This rarely occurs among U.S. maternity patients. 4

In a 2009 interview, Dr. Debra Bingham, Executive Director for the California Maternal Quality Care Collaborative and a member of a Maternal Mortality Review Committee, told Amnesty International that the process of gaining an obstetric patient’s consent is highly variable and can depend on who provides information, what information is shared, and how that information is presented to a pregnant woman. “For example, someone who will benefit financially from the woman’s decision may provide information differently than someone who is not financially affected by her decision. Currently, there is limited documentation on what information is shared, how and by whom.”9

Astonishingly, this behavior is not limited to maternal care providers for disadvantaged, low-income or uneducated women. Time and time again, I’ve seen high-powered, confident, educated women become completely submissive. They forgo asking questions and just trust their doctors to make decisions for them, and then accept whatever course of treatment may result.

The Alternative Birth Movement (or What’s “Normal” for the Rest of the World)

83% of women in the U.S. have low-risk pregnancies.10 In most countries, these low-risk women would receive their maternal care from midwives or family practice physicians and often give birth at home. Outside of the U.S., the goal is to minimize risks and maximize good outcomes for mothers and babies, rather than maximize income for a provider and facility. So most obstetricians limit their practice to treating women with high-risk pregnancies and those who develop unexpected complications.11 Ironically, many OB’s in the U.S. no longer have the aptitude or knowledge possessed by their predecessors for such uncommon procedures as: external version to manually turn a baby, vaginal breech birth or vaginal birth of twins.4

It’s interesting to note that groups of maternal care providers identify their roles very differently. OB’s feel it is their responsibility to actively manage childbirth. Midwives and other physicians perceive their function to be facilitators in the birthing process.12 This fundamental distinction is evidenced in the care and treatment of their patients: 4 Midwives possess more hands-on skills and are better able to support a woman in labor and assist her during birth than OB’s; midwives use medical intervention more judiciously than OB’s; and midwives understand that a woman’s individual mind-set, desires and personal history play an important part in her birth, while OB’s deny these influences. 12

In low risk situations, intervention can, in fact, actually impede the birthing process and create those life or death situations that doctors claim to be trying to avoid. Despite their lengthy and expensive educations, far too many U.S. care providers have little or NO experience in observing a normal, natural birth. Therefore, they have no idea what a normal birth looks like, much less what a woman in that situation may need.

Not surprisingly, across the nation, low-risk women and their babies have better outcomes when attended by a midwife, rather than an OB.4, 8

Loss of Faith, Rise of Fear

In contrast to the rest of the world, almost all pregnant women in the U.S. choose to receive their care from an OB and give birth in a hospital. When it's truly needed, medical intervention can, of course, mean the difference between life and death.

But women’s bodies are designed to give birth -- without any interference! It’s only been in the past 100 years13, that birth was appropriated from women and transformed into a paternalistic, medical, mechanized event.14 As such, women lost the knowledge that comes from witnessing and assisting their mothers and sisters give birth. And women lost faith in their bodies’ innate abilities.

Today’s mother-to-be has probably heard more birth-related horror stories than she can count. From the time she was a young girl, she may have heard her mother, her aunts, and even her friends discuss childbirth as a painful, frightening injury. Unfortunately, these misconceptions are perpetuated and reinforced through popular culture of television and movies. In reality, a normal birth wouldn’t bring in big ratings or box-office dollars.

Follow the Money

The U.S. spends more on health care than any other country.15 And more money is spent on maternal health than ANY other form of hospital care.8 Unfortunately, the majority of OB policies, routine procedures and official recommendations are woefully out of date in regards to evidence-based care.4

Outside of the U.S., hospitals typically have a variety of low-tech equipment to aid a woman giving birth – tubs, birthing balls, robes, birthing stools, squatting bars, etc. Any of these can help make birth safer and more comfortable. Unfortunately, very few U.S. hospitals can offer anything besides pharmaceuticals. For the hospital administrator, a birth free of medical interventions is a lost billing opportunity.11

The vast majority of births do NOT require any intervention; but 50-80% of births in U.S. hospitals have AT LEAST one. In reality, any one of these procedures is truly medically necessary in fewer than 20% of all births.8 Ergo between 30-60% of women giving birth in U.S. hospitals are having unnecessary medical procedures performed upon them! But, necessary or not, all of these medical procedures and interventions allow physicians to maximize their billing opportunities.11

In some parts of the country, it’s extremely difficult to find a provider willing to intervene ONLY when truly medically necessary -- especially if the woman has had a previous c-section. Fewer and fewer facilities are willing to accept VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean) patients.

After years of increased c-sections, most hospitals have reconfigured their maternity units to accommodate more surgical deliveries: more services scheduled during weekday hours, and more post partum beds – needed for the longer stays required after c-sections. These changes required costly capital investments. Now administrators need to see a return on those investments. So it’s not surprising that hospital policies reflect the facility’s increased dependence on the revenue generated by c-sections. After all, a c-section brings in TWICE the revenue of a vaginal birth.4 A surgical birth is also easier on the doctor. It takes less time and is much more predictable than a normal labor and delivery.

For years, the medical establishment has been working to limit birthing options. They've fought against birthing centers, homebirth, midwives, even against their own accountability.

Many believe that they’re more interested in protecting their revenues than improving outcomes for our mothers and babies.11

Rather than abolishing choices, vilifying alternatives and criminalizing their competition, I'd prefer to see them working for other, more worthy goals – such as educating their patients, encouraging normal/natural births and working with facilities to update protocols to reflect evidence-based medicine, all of which will ultimately reduce maternal mortality.

Until then, it’s up to us to change the birth culture!

Improve Your Own Chances of Survival

If you are pregnant or planning to become pregnant:

* Examine your pre-conceived ideas on birth. How were these formed? From stories of women of previous generations? From fictional or sensationalized movies and tv shows? YouTube is awash with amazing, joyous videos of women experiencing normal, natural births. Use these to visualize the kind of birth YOU want.

* Take responsibility for your own education on birth! While pregnant, you have months to prepare and can seek out accurate, complete information. Labor is a time of extreme, internal focus. It would be difficult to absorb and comprehend a significant amount of new information. So preparation is key, in case you need to make decisions quickly. Research common interventions such as: ultrasounds, fetal monitoring, induction of labor, epidurals, extractions and c-sections. Learn the risks and what factors determine when each may truly become necessary. Insist that your provider obtain informed consent for each procedure.

* Read books on natural birthing options. Consider alternatives to the standard OB-attended hospital birth. Choosing a high-tech OB at a high-tech hospital doesn’t guarantee you a safe birth. But it WILL increase your risk for high-tech interventions which may or may not be medically necessary.16 Certified Nurse Midwives (CNM’s) are licensed in all 50 states and can attend births in hospitals, birth centers or even your home. Don’t be afraid to make an unusual choice when it comes to what’s best for you and your baby!

* Don’t choose your provider or facility simply based on location or insurance coverage. Seek out like-minded mothers and local doulas and get their recommendations.

* Schedule a consultation with potential providers before committing to one. Get their rates of various interventions – fetal monitoring, inductions, episiotomies, forcep delivery, vacuum extraction and c-sections. Ask how much freedom you’ll have during labor – particularly on movement, eating/drinking and positioning for birth. Are there limitations on who is allowed to attend your birth? If they’re anything less than forthcoming with these answers, find another provider. Tour the facility. Ask questions there as well, specifically regarding their procedures for newborn care, policies on rooming-in and breastfeeding support.

* Listen to your instincts. More women are educating themselves and seeking providers based on their shared philosophies of birth. Unfortunately, medical professionals can also offer the all too familiar “bait-and-switch.” The provider will agree with everything the mother-to-be wants for her birth throughout her pregnancy, but has NO intention of letting the birth happen on those terms. Shockingly, some will even go out of their way to make SURE it doesn’t, regardless of what’s in the best interest of the mother and her baby. So if you have any reservations about your provider or facility, especially if you feel they are patronizing you, don’t be afraid to make a change – no matter how far along you are.

* Surround yourself with others who have had intervention-free births. Listen to their stories. Ignore those who tell you that you won’t be able to handle it.

* Take a childbirth class, preferably one OUTSIDE of a hospital setting. (Too often, classes hosted by the hospital are more about “How to Be a Good Patient.”) Bradley and Hypnobirthing are excellent choices.

* Choose your labor support team wisely. While your partner, family members and friends may want to be present at the birth, consider hiring a doula. She can provide physical and emotional support throughout your pregnancy, birth and post-partum period. She is knowledgeable about the process of birth, familiar with area providers and facilities and can facilitate communication with staff to help you make informed decisions. A woman in labor is vulnerable – both physically and emotionally. A doula can help protect your space and your choices.

Empower yourself to have the birth YOU desire! Birth is a business. As more mothers demand normal, natural births, providers and facilities will be forced to adapt to attract consumers. Reducing unnecessary interventions will lead to healthier mothers and babies!

Christine Sheets Nutile is a mother of three. She was supported by a doula and used Hypnobirthing for each of her midwife-attended hospital births. She is the co-founder of an Attachment Parenting group in the south suburbs of Chicago. She is also an advocate for natural childbirth, breastfeeding, babywearing and home education.

REFERENCES

1 The Joint Commission, Sentinel Event Alert, Issue 44 from January 26, 2010, “Preventing Maternal Death”; available at http://www.jointcommission.org/SentinelEvents/SentinelEventAlert/sea_44.htm

2 WHO, UNICEF and Wellstart International, “Baby-friendly Hospital Initiative: Revised, Updated and Expanded for Integrated Care”, 2009; available at http://www.who.int/nutrition/publications/infantfeeding/9789241594967_s1/en/index.html

3 J. A. Martin et al, Centers for Disease Control, Births: “Final Data for 2006”;

National Vital Statistics Reports, Volume 57, Number 7, from January 7, 2009; available at http://www.cdc.gov/nchs/data/nvsr/nvsr57/nvsr57_07.pdf

4 C. Sakala and M. P. Corry, “Evidence-Based Maternity Care: What It Is and What It Can Achieve,” Childbirth Connection and the Reforming States Group, 2008, pages 37, 47, 62-67; available at http://www.childbirthconnection.org/pdfs/evidence-based-maternity-care.pdf

5 K. E. Kaufman, “Elective Induction: An Analysis of Economic and Health Consequences”.

6 C. Deneux-Tharaux et al, “Postpartum Maternal Mortality and Cesarean Delivery”, Obstetrics & Gynecology, Volume 108, Number 3, Part 1, September 2006; available at

http://www.acog.org/from_home/publications/green_journal/2006/v108n3p541.pdf and

J. Villar et al, “Maternal and Neonatal Individual Risks and Benefits Associated with Caesarean Delivery: Multicentre Prospective Study”, BMJ, 2007; 335; 1025; page 5; available at

http://www.bmj.com/cgi/reprint/335/7628/1025?maxtoshow=&HITS=10&hits=10&RESULTFORMAT=&fulltext=Caesarean+delivery+rates&searchid=1&FIRSTINDEX=0&resourcetype=HWCIT

7 California Maternal Quality Care Collaborative, www.cmqcc.org/maternal_mortality and www.cmqcc.org/maternal_disparities

8 R.M. Andrews, “The National Hospital Bill: The Most Expensive Conditions by

Payer, 2006”, Healthcare Cost and Utilization Project, Statistical Brief 59, 2008, page 7;

available at http://www.hcup-us.ahrq.gov/reports/statbriefs/sb59.pdf
9 Amnesty International Publications, “Deadly Delivery: The Maternal Health Care Crisis in the USA”, 2010, page 1 and 79, available at http://www.amnestyusa.org/dignity/pdf/DeadlyDelivery.pdf

10 National Center for Health Statistics. 2006. 2003 Natality Data Set. SETS 2.0, Rev. 805. Vital and Health Statistics. CD-ROM Series 21, Number 17, May.

11 S. Goodman, “Piercing the Veil: The Marginalization of Midwives in the United

States”, Social Science & Medicine, 65, 2007, pp. 610–21; available at

http://www.collegeofmidwives.org/Citations%20or%20text%2002/Marginalizing_NurseMfry_May07.pdf

12 B Reime et al, “Do Maternity Care Provider Groups Have Different Attitudes Towards Birth?” BJOG: An International Journal of Obstetrics & Gynaecology, Volume 111, Issue 12, Pages 1388-1393; available at http://www3.interscience.wiley.com/cgi-bin/fulltext/118813477/HTMLSTART

13 Y. Lapp Cryns, “Homebirth: As Safe as Birth Gets” The Compleat Mother Magazine 1995; available at http://www.compleatmother.com/homebirth/hb_safety.htm
14 J.J. Mathews and K. Zadak, “The Alternative Birth Movement in the United States: History and Current Status”, Women Health, 1991, Volume 17, Number 1, Page 39; available at http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/2048321

15 Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, OECD Health Data 2009–

Frequently Requested Data; available at http://www.oecd.org/document/16/0,3343,en_2649_33929_2085200_1_1_1_1,00.html

16 M. Wagner, “Technology in Birth: First Do No Harm”, Midwifery Today, 2000;

available at http://www.midwiferytoday.com/articles/technologyinbirth.asp#sources

An Essay on Circumcision

2010-03-30T21:48:00.000-07:00

Making recent provincial and international headlines, the topic of male infant circumcision (herein referred to as MIC), brought up in any forum, is considered by some one of the most controversial debates of the century, with personal views ranging from dead set against it to why wouldn’t you. Many say it is a personal decision, but people are now asking whose decision is it: the boy’s or his parents’? According to a Men’s Health article, MIC became popular in the late 1800s after Lewis Sayre, MD claimed it could cure many diseases including epilepsy and TB; MIC soon became routine after John Harvey Kellogg, MD stated it was a successful remedy for masturbation, considered a major problem in those days.

There are many arguments for leaving a baby boy intact and here are four of the most common. First, MIC is a surgery, even though it is routinely done without sedation or local anaesthetic, with surgical side effects including bleeding and severe pain and surgical risks such as infection, various types of deformities and dysfunctions of the penis, and of course, death. Second, MIC frequently interferes with mother-child bonding and early breastfeeding. Third, recent studies, including Taddio’s, have shown it has detrimental effects of the developing brain and alters pain perception, decreasing pain thresholds in circumcised males. Finally, in later life, MIC causes significantly reduced sexual pleasure.

The four of the most common arguments for MIC are as follow. First, religious reasons including the covenant between Abraham and his descendants and God as written in Genesis 17:10-14 are often cited. Second, there are generations-old family traditions where boys are circumcised and the decision is not questioned as to why. Third, there is a belief that MIC results in decreased urinary tract infections, sexually transmitted infections including HIV and penile cancer, which has recently been disproved by newer studies. Finally, there is the thought that if done early enough in life the boy will not feel the pain or remember the procedure.

More and more research is coming out, or becoming public, about circumcision. Since 1975, the Canadian Association of Paediatricians has recommended against routine circumcision. Their US counterpart had taken a lighter approach until 1999 when they too, began recommending against routine MIC. According to the Canadian Paediatric Society's statement on circumcision in 1975 (and restated in 1982, 1989 and again in 1996), there is no medical indication for circumcision during the neonatal period.

Most of the commonly known reasons for routine circumcision are misunderstood or blown out of proportion. For example, the rate of UTI (urinary tract infection) for an intact baby boy is about 7/1000 and for a circumcised baby is about 2/1000. BUT, the rate of complication from the circumcision surgery is 20-30/1000 with 2-3/1000 being serious complications. Approximately 10/1000 circumcised babies need to have the surgery repeated in later life and only 10/1000 intact boys need to be circumcised in later life.

There is also a belief that the boy should look like his peers, but according to recent studies, Canada has a 31.9% circumcision rate, meaning 68.9% of new baby boys are intact. Currently, Alberta is the highest province with approximately 44% circumcised and Nova Scotia is the lowest with only 6%.
One cannot forget that foreskin has a purpose. It is designed to protect the glans, keeping it soft, moist and warm; it protects the boy from UTIs; it provides the extra skin needed for an erection; it reduces friction during sex and it maintains sexual sensitivity. Every circumcised male experiences an estimated 15% decrease in sexual sensitivity.

I am so glad that I am cheap and questioned getting my son circumcised because it cost so much (almost $400 is Alberta after doctors fee and tray fee). This led me to start researching why they charge for it, and, in turn, led me to question it in general. I have found that circumcision is one subject that the more I read and learn, the more against it I become. Therefore, yes, I am very pro-intact, anticircumcision. I intentionally did not use the word uncircumcised in any of my writing because that makes it sound like circumcision is the norm, which it is not. I also had a little difficulty getting in the opposing arguments, because some are no longer backed by fact and I do not want somebody to believe that some of the old arguments are valid.

While this debate rages on, more research is being done in hopes of ending the controversy. In the meantime, many are choosing to delay the procedure until the boy can decide for himself.

Jenkins, Mark. Separated at Birth. Men’s Health, July/August 1998, pages 130-135,163
Taddio, A. et al. Effect of neonatal circumcision on pain responses during vaccination in boys. The Lancet Volume 345, Number 8945: Pages 291-292, 4 February 1995.
Taddio, A. et al. Effect of neonatal circumcision on pain response during subsequent routine vaccination The Lancet, Volume 349, Number 9052: Pages 599-603, March 1, 1997.
Canadian Paediatric Society’s webpage: www.cps.ca
American Paediatric Society’s webpage: www.aap.org
Peaceful Parenting’s webpage: www.drmomma.org,
Circumcision Information and Research Pages: www.cirp.org

By Alicia Farvolden

The Start of a Food Revolution

2010-03-28T20:37:00.000-07:00

I watched Jamie Oliver's show "Food revolution" on TV the other night. I was shocked and horrified, but frankly not very surprised. Watching the show (and if you haven't yet you should) really made me think about how we (as a culture) feel about our food and what we know about our food. I wasn't at all surprised that the lunch ladies didn't feel that there was anything wrong with serving the kiddos processed chicken nuggets, and when Jamie asked them to read the list of ingredients on the package, the were not at all concerned about the paragraph of ingredients with unpronouncable names. "The first ingredient is chicken, it's fine". One lady said that if it wasn't ok to eat, the government wouldn't serve it to us right? Right.

This is what got me going. We expect the government to stand up for us little guys and protect us from the big bad corporations, but what we are expecting isn't reality. This is just not happening. AT ALL. Not in North America. We are all fools if we sit idly by and expect the government to save us from making choices that are killing us. In the food biz it may be hard to get at good information about the real value of what we are eating, but it is out there. We need to be responsible to ourselves and our families about what we put in our mouths. When we get this information we need to shout it from the roof tops.

This is the challenge. This is what Jamie is trying to do, and this is what I want you to do too. It might be hard, and we might feel regretful or even guilty examining some of the choices we have made in the past, but I feel like this is very necessary because we are KILLING ourselves and our children, and we should be FIGHTING for their health.

"I believe that every child in America has the right to fresh, nutritious school meals, and that every family deserves real, honest, wholesome food. Too many people are being affected by what they eat. It's time for a national revolution. America needs to stand up for better food!" - Jamie Oliver

Makes you think doesn't it? I love that Jamie is starting in the schools, and educating the children who don't even know what a potato is. I myself, being of a certain lactivist bent, wonder if we don't need to address the fact that this lack of real wholesome food starts with babies, how we feed them and how we feel about how we feed them.

So now I'm gonna start shouting. You may want to cover your ears, because it might hurt, but I feel that this is really vitally important.

We cannot ignore the connection between starting our children's lives on ultra processed food from a can and the growing inability to recognize healthy natural foods. A quick google search reveals over 300 referenced journal articles citing the increased risk of obesity associated with feeding artificial baby milks. One meta study published in the International Journal of Obesity finds a conclusive risk of obesity associated with not breastfeeding.

Another thing to consider is that breastmilk changes in taste, dependent on the mother's diet. So a normally fed baby experiences different flavors with each feed, while an artificially fed baby tastes the same processed mixture day after day. Consider the impact of sensitizing our children in this way from birth. It makes sense to me that if we start them off with mass produced unhealthy food from a can, children will have little or no choice to continue their life in this way. Especially if you consider how we feel about it.

"Formula is the same as breast milk" (or the next best thing)

"I was fed that way and I turned out fine." (with your glasses, obesity and asthma?)

It's terrifying to consider that our inability to feed our children NORMALLY as infant translates to an inability for them to eat normally as children. We do need to consider this, so that we can grieve, give our heads a shake and start to shout. Join me.

Lee-Ann Grenier

Hospital Birth?

2010-03-22T17:36:00.000-07:00

Just yesterday I was talking to a mom just for a couple minutes. Somehow the conversation turned to childbirth and she said her first baby was an emergency c-section. Her second was a c-section, too. I said something like, "You know you can have a natural birth after a c-section." She got this look of disgust and said, "I know, but I didn't find out until after my second, and then they told me no way." I haven't known this mom for very long, but her story is so familiar. A mom who was told she couldn't have something that she wanted for herself and her baby and felt she had no choice otherwise.

I have avoided for the most part being a mom with that story. Sometimes I think it's luck, but then I consider the decisions I've made along the way that have led to three beautiful, perfect, and natural labor and delivery stories. The decisions seemed small at the time, but in the end, they were of great magnitude. And I'm convinced that most of it had to do with the professionals I chose to help me along the way. I'm also convinced that knowing what I didn't want and listening to my gut also played key roles in my experiences.

I chose to have my babies in the hospital. I chose this because I was confident that I could do it on my terms. The midwife I was seeing for my first baby (the third one I had seen in my first few months of pregnancy because I just wasn't comfortable with the first two) was very supportive of my choices and even advocated for me when the OB wanted to induce me because I was overdue. I called my mom crying when we were told we would need to report to the hospital the next morning for an induction, even after the NST had shown everything was normal. My husband was furious because the OB hadn't even seen me. I resolved that if they felt that strongly about inducing me, they were going to have to come find me with sirens and flashing lights. Then my midwife called me and said, no, we had a plan and she would see me on Tuesday for our appointment.

But I didn't make it on Tuesday. Contractions started early Monday morning and after 11 ½ hours of un-medicated labor, we met our beautiful, perfect little girl. She showed no signs of being nearly two weeks overdue and nursed like a champ from the very beginning. My husband commented that I was much more pleasant while I was in labor than I had been in the weeks leading up to it. And even minutes after our baby girl was born, I remember saying, "I could do that again." (I had to laugh because when I got my charts a few years later, the mother/baby nurse had written that I was confident in my ability to nurse my baby, "maybe too confident?" I nursed that baby without any trouble for 22 months, as well as every baby after that.)

After our first was born, I was honored to be asked to be a friend's birth partner. I went to all the birth classes with her and I remember sitting there thinking that there was so much this nurse was not telling these new parents. I'll never forget the look on her face when I announced that if you are the pregnant woman, you still have a say in what they do to you, whether it's induce you or simply what drugs they put in your body or the tests they want you to take. And the same went for your baby. You can ask questions, ask them to wait, or just plain say no. The nurse was horrified. And I was equally as horrified at how horrified she was. It was like she was going to lose the control she had over that class because I had just told them they had choices.

Two years later, I was pregnant again. And my midwife was fantastic enough to write in my chart that I didn't need a hep-lock during labor (the first time it was just in the way) and that after the baby was born I didn't need pitocin to shrink my uterus since I planned to nurse my newborn. When we checked in, the triage nurse was pretty set on poking me. But after I insisted, she left, came back and announced it was okay. Thank you, midwife, for writing it in my chart.

This time I was in labor for 6 ½ hours before our second beautiful and perfect baby girl was born. During labor everyone was so nice and helpful making it a beautiful experience. My husband was again amazed at how pleasant I was during labor. He was a big advocate and super support during the whole process. And everyone just went with it because it was going so well. I remember at one point feeling as if I was stalling out, and I looked up to see the midwife just sitting in the rocking chair waiting so patiently. Then my water broke and we had a baby soon after that.

By the time I was pregnant with baby number three, our insurance had changed and I needed to find a new provider. I asked around and heard the name of one OB from several people. So I set an appointment and made my list of "I needs". At the first appointment I rattled my list off and he looked at me, smiled a goofy smile and said, "You sound like my wife." I could have hugged him.

My new OB was my best advocate and wrote everything in my chart. Everything from not poking me to my request for the placenta. He approved of all my requests, including the fact that I didn't want to take the glucose test, and I am forever thankful for him.

When I did go into labor and went to the hospital, the nurse looked at me kind of sideways when I told her I didn't want the hep-lock. Then I said, "I'm not a hysterical woman in labor. You can poke me later if you need to." I could tell she was somewhat confused by my statement, but as labor progressed, she was quite verbal with her observations of how the whole experience was unfolding. No, I wasn't hysterical (she actually wrote in my chart that I was "very pleasant") and my husband was super supportive and helpful. I've come to learn that all of these things are very rare in that hospital.

In the end, I went from 7 centimeters to my water breaking in two contractions. The next contraction the baby crowned, and the next contraction she was born-less than four hours after active labor had started. And the nurse who was originally hesitant about my requests got to catch my baby. She was thrilled.

My OB missed it by twenty minutes. I had to giggle when he walked in. "You know," he said with that same goofy grin he had given me at the beginning, "ninety percent of women can give birth at home."

After my baby was born, we suddenly had a room full of people busily doing what they were supposed to do. But one of them was pushing on my tummy in a not-so-gentle manner. Someone must have noticed because my baby's nurse came up to me after that nurse had left and said very gently, "I think I'll just be your nurse, too." I don't know what went down, but I didn't see the not-so-gentle nurse again. And I was thankful for it.

I had caused quite a stir in the birth unit. I got all sorts of questions about what I was going to do with the placenta, questions about babywearing, and comments on how labor and delivery went. Our delivery nurse was so thrilled to be a part of our experience, and I think she was talking to everyone about it. (Three days later when we came in for a post-partum baby and mommy check, they were still talking about us. We also have a picture of baby #3 with the nurse.) They let me walk to the recovery room and even when we were on our way home, they let me wear our baby out the door in my wrap rather than carry her or have her in the car seat, even though they weren't supposed to. I think they liked us.

I'm not saying everyone should have their baby in the hospital. I'm not against birth centers or home birth. What I am saying is that if you know what you want (or at least you know what you don't want), if you are a little picky, a little insistent, and you find the right people, (and you are nice about it in the mean time) chances are that you can have a really great experience giving birth in a hospital if that's where you choose to be. You should not have guilt for changing providers when you are uncomfortable. Yes, there are pregnancies that need special care due to special circumstances, but even then you can insist on what you deem your best educated choice is. And good providers will help and support you along the way and not make you feel that you are a crazy person.

By Heidi Donnelly

For International Women's Day: Advocacy vs Encouragement

2010-03-08T12:07:00.000-08:00

I am still stunned by many of the comments in response to last week's Let Your Feet Do The Shopping. While many understood the point of Lee-Ann's post, others did not. There seems to be a strong feeling among some lactivists that anything other than gentle persuasion will only harm the cause of breastfeeding. At an individual, mother to mother level, I agree.

BUT...at an activist, changing public perception & policy level, I call bullshit.

Why are we more concerned about the feelings of one store owner who behaved horribly & freaked out than about the feelings of the mothers (dozens? hundreds?)for whom the formula freebies will destroy their breastfeeding relationships? Why are we not raging that a store owner is unknowingly (I give her the benefit of the doubt with this) endangering the lives & health of infants with her freebie? Why do some defend her, instead of getting angry?

2 reasons.

First, because they are concerned about creating change at the individual level. From that perspective, clearly, the battle of the store owner has been lost. More on that concept later.

Second, because deep deep down, most do not really believe that infant formula & the marketing thereof is dangerous. Yes, yes, yes, of course: Breastmilk is best (it isn't. Not even close. It is in fact just normal.), but formula is just fine, really.

If you are harbouring that notion, deep down, let me disavow you of it.

2 things.

Babies are born expecting to be breastfed. If they aren't, they will not develop as they were supposed to. Period. That translates to a 30% increased risk of death (yes, in North America!) when babies are not breastfed. This is in addition to the myriad health problems caused that do not result in death.

Second, infant formula is a consumer product that is at risk of contamination, misproduction, etc, etc etc. Google formula recall if you don't believe me. So babies can be harmed by the not breastfeeding &/or by the formula itself.

Back to idea of change at the individual level.

We need to differentiate between offering dialogue to individual mothers about breastfeeding & large scale activism.

Large scale activism is what Fierce Mamas is engaged in. We want to effect change with public policy & perception both. We believe that only once that has taken place will individuals understand why, even if they have chosen to not breastfeed, it must be supported as policy.

Before I go farther, I want to point out that as individuals, the 3 major contributors to Fierce Mamas are all professionally supporting breastfeeding mothers. We have a total of more than 20 years between us, providing counselling , information & support to thousands in a variety of capacities. We know of what we speak, here.

Large scale activism. What does that mean? It means getting angry, it means forcing political & perceptual change until breastfeeding as a public health initiative is seen in the same light as similar public health concerns. Smoking & seat belt laws are 2 great examples of this, as delved into in The Problem With Breastfeeding by James Akre.

A current example I can think of is with the idea of extended rear facing toddlers in carseats. Study after study has clearly established that toddlers are 5 times safer rear facing in their carseats. Europeans have long known this & seats there are designed for it. Well respected bodies, such as the AAP, recently made recommendations to that effect. Law moves slower than science, though, so in most (if not all) North American jurisdictions, the law is still stuck at requiring rear facing only to 1 year of age.

Those of us early adopters have long kept our children rear facing, going out of our way to track down the few seats with high enough weight limits to allow the practice.
We post the research & recommendations on Facebook, telling everyone we know about the dangers to their children.

It stuns me to see how many responses to those posts can be negative!! "Why are we infantilising toddlers?" "I turned mine forward at a year & they are fine." "If it is so important, why isn't it law?"

The law moves slower than the science.

What moves the law??

We do. Activists, lobbyists, angry people screaming from the rooftops. Protest, in all its forms. Policy does not change unless we demand it so. Perception does not change unless it becomes socially important to agree with the new line of thinking. Both of those concepts require us to speak out.

So we will keep respectfully, kindly & thoughtfully supporting women who do & do not breastfeed. Everyone deserves that consideration & respect.

And we will keep protesting those practices which hurt women & children, especially today, on International Women's Day.

By Arie Brentnall-Compton.

"The fastest way to change society is to mobilize the women of the world."
-Charles Malik

"Well behaved women rarely make history" -Eleanor Roosevelt

"Nobody can make you feel inferior without your permission." -Eleanor Roosevelt

"Women are the real architects of society." -Harriet Beecher Stowe

A Breastfeeding Story- with hyperemesis & pregnancy thrown in!

2010-03-08T10:05:00.000-08:00

I discovered I was pregnant in January 2004, while I was off work for refusing the flu shot. Shortly after finding out I became very nauseous and vomitted several times a day. I couldn't hold ANYTHING down. As the weeks went by I became more and more sick. I had to go to the ER and was diagnosed with hyperemesis gaviduim. I was given Diclectin. I had to keep increasing until I was taking more than 10 a day. I was sick for seven months.

Then....on my due date I was watching my favourite show, Coronation Street (at 10am), and thought I felt contractions....they felt different than the Braxton Hicks I had experienced for weeks. They increased in intensity and at about 5pm we got ready to meet the midwife at the hospital.

I did not like being poked and proded by the staff at the hospital, including a lab tech coming into the bathroom to take my blood! No privacy. I had to push for a long long time....but at 10:52pm my daughter was born! I don't remember her nursing the first time...the midwife helped her latch on.

Once home she would latch on and fall asleep. On day three my milk came in. I was SO engorged. OUCH. I had overactive letdown and a tonne of milk. My daughter would latch on until letdown and then.....come off screaming....and milk would spray everywhere. Although I had more than enough milk....she lost more than the desired amount of weight in the first week. I was discouraged..some nursing sessions would last an hour, with a lot of screaming from my baby. My midwife was patient and very dedicated to breastfeeding. She suggested block feeding. She would still pull off screaming. So I would pump for 30 seconds and then stop when I let down, letting the milk spray into a towel, then latched on my baby. Sometimes it helped sometimes it didn't. I also fed her breastmilk with a spoon, which she lapped up like a kitten. My midwife gave me a lot of support and encouragement. It took a month of spoon feeding, pumping until letdown and trying to latch to finally start breastfeeding with ease.

When my daughter was almost two, I became pregnant again. I once again had to deal with hyperemesis. I took mega doses of Diclectin again, and was followed by a researcher at Motherisk. They knew I was still nursing and encouraged it. Because of being sick non stop I let my two year nurse alot. And we cuddled alot.

She came to midwives appointments with me and got to check the baby's heartbeat etc. One visit she told the midwife that she knew that mommies scream the babies out!

Two weeks before my due date I went into labour with my second daugther. It was fast and very intense....just over two hours of really active labour. I had a rather unplanned homebirth that was absolutely fantastic! I nursed after and got up to pee and the midwives made my bed for me and I cuddled back in bed with my baby. About four hours after my second baby was born, my first daughter came in the room and said "LOOK SOMEONE BRINGED US A BABY!!!"

I was surprised that when my milk came in my older daughter gave up solid foods totally and nursed with her new sister. Her poop went back to newborn poop. I mentioned this to my midwife and she assured me that she would thrive and that she would eventually go back to solids. And she did.

Most of the time I enjoyed nursing, but....I did get frustrated and said to my older daughter once...why do you like boobie milk so much? She looked at me and said "Mommy, because it tastes like love". That was the answer that made it worth it.

My two girls tandem nursed for just over a year. Then one day my daughter nursed before bed, sat up and said "Mommy this is the very last time I am going to have boobie milk." And it was. Just like that. I let her decide how to celebrate...she picked making chocolate covered strawberries! YUMMY.

I am still nursing her little sister, and have to admit that I am not looking forward to her telling me she is done.....because that will be the end of nursing for me...which makes me a little sad.

By Jen Paisley

Let Your Feet Do the Shopping

2010-03-02T22:28:00.000-08:00

I am still so mad that this is hard to write, so bear with me if I get a little ranty. Our family tries really hard to match our values and our spending dollars. Usually this happens quietly; no one might know why I choose one store over another, one brand over the next. Today I had the opportunity to really put my money where my heart was, but it was harder than I had ever expected.

In the small city that I live in there is one locally owned shop that caters to pregnant moms and children. They sell maternity wear, slings, kids’ clothes and shoes. The store is locally owned and has good quality (albeit pricey) stuff. I went in today to get both of my kids some new shoes and see what was on sale.

We shopped for over an hour and found what we needed, plus a little more. I went with the store owner to the till to pay, and noticed a little handwritten sign on the shelf above the till that read “Ask about free samples”. So I did. The owner told me that it was “just cans of Similac, though my little ones couldn’t tolerate it, and a tote bag for the hospital.” With a closer look I noticed that the sign was obscuring a box labeled “seventh month pregnancy pack” with the Ross-Abbott logo on it.

I asked the owner if she knew that handing out free formula samples undermines breastfeeding. She was immediately confrontational, and heatedly told me that she couldn’t breast feed “not a drop” and that it was a choice, and I shouldn’t shove breastfeeding down everyone’s throats. Excuse me?? I blinked and gulped as she continued to ring up my purchase. I jumped right in to the argument, because this formula feeding as choice thing really gets me riled up. IT’S NOT A CHOICE, IT’S A HEALTH DECISION. A choice that should be made with the help of a qualified medical professional, when the mother has been told the full risks of using artificial baby milk.

I told her how a formula fed baby in North America is FIVE time more likely to die in the first five years of life, than its breastfed counterpart. She countered with the “not everyone can breastfeed, I couldn’t”. I told her that I was very sorry that she didn’t have access to good breastfeeding help and a milk bank. And she again accused me of shoving breastfeeding down “everyone’s throat”.

I wanted to throw my purchases on the counter, demand my money back and walk out in a sanctimonious huff. I didn’t though, as I figured that I wouldn’t be able to calmly explain to my kids why Mommy wasn’t buying their nice new stuff. So I walked out of the store, and put my kids in the car. Then I told them what had happened, and how I thought that we should return the stuff and not shop there anymore. My six year-old was surprisingly understanding. He said “I don’t understand why a clothes store needs to give away bottle milk. Don’t they know it hurts babies?” I dropped the kids off, and returned to the store to return our stuff.

I was feeling calmer when I got there. I felt a sense of conviction. I had a plan. The store was thankfully quiet, I didn’t want another scene. The shop owner looked up at me and smiled. I smiled back and said “I was thinking about what you said, and you were right. It IS a choice, and I choose not to shop in your store. I’d like my money back please.” She began to go through my items, again talking about me not shoving breastfeeding down people’s throats. I told her that this had nothing to do with breastfeeding it had to do with her store’s choice to give out free samples and my choice not to support that. “There are a number of lovely shops in the city nearby that don’t undermine womens' health, and I will happily support them from now on.”

I refused to argue with her anymore, and she refused to give me my money back. The things I had bought were on sale, so she’d only give me a store credit. The receipt was ten minutes old! I was floored. My daughter had worn her shoes out of the store (to the car) so they were non-refundable. I backed down, and left, sad and feeling very defeated.

From the start I had only wanted to have an honest conversation with this woman. Instead I was attacked and humiliated because she couldn’t separate how she fed her kids from how she ran her business. So I came home and after the kids were in bed I wrote the store a letter about the WHO code. Then I wrote this.

by Lee-Ann Grenier

Coach

2010-03-01T20:16:00.000-08:00

My sister Andrea and I took off after work one night to visit the outlet mall and we went into the Coach store. I saw this purse, hanging all by itself as if it were under a spotlight and I thought, “That purse is so me.” I picked up the purse from its perch, peaked inside, caught a glimpse of the price tag and had an immediate change of heart. Well, I would like to think it was immediate but Andrea could tell you that I kept going back and looking again, just in case I misread the price. I didn’t.

I have never been a purse person, or a make up person, or a clothes person. I guess we all have our priorities, and I have never made fashion one of mine. Why shouldn't I have an expensive designer purse and wear make up to work and get my hair colored and my nails done? I hadn’t even given it much thought up until that damn purse made me question who I was.

A lot of the women I work with are very put together, stylish people with shoes for every outfit and a cupboard full of product, maybe that is who I should be too. I have to admit that I have always admired the women who look like they put a lot of time, money and pride into their appearance. I wish I could look like I felt that good about myself. I tend to view myself as more of the frumpy type whose muffin top pretty much rules out the possibility of looking good in anything I wear, so might as well go with the old standby jeans and knit top from Target. Of course I look like an unpopular college student with gray hair who happens to work in a professional office, but there are worse things.

Weighing out the cost of a bimonthly hair cut and color, biweekly manicures; approximately 10 new pairs of shoes, a solid seven or so new trendy outfits, a face full of make up and that god forsaken Coach purse, in black and one in brown of course…and this clearly wasn’t the answer for me.

That purse was seriously starting to antagonize me. How could one overpriced hunk of leather make me feel so inadequate? I was now examining everything about my appearance in relation to that purse and I just didn’t measure up. So I am now clear on the fact that I can not afford to make myself into something that I am not. Well, that makes things a lot easier, that seemed like it would be a lot of work anyway. So if I am not a Coach carrying fashionista, what am I?

If ever there was an event, aside from spotting a coach purse to lust after, that has made me question every bit of who I am, it is the birth of Miss Leila. I now question how I treat my body, how I keep my home, how I contribute to mankind and how I treat the very earth I live in. Now that is one tiny little thing that could made me question everything about myself that the purse didn’t even touch on, you know the non superficial stuff.

Every morning when I wake up I am filled with a mix of two general ideas, 1. I do not want to go to work today, I want to hang out with my baby and frolic and spend money. 2. Please Lord, keep my family safe today I don’t want to wake up from the greatest dream I could have ever imagined.

When I was pregnant with Leila I remember going to work everyday and loving having her there, hanging out in my belly with me all day long. Her kicking and moving was a constant reminder of this wonderful blessing I had in my life. Life was good, Leila and I were inseparable, she never gave me any little baby attitude and childcare was free. What escapes me to this day, nearly 17 months after she was born, was how I managed to never think beyond the moment of her birth and how my life was about to change. There is only one way to put it; motherhood derailed me. I don’t even think I have started to recover yet, but maybe this is something you don’t recover from. My sense of what is important has completely flip flopped. I don’t care about my job, I don’t care about my hair, not that I ever did, all I care about is doing what is best for my child. When things get hard to handle, I can always look up at the picture on my wall of Leila with her crinkly nose smile and her daddy holding her up for the camera and remind myself that I am the luckiest.

In some ways I think I have gotten easier on myself. I still hate that I am overweight, but I now have an appreciation of what my overstuffed body is capable of doing. I single handedly sustained another human being through 9 months of pregnancy and her first year of life (well, unless you could the puree she smeared all over herself from 6-12 months). I still compare myself to other women, but I now I always win, because whatever they may have, they don’t have Cory and they don’t have Leila.

In other ways I am much harder on myself. I feel now even more that I want my life to have meaning, beyond motherhood; I want my child to be proud of her mother. I want to be proud of myself.

I like to think of the Coach incident as a sort of relapse. For a minute there, I forgot who I was in the face of a super cute, overpriced bag whose cost could have supplied diapers to my daughter for about 8 months. I did get a new purse; I like to think that I have two purses. I have a small Hobo style handbag. It is black with a trendy printed lining and strap, made with my own sewing machine. It isn’t exactly Coach, but it still holds all of my things and I feel good about carrying it. The other is a bigger bag. It is a tote style with lots of pockets. One to house my wallet and cell phone, and lots more to hold diapers, wipes, sippy cups and other baby paraphernalia. I feel especially good about carrying that one. I carry it with me whenever I can manage to have my baby along. Of course things are different now that she can’t come to work with me and has learned to throw a very impressive tantrum, but I am still constantly reminded of my blessing as I watch her grow and learn everyday. One of these days I will make her a little purse to match the purse and diaper bag that I made for myself.

By Tricia Coob

Baby Loss & Healing

2010-02-19T14:57:00.000-08:00

The tears. So many tears. Gut wrenching. I could feel my heart being torn from me.

No. No, not my baby. Please, no. This can't be happening. No...no...no....

That was mid-August 2006. I was bleeding. Just at the end of my first trimester.

My heart knew for weeks something wasn't right, but my body was slow to accept the reality. Then the bleeding started. I called my midwife, and an ultrasound confirmed that my sweet baby had stopped growing, was lifeless. No heartbeat.

No heartbeat.

My little baby. Max.

A few weeks earlier I had experienced some spotting, which hadn't occurred in my two previous pregnancies. An ultrasound at six weeks gestation, a new experience, I had never seen my babies that little before, showed a thumpy little heart. A precious moment I will treasure always. It was MY moment with my baby.

Knowing my baby was no longer alive, I had choices. Let nature continue or have doctors step in surgically. It seemed nature was already taking care of things, so I went home. The following 24 hours were the worst of my life. After crying all night, the morning of August 15th I began to bleed. I was informed by my midwife the bleeding would increase, and be heavy for a time. However, I bled beyond the norm. With each contraction, yes miscarriage is a birth, my heart, my soul had to say goodbye to my baby. It was physically painful. It was torture on my innermost being. I would never wish this on anyone. To say goodbye to your baby is the most excruciating pain I could ever fathom.

I ended up in the emergency room after fainting from extreme blood loss. I was on the borderline for needing a transfusion. The doctors and assistants were kind and gentle. My midwife held my hand while I sobbed. A D&C was done, and I woke up empty. So empty.

My oldest daughter, Sarah, was three. My husband, John, kept her occupied with painting during the entire morning. I came home, and she showed me this:

She was my light. She understood the pain. She gave me hope.

The days following were a blur. I had never hurt so deep. How do I do this? What do I do? I scoured the Internet for information, grasping at everything I read. I couldn't seem to find an all inclusive resource that had the answers I needed.

So, I took my pain. I took my anger. I took my grief. And I created Baby Loss and Healing. I didn't want to hurt. I wanted to heal. And that's where I had power. I had the choice to let this kill me or to let myself grow. I felt that if I could find just one person that I could help that was living this same nightmare I could find peace in my loss.

And now, three years later, just days before Max's due date, the tears flow. Not everyday. It's not haunting like it was at first. But they flow. And when they do I let them. I feel them, and for me, it's my little Max saying hello right from where he will be forever. Inside my heart.

By Susan Horn

Susan, and her husband John, both originally from Michigan, live in Oregon with their three daughters, Sarah, Ellen and Anna. John travels around the Northwest as a CNC Machine Service Engineer. Susan runs a home based business, Sweet Pickles, focused on promoting babywearing, a passion she discovered thanks to a wonderful friend. Susan is also the founder of a new non-profit organization, Tingly Toes, which provides a lending library of baby carriers to families of children fighting cancer.

Would You Leave Your Child With a Babysitter?

2010-02-16T21:36:00.000-08:00

This question comes up repeatedly in attachment parenting forums, and ad nauseaum for those involved with La Leche League. It always seems to spark a debate with some heatedly taking one side or the other. When the question arises it often leaves a parent reeling, and questioning her own decisions.

I have funny feelings when I consider that my choice to leave my kids, for how long, how often and who I leave them with, might just slot me in the “bad Mommy” camp. I know some women who claim to never ever leave their children. I know others who justify their choices out of necessity (I HAD to go back to work; my relationship with my spouse would suffer), or align a choice to use child care, with the age and stage of a baby. It feels odd to me that we feel the need to justify our parenting choices at all, especially in something with such a diverse range of needs and feelings as childcare.

Feeling is what I think that this discussion is all about, and the Mommy guilt (can’t forget about that). We have all heard various facts about “the dangers of daycare”, and the way a child under two who is left without its mother for more that 24 hours mourns her loss like she’s died. We’ve also heard about “stranger danger” and the evil child molester babysitter, coach, or teacher. Hearing these scary stories does make me want to cleave my children tightly to my bosom, but it also makes me wonder about how I can meet our families needs (which sometimes involve using childcare) and raising safe resilient kids.

Part of what drives my choice to leave my kids, is about encouraging resilience. As a parent who is tuned in to my kids, I know when they are ready for new situations, and appreciate that sometimes that involves a little push on my part. So I combine my need for space, with their readiness to encounter new situations via childcare. Another part of this decision making process is about relationships. My children have wonderful relationships with their other caregivers. My son’s former kindergarten teacher takes him to places that I couldn’t haul both my kids to. He also has a closeness with his godmother that couldn’t have been fostered with me around all the time. My kids love these special times with babysitters, most of the time. Sometimes they don’t want me to go, and I go anyways, knowing that they are safe and they will do just fine. That’s where the resilience comes in.

I have heard many parents voice concerns about the care their children receive in the arms of others, and I wonder, in the global scheme of things, the harm that might come from a grandmother who uses candy as rewards, or an Aunt who might give my kids a “time out”. What might my kids lose in terms of these relationships, and what harm might they face when exposed to small amounts of parenting that differs greatly from my own? I think the answer lies in the question itself. What I do is PARENTING, what others do when they have charge of my kids is CAREGIVING. They are inherently different, and I think that this is good.

The “time outs” and candy treats are small potatoes issues that often come up in the childcare choice debate. Then there are the other “BIG scary things” that parents who are wrestling with this decision often consider. I am thinking about Child Molesters here. This is real and this is scary, but it’s not something that we are powerless to do anything about as parents. Yes, we can refuse to leave our children with others, or only families, or do criminal record check of our babysitters. We can also do some simple thing that will go a long way to protecting our children in this and many other situations.

One part of this is to know the real risks associated with certain situations. For example, children are far more likely to be molested by someone who is known to them and the family. It’s not the teenager down the block you need to be scared of, it’s “Uncle Tony”. So how do we protect our kids? Start by educating your children, as soon as they are old enough to talk. Tell them the correct scientific names for their genitals, and those of the opposite sex. In her book Speaking of Sex Meg Hickling talks of convicted paedophiles and their methods for choosing potential victims. Molesters know that kids who know the correct names of their reproductive organs, have a relationship with their caregivers that is open to discussions of sexuality. It’s hard to pull the wool over the eyes of a child who know that a penis is most certainly not an elephant’s trunk.

Intuition and power are two other great tools that we can use and teach our kids to use to keep themselves safe. I am an incest survivor, and as an adult I am shocked to learn that all of my female relatives knew that I was being molested. They had the intuition, what they lacked was the personal power to do anything about it. We all have this intuition; most of us need to spend more time honouring it, and teach our kids to do the same. Then we have to cultivate the power to make choices based on what our intuition tells us. It takes big balls to make decisions that might be questioned by others based on a feeling or a hunch. This is where guilt comes in, when we feel powerless to act in situation where we know there is a better choice.

So I will choose to leave my kids from time to time, and feel that they are same and thriving because of my choices.

By Lee-Ann Grenier

The Preciousness of Life

2010-02-10T21:32:00.000-08:00

Three times I have had to call my son to keep him in this world. The first was when he was five days old, admitted to the children's hospital with a golden staph infection after being born at the Mater Hospital in Brisbane. His tiny body lay floppy and unresponsive on the bed, and I called to my little baby, dangling my nipples over him, begging him to rouse and feed.

The second time was after he had his first and only round of vaccines when he was four months old. We came home from the doctor's, and my baby lay in distress on my chest until he cried himself to sleep. I listened to his intermittent sniffles and sobs as he slept. Then, his noisy breathing stopped, and his body turned blue. I grabbed him and shook him, calling to him not to die, and wailing until he roused thirty seconds later.

The third time, he was standing next to me in the bathroom while I had a shower, and he was one year old. He was teething and chewing on a Heinz baby rusk, one of the long finger types. I turned to look at him, because I could no longer hear him chewing and babling. His face was puffy and blue, and his throat was spasming. I knocked him on the back of the chest. When this did not work, desperately put my fingers down his throat and pulled out the chunk of rusk that was stuck there, all the while screaming for him to hold on.

Each of these three times, I was doing what I thought I needed to do to be a good mother. I'd had my baby in a hospital suite, in case anything went wrong. I'd chosen to vaccinate him, except for the Hep B vaccine, thinking that the risk to him was greater if I didn't vaccinate him. I was giving him a rusk, from a packet with a happy baby on it, to relieve his suffering.

I have done many things in his three years of life and nine months of gestation with the motivation of protecting him from known and unknown dangers. I saw medical professionals for my pregnancy and birth, I avoided all foods that might be a carrier of listeria, I bought a playpen, I put up safety gates and safety devices in and around our home, and put a leash on him when we went walking, to name a few.

If I hadn't done those things, he might have been hurt, or he might not. In each case, I wonder at the cost I and he paid. For example, in my pain to avoid foods that might carry bacteria, in my busy lifestyle I failed to eat the variety of healthy foods that are necessary for good nutrition of mother and child, probably contributing to our low zinc and magnesium levels. And it always felt wrong to enter the kitchen without him, leaving him beyond the gate or in the playpen, feeling unworthing and unwelcome, when I might have carried him on my back. I wonder how he felt wearing a leash.

There was a point when he was approaching his second birthday when I let go of my fear for him, and I trusted he and I to know what we needed to be safe. It was before I read Leidloff's Continuum Concept, which I picked up, some months later, because the idea of the book appealed to me. I had observed that, in the three out of three cases when I looked the reaper in the face and snatched my baby back, my irrational fear had caused the danger to my son's life.

Last night, I had a dream. More accurately, a nightmare. I was on an outing with a group of adults and children, some of them known and some unknown to me. My son was with me. As we went about, to the park, a restaurant, and on the street, we kept seeing images of dead and dying children. Some were on TV, or in photos, and some of them we actually watched die on their way to hospital.

The children were dying from faulty toys, bee stings, illness, and car crashes. A companion commented on how terrible a day it was. I clutched my son to my chest, and started running away. Demons representing each cause of death left the bodies of the children we had seen, and chased us. I stopped, surrounded, and, to my surprise, yelled "Go Away! You Don't Belong Here!"

They left me alone, and flew back to terrify my companions, who called out to me for help. I carried my son back to them, untormented by the spectres, who were swirling around the group. I told them what I had done to drive the demons away from me, and together we chanted, at the top of our voices, "Go Away! You Don't Belong Here!" We were left alone, safe with out children. At that point, I woke up. It was the happiest ending to any dream that I have ever had.

Before falling pregnant, I had never been afraid for what might befall a child of mine. I didn't know that feeling that grips my chest, throat, and stomach, and brings tears to the eyes, at the mere contemplation of my child feeling pain. When I became pregnant with him, and I started to feel this fear, I thought it must be something important that I had to listen to and take action on.

I learned something in my dream last night, and it is this. What I thought was fear, is in fact an acute awareness of the preciousness of life and of mortality itself. I was aware of neither of these things before carrying my son, and since I only felt them once I was pregnant and a mother, I thought that this feeling was a message to protect him from each and every risk that he might face, even if that potentially exposed him to other risks.

I myself have created my own trauma from making a decision "just in case". Despite wanting a water birth, and a birth with midwives, I birthed in hospital with an insecure obstetrician and (at best) neutral strangers. I made that decision because I was (irrationally) afraid that I would tear. When I tried to breath my baby out, I was continually interrupted by people concerned that I wasn't making any progress. I was moved to the bed, where I was coached to push and suffered a second degree tear. I now have keloidal scarring from an allergy to the acrylic stitches, and zero lovelife.

My dream has given me a great gift. What was once fear there is release. I feel joy that we are alive, and that I had the strength to tell the unreal dangers that he did not face, as he slept in the crook of my arm, that they had no power over us. I say again that fear, a mere thought in my mind, has no power over us. I am responsible for the life that I create for myself and my children, and it will be a life of courage and compassion. He may die at any time, and he will die one day. I may tear with my next baby. I am not afraid.

Katarina Konkoly

Are you a Mompreneur?

2010-02-07T07:35:00.000-08:00

I sure as hell am not. I am not a Mommyblogger either. I find those two newly minted "words" to be among the most offensive. They are silly, frivolous, disrespectful, derogatory. They are specious.

I am a woman, a wife, a mother, an innovator, an entrepreneur, a business owner, a writer. Not a mompreneur, not a mommyblogger.

Why do those words seem ubiquitous? I see them used, more often than not, by women who fit the definitions themselves. That concerns me much more than if the words were being tossed around by elderly radio pundits. I receive at least monthly spam to join one Mompreneur Network or another:

"Wouldn't it be great to grow your business by networking with other Mommies??" FFS.

Can you imagine this vocabulary being used in any other context? Mommylawyers? Momgineers? Medimommies? Why is that qualifier being added to the title?

The term mompreneur is usually used to refer to a woman who has created a baby-related business, oftentimes in order to "stay home" with her children. Nevermind that there are countless men & women who use flextime, job sharing, etc to spend more time with their children. Their parenting credentials do not get added to their job descriptions. "Have you met Darren, from IT? He's a Daddytech."

It is hard to perfectly describe why I hate those 2 words so much. The negative, icky feeling they give me is hard to name. My mother in law got the ickiness of the words best: "I guess that people want to feel important, so this is a cutesy title, much like designer dogs, like Labradoodles, Puggles, etc."

Any dog person will be able to tell you that you aren't likely to see a labradoodle or a puggle in a show ring anytime soon. Why? They aren't real breeds. They aren't recognised by any authority.

Oh.

Is that it? Is that where these words come from? An underlying sense of being different, of not fitting in? Of not being a real businessperson, a real writer?

I get that. I have taken countless business calls while I am in my jammie pants, praying that none of my kids needs to have their bum wiped while I am on the phone. It is sometimes very hard to take yourself seriously in that situation!

When you primarily work from a home office, you miss out on the socialising, networking & sense of professionalism that a more traditional place of work can provide. Few people understand how I spend my day. I struggle to come up with a description of what I do that is less that a paragraph or two long. Would a one word descriptor such as mompreneur help resolve that?

It would, if it weren't so freakin specious.

It is an accident of history that for one or two key generations, North American women quit work & stayed home when their babies were born. When you look at statistics of the time, that concept is somewhat culturally constructed. Middle Class women quit their jobs & stayed home. The working classes did not do so to nearly the same extent.

Throughout the rest of western history, women worked, alongside their children. In factories, in fields, in wealthy people's homes, women melded their work & the care of their children together. Because of the above accident of history, most of us (read Gen X & Yers) have no model of what that looks like. Options for working parents are slowly growing, as families demand flexibility, but those are typically in relation to minimising childcare. This is not quite the same thing as creating work that permits you to perform tasks while caring for your children.

What does it look like to work with your children? Without a model to go by, we scramble & learn the hard way. We receive little recognition from those in more traditional professional environments. We need to set ourselves apart, somehow create terms for what we do. Mompreneur. We need to cope with the funny, chaotic stress that is life with small people. We write about it. Mommyblogger.

Those words, though, make us less. They qualify, they minimise, they infantilise. Can you expect others to take you seriously when you don't?
Calling yourself a mompreneur implies that you are not taking yourself seriously. It's like an entrepreneur, but not quite.

When you use a specious word to describe yourself, you imply that you, your product, your business, your industry, are specious. And I don't think you are.

Tell it like is- I am an entrepreneur, I created a business for myself. I restructured it & sold parts of it that were no longer right for me. I am a writer who blogs about parenting issues. I am a mother's advocate who speaks out for the rights of women & children.

How Could She?

2010-02-03T20:55:00.000-08:00

This past Monday, in a town less than an hour from me, a mother, Allyson Meager, killed her two babies, ages 2.5yrs & 10 mos.

I have no words for the sadness & tragedy of this. 2 babies have lost their lives, a father and mothers' lives are destroyed. Very little of what has happened is known right now, so I do not want this post to be speculative. It is obvious, though, that an otherwise loving, caregiving mother who kills her babies is/was mentally ill.

When things like this happen, mamas everywhere cry, hug their babies a little tighter & ask things like "How could she?". It seems impossible to comprehend. I am, by nature, a do-er. I cannot sit quietly with my difficult emotions; I need to channel them into something tangible. So tonight I am writing.

We all know a mama that could do this. It could be me. Or you. Or my best friend. Or your friend from playgroup.

Postpartum depression is rampant- statistics vary, but in North America right now, 1 in 10 to 1 in 5 women who give birth will develop PPD. Of those, a very tiny percent will develop Postpartum Psychosis. PPP is a medical emergency that places the mother & sometimes her children at great risk. Many of the devastating stories of mamas murdering their babies are stories of mamas, of families, suffering from PPP.

Depression & psychosis are complicated illnesses with numerous causes, risk factors & triggers. Much is related to genetics & personal history of depression. Some are hormonal- the cascade of hormones produced by giving birth, or by stopping breastfeeding, are known triggers. Some are social- lack of support systems, financial stress, relationship breakdown. Divorce.

Do you see yourself in that list? I see me. I see Allyson Meager too. Most of the women I know, myself included, are only steps away from being in a similar situation to hers. Your spouse loses his job. Or you decide to leave your relationship. You live far away from your family. You don't have friends you can lean on. You're broke. You are completely sleep deprived. You have a history of depression. Your birth was traumatic. You quit nursing. You are parenting full time. You snap. You snap. You snap. She snapped.

When you read this, be moved to action. Talk to your husband, your best friends, your family. Show them this checklist for PPD and PPS. Let them know that if you are exhibiting symptoms, you want them to get help.

It is difficult for friends & family to know when or how to help someone who might be mentally ill. By giving them your permission to help you, by telling them who to contact (mental health helplines, public health units, your family doctor, the ER, whatever is appropriate to your community & the situation), you will be helping them to help you if you are ever in that situation. By doing this, you might be saving your own life. Or the life of your babies.

Why I chose a photo of my child for my profile pic

2010-02-01T09:37:00.000-08:00

The Lasting Imprint of an "Invisible" Woman:

Why I chose a photo of my child for my profile pic

According to author Katie Roiphe, when women use pictures of their children for their profile picture on Facebook, they are saying “I don’t matter anymore . . . The subliminal equation is clear: I am my children . . . Like wearing sneakers every day or forgetting to cut your hair, it is a way of being dowdy and invisible, and it mirrors a certain mommy culture in which its almost a point of pride how little remains of the healthy, worldly, engaged, and preening self . . . [becoming, instead, one of the] vanished ladies.”

In the author’s opinion, a “brilliant and accomplished woman” (and the entire feminism movement) is diminished when a woman’s children are her main concern. She states that Betty Friedan would turn over in her grave at the use of a child’s photo to reflect a woman’s identity. By doing so, she’s surrendering to her own sexuality. That such an act harkens back to when women were Mrs. Name of Her Husband, when news and politics were the domain of men only.

That’s ridiculous! I’m one of those women “Devoted to [my] children’s . . . education . . . and general formation.” Parenting IS the priority in my life right now. On occasion, I use photos of my children as my profile pic. But I’m hardly invisible!

While there aren’t quarterly reports on my work, I have baby books of milestones. I’m a starring character on pages of my kids’ writings and pictures. And while photos of me alone are non-existent these days, I don’t mind being behind the camera. In fact, I’m getting to be a pretty good photographer.

I’m sure my child-related conversations are found lacking to many people, but in this age of information overload, nothing beats speaking with other parents to share experiences and wisdom.

Yes, I still have other interests beyond parenting. I’ve always enjoyed books and movies. But these aren’t as easy to discuss. I’m usually a bit behind current trends since I’m borrowing from the library and waiting for DVD releases.

I still love to cook. But now, rather than perfecting decadent chocolate desserts, I make cooking an adventure for the whole family, from shopping at the farmer’s market, to searching for new international recipes, sneaking in the green veggies and practicing real-life application of fractions.

Many of us aren’t just pushing strollers and packing lunches. We’re taking our passion for parenting to lead support groups, teach workshops, visit our elected officials, campaign for changes and demand corporate responsibility to improve our world for ALL children. And we’re using Facebook to gather support for our cause.

Hmm . . . looks like I’m modeling some “healthy, worldly, engaged” behaviors, the very ones the author was bemoaning that women lost when upon joining the “mommy culture.”

Yes, these days, my wardrobe choices are more about comfort than high-fashion. And my hairstyle is definitely low-maintenance. But my kids don’t mind. And my 6 year old enjoys painting my nails more than anyone I’ve ever paid!

My real-life, child-free social interactions are limited. Now I squeeze in coffee dates during naptime. No more hours at the newest restaurant followed by clubbing all night. Networking

and power-lunches have been replaced by playdates and storytime at the library.

But this is a season of my life. And I’ve CHOSEN to focus on my family. I’m thankful to my parents and educators for giving me the confidence to follow my own path. I’m grateful to my husband for accepting a lower financial standing so I can devoted myself to my vocation as a mother.

I’d wager that the only outrage Betty Friedan would feel is how undervalued parenting is in this country.

By Christine Sheets

Arriving in our own way

2010-01-20T22:02:00.001-08:00

Olivia's birth story started nine years ago when her brother was born. Going to the hospital young, uneducated and scared, I ended up with a very medical birth that bore very little resemblance to the natural birth I had hoped for.

Five years later Lily was born. I returned to the hospital with better ideas of how to achieve a drug-free birth as well as a solid support team made up of my husband and a doula friend. My body wanted to birth my baby at home and kept stalling out in hospital so I ended up being augmented with pitocin. I had a blissful birth free of pain medication and felt that I had lived the experience I had been missing five years earlier.

Four years further down the road we welcomed another baby into our lives. As her little body grew inside mine, I felt an intense need for privacy. Having developed a network of friends who had freebirthed their babies, I knew that my options for this baby's birth were a homebirth with a midwife in attendance or a freebirth. As I struggled to make a firm statement that I wanted to choose an unassisted birth, I contemplated entering the care of a midwife “just in case” but I felt a strong aversion to being measured or tested in any way. Eventually I came to the realization that baby and I wanted to be left alone and I honored that message.

My pregnancy rolled along as all pregnancies do. I delighted in the growth of my baby as I measured the height of my fundus, tracked my blood pressure, and talked with my baby about our lives. I had help from friends locating my baby's heartbeat with a fetoscope and briefly with a doppler. I also asked for their help in determining my baby's position and I spent many hours playing “Guess that bump”. I had some concerns about baby's positioning but I kept telling myself that I was just worried for nothing.

I spoke with some people about our plans for a freebirth and with other people I glossed over the details, telling them only that we were planning to birth at home. I knew what our path was and I didn't feel the need to pull opposing opinions into my life. Instead I read unassisted birth stories and spent time with my friends who had freebirthed their babies, filling my heart with reminders of how wise women's bodies are.

Late in my third trimester, the pregnancy seemed to drag on and on. I felt huge, tired, and incredibly achy. As my due date loomed, I started tuning out the outside world and hiding out at home. One day I was so frustrated with the well-meaning phone calls of friends checking in on me that I put a towel over the phone and warned Liam that I would only be taking calls from him and my mother for the remainder of the pregnancy!

My due date came and went, and still I was pregnant. I frequently had contractions in the evening and I would go to bed hoping to be woken a few hours later by real labour, but I would wake up frustrated and still pregnant the next morning. I went for a couple of acupuncture appointments to see if I could nudge labour into starting. I left the appointments filled with an inner calm, and although they never triggered labour I was grateful for the readiness they created within me.

On July 20^th, thirteen days after my due date, I woke up from a night of sleep broken by random contractions that had been somewhat building since the evening before. I told Liam that he had better stay home from work that day. I was expecting to have a quick birth and I was worried that his 30 minute bike commute would put him too far away if this was the big day.

The morning was filled with sporadic contractions. Sometimes they were 15 minutes apart, sometimes 45. I kept questioning if this was the real deal or not. The four of us went out for a walk around the block to see if I could get things to really kick in and although I had to stop walking through a few contractions, I still came home in much the same state as I'd left.

Around lunch time, I called my friend Arie for an emotional pick-me-up. I had a chance to vent my fears and frustrations and Arie gave me some suggestions on what I could try next. During our conversation I laughed for the first time that day and although I hadn't had any contractions at all during the phone call I felt I was in a much better place when I hung up the phone

I pulled out the peppermint massage oil that my friend Lee-Ann had given me during my Mother's Blessing and I got Liam to give me a neck rub. We put on some upbeat music and the energy of the day seemed to shift. Putting Arie's suggestion to good use, I started doing some stair lunges and I laughed at how ridiculous I looked trying to heave my enormous belly up two step at a time. I also threw back some black and blue cohosh for good measure, switching from the homeopathic remedy I'd been using during the previous days to the herbal tinctures.

The afternoon wore on and soon it was supper time. I'd been eating now and then throughout the day and although I ate some of my supper I couldn't quite deal with eating the entire plate of food. I had to stand and sway for some of the contractions and I was beginning to believe that this was real labour that was going to stick around. I'd never birthed a baby without pitocin before and it took some effort to combat the mindset that maybe I just couldn't make it all the way through this birth thing without some medical nudging.

The time between supper and the kids' bedtime was filled with Lily doing puzzles, Nick reading, me contracting steadily, and Liam dividing his attention between us. During Lily's birth I'd spent virtually all of my contractions hanging off of Liam's neck and dancing with him but I only felt the need to do this a handful of times during Olivia's birth.

Soon it was time for the kids to head to bed. Nick was tucked away without any fuss, but Lily was quite upset that I wasn't able to snuggle in bed with her as usual. Although we'd had many talks about how I might not be able to put her to bed when the baby was ready to be born, she was not at all happy about the change in routine. Liam ended up putting a movie on upstairs for her so I could have some quiet in the kitchen to focus on the birth.

Around 10:30 I was getting pretty uncomfortable and I decided to get into the birthing pool. I'd been trying to hold off so that I didn't get in too early causing things to slow down, but things chugged blessedly along and being in the water was an immense relief. About an hour later, Lily's movie ended and she was back in the kitchen and dangling her arms in the pool while visiting with me. I decided that getting out of the water and putting her to bed would be worth the effort so I could know she was tucked away for the night, so I climbed out of the pool and went to bed with her. I half dozed and had a couple of contractions as Lily quickly fell asleep and then I came back upstairs where I knew I could get seriously underway with this whole birth thing.

From that point, things became more intense. I hung off of Liam during contractions and I started to really vocalize through the intensity. My lower back started becoming quite achy, so I would sit between contractions and then stand and sway when the contractions came. I was getting tired!

Briefly, Liam and I went out onto our deck and stared up at the beautiful night sky. I remembered how intensely I'd wanted to spend my labour with Lily outdoors and I was grateful for the freedoms that a homebirth offered me. After a bit we went back inside to the privacy of our cozy home.

As my contractions became increasingly intense I started to find that I couldn't get comfortable during them or in between them. It was time to get back in the tub! So around 1:30 I climbed back into the beautiful water and found it immediately soothing. For the next hour or so, Liam undertook the seemingly endless job of emptying the cooling water and adding hot water. He and a few cooking pots made many many trips between the sink and the pool.

At this point I was falling asleep between the contractions, something that really helped me to cope. I alternated between sitting in the pool and kneeling with my body draped over the side of the pool. The length and intensity of the contractions continued to grow and during one fleeting moment I questioned my sanity in choosing to birth so far away from pain medications.

I kept waiting and waiting for the feeling of the baby's head descending, like during Lily's birth, so I would know it would be time to push soon. Not having anyone checking my dilation was such a wonderful change from my previous births, and I knew my body was opening at exactly the rate and speed it should.

From seemingly nowhere, I found my body pushing during a contraction when I was hanging over the edge of the pool. I wanted desperately to tell Liam that I was pushing but I couldn't speak until the contraction ended. At the end of the contraction, Liam asked if I'd been pushing and I confirmed that I had indeed. He prepared himself to catch our upcoming arrival. All plans of passively breathing the baby out went out the window as my body forcefully pushed during the next contraction. My baby seemed to go from quite high up to all of a sudden emerging during what I'm assuming was my water breaking.

With one of my hands, I felt the bulge of my baby emerging and I felt the ridge of what I assumed was the amniotic sac still partially over my baby's head. Shortly after, Liam uttered the now-infamous words “That's not a head, that's a bum!” and then “Is that OK?”. I remained calm and knew that I needed to push this baby out quickly so I gave a few more good pushes and out she flew.

Liam caught our baby in the water and scooped her up. As I turned to sit he helped me maneuver around the umbilical cord so that I was sitting in the pool and our little girl was resting on my chest. She was here! Here at last! She was born at 2:45 am on July 21^st.

I held my baby's tiny body and said over and over again “I didn't think you were ever going to come out!”. The labour that seemed like it was going to go on for eternity was suddenly over and my long-awaited baby was birthed.

As we sat in the pool waiting for the placenta my baby nursed for the first time. About 15 minutes after our baby's arrival, I delivered the placenta. We tied off the umbilical cord with a braid of embroidery thread my friends had made for me during my Mother's Blessing and Liam cut the cord.

I climbed out of the pool and took a quick shower to warm up while Liam held our baby, then the three of us sat on the couch in the living room. The baby seemed to be not entirely pleased with this big cold world and her cries were loud in our house. Apparently Nick thought she was quite loud too as he woke up at 3:30 and came upstairs to see this noisy little baby. After he stopped being upset about being awake in the middle of the night, Nick was quite excited to meet his new little sister and he helped Liam and I to decide that she looked very much like an Olivia Margaret Johnstone. He also helped us to weigh her on the fish scale we'd bought and I was surprised to see that she was a whopping 8 lbs 6 oz, much bigger than my other babies who had weighed in just on either side of 7 lbs.

Things settled down after a bit and I started to get tired. Liam went into the basement to sleep with Lily while Olivia and I headed upstairs to our bedroom to sleep for a bit. I climbed into bed and curled around my tiny little baby. I dozed on and off for a couple of hours before I finally admitted that I was to buzzy with hormones and excitement to sleep anymore. I was also so very hungry and thirsty! Olivia and I returned to the living room where we sat and visited with Nick and ate breakfast. Lily woke a little while later and was overjoyed to meet her baby sister. Right away she insisted on holding and snuggling her and telling her just how much she loved her.

And there, in the passing of a night, our family was transformed. The kids fell asleep in a family of four and woke in a family of five. I brought a new life into the world without ever leaving the security and comfort of my home. And Liam and I together helped bring this little life we'd created out into the world.

---------------------------

It's been just about six months since that day and I've often reflected back on it. Birthing in my home was such a very special experience. I know that following the path of a freebirth allowed me to be open to the intuitive messages from both my baby and my body while allowing Olivia's birth to unfold in a normal and healthy way despite her untraditional presentation. I feel deeply blessed that such a beautiful experience unfolded in the quiet of my kitchen and that my daughter's life was able to start with such a sacred experience.

By Kim Johnstone

Am I A Fierce Mama?

2010-01-12T20:25:00.000-08:00

Am I a fierce mama?

Oh, you bet I am. I’ve thought about how hard yet rewarding this whole mothering journey has been. I think about all the pratfalls we’re set up for, all the false expectations of what a mother should want, what a “good baby” is, and how to go about gestating, birthing and raising human beings . . . Instead of warm fuzzy feelings, I am overcome by the deep rumblings of a ferocious and primal womanhood which has had to fight its way past many obstacles.

I am fierce because I never doubted my ability to birth. I’m fierce because I dared to question a routine ultrasound, and when the nurse told me refusing could lead to a dead baby, I told her to get my medical records copied so I could find another provider. Even as a young mother, I was not going to be bullied.

I am fierce because I found myself a midwife and planned a home birth in Midwestern America, where ignorance and persecution keeps most out of hospital births under the radar. I kept my internal flame burning as I threw up every day at work for 6 months until I took an early leave. I kept faith and love in focus as my husband lost his job and we were forced to move to a smaller apartment.

And I survived through a home birth transfer to hospital that tore away my trust for the people who should have been supporting me most. I survived over 50 hours of labor, the latter half an experience of dehumanization, coerced medications, genital mutilation without consent, the near loss of my newborn baby, and the scolding and condescension of the medical professionals surrounding me. I survived the three days before I held my son for the first time. Against pressures to do otherwise, I protected his prepuce and his beautiful, intact body.

I pumped my precious milk every 3 hours until I was ALLOWED to hold him, ALLOWED to nurse him with my own breasts, three days after I pushed him out, after he was immediately severed from me. I survived that week while they poked and prodded and gradually unhooked him from the various life support machines. I remember his defiant swatting at the plastic oxygen hood that masked his face and the precious smug look on his tiny face as they finally removed it.

I am fierce because I never doubted he would be well, and though the doctors were cautious, he did nothing but improve and gain weight. And I took him home, and loved him ferociously . . . partially to make it up to him, to try to heal the wounds of our birth.

For me, those wounds included self-doubt and hatred, undeniable and heart wrenching grief, and later flashbacks and waking nightmares. I did not value sleep as much as I valued the time I spent with him, learning his ways, listening to my deep intuitions as I should have all along. I could not resent him, or mourn a life I used to have because I nearly lost before I ever had him . . . and because a large part of me died in that hospital.

I am fierce because I began to listen to myself and my baby above all other voices. Ignoring my intuitive voice had led me to a sham of a birth which had hurt us both. I set my mind to researching parenting, the evolutionary psychology of birth and childrearing, and I wore my baby in slings and other soft carriers. I nursed him on demand and coslept. We started practicing Elimination Communication as a family. I refused any and all vaccinations for my baby, whose immune system was flawless by design and inexorably tied to our breastfeeding relationship. I could not and would not let my helpless child “cry it out” and lie to myself that it was for his own good, as my mother undoubtedly did to me.

I am fierce beyond belief because, even as my husband remained distant or took to uncontrolled raging fits which left holes in doors, I stood firm. I told him that if he lay a hand in anger on my child or myself, he would know fear. And he listened, and we talked. I am fierce because I recognized the helplessness and fear that our birth and our situation caused in the man who was supposed to be able to protect us, and I told him that it mirrored my own pain and terror . . . and that we could weather this storm together.

I survived the cold and sometimes violent withdrawal of my husband, and I saw him open the door to hope. I would not stand down, and I would not take no for an answer. I did not accept that he did not, and could not, love our baby. I weathered their bonding issues and kept on believing that they could get along and form a close bond. I watched them play together, and saw the day my toddler cried when daddy had leave for work. I am fiercely proud of my family.

I am proud I pushed my son out of my body of my own will and power, under threat of surgical knife. I am fierce because I did not let the subsequent nightmares overtake my life. I slipped many times, but I never failed to get right back up again. I wrote, I read, and I thought and cried until I couldn’t any more, and when it was time, I beat back the demons that plagued me so that I could live my waking moments without the past intruding.

I am strong. I am fierce, and now they think they can tell me to stop nursing my baby because he is too old? Or because his nursing and my giving milk will harm the new child growing within me? I have listened to the objections, and I have read my fill of research . . . but more importantly, my heart says I am healthier, happier, and more full of life and love than I have ever been.

So I will do as I please.

Because when they tell me how to parent, or what’s good for me or my babies, they do not know to whom they speak.

Am I a fierce mama?

Oh, you bet I am.

By Leslie Kung

Leslie Kung is a babywearing educator & birth activist. She writes an empowering blog http://lkbaby.com/ that all Fierce Mamas should check out!

I Am Not Damaged

2010-01-10T00:02:00.000-08:00

This is a powerful story told by a brave mama who would prefer to remain anonymous.

When I was about 12-13 years old I was being given a ride with a group of my friends by an older relative of one of the friends in the car. He was a well liked and trusted relative and was doing parents a favor by giving all of us kids a ride that evening. He was driving and the car was crammed full so I was sitting next to him, nearly on his lap. While he drove and I sat there, he molested me.
I never told anyone but one friend that night, and neither of us really understood what had happened; and years later I told my husband. I regret that choice as years later he got one of my friend drunk and impregnated her. No one wanted to make a fuss about that because she was barely underage, so nothing ever happened to him. He is now an elected official.

When I was 18 years old my study partner in college raped me. He was married. The pathetic part was that I did not know I had been raped until a few weeks later when I recounted this experience with another man I had met at college who told me I had been raped. His words actually were, "well, you aren't a virgin now, may as well have fun."
This may surprise you that an 18 year old did not know what the act of sexual intercourse was. I was raised in a very sheltered community where such things were not discussed until you were to be married. I was also raised to believe that if you had sex outside of marriage you were ruined. No one ever talked about if you were forced however, so I only knew that I was ruined.
I never turned this man in. However, one of my friends from high school found out about this and it did not sit well with him. Last I heard, my attacker was eating steak with a straw.

I spent years recovering from this. I made some foolish and self destructive choices working through levels of fear, shame and self loathing. I learned, I grew and I healed.

A year after that I met a man I thought could be "the one". He was actually an instructor for my religion and was very well liked and charming. I actually confided my experience with him. That is when he changed. He physically, sexually and emotionally abused me. He thinking was that I was already damaged goods so he may as well have fun. I found out he was dating another girl who was his "spiritual" girlfriend. He would date her and later find me and try to use me. I also found out later that he dated a few of his teen students.
This time, I turned him in to his employer and he was terminated shortly after.

I am still ashamed to admit that I never turned any of these men into the police.

I healed from all of this. I grew up. I am not a victim. I am a survivor and a strong one. I am brave and while I cannot change my past experiences, I can protect my childrens' (and other childrens') future.

A few years ago I saw some worrisome safety issues at the church I attend. I brought them to the attention of the leaders, who ignored me. Some ridiculed me. I did not give up. Every week for years I have made note of these problems and logged complaints. I have stood firm when people mocked me, disliked me, told me to be quiet, that things were fine. I would not be still. I spoke and I spoke until one day someone listened. He helped me make these safety changes. They were so small and simple, but I know that I made children safer.

I received a letter from one of these leaders a few days later these changes were made. One who I thought was my dear friend. This letter said I had inconvenienced people, I had made more work for them. This letter called me damaged. It said I was a fool because people were good and there was something wrong with me because I did not see that and forced people to change. This person, from my sheltered community hated me for what I did.

I am not damaged.
I was. But I have been healed. I am now stronger than I was and wise enough to know that most people are good. But while most people are good, it is a fool who doesn't take the simple caution of locking his door at night to keep danger out.
I know that evil can take many forms and is very good at lulling us into a false sense of security. I have seen many forms of evil. I will not be tricked.
It hurts to have such words so hatefully flung at me. It is discouraging. It tries to reopen old wounds and rob me of my sense of self.

But, I refuse to let people stop me from speaking up when I see something that does not appear right. I will not stop teaching my children that they don't have to obey an adult if they are uncomfortable. I will not stop believing that while I cannot protect my children from everything, it is my duty to be vigilant and protect their innocence when I can.

I could. I did.
And I will.

Rhett's Birth Story

2010-01-04T21:28:00.000-08:00

I am posting this in celebration of my son's 5th birthday. It amazes me to see what a catalyst of change his birth was, much more so than my other 2 were. He showed me that I need to birth on my own, without input from experts. He showed me how babies are active participants in their own births when not interfered with. His unplanned freebirth led me to planned unassisted pregnancy & freebirth.

This is as written & originally published 5 years ago.

Spring 2004
My husband Jesse and I celebrated our son Luke’s 2nd Birthday on March 31 and I felt relieved. I thought that I could get pregnant at any point now & my children would be spaced as I’d planned. The moment I had that thought, it seems, I became pregnant!
We had just moved onto our small farm and had enormous amounts of work to do. I was exhausted during my first trimester; the move, the work at our new house and a busy toddler who was still nursing frequently all intensified my need for rest. I had little time to think about the fact I was pregnant or to make plans for our new baby. It took me several weeks to assimilate the changes in my life.
Once I had been able to process the changes, I contacted our new midwife, Barb Scriver. Luke had been born at home so we were of course planning another homebirth for this baby. Luke’s midwife had moved shortly before we had, so we made the difficult decision to avoid a 3 hour round trip for clinic visits by choosing a different midwife. I had met Barb several times before & felt sure that she was the perfect fit for our family.

Summer 2004
I was overjoyed to learn that my friend Nancy, who had a son the same age as mine, was also pregnant and due within weeks of me! We initially became friends because we had so many things in common and I was so happy to know that the trend would be continuing. She was also planning a homebirth with Barb. This really set a positive tone for my entire pregnancy. Having Nancy to share changes and compare notes with allowed me to stop now and then to focus on my new baby. I would have found it difficult to take that time without the external reminders she provided me.
My visits with Barb are happy occasions- we decide on a “due date” of January 2 and make jokes about having a New Year’s baby. Jesse and I felt blessed to be in the familiar care of a midwife again- so few health care providers hug their clients! Barb and I mostly discuss how the changes are affecting Luke and my concerns surrounding him. Despite my plan to continue nursing Luke throughout pregnancy and to tandem nurse after the birth, he was rapidly losing interest. He was helped along by the lower milk supply and discomfort my pregnancy hormones were contributing to our breastfeeding experiences. He nursed for the last time at the beginning of August, when I was 4 months pregnant. Luke seemed ready to move on but I mourned the loss of our cherished breastfeeding relationship.

Fall 2004
I am once again grateful to have an energetic pregnancy! Once the first few tired weeks were over, I was able to complete many of the projects begun in the spring. As summer ends I am spending more & more time thinking about my upcoming birth. I read every natural birth story I can get my hands on and decide to act on a thought that I keep having: find a doula. My labour with Luke seemed long and intense and I needed a lot of physical support which was difficult for Jesse and our midwives to continuously provide. In retrospect, I know that my fear of pain slowed that labour down. I desperately want to avoid a repeat and am convinced that a doula could be there just for me, freeing Jesse to care for Luke and himself as needed.
I mentioned all this over the phone to Annemarie van Oploo. When I got to the part about wanting to look for a doula she said “Pick me!”- so we did! Annemarie and I arranged a meeting at our house to talk about the birth. After meeting her, Jesse agreed that it was a great idea to have Annemarie at our birth. At the end of the visit, Annemarie commented that her partner, Claudia Villeneuve, had never been to a homebirth. I knew Claudia from clinics at our previous midwife’s office and so I suggested to that she should be there as well. Barb had worked with our doulas before and knew them both well- we were all so happy to have such a great birth team in place! I couldn’t wait for our new baby to be born surrounded by such a joyful and supportive group of women.
With all our plans in place I began to prepare myself for the birth. I read birth stories, attended Pam England’s presentation and went to a homebirth refresher class at Barb’s office. I had wonderful conversations with Barb during my prenatal visits. She reassured me that this labour would be shorter and that my first successful homebirth had not been a fluke. We discussed my concern that my water would break long before any contractions began, as it had with Luke. I started taking vitamin C every day with hopes it would strengthen the membranes.

Winter2004/05
I have been struggling to prepare my very non-verbal yet highly visual Luke for what he might see at the birth- the traditional methods of talking and reading books are of no interest to him. At Barb’s prenatal class, she put on a video that showed the homebirth of one of her clients. Luke plunked himself in front of the TV and watched the birth with great interest. Nancy, knowing the problems I was having, laughed and pointed out that Luke obviously needed to watch births to prepare! She lent me a video of unassisted births to watch with Luke which proved to be very helpful!
We had our last meeting with Annemarie and Claudia just before Christmas. We finalised plans by candlelight- our county was in the middle of an all-day power outage caused by a wind storm. Comments were once again made about having a New Year’s baby. Jesse joked about wanting the baby born in 2005 so s/he would qualify for the provincial government’s centennial RESP grants!
We enjoyed our last Christmas as a family of 3 by sticking close to home- Jesse didn’t want to take any chances. Nancy and another friend, Chandra, had been planning a mother’s blessing for me the week after Christmas and also teased me about going into labour early and not being able to make my own party. I was sure the baby would be born the week after it’s due date and that I’d be able to attend all of our functions as planned- of course I was right!
My mother’s blessing was great- unorthodox and exactly my style. We had friends and their husbands out to Nancy’s husband’s rugby club. It was a great chance for me to relax and hang out with my friends. They all wrote inspirational messages in a ribbon-bound book for me, a gift that I will always treasure.

Tuesday January 4

I wake up from a late afternoon nap to discover that my water seems to have broken! With no contractions in sight, I phone Barb around 4:00 to let her know what’s happening. Her response- “I guess this is how you go into labour!” I am reassured by this and decide to go about my day while I wait for contractions to start. Jesse finished his work and came home as fast as he could. We spent the evening relaxing at home. I was famished and ate several snacks, each time worrying that if I ate too much I might throw up when contractions finally started. At 8:00pm, I felt the first twinge of a contraction- very light and painless. Another one occurred a while later. After that I felt a light twinge every 20 minutes or so. We decided that we should go to bed so at 10:00pm, Jesse, Luke & I all fell asleep together.
Just after midnight, the first uncomfortable contraction I felt woke me up. I breathed through several before getting out of bed and going downstairs. I settled in the bathroom with a bottle of water and the birth ball Annemarie had left. It was very helpful for working through each contraction. I was getting a nice break in between them, so I laboured by myself like this for a while. I remember talking to the baby, telling him I’d see him soon and that we were going to be working together to get him out. This is my favorite memory of Rhett’s birth, just the 2 of us awake in the warm house with winter and coyotes howling outside.
My contractions were starting to intensify so at 12:45am I called Annemarie, thinking that I would probably need her by the time she made the drive out. We chatted for a couple of minutes and she told me she would leave right away. After a few more contractions, I decided to call Barb as well. I thought I was probably phoning her a bit too soon, but she had the hose and connectors we needed to fill the pool. I figured that I would probably need her and the pool by the time she drove out too!
Shortly after that, with contractions still intensifying, I didn’t want to be alone anymore. I tried to go upstairs to wake Jesse, only making it halfway. I yelled to wake him up and he came down right away, leaving Luke upstairs sleeping. We worked together for a while with the ever-increasing contractions. We heard Annemarie arriving at 1:45, and Jesse went outside to help her bring her things in. While they were outside, I felt what I could have sworn was some involuntary pushing. I brushed it off, thinking it was obviously way too soon for anything like pushing to be happening!
Annemarie called to me from the door, saying that it sounded like I was doing great and that she had just seen a shooting star. A couple of minutes later she brought some lavender massage lotion and vibrating massage tools into the bathroom. The lavender and massage tools on my back got me through several contractions that would have otherwise been very hard to stay on top of. I began feeling restless and stood up- I really wanted to be in the pool. I don’t remember this, but Annemarie told me then that I was “getting a little transition-y”.
I do remember Annemarie telling me that the baby was coming quickly and that Barb probably wouldn’t have time to fill the pool when she got here. After settling on my knees leaning over the bathtub, I began feeling involuntary pushing with each contraction. I wouldn’t let myself believe that I was actually having a fast labour, thinking that I would be frustrated when things slowed down and it took several more hours for the baby to arrive.
The baby began moving down- I could actually feel him doing this, a sensation I hadn’t experienced at Luke’s birth. I pushed along with my body until he quickly began to crown. Jesse and Annemarie tell me he emerged very slowly, an eyebrow, then an eye and on until his entire head was out. He cleared his own mucus from his lungs and nose- they managed to get amazing pictures of this! I could feel the baby moving around, rotating his shoulders so his body could be born. Annemarie later wrote (to the baby): “It was amazing to see how much you were helping yourself to be born! Most people think that babies are passive participants in birth, but watching you would have proved them all wrong!”
He slipped out and Annemarie caught him. I asked Jesse what we had and he told me it was another boy! With help, I sat down on the floor and held our new baby. He even latched on and nursed for a minute. Rhett Nathaniel had been born at 2:41am on Wednesday January 5th, less than 2 1/2 hours after I had come downstairs. We waited for the placenta, which arrived about 20 minutes after Rhett. Barb arrived just after that, surprised and disappointed to have missed the birth! We wrapped the placenta up and moved to a chair in the living room, where Barb helped me to cut the cord and where Rhett nursed again.
Rhett and I then had a lavender bath together, during which time Luke woke up and came downstairs to see what was happening. He sat with his dad and met his new baby brother. The four of us had a wonderful chance to get to know each other during that quiet time. Barb and Annemarie did the necessary paperwork and made placenta prints for us. Claudia arrived after we got out of the bath. Rhett spent some time nursing and I got tea and a massage from Claudia. We weighed and measured Rhett, he was 8lbs12oz and 20 3/4” long.
Once we were all cleaned and fed, Barb, Annemarie and Claudia each headed home. Jesse, Luke and I went to bed for the second time that night, so blessed to have our new baby Rhett joining us!

Spring 2005

When I began to write this birth story, I was surprised by how difficult it was for me to stick to the topic. Luke’s birth story was a simple telling of facts- how we had chosen a midwife assisted birth, how the pregnancy went and what took place during labour and birth. Rhett’s story, on the other hand, demanded the inclusion of more: how the pregnancy was affecting his brother, how his dad and I took time to enjoy waiting for him and to plan his arrival and life with us. How the many wonderful friendships built through the shared experience of parenthood allowed us to appreciate a new baby all the more.
Luke was the catalyst that started the life Jesse and I enjoy now. A busy career, numerous volunteer commitments, countless playdates and time spent with family and friends are how our days are spent now. This contrasts sharply with our pre-Luke days- we can’t, in fact, remember what we did with all that time!
While Luke’s birth inspired our new life, Rhett’s had no choice but to blend into it. This is where, I believe, one of the many benefits of homebirth is seen. By normalizing birth, our midwife, doulas and friends facilitated the uncomplicated addition of this tiny boy into our family. We can’t thank them enough for their trust in birth, their encouragement and their support.
We are eternally grateful that Rhett has decided to join us. We love you, Rhett Nathaniel, we are so happy you are here!

Are you a Fierce Mama?!

2010-01-03T21:01:00.000-08:00

You know you are! We are back after a holiday hiatus & are in need of submissions. Your writing does not need to be perfect, we will handle any editing that needs to happen. We do not edit for style at all- these are your stories & need to be told in your voices. Submissions can be sent to arieann@gmail.com

Aoibheann's Birth

2009-12-08T12:00:00.000-08:00

Well, what to say? Aoibheann (pronounced Eve-een) has surprised me throughout this pregnancy. I honestly thought she was a boy, especially with how active she was.
I ‘planned’ that she would come a little later in the week, closer to her due date, but this little girl fooled me. I knew I had been getting closer to giving birth. Saturday, February 28, 2009 started out normally for me: I went to the gym, where I had a bit of a run and a good spinning class. I listen to my body and I don’t push it too hard, but I do get a good workout going, which I did Saturday as well. Kim and I went to the temple in Cardston in the afternoon for a session, and my mum watched the children for us. Everything was fine; I didn’t feel uncomfortable or anything. No signs!
As we were leaving the church around 20:45, I felt my first sensation. I wasn’t too sure what it was, initially thinking baby was being funny moving around as she was wont to do. It was low down, which kind of confused me. A second thought told me this might be labour. I realised I hadn’t cleaned the washroom yet! It was on my to do list for Monday.
After getting the children into bed, we did some preparations; although it seemed like there would be plenty of time. I was tired, expecting to go to bed, but first I washed dishes, cleaned the toilet and switched laundry. I had a few sporadic sensations, which varied in intensity; some were light, some were stronger.
I decided to have a bath, and that felt good. The sensations didn’t give me any sign things were progressing; although I could tell I was dilating. To what degree I didn’t know. I did go to bed and though I didn’t sleep, I was able to relax some. Kim got the crockpot going with washcloths to support the perineum and put the plastic sheet on the bed.
Off and on I woke up, using the washroom. The timing of my sensations varied: sometimes 10 minutes apart, other times 20–30 minutes apart. I did need to relax through them, but they weren’t too painful. Well, I realised in spite of not doing hypnobirthing preparations, I knew how to relax and what I needed to do. I focused on staying as relaxed as I could and told myself it didn’t hurt. It certainly didn’t hurt as it normally had in my other births. The last time I got up, I realised I needed to stay up. I wasn’t sure I was close to anything. It had already been about 6 hours of fairly moderate and sporadic labour. I did a quick self check and did feel the head. I didn’t venture to guess, nor did it concern me because I know how dilation works. You seem to be hardly dilated and then dilate considerably in a short period of time. I have not checked dilation before in labour, yet it always progresses!
Close to 03:00 Sunday morning, I had Kim come into the washroom. I was labouring rather intensely while standing over the toilet, which felt the most comfortable to me. I knew I was in transition. I started vocalising through stronger sensations, and I could feel the head moving down. Checking myself again, I felt the bag of waters, which first kind of confused me (remember, I had never checked myself before, but then my other births, after transition hit, were all hands and knees so I couldn’t check myself at that point). I thought I was wrong and she could be a frank breech! I wasn’t unduly concerned though knowing we could handle it if so.
It felt good to either sit on the toilet seat and lean forward with each sensation or to stand and lean on Kim. He brought me water, let me lean on him and encouraged me of course. My water was leaking and it was good I was over the toilet because of that! Less clean up.

The head was moving down, and as it got closer and the pressure built, I tried to hold myself back from pushing, but I felt a need to though her head moved back and forth somewhat. A few more sensations and I wasn’t standing over the toilet anymore. We had put chux pads on the floor and as the birth was becoming imminent I moved to stand a little away from the toilet, but still beside it. I was even feeling during transition that this was a much easier birth than my others had been. Even in transition, I felt more in control. I was focusing on being as relaxed as I could. It worked to a degree!
I was supporting her head and after a few more sensations, her head came out, quickly followed by her body. I had hold of her, and Kim’s hands were there too, to help and support. This is the first of my children I have been able to catch myself! That was pretty wonderful. We realised she was a girl and not a boy as we had been expecting throughout my pregnancy!
She still had some vernix on her, and we didn’t even have the syringe in the washroom. Hadn’t thought of having it there! We didn’t need it; she breathed easily right away. We untucked the cord which was around her arm and shoulder (and a short cord again).
Before I even had a chance to sit down, there was Sinéad at the door. She had been sleeping on the couch because she had vomited twice shortly after we came home. She heard Aoibheann make a sound and came to investigate. I found out later she had heard me from transition until the birth. We got her to check the time and it was 03:38 Sunday, March 1, 2009. Shortly after this, Aisling and Regan woke up and came to meet their sister. I sat waiting for the placenta to come out, and it did about 40 minutes later. A little while after this, Kim clamped and cut the cord. Aoibheann had tried to nurse some, but wasn’t quite getting it yet. She did want to be wrapped up though!
After my being able to shower off and cleaning up the washroom, we headed off to bed at about 05:30. No sleep for me though :)
It turned out Sinéad heard me the whole time I was labouring in the washroom and realised I was having the baby, so the moment she heard her, came to investigate.
My afterpains were much less painful this time, which I attribute to Polly Block’s formula, calcium, and Floradix. I felt so good after the birth, much more energetic and my recovery was much better. This was really a great birth and a wonderful learning experience for me. We are so blessed to have our little Aoibheann Bree Holly.

Mary Siever is a Nutritional Consultant, Natural Family Planning teacher & childbirth educator who has had unassisted births with her 4 children.

Thoughts on CoSleeping from a Fierce Mama of 3

2009-11-27T15:35:00.000-08:00

The first days and weeks of parenting my first child, Nicholas, were a blur of fatigue and endless hours of breastfeeding. Day and night, I nursed that sleepy little baby and prayed that I'd get enough sleep to feel rested at some point.

After a few weeks, I discovered the beauty of side lying nursing which quickly turned me into a co-sleeper. Gone were the long dark hours in the middle of the night where I would perch on the side of my bed, trying not to doze off and fall over! Gone was the feeling of dread I'd feel when my sleeping baby woke up minutes after being placed in his crib! Instead, I basked in the beauty of snuggling in bed with this delicious little baby and feeling rested in the mornings.

During one of Nicholas' well-baby visits with his pediatrician, I mentioned that we'd begun co-sleeping. The pediatrician cautioned me with tales of “trying to break the habit later on” and told me I needed to get my baby sleeping in his crib again. Being a young single mom, I didn't feel confident enough to speak up with my protests so I did the next best thing: I ignored the advice and found a new pediatrician.

In the nine years since that moment I discarded the warning against co-sleeping, I have not regretted my choice. Co-sleeping with Nicholas, and eventually with his sisters Lily and Olivia, has been an immensely satisfying experience. From the ease of nighttime nursings with young babies to the important snugglings with older children who don't get enough physical touch during their days, co-sleeping has been an important part of my parenting.

We've various configurations of beds in different rooms as the years go by and people's needs change, but the one constant has been the message we've sent to our children: their needs are important no matter the time of day or night.

Tonight as he was dozing off, Nicholas curled around his sleeping baby sister and whispered to me “I love waking up next to her in the mornings when she's lying in bed cooing”. My heart went completely to mush as I thought “Me too, Nick. Me too.”.

By Kim Johnstone

*Editor's note: For research & information on safe co-sleeping practices, see Dr James McKenna's work at the Notre Dame University Mother-Baby Behavioural Sleep Laboratory

An interview with Heather Cushman-Dowdee

2009-11-22T21:19:00.000-08:00

Fierce Mamas is so excited to have our first celebrity guest interview with one of our inspirations, Heather Cushman-Dowdee. Heather is known and loved by many as the creator of Hathor The Cow Goddess. Her latest project is a book entitled Simply Give Birth

Tell us about your book- Who needs to read it? What are you hoping
it will do for the birth community?

I specifically wanted the book to be for any newly pregnant mother, not just those that have made the paradigm shift to homebirth. The birth stories are mostly unassisted, but I chose them for their tone. These are stories that are told from the mothers point of view and aren't interrupted by outer voices (except for the occasional husband). They are accessible for anyone who wants to know what it's like to give birth.

How have your births informed your current life? How did you
transform between births?

Fo me each birth built on the last and I became more and more self-sufficient. The first was a hospital birth, the second was a midwife attended homebirth, the third was an unassisted birth (my husband was a constant assist though) and my fourth was unassisted (except for a bit of back massage from my guy ;o)
My transformation took stages, I'd hear about a 'new' way to birth, I'd wonder if I could do it, research like crazy, convince everyone around me that I was indeed crazy, and then I'd simply give birth.

How do you think the events at birth can impact a couples' sex relationship?

This is a difficult one for me to answer, because I have no idea what goes on in men's heads. But, I do have a working theory that fear during birth can impact sex, far more than anything visual. The fear and powerlessness that men feel during birth can have a real negative impact but a homebirth takes a lot of that out of the equation. It's difficult though to parse out the changes that occur in the sexual relationship that are due to breastfeeding, exhaustion, depression and all the other new mama things.

The important thing to remember is that sex does happen again and with a baby in the house and all the hiding and secretive stuff it actually gets fun again too.

Describe how you feel about the current birth environment in North
America. What would you change?

Just like all other environments in North America, I think the birth environment suffers from being 'for profit'. Insurance companies, doctors, pharmaceutical companies, all are on the take. If there wasn't so much money to be made then perhaps everyone could take a deep breath, clear their brain and see what is truly best for mothers and babies.

What is the one thing you want women to know about birth?

That it's a physiological process and can happen whether you actively do anything or not. Also, that if you want to push a baby out of your wazoo the way your great grandmother did and her great grandmother and hers, then you shouldn't go to the hospital, because they don't sell that there anymore.

How can professionals working with new parents improve the situation?

Ah, now that's a question! I think we need to start getting to people before they're pregnant. 9 months isn't a lot of time for a paradigm shift.

What could we be doing differently?

talking straight and using humor to sell the ideas of homebirth and breastfeeding.

What do you think is needed for empowered birth?

For me it was Eddie Veder's Into the Wild soundtrack.

What is the largest
detractor from it?

Outside voices, people telling the mother what to do, thinking that she's an invalid and needs to be talked down to or belittled. happens all the time.

How would you describe a fierce mama?

Someone who tells the truth and doesn't worry about causing others guilt. Everyone knows that guilt is an internal emotion and can't be caused by others. Also, someone who is mad as hell and not willing to take it anymore. (see my hathor comics 2002- 2009 ;o)

Heather Cushman-Dowdee, long-time creator of the comic, Hathor the Cowgoddess, is now creating all new comics over at www.mama-is.com. Come by and see what's happening, last I heard Mama is...breastfeeding her new baby!
AND, you can still see all of the Hathor comics at www.thecowgoddess.com, too.

Bowden's Birth Story

2009-11-13T18:28:00.000-08:00

Bowden’s birth story started while I was on the phone with my best friend. I commented that Rhett, my then 15 month old, was nursing “all the freakin’ time!” I could hear Nancy grin over the phone: “You’re pregnant!” I protested for a few minutes, since another pregnancy was certainly not in my plans for the year. Nancy pointed out that the last person she’d talked to who told her their toddler seemed to be nursing constantly had been pregnant- her toddler had been busy trying to keep up a milk supply changed by pregnancy hormones. She was sure this was what Rhett was doing. I brushed the idea off, certain that it couldn’t be true.
The next time I saw Nancy, she sent me home with 2 pregnancy tests. I was so concerned about being pregnant that I let them sit in my diaper bag for 2 weeks! I finally decided to try them after being reminded that they were expiring soon. Test one didn’t seem to work quite right- the sample line didn’t show up. Test two was…positive. Hmm, I thought- that can’t be right! I called my husband to tell him that the wonky test was telling me I was pregnant. He didn’t really believe it either. As we were talking, I noticed the first test, which I’d thrown in the garbage can- it was positive now too!
Uh oh. My next call was to the midwife I had hired with my second pregnancy. She quickly sent a request to the lab in the town closest to me.
I ignored the looks from the lab tech as I hauled my almost 4 year old & my 15 month old in to take my third pregnancy test of the morning. He was unable to do the test that day, but obviously felt sorry enough for me to send me home with a test kit to use on my own.
Test three…positive. Called my husband, called Nancy (who knew all along), called the midwife.
I found myself with a lot of thinking to do. My first 2 were 33 months apart which was closer than I would have liked. My comment to people who asked me about their spacing was that “I wouldn’t do that again on purpose!” These 2 would be 22 months apart-good grief! This being said, we planned a big family so it probably didn’t matter when our third was born. My husband, Jesse and I were excited about a new baby to look forward to, but I was still feeling very overwhelmed at the thought of having three kids under 5. I had made lots of new commitments over the past while, some in-depth volunteer positions and plans to start a new business.
The more I tried to assimilate a new pregnancy, the more I found the idea of all the work a pregnancy can entail to be completely overwhelming. After much soul searching, I decided that what I needed most was to just carry on with life and pay minimal attention to “being pregnant”. This wasn’t denial, it was simply the reality of my very busy life. I needed to get on with things, and the baby would arrive when it was ready. I realized that this meant that I needed to make some changes in how I planned to give birth. Luke, my oldest, was born in March 2002, a midwife assisted homebirth. Rhett, born in January 2005, was also born at home, but came before our midwife arrived- a freebirth. After he was born, reading Dr Michel Odent’s forward to the book Adventures in Birthing, helped me understand that Rhett’s birth had gone so quickly and smoothly because it was physiologically correct. I’d slept through most of the labour and had not been directed by anyone at any point; these had allowed the fetal ejection reflex to take over. Rhett slid peacefully into the world, caught by our doula friend Annemarie shortly after she arrived. I wanted to do everything I could to duplicate his short and relatively comfortable birth. For all of this to happen, it became clear to me that I needed to have an unassisted pregnancy and a freebirth. I had no space in my calendar for the usual schedule of prenatal appointments. In my heart, I knew that the only way I could make this pregnancy work for me was to manage the whole thing myself. Jesse was fully supportive of the idea, as was my family doctor, who offered his encouragement to us. It was bittersweet to tell the midwife- I was confident in my decision, but knew I would miss many of the aspects of being in the care of a midwife.
For me, an unassisted pregnancy meant that I planned my own prenatal care. During my pregnancy, I sought out the opinion of others when I felt I needed some help in interpreting what my body was telling me. I saw my family doctor a couple of times and a friend helped me to figure out the baby’s position. I saw a massage therapist regularly during the last few months, which did wonders for my ability to relax!
A new group was being created at the time, Friends of Freebirth. The support and wise woman encouragement I received from its members was invaluable. I was lucky enough to be pregnant at a time when some close friends were also planning freebirths.
I learned everything I could about using herbs during pregnancy & birth. I gathered the tinctures I felt would help me, along with some other supplies I thought I might use during the birth.
Then I waited for the baby. There was quite a bit of question as to when the baby might be due. The earliest estimate we had was October 18, but I felt that the beginning of November was most likely. Because of this uncertainty, we spent a lot of time with our life on hold, waiting for the baby. October came and went, no baby. Beginning of November came and went, no baby. I went to events I assumed I would miss because I would have a brand new baby. I made a to do list of the things I needed to accomplish in order to make sure I wasn’t putting off the birth. I finished everything on the list. My husband decided we needed a new truck before the baby could come. We bought a new truck, still no baby. I was secretly convinced that the baby would be born on a Tuesday, since that was the day I had gone into labour with Rhett. I worried that I was trying too hard to duplicate his birth.
Finally, on Monday evening, November 13th, I had a few twinges. I knew that was it- the baby would be coming soon! I went to bed, with the intention of letting labour establish itself. Rhett peacefully fell asleep curled up next to me and I enjoyed my last night with him as my youngest baby. I remembered the quiet work we had done together during his labour. During this time, my contractions were steadily increasing their intensity.
Jesse was outside plowing the driveway so the friends we had asked to help us out during the birth wouldn’t get their cars stuck in the snow. I was finding it very hard to let my primitive brain take over with a tractor running under my window! I got up, yelled at my poor husband to stop and went back upstairs to try to settle into my contractions again. A few minutes later, my cat started playing with something on my bed, disrupting my peace. I shooed her away, but she was back again a minute later. I sat up to see what she was playing with and discovered a dead mouse on my bed. Lovely. I shrieked at Jesse to come upstairs, then stormed down. As I passed him on the stairs, I roared “I can’t do this!” Jess was talking to Nancy on the phone at the time- she assumed I was in transition when she heard me yelling! Not so much. Jesse changed the bedding for me, helped me settle Rhett back down, and we all went to bed for the night. I felt very disturbed, frustrated that the baby wasn’t coming that night after all.
Jess stayed home from work Tuesday, since it seemed obvious we’d be having our baby at any moment. The day passed slowly, with nothing happening. I was sure that I’d labour and birth at night, but again wondered if I was basing my assumptions on what had happened at Rhett’s birth. I found myself second guessing everything. Mid afternoon, I hit a bit of a wall. There was way too much activity and tension in our house, which was totally counterproductive. It’s my belief that to have a safe birth, I needed to be closely in touch with my body, which was impossible in the atmosphere I was in. Wisely, Jess decided to take the boys out for a drive to allow everyone to change their frame of mind. We invited Nancy over so I wouldn’t be alone.
I rested in bed for awhile, then got up and talked with Nancy when she arrived. I’d been taking diluted black and blue cohosh to try to get contractions going, and, at Nancy’s chiding, skipped the diluting part and downed the vile tasting tinctures straight. I lunged up and down my staircase for good measure. The herbs and the stairs seemed to work at causing mild contractions every now and then. We sat down with some red raspberry leaf tea and talked quietly about birth and babies, pausing every few minutes when I would have another mild contraction. I kept commenting on how odd I felt, not really knowing if I was in labour or not. My first two labours had begun by my water breaking, and I’d only ever experienced strong contractions. Nancy pointed out that contractions feel very different before your water has broken.
Jess came home with Luke and Rhett, and they roared around the house for awhile. Everyone was in a much better mood. When Nancy left around 7:00pm, she made the most helpful comment, “I don’t care when you have this baby. It can be tonight if you want, or next week if that’s better for you.” She obviously knew how much stress I was feeling; hearing her say that was such a relief. Just then, I had the first contraction that I actually had to stop for. I decided to have a shower. While I was showering, I thought I might have felt a trickle of amniotic fluid. Jess and I went over what we would do if the baby came quickly and was born with just us in attendance. I resisted asking our birth helpers to come, feeling very confident that I was completely ok with being alone while giving birth. “If the birth is that fast, I won’t need the help anyway!”
I called Annemarie to let her know what was happening. She was planning to come to help me during labour if I needed it. I sat on my birth ball in my darkened bathroom while we chatted. I had 4 contractions during our conversation; when I shut off the phone, the call timer said 19 minutes. Hmmm- those contractions are 5 minutes apart.
I went to bed, dozing in and out while having contractions. I had been having horrible pain in my left hip all day, and my contractions seemed to be centering there as well. I lay on my left side, hoping whatever was causing the pain would correct itself.
Every now and then, I would have a really difficult contraction and think “if the next one is that hard, I’ll get up and call Annemarie”. Then the next couple of contractions would be manageable again. Finally, during a contraction, I felt a huge shifting- suddenly I felt the pain across my abdomen, instead of in my hip! It was 10:00pm. I got up, roared down the stairs and yelled at Jess, asleep with Rhett in a chair, to wake up. This of course woke Rhett too- he started crying. Between contractions, I told Jess what was happening and asked him to call Annemarie to come so I had some physical support. I locked myself in the candlelit bathroom, using massage tools to help myself through the back pain I was now experiencing. Jess tried to take the boys up to bed, running back and forth between them and me. Rhett was howling in protest whenever his dad went back downstairs, and I remember thinking “Poor Rhett” in between contractions.
I felt a pop, and knew that my water had broken. Soon after, I needed to push. I yelled at Jesse to come help- one huge push brought the baby down- I wondered out loud if Jess could see the head. He said no, and ran back upstairs to help Rhett. One more push brought the baby to crowing. I supported the baby’s head with my hand and sat back on my heels to better catch him. I felt stinging and the head was out! The hardest part was over! I told Jess that the head was out, but he didn’t seem to have heard me. One last small push, and the baby was out. I laid him down on the towel below me, and discovered…another boy! I was so happy he was a boy, and instantly knew his name would be Bowden Morgan, as we’d planned.
Jesse came in a moment later and asked what was happening. I told him the baby was here and that it was a boy- in the dark, he hadn’t noticed the new person in the room! The cord was loosely wrapped around his neck a couple of times, so we carefully unwound it. He checked the time- 10:48pm – and brought Luke and Rhett in to meet their new brother. We all welcomed him, and said Happy Birth Day! I wrapped Bowden up in towels and sat back to nurse for the first time.
Annemarie and her kids arrived, just in time for the placenta. She commented on how long the cord was (36 inches!) and helped me with Bowden while Jesse took Rhett up to bed. We cut his cord, and weighed and measured him (8lbs, 13oz, 20 ¾ inches long), then Jess dressed him in the same first sleeper that Luke and Rhett had each worn. I had an herbal bath with the baby and Annemarie made placenta prints for us. It was amazing to show Luke the placenta- he was very interested in where his new baby brother had lived. It was getting late, so we said goodbye to our friends and headed off to bed.
Bowden is 5 months old as I write this. Looking back, I’m amazed by how intuitive my experience was. I’d never had any concerns with the birth itself, only with coping with labour and dealing with the details afterwards. It’s no coincidence that my friends were there for just those moments! He was born on Tuesday, November 14, 2006 (my maternal grandmother’s birthday; the first one after her death the previous winter) in the evening, as I’d imagined. I truly had a freebirth, just Bowden and I working together to assist his entry into our world. His first sights and sounds were of his parents and his brothers. We made our transition from a family of four to a family of five with the help of two of our dearest family friends. Perfect! Welcome Bowden- we love you!

Posted in honour of Bowden's 3rd birthday, while he sleeps in a woven wrap on my back.

-Arie

Responsibility

2009-11-11T13:35:00.000-08:00

We have a strange way of framing responsibility in our culture. Experts, because they are invested with financial, institutional, intellectual and cultural power, are expected to know what is best for us, and to tell us what to do. And, we are expected to seek them out and comply with their opinion. Many spend years of their lives becoming experts, and they certainly know things. But most of the time they don’t know us, they don’t know our children, and they don’t have to live with the consequences of our decisions, that they tend to want to make for us.

The experts can take many forms, they are everywhere. And this isn’t about judging individuals or professions but more about the cultural power we’ve imbued them with. Most obviously in the world of parenting, doctors, nurses, teachers (and I am one), but also the mother sitting next to you at playgroup, a well-meaning relative, the books we read etc. can all end up being “experts.” Certainly they are often important and helpful, but we’ve come to a place where we’ve completely skewed our sense of responsibility. Experts should be resources we seek out for information so that we can make informed decisions. The decision making should not be wrested from our hands.

As parents we have to live with the consequences of our decisions regarding our children. We are fundamentally responsible for them, until they can take responsibility for themselves. And in fact one of our most important jobs is to raise children who can take responsibility for themselves once they are adults. Modeling that process is essential. But it is easier said than done.

Culturally, we have some significant issues with taking responsibility for ones’ sexuality, and yet that is where our kids literally begin. Once pregnant, a mother is frequently pressured and coerced in so many ways, shapes and forms. Everything from medical testing, to who is providing care, to what type of maternity clothes, to what she puts in her body. The perfect stranger in the grocery aisle acts like they know better than the mother whether or not she’s having a boy or a girl, where to have her baby, what to feed herself and her baby etc. Suddenly her body is considered the responsibility of everyone else. There is an underlying assumption that she may not actually be doing everything “right” and that if we don’t keep close tabs on her she might deliberately harm her baby! There is a strong underlying message that the mother is bad for her baby, and that the baby is bad for her. So it’s everyone business to make sure they don’t cause each other too much harm (or others too much legal liability)!

Everyone around her takes responsibility for something that is not theirs to take, but the mother is encouraged to abdicate power and give her body and baby over to the experts. This situation is only exacerbated during birth, post-partum care and continues through early childhood and schooling. (It is also still there as we age and in most aspects of paid employment, home making, politics, economics etc.) That stranger also knows when our baby needs a hat. The doctor tells us our sick child is “fine.” The teacher tells us our child needs Ritalin. Our media and our institutions are constantly pummeling us with a myriad of ways that we should abdicate our responsibility for our children and hand over power to anyone and everyone but ourselves. Ironically, at the end of the day, if a parent falls short (or even is perceived to have fallen short), the blame falls squarely on their shoulders – because we are responsible, whether we accept it or like it or not.

Unfortunately, under so much pressure, parents frequently accept this state of affairs and turn to the experts instead of looking at their child and listening to their instincts. When things don’t work out blaming the children is often not far behind, or we become litigious and sue the experts. Sometimes we get mired in guilt and self-flagellation. None of this actually makes for raising healthy, happy, responsible adults.

A central part of this process is a hefty dose of fear. The media is currently selling fear like candy around H1N1, but every aspect of parenting is loaded with potential fear (and frankly so are most other parts of our lives!). It is impossible to make good decisions in a place of fear, and yet we are regularly terrified into decisions, instead of supported and informed and allowed to hear our hearts.

“you’re too (old, young, fat, thin) to have a baby – you are high risk”

“you have a low lying placenta”

“your baby is too big (or too small)”

“you must sign up for daycare before your baby is born to get a good spot”

“you must stay at home/you must work for pay”

“you must be induced”

“you must be on bed rest”

“you must be monitored at all times”

“you must get the epidural”

“you’re too late for the epidural”

“you must have monthly appointments”

“do you want your baby to die?”

“you don’t make enough milk”

“you’re eating the wrong food”

“you must send your child to preschool – or better yet to this “elite” preschool”

“your child must not watch TV”

“your child must be stimulated with black and white”

“your child must be socialized”

“your child must stay home with you”

“your child must play soccer, or ballet, or art, or swimming, or basketball, or all of the above and finish their homework, and know how to read by 5”

“your child must never bite, whine, cry, get up at night, pee in their pants, reject the creepy/or not so creepy relative or stranger”

“your child must be potty trained at (insert age here)/you can’t potty train yet”

“your child must sleep through the night and go to bed at 7pm”

And it goes on… and on… and on. It doesn’t matter whether it’s H1N1 (virus or vaccine), or potty training or which university your child “needs” to go to. It doesn’t matter whether it’s the media, experts, institutions, relatives, or me telling you what to do. Fundamentally, parents need to take responsibility for raising their own kids. That means making tough decisions, with no obvious right answers, from our hearts and our guts, after doing our own research and then accepting and living with the consequences of our actions. In the end, we actually know what is best for our families and it’s not necessarily what is best or right for someone else. The rest of us, need to back off and give real support without all the judgment and fear. This isn’t too popular these days, but we’re the ones living with our decisions whether we like it or not… so we might as well own the decisions we’ve made. And the truly liberating part, let others own theirs too!

Nursing Leah

2009-11-09T09:04:00.000-08:00

I grew up with a mother who nursed all of her six children, the last three of whom were born at home. At the age of ten I was able to watch my youngest brother’s birth. My aunts and older cousins all nursed their children as well. That’s how it was in my family and that’s how I would raise my children. When I was fifteen I was diagnosed with a soft tissue sarcoma (breast cancer) which resulted in a mastectomy, my right breast and nipple were removed. I decided that I would still be able to nurse, after all if a woman could nurse twins with two boobs, I could easily nurse one baby with my one boob.

Ten years later, I’m pregnant and reading all the breastfeeding books I could find, dragging my husband, Andrew, to breastfeeding lectures, consulting with a breastfeeding specialist and attending La Leche League meetings. To add to my concern about having one boob, my only nipple was inverted. But as Andrew reminded me more than once; ‘it’s breastfeeding, not nipplefeeding.’ I was also practicing positive thinking and so was confident (most of the time) that nursing would come easily to me and my baby and I would have plenty of milk. Despite the breastfeeding specialist and various members of the medical community mentioning a drug given to women to increase the amount of milk produced. Not to mention friends and family voicing concern over whether or not my baby would be getting enough milk. I’m stubborn by nature so those nay-sayers were effectively tuned out.

Leah was born in late December, 8 pounds 13 ounces. After all the reading and advice I was given I was eager for Leah to self latch, and was allowing her to do so when the nurse bustled over and said “No, this is how you do it.” and pushed Leah’s face into my boob, which made Leah scream and refuse to try again. Eventually she did latch on and my midwife said she was latching well. She nursed for about an hour, I was surprised at how well and how strong she sucked. I remember how happy I was, nursing my baby. Nursing Leah tingled a bit and was a little painful, when I mentioned this to the mid-wife she told me that was normal but if it continued past three or four days to get help.
The first few days went well, even with her having jaundice and the nurses coming for three days to poke her. The first doctor advices’ us to give her formula to ‘flush her system’ because my milk hadn’t come in yet. A different doctor, the next day, after being told my milk had come in said to keep nursing, it was probably only breastfeeding jaundice and nursing will clear it up. The totally opposing opinions given by the doctors made me really mad.
By then, Leah had discovered how much she loved nursing, but I was starting to be apprehensive about letting her. I would hold her just centimeters away, hold my breath, count to three and then let her nurse; my legs straight out from the rocking chair, toes curled. She patiently kept her mouth wide open waiting for her mom to be ready. Sometimes I would count to three a few times; that wide open mouth scared me so much. I started calling her my little monster muncher.
I didn’t realize how much pain I was in until our one week appointment. That morning I discovered a scab on the side and one long crack the whole way across the top of my nipple. When we got to the office and went in to see the mid-wife (unfortunately, a different woman from when Leah was born) I burst into tears as soon as she asked me how things were going. She examined my nipple and was astonished that I had lasted this long nursing since the damage was pretty bad. Andrew was upset that I didn’t tell him I was hurting, but until that morning I thought it was normal. The mid-wife watched Leah nurse and said “Her latch is good, but, maybe you should give yourself a break and feed her formula for a day to let your nipple heal. Maybe buy a nipple shield too.” I’m still haunted by those words.

We went home that day with bottles, formula, nipple shields in varying sizes and me in tears. I was really apprehensive about giving her formula. I wanted to maintain my milk supply, and after all my research I knew it was best for Leah and myself. But, even through my tears, the thought of not having her latched on and sucking was appealing.
We gave her formula soon after we got home, and later when she got hungry again. I think it was three feedings in a row, at least six hours without nursing. After that we would nurse with the nipple shield for about ten minutes and then give her formula. When Leah was two weeks old we went to see the breastfeeding specialist. She gave us the proper size nipple shield and told me how to treat/medicate my nipple; lanolin, lanolin and more lanolin, going topless and airing out helps too. Once again, I was in tears the entire time. I felt like I was failing Leah by not being able to nurse her. I had done so much research and had such high expectations; I was expecting it to be easy and totally painless. The reality was so different; it was like battling cancer all over again, I had no idea it would be like that.

We continued to give Leah formula after a few minutes of nursing. The amount of milk I was making was quite a bit lower than it had been and I was very adamant about keeping some milk. I had appointments with the breastfeeding specialist (BFS) weekly, she was very kind and helped me see I was doing the best I could.
It took a while but eventually my nipple was healed. I’m pretty sure I cried the first time I nursed Leah without the shield, even if it was for only ten minutes. Our routine was ten minutes nursing without the shield, ten minutes nursing with (sometimes longer because I loved nursing her) and then formula.

My goal was to wean Leah from formula as we built up my milk supply. When I told the BFS my goal, she was initially skeptical but told me to bring Leah in for a check up in four weeks. I went to my sister’s bridal shower shortly thereafter and forgot Leah’s formula, I nursed her the whole time (luckily I did remember our nipple shield, I think I might have done some serious damage without it) and spent the next two days entirely on the couch nursing Leah whenever she wanted. I had been thinking I needed to do that to build up my milk supply and I guess subconsciously I was ready. My milk as back!

We were still giving Leah about two ounces of formula in the evening. That’s when she was fussy, and we figured it was because she was hungry and for some reason my milk was gone by the end of the day. A few days later Leah and I went to a LLL meeting and Arie reassured me that my milk couldn’t ‘dry’ up like I was thinking it could. She mentioned that two ounces is only a fraction of what Leah needs and she was probably just tired or it might be any number of reasons babies cry in the evening. Another thing she told me which made me smile: in France, during the time of wet nurses, a law was passed that limited the number of babies a woman could nurse to seven. I stopped giving Leah formula that night.

At our next visit to see the BFS, she was below her growth curve, neither myself nor the BFS were concerned because she was still very happy and content. I think she was re-learning how to suckle, drinking from the bottle is much easier than nursing and she had to build up those muscles again. I remember worrying about how on earth can I help her re-learn that skill, and in a moment of clarity realized that continuing to nurse would be the best way. If she’s hungry she’ll suck, and the harder she sucks the more milk she’ll get. Leah was nine weeks old by now and after another four weeks of exclusive nursing she had gained a terrific amount of weight, a happy chubby breastfed baby.

Leah was only about 7 weeks old by the time we were nipple shield and formula free. Looking back it doesn’t seem like long, but at the time it felt like an eternity. I thought we would never be a complete nursing mother and baby. It was a daily battle: maintaining my belief that eventually it would all be over, reminding myself that I wasn’t failing Leah as a parent, being strong and not giving in to pressure that I might not make enough milk and/or my nipple couldn‘t handle nursing. Sometimes I wonder how things would have turned out if I asked for help earlier or if we hadn’t given Leah formula and just used a nipple shield. But, I don’t like to dwell on ‘what ifs’ and things have turned out wonderfully. I remember saying to my aunties that being able to nurse Leah was harder than giving birth to her. Now, when Leah is about to nurse she gets really excited and has the most wonderfully beautiful laugh. I love to hear it and every time I do I am grateful. Nursing Leah is the best thing I have ever fought for.

By Nicole Chatelaine

Breastfeeding Through Surgeries

2009-11-01T12:23:00.000-08:00

One would think that having had one child would better prepare you for the challenges of having another. Only mothers of multiples truly understand how unique each child is even from the womb. My second child, my son, took half a year to conceive compared to my first who took only one try. After months of frustration of disappointments, I let go of my desires to hold a child, and it was then when I became pregnant. The first 6 months were typical of my pregnancies, 3 months of horrible nausea followed by 3 months of high energy and drive. However, when I hit my last trimester, I started having terrible contractions, and I was hospitalized then on bedrest for the last few months.

That should have signaled to me that my second pregnancy would not be the same as my first. Despite the different experiences, I still held on to my belief that I wanted to give my son the best of what I could provide as it was my belief with my first. I wanted to breastfeed my son the moment that he came into the world. It seems like such a simple desire, but I knew that it wasn’t going to be without challenges.

My son came into the world the day after the doctor stopped my meds. After my nurse cleaned him up, he came straight to my breast and latched on like it was his rightful place. Even she said to me, “He’s so good at that!” I looked proudly down at him suckling away, and I hoped that this time it would be perfect.

All was well for a few months until my right breast started giving me trouble. I had always had problems with that breast even with my daughter when I had several infections. It was the same with my son. I felt very frustrated by the pain and perhaps the thought that I would not be able to produce enough milk for him to go strictly with breastmilk. The pain persisted, especially under my armpit even though I went through several rounds of antibiotics. So my doctor prescribed an ultrasound exam at the breast clinic to just make sure that there wasn’t anything going on.

I expected a routine exam, nothing too serious, but after doing the ultrasound, the tech seemed worried, and she asked me to stay longer so that the lead doctor could take a look at the results. They came back to tell me that they needed to do a full digital mammogram. I thought that I wouldn’t have to do one until I was much older, so it was quite a shock. Numb from the possibilities, I went through the painful exam, and then sat as the doctor explained that I had micro-calcifications of unusual patterns in the right breast, and it looked like pre-cancer. They wanted to schedule a stereotactic core needle biopsy of the breast just to make sure. I just couldn’t accept that this was happening to me.

I ended up doing a biopsy on the right breast the following week, and it was extremely painful. What was more painful than the procedure was when right after the biopsy, the male doctor said with a straight face, “I want you to be prepared. It is most likely cancer, and you should prepare for a mastectomy as you don’t have much breast tissue and a lumpectomy would be useless. Good news is that it’s 100% curable.” I could not believe what he said to me. I sat there shaking, then the tears flowed. “I HAVE CANCER” was all I thought. The wonderful tech ladies tried to console me, and they seemed shocked as well as most people my age don’t often get cancer.

So many people prayed for me during that time. It was awesome to see so much support from people of all aspects of my life. There was a lot of bleeding as the needle from the biopsy punctured a duct, and I could not feed my son from that side. Fortunately, my left breast produced more milk in the first place, so though difficult, I was able to continue breastfeeding him. Through it all, many people kept telling me to just quit, that formula is as good, and I’ve gone through so much. There was no information whatsoever in print material nor online about how to breastfeed while recovering from a biopsy. I had to figure it all out on the fly, but my son just adapted to the changes.

Thankfully, the results came back negative; however, the radiologist felt it wasn’t conclusive enough, so I was scheduled for another biopsy to gather more cells in a different area. With my breast having been traumatized so much, there was no way I could continue to breastfeed from that side. With the knowledge I gained from my first experience, I recovered from my second biopsy much faster. I was elated when the results came back negative for the second test as well despite the radiologist’s surprise. He didn’t factor in the power of prayer and my faith.

My right breast dried up over the next few months, but I have been exclusively breastfeeding from my left side. Yes, I’m a little lopsided, but when I see the joy glowing in my son’s face after feeding, I don’t notice that at all. He will be 2 years old in January. All I wanted was to be able to feed him for the first year; I never expected so many challenges, but I am so thankful and glad that I held on to my desire. With the help of my friends and my community, I was able to accomplish my plan and so much more. I have truly been blessed.

Michelle Eunjison Schlensker: wife to Marriage & Family therapist hubby, mama to two beautiful half Korean and half German children, daughter to two dedicated and hardworking parents, owner of www.uhboohbahbaby.com , www.greenthumbfabrics.com & www.3treedesign.com Wow is she busy!

Safe Positioning in Slings

2009-10-30T21:35:00.000-07:00

Consumer Reports blog this week announces the heartrenching death of 6 day old Derrik Fowler in an Infantino Slingrider. He died of positional asphyxia- when a baby asphyxiates due to the airway being compressed by the weight of his own head.

This happens when babies are poorly positioned in all types of products: car seats, baby chairs & yes, baby carriers. When babies chins are touching their chests, their airway is compressed. They lack the muscular control to lift their heads to prevent asphyxiation, placing them in an extremely dangerous situation- one Derrik's parents must be devastated about.

I cannot imagine their feelings when they learn that his death was completely preventable. In 2006 & 2007, informal tests were done on the respiration rates & oxygen saturation rates of babies in Infantino Slingriders. They were performed by a former RN & babywearing educator. She sent her findings, along with supporting information, to Infantino & to the American Consumer Product Standards council. Further detail can be found at www.thebabywearer.com

While the Infantino sling is obviously a disaster waiting to strike again, poor positioning in any carrier places infants at risk. It is essential that babies faces are never covered by the fabric of a carrier & that their heads are angled back, keeping their chins well away from their chests. The photos on the Infantino product site are a good indicator of the unsafe positioning that must be avoided.

While some brands of carrier are designed in a way that does not allow the possibility of safe positioning, many excellent brands that do allow for it are used in a position that I no longer consider safe or biologically correct- the cradle hold.

There are a number of reasons I will no longer teach this position. In most photos of babies placed in the cradle position, the baby's chin is down at its chest. It is very difficult for most parents to safely position the baby while it is in the cradle hold.

Second, the cradle position does not place the baby in the position it expects to be in- vertically, between its mothers breasts. Dr Nils Bergman, a physician & researcher who has extensively studied the immensely beneficial practice of keeping babies in their habitat- vertically, between the mothers breasts, says: "The baby is in the right place and therefore has the right behaviour."

As a Lactation Educator (LE) & a Babywearing Educator, I often help parents resolve difficult breastfeeding problems by simply recommending Kangaroo care- ie, time spent skin to skin, vertically, between the mothers breasts.

When babies begin a nursing session in the vertical position (moving themselves over to actually nurse), they are best able to effectively coordinate their suck/swallow/breathe reflexes (for more information on these concepts, see the work of Dr Suzanne Coulson , Kittie Frantz, Dr Michel Odent as well as Dr Bergman)

If babies orient vertically, I believe placing them at an angle, or horizontally, can disorient them. In my experience, this can lead to, or exacerbate, breastfeeding difficulties.

The cradle position continues to be taught by manufacturers & educators, but I recommend you avoid using this positioning. It makes it difficult to position the baby safely & appears to contribute to breastfeeding problems.

Instead, newborn babies should be positioned tummy to chest, with their legs in a frog position, knees higher than bum. The carrier should support them well enough that they are not slumping down in it, potentially compromising their airway.

Babywearing is a wonderful tool that gives babies the minimum they expect- to be carried by their mother. It is also a learned skill that requires a bit of background knowledge to safely perform. Please always be certain that your baby is safely carried.

Moment of Clarity

2009-10-27T00:31:00.000-07:00

Thinking back to the time when I was pregnant with my now four-year-old, I feel so blessed to have been able to enjoy the pregnancy in the way I did. Not that I didn’t have morning sickness, or extreme angst about some things that were happening in my life, but my memory of the pregnancy (which hormone is it that makes you forget the rough stuff?) is thoroughly beautiful.

I wandered the trails around Calgary’s Glenmore Reservoir, my belly pressing warmly against my winter coat. When I remember the time, I have this Utopian vision of my cheeks rosy and shiny, my hair gently blowing in the wind, my belly glowing sun-like right through my coat, and a smile that just wouldn’t stop glistening on my perfectly plump face. My hands, for 9 ½ months, were both on my belly, just below my belly button for the majority of each day.

I consciously chose to be outside as often as possible during my pregnancy, and I made that time a special time to deeply connect with the baby in my belly, and with nature. I sang to the trees and the river and the sky, and to my baby, vaguely self-conscious that my singing would be overheard by the many walkers, runners, and cyclists passing along the trails.

One cold morning I got to my usual walking place a little earlier than normal. This felt like a gift. Everything was so quiet and peaceful, no chattering joggers and no bikes whizzing by. I started to sing, listening to my voice echoing the song of my baby’s possible names out into the trees. I headed down the hill into a more excluded wooded area, and about halfway down the hill my thoughts started to churn.

First, I had images of somebody jumping out of the woods, demanding all my money. I held tightly to the cell phone in my pocket, considering storing 911 in my quick-dial as I continued my walk. Then my mind jumped to the time someone had come across a bear on the trail just a bit away from where I was walking. My thoughts flipped to the realization that I would be more frightened of a person than a bear, in that situation. Finally, I realized that people don’t usually carry money while jogging or biking, so anybody jumping out of the woods would be doing so with more horrible intentions.

In the midst of these thoughts and images racing through my mind, both hands went to my belly, and my fear jolted me through to a fight-or-flight response. For a moment, as I considered turning to run back up the hill, I stopped and stood still, tingling with the awareness of danger.

In that moment, a powerful image entered into my mind – I could see a man, obviously of ill-intent, heading up the hill toward me, and I saw myself reach forward, into his chest, and hold his heart in my hand. His eyes looked into mine, and he knew, in the depth of his being, that I would kill him if I needed to.

In that split second, I knew it too, in a way so absolute that the peace of the moment was overwhelming. I knew that if it was necessary, I would growl words that made the incredible, life-giving power of my love for my unborn baby so clear that my attacker would back down and run for his own life. And I knew that, if necessary, I would use my unwieldy body in such a way that any person threatening my baby would be hurt or even killed. I knew also that the power of my love would extend into mercy, and that as soon as an attacker’s intention shifted, he would be released, and encouraged to run.

The image passed, and I exhaled my held breath, my eyes still open wide. The woods shifted back into the warm arms that held my walk and echoed my songs, and the path seemed to open up ahead of me. I continued that walk, and the many more that followed it, drenched in awe for the life journey I was embarking on, and completely confident that the mama in me had access to whatever would be necessary to protect my baby.

Lisa Kathleen is a parenting coach and parent educator in Calgary, Alberta. You can find her on her website at www.fullcircleparenting.com

Transformation Through 4 Births

2009-10-22T12:13:00.000-07:00

Chantelle’s Birth Stories

Baby #1

March 8, 2003 (Due date March 10)

My bloody show started in the morning. Contractions started around 8:45pm, 2 min long and 10-12 minute apart. I called Dean at work and told him to come home. I had a false alarm the previous week so he was skeptical, but came home anyway. I kept telling him to have a shower but he did not believe that this was the real deal. Suddenly my water broke at 9:50pm and like a flash Dean was in the shower. Contractions went to 2 minutes apart. We rushed Molly (our dog) down to Dean’s parents and then continued on to the hospital. I called the hospital in our local town to tell them we were coming. I was in so much pain. It was a cold night and I remember running my fingers across the cold window of the truck hoping to ease my pain somehow. Forgot about all the breathing we had practiced in prenatal class as I was unable to get on top of it. The doctor on call checked me in the midst of a contraction (grrrrrrr!) and I was 4cm. They decided to try to send me by ambulance to the Misericordia (hospital in the city nearby). They gave me Demerol to help with the pain in anticipation of an uncomfortable trip. By the time the ambulance was ready, after about 20 minutes, I was already 7cm. The doctor abandoned the idea of Edmonton and admitted me. Dean filled out the hospital papers while I screamed bloody murder. I felt like I had to poop. I asked if it was too late to go in the shower, nurse said yes. I was so lost, with no guidance from the nurse, Dean was clearly overwhelmed and I had no idea how to handle the pain. Meanwhile the Demerol was kicking in. Checked me again and I was 10 cm and ready to go. Dean is still filling out papers while in delivery room. I remember being so out of it and not wanting to cooperate, sleeping between contractions because of the Demerol. I was afraid of the pain if I pushed and of damaging my vagina. Finally I made some effort after the doctor threatened to give me some meds to increase the strength of the contractions. I told him I would try harder although I just wanted to go home. Because I was so reluctant to push she had major swelling and bruising on her face, once her shoulders were through, I couldn’t help but push as the doctor told me not to. One final push and out she came at approx 1am, the nurse exclaimed “a beautiful baby girl!!” Paige Jean was 8lbs 13ounces and I was so shocked that it was a girl as I was certain it was a boy the entire pregnancy!!!

Postpartum: lots of blood (at the time, it seemed extreme, I know better now)

Stitches were painful.

Nurses were bossy.

Baby #2

August 9, 2005 (due date August 4)

Overdue by 6 days, I was scheduled for an appointment in Edmonton to meet with the doctor. I was absolutely desperate to get this baby out, incredibly uncomfortable. Could not walk or sit, and absolutely constipated. BLAAAHHH!!! He stripped my membranes and instructed me to head over to the Grey Nuns for induction. Checked in and nurse set me up with a stress test. I was under the understanding that I was being induced right then and there. Then the head nurse comes in and says they are too busy and do not induce in the middle of the afternoon anyway. They would put me on the list for the following morning. I was devastated! We stayed overnight at Dean’s brother and sister-in-law’s. I did not sleep at all, cried most of the night and had a bath to try to get some sleep. The following morning we waited for the phone to ring, they said they would call around 7:30am. I felt completely out of control and at the mercy of the nurses. Dean came in the bathroom to let me know finally they had called at 8:15am, while I was in the shower bawling my eyes out. PHEW!!! What a huge relief, this baby was coming out today! We called Alana, my coach and friend and she met us there, I had enlisted her hoping for a better, more focused birth.

They started the pitocin around 9:30am. Then the doctor on call (don’t recall his name) breaks my water, contractions come around 2 minutes apart, getting stronger and stronger. Breathing worked well for a while; I remember Alana had spearmint gum and kept breathing hard right in my face, keeping me focused. Contractions become so strong I was screaming, the synthetic pitocin still pumping through the IV. They tried giving me the gas which is a joke BTW, to be effective you have to inhale the gas during the contraction. How are you supposed to inhale when you’re screaming???!!! The nurse suggests that I get up to go to the washroom to move my bladder and dilate the last 2 cm and I thought this was outrageous!! How am I supposed to walk?? But they talked me into it, and it actually was not that bad. I sat for a while on the toilet, and then slowly made it back to the bed, with my cart of wires & IV. Ready to push and when I pushed it felt so much better!! 6 pushes @ 3-4 pushes a piece. The baby had shoulder dystocia and there was some panic for a minute or so. Alana and Dean pulled my legs up by my head and the nurse pushed on my stomach. Out came a huge baby boy, 9 lbs 13 ounces at approx 1pm. The doctor commented all he needed was a lunch box and was ready for school. Reese Douglas was nicknamed “lunch box” for a year or so. As the nurses wheeled me to the maternity ward, they commented how I was welcome back anytime as I was such an excellent patient. I understand that more now, 4 years later.

Postpartum: Lots of blood and a bit of a risk because of bigger baby. All worked out fine. Nurses were excellent. 187 pounds pre-labour, 175 pounds 24 hours later.

Baby #3

November 5, 2007 (due date November 7)

The doctor put me on a waiting list for induction at about 39 weeks due to the bigger baby and shoulder dystocia risk, and I was bumped day after day for about a week. Once again I turned into a psychopath waiting for these nurses to pick me! Of course, they call us shortly after Dean decided to go to work after waiting around at home for days.

Arrive at the hospital and the IV is inserted for the pitocin and Alana, Dean and I hung out for a few hours in the room, laughing and joking around. Quite a bit of time elapsed as compared to Reese. Finally Doc on call broke my water, and then things progressed quickly. Suddenly there is no more joking or laughing. Spent some time in the hot shower, and then moved back to the bed. I began pushing around 4:50pm. As I am pushing I remember being very alert compared to past births. I wondered why there were so many people in the back of the room leaning against the wall. I even asked why, someone said “They are learning.” I was annoyed by this, unfortunately, this was just the start!

Pushing with Hayley was difficult and I really had to work, again on my back. But they were slow and steady. Out came Hayley, 8 lbs 13 ounces. She was born at 5:08pm. The nurses commented how wonderful I did and how surprised they were with my strength. I found this a bit unusual. There must be more women giving birth without painkillers???

Postpartum: I began hemorrhaging and mild Shoulder Dystocia. I also had stitches. I should also note that I was unable to have comfortable sexual intercourse for the following 10 months, cause unknown. I had 2 nurses, one quite bossy the other a bit of a follower. They inserted a catheter to empty my bladder, certain it was in the way of my uterus contracting. The after pains were horrible. The pushing on my stomach was equally or more so horrible!!! Finally after a few hours, I was moved to recovery. New unit, so the room was brand new. I didn’t get out of bed until following morning around 9am, which was hugely detrimental to my recovery.

In one instance a nurse came on shift and said she wanted to check my spine where the epidural was inserted. I told her I had no epidural, “oh” she says “that’s a first.” What???

After the slow start I was convinced I was not going home that day but finally by around 5pm I decided I was ready. So we loaded Megan Isabelle into her car seat. Then Dean said “Let’s go home Megan.” We looked at each other and knew she was not a Megan. We went and found the nurse and our government form and the black pen, scratched out Megan and wrote Hayley. Now we were ready to go home. As we left the parking lot, I felt sad that I would never be back to deliver another baby...or so I thought.

When we discovered I was pregnant for the fourth time, which was completely unplanned and a HUGE oops on our part, I was a mess. Things with our 3 children were just beginning to become easier and a trip to Vegas or somewhere tropical was on the horizon, among that was the idea of working my way out of the infant stage. I cried a lot and it took me months to warm up to the idea as our youngest was only 13 months old when we discovered the news. I was very sick and incredibly tired.

Also, I was terrified of what was ahead of me as far as another evasive labour. In my mind, I was getting too old for this; my body was trying to tell me that I shouldn’t have more children and I interpreted that as, if I did, medical intervention was the only way. In order to avoid a big baby and the complications that come along with it, I began to contemplate an elective c-section. I didn’t necessarily want one; I just didn’t think I had any other choice. I knew that another induction was out of the question as they were getting increasingly more risky.

Then along came Arie. She and her close friend ran an online website that sold cloth diapers, baby carriers and many other products. I had bought cloth diapers from her for Hayley and had spoke with Arie on a few occasions for advice on the products she offered. She had mentioned to me in the past how she had delivered her 3 children at home, which at the time, I thought was crazy!! Then one evening while on facebook I saw she had posted a link regarding c-sections and the risks they pose including the aftermath and potential effects they can have later in life.

I decided to call her the next day and talk to her about my dilemma. Shortly into our discussion she said to me “Did you ever think that the complications you experienced were a result of being induced?” Wow! I had a complete “ah-ha” moment. It all made sense, complete sense. I pushed the doctors to induce me, I wondered over and over why they didn’t seem concerned about my situation, until I was 41 weeks, then they wanted to take control for example with Reese. (Which looking back, I totally believe that it was a “pit to distress” attempt that thankfully did not work out in their favor.) The doctors weren’t concerned because there was nothing to be concerned about. I was making it all into a huge deal, a crisis out of being pregnant. Essentially, I viewed it as a disaster waiting to happen. All of this made me incredibly sad, I had three births under my belt and I knew nothing of my choices and had learned nothing about having a birth that meant something. All this time I bragged of my drug-free births, pushing them out vaginally, when really I had tons of intervention. I had pitocin with 2 births and it doesn’t get more intervening than that, next to a c-section. Just because I didn’t have painkillers (with the exception of course to the Demerol I never consented to), I thought I was doing it naturally. I begged for those inductions, I would have camped out in the labour and delivery ward had they let me. I was not going to wait for the baby to come when it was ready, I didn’t trust my body or my baby. I had basically lost all faith that I was able to go into labour on my own.

So, after this conversation, I set out to find myself a doula and possibly a midwife. I began reading books regarding intervention-free births and books about choosing your own birth. One of the books was “Your Best Birth” by Ricki Lake and Abby Epstein, I strongly recommend this book. It took me until about 30 weeks before I found a doula, which I ended up not going with after Arie offered her services to me. She was not a registered doula but she had attended a few births but her knowledge surpassed the 3 doulas I had previously spoken with and I trusted her completely. I felt a huge weight lifted off my shoulders and I began to have an incredible feeling of entitlement. I was entitled to a birth of my choice, a pregnancy of my choice, and I realized that I do not need doctors. We need them when we are sick, or there is an emergency. But I was not sick and there was no emergency. I was pregnant, and that was all.

I have to mention that most people that I told about my revelation thought I had completely lost my mind. It is increasingly disturbing that many people question the safety of a natural birth more than the safety of an unnecessary elective c-section or induction.

As the weeks passed I became anxious at the thought of even stepping foot in a hospital. I dreaded the thought of the doctors and nurses taking the control away, and crapping all over my birth experience. After much discussion with my own thoughts and my husband and doula, I knew that the hospital was the best answer. I was not prepared to take responsibility for the result should something unforeseen happen during a home birth. We began working on our own issues and preparing ourselves to demand the experience we wanted and stand our ground. Occasionally getting a little carried away as I had even contemplated labouring in the parking lot of the hospital or even delivering in the parking lot as I would be close should I need assistance, and then arrive at the ward full out pushing or even carrying a baby in my arms. Then they couldn’t possibly intervene.

*The following are some journal entries close to the end of my pregnancy.

August 10, 2009. Now at 39 weeks and knowing that my one and only choice is a no intervention birth, I am once again being tested to the max, emotionally and physically. I strongly believe that this is the best for my baby and myself, however, I now need to be prepared to wait it out. I have been in latent labour for what feels like 2 weeks. I have had to reassure myself that I have the ability to go into labour on my own, that I need to trust my baby and my body.

I have been confident that one of the false labour experiences I have had in the past few weeks was the one, and I did it! I went in on my own! Then every morning I wake up, still pregnant. And although, I still have a week to go, I am fighting my own internal battle. Feeling the need to perform for all those that doubt this choice I have made, and with the growing feeling inside that I am utterly and completely tired of being pregnant and this baby could not come soon enough. The more I research and learn how psyche has a lot to do with labour, now I am trying not to stress about being stressed... “Allow myself to introduce myself”. At this stage it is all enough to make me nuts! What happened to my “cool as a cucumber” outlook?? “The baby will come when it is ready” philosophy?? Nobody can understand this late-pregnancy syndrome until you are up to your eyeballs in it; I can tell you right now, it is not pretty.

August 13, 2009 I had some show this morning and then nothing. However, I am refreshed and ready to relax after my appointment with a reflexologist this afternoon. I have been in a labour forum this morning, reading other women’s posts, who are 36-38 weeks, and going bonkers and begging for help on how to naturally induce their labours. I keep thinking, you have no idea what is still ahead of you! So I feel like I have a grip again and ready to push through the rest of today and hopefully get through to Monday with this same attitude. At that time I will maybe think of experimenting with some castor oil or other herb at the advice of my doula. I have doctors breathing down my neck telling me to be prepared to be induced at 41 weeks. I don’t dare book another appointment as I’m afraid this will seal my fate. I guess it is time to step up and become uncooperative.

Aug 17, 2009 Due date has arrived and is almost over. I have put my children to bed early in hopes of having some quiet time before Dean gets home. I need to have a chat with this baby and remember why I chose this route to begin with. I have been in tears twice today with fear that I will not go into labour on my own and the baby will have to be removed via C-section or medical induction. I am afraid the baby will go into distress. I am afraid I will be denied care after 41 weeks. I am most afraid that my willpower will not persevere and I will give in and have my membranes stripped, etc. I wish I could be as surprised as I was when my water popped with Paige. I was relaxed and doing a puzzle that afternoon. Not analyzing every little pain in my belly. Being 2 days early certainly helped as well.

Within minutes of writing the above entry, shortly after 8pm, I felt a funny pop in my abdomen. It wasn’t my water but it got my attention. I got up and went to the washroom, I noticed some pink on the tissue after, and so I wiped again some more…nothing. As I sat there analyzing this small pink blot on the tissue, I stood up and accepted it was likely another false sign. I am about to flush and notice pink and red drips in the toilet. I wipe again and more pink, more red. YES!!! I smile and phone Alana. I hang out on the toilet and chat with her, telling her labour is likely only 24 hours away. I get off the phone with her and start to notice that I am out of breath, I am having a contraction. It is weak, but nevertheless, a good contraction. I check my underwear and there is more show on my panty liner. Holy crap! I call Dean and there is no answer, so I try again, no answer. I call the company he was working with and tell them to send him home, I am in labour. Next, I call Arie and tell her what is going on, she is going to get child care and meet us at Dean’s brother and sister’s house in Edmonton. At that time it is around 8:30 pm and the contractions are becoming stronger and closer together, between 4-7 minutes apart. I check my panties again, I feel a spark of panic, the show is so plentiful that I need to change my panty liner. I call Dean and ask him if he is coming, he says he is crossing the bridge, about 20 minutes away. I call Alana again; her husband, Jim answers and I tell him that she needs to come now. As I am walking around the house trying to put the last minute things in my suitcase, I keep forgetting to put on some pants. Jim calls a couple times to check on me as I am waiting for Alana, Dean, Dean’s mom and grandmother to arrive, I get through a couple contractions while talking to him. At 9:10pm they all arrive within seconds of each other. Dean quickly showers and Alana jumps in her vehicle while Dean and I jump in our truck and head to Edmonton, about an hour drive, leaving Marj and Great Grandma with the kids. The contractions are difficult and about 4 minutes apart and all of us are questioning if we are going to make it.

I try to sit hard on my bum in attempt to close my pelvis and I felt like I have a full bladder, which slows down my labour. Stretching it out 7-8 minutes apart and weakening the contractions. As we pass through Nisku, I start to panic, I don’t know the route Dean is taking and I am unable to talk through the contractions. We go through Beaumont and I freak out again that we are lost, we also run out of windshield washer and the windshield is a disgusting bug-gut mess so Dean has to pull over and re-fill. Finally we make it to the hospital. The thought of having to walk anywhere was so overwhelming. It proves to be impossible; I have to sit on my knees on the ground during a contraction. A nurse spots us and brings us a wheelchair. We have to go through emerg because the main doors are locked at night. ER is packed and we have to stop to be admitted, also wait for someone to come down from L & D and come get us. Suddenly I feel someone’s hand on my shoulder; it is Alana clearly out of breath and relieved to be there. I was so happy to see her; we had lost her on the way as Dean was driving 180km/h at times. As we get up to L & D, the nurses see us and we are guided into a room. I tell them I need to go pee. I go into the bathroom and hang out there for a while as I am afraid that they are going to take away the control. I get back to the bed and the one nurse explains that she looked over my birth plan and wants to give me an IV because of the hemorrhage and shoulder dystocia. No, I don’t want an IV. She responds well and then checks me to see my progress, kindly waiting until the contraction stopped. She tells me I am fully dilated with bulging membranes. She calls for more help and they all start setting up.

Everyone was very cooperative with us and after the mention of the IV, no one tries to intervene again. Alana is at my side as I work through a few really difficult contractions, trying to breathe and keep me focused, I kept thinking “I need to get out of this bed!” As the nurse is trying to fill out paperwork and ask me questions, my water busts and shoots all over the floor and bed. That would have been messy had it happened in the truck. I find it difficult to explain how I felt after that, I rolled over to my stomach and got up on my knees. Someone gave me my birth ball and I flop on top of it. I knew that this was it, time to push. I didn’t say anything, or talk to anyone. My body was already pushing and I worked with it, sometimes pushing hard, sometimes just little grunts. I felt everything as the baby descended and the voices in the room that the doctor needed to come, that the head was “right there”. I was in total control and I knew that my baby and I were working together, just as I dreamed it would go and just as it should have gone with Hayley and Reese. Maybe a few more pushes, my guess would be 5 pushes total and our 9 pound 2 ounce baby boy, Brandt Holden, slid rapidly out at 10:46pm. I maneuvered back onto my bum and with the cord still attached I held our baby to my skin and rubbed him with a towel. The doctor cooperated and did not clamp the cord right away. They gave us 3 minutes and then clamped and cut the cord. The nurse then asked if I was okay with a shot of oxytocin in the leg to help my uterus contract, I agreed. Anytime in the past, I was never asked, I was given the shot without consent and possibly without knowledge until after the fact.

No shoulder dystocia, no hemorrhage. In fact, I had less blood loss than the past two births. At one point the nurse turned the lights down and it was dark and quiet. The nurses worked with my uterus and massaged gently. I was able to get up after half an hour and have a shower before we moved to recovery. Arie made it just before 11:30. We had a joke going that day that I was hoping for the baby to arrive on the due date. She gently reminded me that less than 5% of babies arrive on the due date. I told her I was hoping to wiggle in to that 5%, and 10:46 pm is about as tight as you can get! Arie helped with the breastfeeding and he was able to self attach within that first hour of life!! We moved to recovery and had some more opportunity to work on the breastfeeding. I felt great; I didn’t feel tired or wiped out. I felt elated and empowered, I felt that I had made great decisions and it had all paid off!

After being moved to recovery, the nurse told me she wanted to poke baby to check his blood sugar levels. I had this same experience with Hayley and Reese, as big babies sometimes have blood sugar issues. It was a horrible experience as they poke them repeatedly but I also remember them never having a problem. Arie suggested that I decline the test as I have big babies and they have never had problems in the past. One more intervention that nobody gives you an opportunity to turn down, they tell you that this is what they need to do and you feel you are protecting your child by agreeing, when that is not always necessarily the case. It is invasive; it interferes with your breastfeeding and rest, not to mention it being traumatic. My doula taught me, every instance that an intervention is recommended, I must ask myself what are the risks, will the complications of the procedure outweigh the benefits and what will I do with the knowledge I gain from the intervention. I was up walking around within the hour and had a shower in the delivery room. Then I was up to go pee without assistance about 2 hours after birth. This in itself shows me how the natural labour versus the induction has way less complications and an incredible recovery. As I worked through those contractions, though intense were completely natural. Labour is supposed to hurt, and any doctor that offers to take that pain away through medications is essentially taking away your experience and bond with your body and baby.

September 2, 2009

As I read my final birth story, I smile. This is something that I worked so hard for and it all paid off. Every day that I felt I was going to lose it was all worth it in the end. My doula had commented a few times that all of this is a process. The shifts and changes in our behavior, is all part of the early labour and in hindsight I would never do it any other way. I strongly believe that the moments prior to my labour starting were spent facing my fears and journaling them, and that was my final step in my own personal process. I was ready, mind, body and soul.

A drug free, intervention free birth!

What exactly do we have to gain from telling the truth about formula?

2009-10-20T21:20:00.000-07:00

An article has been popping up in Canadian newspapers this month, with the dubious headline "Prepare a backup plan for feeding baby: Moms should learn about formulas as a nutritious option to breast milk." It reads as a thinly veiled ad for infant formula, heavily quoting an Ottawa pediatrician (pregnant with her first, of course, & due any day) who recommends that parents plan for breastfeeding failure by having formula at the ready before baby is born. Let that sink in. A pediatrician & mother to be is suggesting that you have at the ready a product that will increase your baby's chance of death in his first year by 30% *

So, really, who benefits from this arrangement? It certainly is not the baby and it is rarely the mother. It has been well-documented that the free promotional formula & coupons handed out by doctors, hospitals etc decreases the likelyhood of successful breastfeeding. It is obvious that the formula (read, pharmaceutical) industry benefits when women don't breastfeed. It is also well-established that parents are apt to continue to buy the brand of formula recommended by their doctor.

So how do doctors acquire the information needed to recommend one brand of formula over another? Not in med school- the amount of education on either breastfeeding or formula feeding is negligent, if at all existent. They receive virtually all of their education on infant feeding from pharmaceutical companies, ie, the makers of formula. It is a drug & it is marketed as such. The pharmaceutical industry is a huge one, with vast marketing & advertising budgets. Chances are you know a drug sales rep- ask them what their job is like! A typical sales rep is expected to build & maintain positive relationships with the MDs in their territory. This is accomplished by spending time- appointments in the doctors' offices, lunches out, golf games. The entertainment is covered by the drug reps' expense account. During the time spent, the focus is on educating the doctor about your product- be it the latest anti-erectile dysfunction pill, or the newest infant formula. How it is different from competitors. How it is used. Swag- pens, notepads, measuring tapes are left (with the product logo on them), as are samples for the doctor to hand out to patients who might use the product.

Consider this when, as a new parent, you walk into your doctors office hoping for help with your breastfeeding questions. While a small industry around breastfeeding has cropped up (nursing pillows, breast pumps, other products) it is a tiny fraction of that of the formula industry. Frankly, the people selling those products are probably not the ones considered to be the Zealots, the Lactivists. The Nazis.

What on earth do the so called breastfeeding bitches(lactivists, nazis, whatever) have to gain? I was inspired by this quote from Edmonton doula Victoria Powell, in response to a "friends" complaint about a link she posted on her Facebook page:

"I don't agree whatsoever. Breast isn't best-it's just normal!!
To make the choice to use formula is absurd. I never know how to respond when I hear that a woman was made to feel guilty because she didn't/wouldn't breastfeed. The first I think is: what exactly do these breastfeeding "zealots" have to gain from telling the truth about formula?
Nothing. We don't spread the truth because we want women who formula fed to feel bad, we want them to rethink what they did, and do it differently with their next baby. And if they medically cannot breastfeed, I want them to still encourage breastfeeding for others. Because the mother who genuinely couldn't breastfeed uses formula to keep her baby from starving, that doesn't mean formula is a safe choice for women who can breastfeed. It is to be used in an emergency situation only. No one has anything to gain from a woman breastfeeding- except for that mother and her baby."

I ask you to consider this. We have nothing to gain. Ostensibly, there is the potential for reduced public health care costs, but that exists with any public health initiative. Frankly, it doesn't impact my bottom line as a taxpayer.
Those of us who speak out against the unethical marketing of formula, the misinformation, lies & spin that the industry perpetuates, have nothing to gain from it. Only one group stands to lose from our efforts- the formula industry itself. We know what happens when it feels threatened. Employees are assigned to stir up Mommy Wars in parenting forums. Companies attempt to bribe bloggers . Babies are lost in the shuffle as the disussion focuses not on how formula should be marketed, or on how it's safety can be improved for those reliant on it, but on the "lactivist agenda".

We have nothing to gain. Mothers & babies have everything to lose when they are not able to access accurate information about the risks of formula feeding.

"No one has anything to gain from a woman breastfeeding- except for that mother and her baby."

*This statistic was quoted by Teresa Pitman at the 2009 Birthing Breastfeeding & Bonding conference in Lethbridge Alberta. It is based on meta-analysis of the combined risks of infection & disease caused by not breastfeeding.

Nikolas and Patrick's Birth Story

2009-10-18T22:08:00.000-07:00

It was Boxing Day (December 26) 2005. My husband Shawn and I were having the “talk.” We had three children, Talia was almost 6, Neil and Theodore would be turning 4 in two days. We had always planned on having three or four children, but we had never anticipated the joys and challenges of having three children in 22 months and only two pregnancies. They were all born at home, but my twin pregnancy had been stressful. Although the birth was quick and straightforward (despite Neil being breech, and Theodore transverse until Neil was born), the stress of the battle, and the fear brought in to that birth had coloured the experience (attending twins is against midwifery regulations here and the threat of c-section for breech). It had taken until they were 3 years old before I fully processed and celebrated their birth.

I knew that weaning for all three was coming soon and the baby years were coming to a close, it had been so wonderful, so intense and so overwhelming — growing, birthing and caring for three babies. And, so short. I wanted to draw it out, and savour it a bit more. Shawn wasn’t sure he could handle meeting the needs of another baby, and there was the significant possibility that I may get pregnant with twins again. I told him, I would grieve not having one more, but that I needed his support. He said he was willing to try one more time. I was surprised, and delighted. Nikolas and Patrick were conceived soon after.

Once I confirmed I was pregnant, I called my midwife. We arranged to meet after my first trimester was over, and she would do an ultrasound at the clinic she now worked at, to see if we were having twins again, as we wanted to be more prepared for that possibility this time (we confirmed twins at 29 weeks with Neil and Theodore). A groundbreaking underground midwife for many, many years, she was now finally enjoying a decent income and a more predictable schedule. This however, limited her ability to attend homebirths, and she only took on a few select clients at this point.

My pregnancy was progressing normally, and I was really enjoying the feeling of growing another little soul. I was slightly nauseous, but like my other pregnancies nothing unmanageable, and of course a bit tired. My nipples were sore with nursing, but I was happy to keep nursing my “big” kids.

At about 9 weeks, I emailed my friend Annemarie, and asked if she wanted to be my doula. We had had barely enough hands here for my twin birth and I thought an extra pair of hands closer to my home would be a good idea. As soon as I e-mailed her I regretted it, I had the strongest and most intense feeling that I needed to be alone for this birth.

About mid-February I started to feel really worn out. Close to the end of the month on a Monday (I was 11 weeks), I started bleeding in the mid-afternoon. It was bright red, and I was scared. I had had some spotting in my pregnancy with Neil and Theo but it hadn’t been as late, and it hadn’t been as red. I called my mom, Shawn, Annemarie and my midwife. I would have just waited it out to see what would happen if Shawn wasn’t leaving town on Wednesday, on a business trip, but I knew I needed to know what was going on if he was going to be gone. My midwife was able to see us Tuesday, so we drove out to the birth centre where she works (about 45 minutes out of town), and had the ultrasound a little earlier than planned.

She wanted us to know that she wasn’t an expert with this machine, as she had only had 15 minutes of training on it, but none of this stuff is rocket science and we were simply looking for one thing. A heartbeat.

She turned it on, and there was a little tiny baby curled up with its heart beating nicely. Everything looked great, Shawn asked what this big white band across the top right was on the screen, my midwife wasn’t sure, but thought maybe it was cord (that seemed odd to me as the baby wasn’t that big, and the “cord” seemed much wider than it should be). He was persistent, and asked what the blob on the other side of the white band was, so she slid the wand over. There was a baby, in a different position, moving around in a different way, with another nice heartbeat. I asked if it could be the same one, from a different angle. She raised her eyebrows, and slid the wand to the middle of my belly and the white band was down the centre of the screen, and there were two little babies, looking good. The white band was the separation between their sacs. I was having twins again.

Immediately, we started talking about my birth options. I knew my midwife would risk losing her job if she attended me at home, I knew I didn’t want to go to the hospital. She started talking about the hospital or trying to swing getting me in to the birth centre (an unlikely possibility, and the idea of a 45 minute drive in labour did not appeal to me!), I suggested I could have an unassisted birth. We discussed seeing the OB I had seen with my other twins, but figured I could wait until at least 27 weeks.

The whole thing threw us for a loop initially. Five children was not something we ever considered very seriously. We knew first hand how intense it was parenting two infants, now we also had three older children to attend too (although thankfully no toddler this time). We knew the birth options were very limited. I was mopey and exhausted; I wallowed in self-pity, mourning the relative ease of birthing and parenting a singleton, frightened for our marriage and our kids, since I knew what kind of stress lay ahead. And, also scared for the babies growing inside, as I was still bleeding. I was glad at that point that I had asked Annemarie to doula for me, as I realized that I may need more hands, and more advocates than I had previously thought. But the feeling of needing privacy did not leave.

It took me twelve days of bleeding to pull myself out of the wallow. On the twelfth day I woke up in the morning and decided that it was possible that I could bleed through my entire pregnancy, but that I knew how to grow and birth twins and that I could do it again. In my previous twin pregnancy, when Neil had turned breech and we were discussing c-section, my midwife had said to me “Don’t ever forget it is your body, they are your babies, and you always have a choice.” I held on to that message again. That day I had a call from a second attendant in the next province about something completely unrelated. She was calling about a Birth Issues magazine deadline that she thought was that day (I had been the editor until recently), but in fact was a month away. I think she was my first angel. We had a lovely conversation and she was confident that I could birth my twins at home without a “professional” and that I knew what I was doing. She also told me there was a lovely video of an unassisted twin birth that she had heard about. She couldn’t remember the name, but told me to ask Gloria Lemay. I knew then I was on the right path and that I would follow my heart and my instincts to create the birth that my babies and I needed. That afternoon, the bleeding had stopped.

I contacted Gloria Lemay; she was also very positive and told me about the video: The Birth of Psalm and Zoya (http://www.homebirthvideos.com/psalmzoya_dvd.asp). I immediately contacted Mindy Goorchenko, and purchased the DVD. She also sent me a thoughtful message describing her process, in a way that spoke to my experience. It was so good to finally meet someone who understood what I was going through. I didn’t watch the DVD right away and then I misplaced it. I found it strange that I couldn’t find it, but then decided it would reappear when I needed it to.

I spent a lot of time talking to my babies telling them I would really appreciate it if they were both head down. I read a fair bit on optimal positioning, wonderful unassisted birth books including my favourite “Birthing the Easy Way” by Sheila Stubbs, which opened up the door to birth as an intimate sexual encounter. Something I figured might help my husband wrap his head around catching our babies.

I spoke to a woman I know who had an unplanned, but not unwanted unassisted twin birth and she told me what Michel Odent and written to her about “special twin protocols.” He’d said “First we wait for the first twin, then we wait for the second twin, then we wait for the placentas.” I figured I could do that!

I continued to make connections, contacting other women who had had twins at home (with and without midwives present), and joining many unassisted childbirth (UC) e-mail lists. Every time I began to doubt my path (and it was often!), I would get a message that told me I was on the right path. Sometimes they were devastatingly sad, including the death of a twin son during a c-section of a mom I had supported indirectly. Some were joyous and serendipitous. Such as learning about Mrs. Vassilyev a peasant woman who had 69 babies, all multiples — 16 sets of twins, 7 sets of triplets, and 4 sets of quads in 19^th century Russia The sad and disturbing ones were always hospital scenarios. The joyous births and serendipitous moments always told me that home was the safest place for me and my babies.

As I spoke to people about my options, I never suggested I had made a decision, but the responses were profound. I had people tell me that they had stayed up at night worrying about me, and others tell me I should go to the hospital and do art therapy to process my fear. I made it clear, that I was more concerned about my babies than they were (to suggest otherwise is such an insult) and that I would be the one having to live with whatever choice I made and that no matter what happened, in hospital or out, I would be responsible. No one ever tells a woman going to the hospital that they are up worried about them because of it (though we should be), or that she should do art therapy to figure out why she is scared of birthing at home or birth in general (which we should also do!). Fundamentally, we are responsible for our children and our own lives, from the moment they are conceived, until they are able to take responsibility for themselves.

It became increasingly clear that I needed to protect myself from other people’s fear, and I realized that I had to go in to partial “hiding.” This process helped me realize how sensitive to fear I was, I have always been very empathetic but I began to realize that I am more than that. That I have a gift for instinctively reading other people’s feelings, but that this also comes with the significant risk of losing my boundaries and letting those feelings rule my own instincts. Knowing this, I was much better able to protect myself, but it was still a challenge.

I began to realize that fear was my biggest enemy in birth (and I believe it is for any birthing woman) not only in the concrete way that our birthing hormones are compromised, but also that other people bringing fear into birth is a dangerous and unhealthy thing. I had previously been attending a local hospital to talk to expectant parents of multiples about breastfeeding, I always felt sick walking in there although I generally have no trouble with public speaking. The sessions would always go well, but my knees felt weak going in and leaving. Finally, during this pregnancy I realized that I was reacting to the fear in the building, the fear of the staff who believe birth is dangerous, the fear of the little babies, aggressively torn in one way or another from their mothers and separated from them, even if sometimes only briefly, the fear of the mothers, traumatized, abused and disempowered, the fear of their partners and support people also traumatized, abused and disempowered. I realized also, that this deep fear that rose up from my gut was healthy and protective and that it came from my own earliest moments. My mother had wanted a natural birth, even a home birth, but I was born on a long weekend, she had a doctor they called “the butcher,” instead of her carefully researched and interviewed OB, and I was separated from her against her will (and my own), with the nurses bringing me back crying to be fed saying “she’s the only one crying in the nursery.” I had good reason to be afraid of the hospital. I knew that during those most intense, vulnerable and instinctual moments, I would not be able to keep other people’s fears out of my birth, that I would take them on myself and that that would put me and my babies at risk. It was such a relief to know why I felt the way I did, and that my responses were healthy and protective. Now I just needed to keep myself safe and work on my boundaries.

I was still looking for support people, not completely convinced of an unassisted birth. I spoke a number of times to a midwife who used to be registered but now practiced rarely as a TBA. Initially, our conversations were positive and she seemed supportive, but shortly before our first meeting, she started to sound quite guarded. She told me that if anything “twigged” she would call 911. Now I don’t have any qualms about calling the paramedics in an emergency, but it didn’t sound like we were going to be a part of this decision if she made it. She also didn’t seem to be connecting to me on an intuitive level, and misunderstood some of the things I was expressing, this seemed like a dangerous combination, but I waited until I met her to make a decision. When my husband and I met her I could feel her fear as she walked in to our house. She was friendly and supportive, but she had never attended a twin home birth before and many of the hospital twin births had been c-sections. It was obvious she didn’t completely trust me, or the process in our situation and that her fear would get in the way. After that I knew I was on my own.

My friend Annemarie was also going through a tough time, as she was put in a position where she had to choose between supporting me and a few other women, and birthing women’s choices in general, or continuing her midwifery studies. She chose to quit, as she felt the professionalization and registration of midwifery in our province was undermining women’s choices, a sentiment I strongly agreed with and one I had to combat in my first twin pregnancy as well. I find it highly ironic that with a supposedly “high risk” (I hate that term) pregnancy, the continuity of care touted to be so important, is completely undermined.

I kept making deals with myself about what kind of help and what kind of equipment I would need to feel “safe.” Initially I wanted oxygen, as I was worried about the second twin. Theo had had heart decels as he was turning (and as our fear mounted), and although he didn’t need oxygen, he needed more rubbing than my other pink and vocal babies. I looked into getting a Doppler to check the second baby’s heart rate after the first one was born, in order to monitor the situation in case it was similar to what I had had with Theo. In the end Annemarie ended up finding equipment to borrow if we wanted, but by then I had begun to trust that I could birth without it.

I enjoyed hiding out through the summer. My due date was September 19, but I expected they would come a bit earlier. My daughter was born at 38 ½ weeks, and my first twins born at 37 weeks. I wanted to avoid having borderline term babies again, as Neil and Theo were sleepy and less effective at the breast initially, but I also knew that the OB may start pressuring me to induce after 38 weeks due to the misinformed attitude that twins cook faster and are full term at 38 weeks. Looking at the calendar, I realized that I would be 38 weeks on Monday September 4^th –Labour Day. I thought that was highly appropriate, so I decided that would be a good day for them to be born.

I held off seeing the OB until I was about 29 weeks, and then he didn’t do the ultrasound to confirm positioning that I was expecting. He listened quickly with a Doppler, but didn’t even get both heartbeats. As usual, he didn’t tell me what my blood pressure was when he took it, just that it was fine and I had to ask him three times for the numbers. (I had been worried about it earlier n my pregnancy after getting one quite high reading). Isn’t it MY blood pressure? He talked about how I knew better this time than to try to have a home birth, since my midwife couldn’t attend me but I reassured him that I was still keeping my options open. Despite being quite patronizing, he is one of the most natural birth and midwifery friendly OBs in the city. It’s sad though, as he truly doesn’t understand the real issues. My next visit with him at 33 weeks, I had the ultrasound and sure enough both babies were head down and growing very nicely. Nothing I didn’t know. I noticed that the presenting baby was curved to the side under my right side, but the tech didn’t think anything of it. I realized then that the baby’s head was sideways and that could be tricky, but when I mentioned it the doctor and my midwife they didn’t seem to think it was a problem so I dismissed it. The OB also had a resident come in to my appointment, without asking permission, and told me of a twin birth the night before where everything went well at 35 weeks and both babies were over 5 pounds. He then told the resident that he likes to tell stories like this to his patients who like things “au naturel” so they realize it’s not a butcher shop. I wasn’t impressed, my first twins were 6lbs 8ozs and 6lbs 13ozs at 37 weeks. My primary issue with hospital birth isn’t wanting things “au naturel” necessarily (although I think that’s generally best). My issue is rather with who holds the power and with the climate of fear. When Shawn asked if the OB if he heard both heartbeats, he said “no”, he “relies on ultrasound for that.” Funny thing, since I had only ever had two ultrasounds my entire pregnancy. I asked the nurse to see my blood pressure on my chart after the appointment as again he didn’t tell me the numbers. He told us he was going on holidays for all of August, but that I could see his friend who was covering for him. I avoided booking an appointment and left, knowing I wouldn’t ever be going back.

My midwife was also finding it hard to get both heartbeats, and sometimes I was worried about one of the babies because the movements weren’t all over the place like they had been with my first set of twins. However, their positioning also meant that their movements would be more localized. I often suggested checking for the heart rate further over to my right, but she didn’t always do it. My reassurance came primarily when I would ask the babies to let me know they were ok.

My midwife was also going on holidays in August, and so was my very supportive family doctor. I thought it highly ironic, that all my “professional” support was leaving town in my final month of pregnancy. I figured it must be a sign that I wasn’t meant to have their help for the birth, and I relished preparing my nest and getting more in touch with my own instincts. I had collected a number of quotations and images to put on my wall in my bedroom, so I started to put them up on my wall, I collected supplies for the birth, and I tried to take it easy. I had been measuring myself throughout my pregnancy to compare it to the “pros.” During those last weeks, I would measure myself and take my blood pressure. Annemarie would come over and the three of us, with all of our kids hanging around, would listen to the babies’ heart rates. It was funny because although we had a Doppler, the Pinard and fetoscope were much more accurate. We found the heart rates more consistently than any of my professional support people ever had throughout my pregnancy, partly because one of the babies was much further over on my right side. We always had so much fun, and it was such a mutual experience.

Towards the end of August, probably about the 22^nd or 23^rd, I started to have intermittent periods of regular contractions. They were painless, but my uterus was definitely working. I felt it was a little too early, but I also knew it could still be weeks, and I had already decided to stay home as long as the babies were over 34 weeks. By Friday, the 24^th, I figured something must be happening to my cervix, as I was getting this strange, but not unpleasant vibrating sensation throughout the day, so I asked Annemarie to describe to Shawn how to check my cervix, since I couldn’t reach it. I kept trying but my belly was too big. He did so and found that I was about 4 – 5 cm dilated. I was surprised it was that far along, and figured I might be having these babies a bit earlier than anticipated. Over the weekend I had this vibrating sensation and rounds of contractions in the mornings and evenings that would send me on endorphin highs. I would feel so blissful and so sleepy as my body would work on opening up, and then they would stop. Shawn decided he would stay home since things were definitely progressing, if slowly. On Monday, I asked Annemarie to check my dilation, something she had only ever done about half a dozen times during her studies. I wanted to confirm Shawn’s estimation.

At that point I was around 7 and very “squishy.” Shawn was quite accurate.

This pattern of an hour or so of regular painless, endorphin filled contractions in the morning and evening continued all week. Every night I would go to bed thinking maybe it will be tonight, and every morning I would think, well maybe it will be later today. As the week progressed it became increasingly frustrating. The emotional roller coaster was intense. Shawn and I spent a lot of time together, and we were enjoying the process of loving the babies out. I hadn’t had this opportunity with the others, as my labours had been so fast. But, I was also starting to get scared that there was something suddenly wrong with me, since my other labours had been fast and furious and this was definitely NOT Friedman’s curve. I would wonder if I should go to the hospital, but every time I would say to myself, “you are fine, your babies are fine, your mental state is the problem, and how would they help that?” And I knew I would wait a little longer. By Friday September 1st, I was essentially fully dilated, except for a small lip. I was ready to tear my hair out. In the back of my mind I thought that something was up with the baby’s positioning, but since no one had confirmed this for me, I didn’t really think about it.

In the evening, I even had a round of pushing contractions that then petered out to nothing. My kids were getting really anxious, and Shawn was getting exhausted with taking care of me, and taking care of the kids. On Saturday September 2^nd, I had friends over in the evening for supper. My usual evening contractions started up again, and I holed up in the bedroom. I even started having pushing contractions again, and this time my water broke. My mom was over too, and there was a party in the house. Part of me knew I needed to be alone, but part of me wanted to have the party too. My mom convinced us to call Annemarie, and she came over and we holed up in the room for a while. I asked her to push on the lip while I was pushing, but in the end she looked at me and told me she didn’t think my heart was in it and that I should go to bed. I was so sad and had a hard time falling asleep that night. But, I realized that I had to change something.

I decided that night that I needed to cleanse my house of all the pent up fear and emotional energy that I had allowed to enter. So many people were thinking of us and lighting candles and praying, and others were scared and not supportive, the combined emotional load was too much for me to bear. I decided that the next morning I would sweep my porches, and walk around the house with a candle to purify it and bless it and reclaim it as a safe place. I asked Shawn to support me and help me create this safe place, and help me reclaim my own body as a safe place for my babies as well. I fell asleep feeling exhausted but much more grounded.

The next morning (Sunday Sept 3) I woke up really early. I had Shawn work through a relaxation visualization for me (from Sheila Stubbs book – I think), and I went outside and vigorously swept my back deck, sending everyone’s energy back home where it belonged. I swept my front porch too, and was feeling quite worn out by then, but I continued by lighting a candle and going thorough my entire home, including the porches, reciting simply: “This is my home and it is a safe place.” Then I drew a picture of my family, in our home with two babies in my arms and an arc of protection over our house. I called Annemarie saying I wanted to take castor oil and get things moving. I had arranged for my kids to go to my father’s for the afternoon, so I could concentrate on kicking labour in to gear.

Annemarie said she would come over, but that first we needed to farm out the kids, and do whatever I needed to do to get in to the right space such as: go for a walk, have a bath, cuddle with Shawn etc. The hardest thing she asked me to do was to draw a picture of my worst fear and how I would cope with it if it happened, and then a picture of what I wanted to happen. She said Shawn should do the same, and that she would do the same as unexamined fears would otherwise get in our way. I knew as soon as she asked this that it was crucial that I do this, but that it would be incredibly difficult. I got off the phone and started to cry inconsolably. My worst fear was horrible and I had been shoving it down, hoping to ignore it. Shawn took the kids off to my dad’s and I started to draw. It was just stick figures, but the images were clear. I feared that after I had the first baby that something would happen to require me to transfer for the second baby and that I would have a c-section and the baby would die. I would then become the center of some media storm, have my children taken from me and have my husband abandon me. The only thing I could think of that I could do to cope with this complete loss was pump my milk for my living baby or some other baby if they wouldn’t give my baby my milk. I sobbed through the whole thing, but felt so much better after putting it on paper. I also drew a picture of myself holding a baby, with a second baby crowning and everything peaceful and serene.

Shawn came home and we went for a walk, I couldn’t get past the end of my block but it was good to be up and moving. I then had a bath and soaked for a while, talking to my babies and telling them how much I loved them and how ready I was to meet them. Annemarie came over at about 3:30pm with castor oil, a milkshake to drink it down and a big textbook from her studies. A colleague had suggested to her that since the membranes were ruptured on the first baby that maybe we should check the fontanels to figure out what position the baby was in before trying to get things started.

Before doing anything else, we lit candles for us and the babies and shared our fears. I cried when I shared mine, but Annemarie immediately realized what my story was really about. She asked me if I had been separated from my mother at birth. Of course I had. And then said “this is about fearing abandonment” and suddenly everything clicked for me. There had been many times in my life that I had felt abandoned. I have known for a long time that the fear of abandonment was probably one of my most deeply held fears. Yet, I had not faced this fear until now in all the work I had done through my pregnancy. Realizing this was a tremendous relief, and it is not surprising to me that once I cleared my mind and heart of this fear, everything else became much clearer. Shawn and Annemarie also shared their fears, they were both primarily afraid that if things weren’t going well and I needed to transfer that I would be mistreated in the hospital and they both knew how devastating that would be for me.

Once we had cleared the air, we set to work on figuring out what position the presenting baby was in. Annemarie pulled out this book that has diagrams of the dozens and dozens of possible positions and the relative location of the fontanels in each one. When she felt, and Shawn felt, we realized that the baby was sideways but we weren’t sure if the baby’s nose was facing up toward my left hip, or if he was facing down toward my right hip. While lying there, I said to Annemarie that since my membranes had rupture I felt this really hard part on my right hip and it made hands and knees positions really painful. She felt over there and guessed that it was a shoulder, we listed to the heart tones there and finally heard the presenting baby’s heart rate as clear as day for the first time since early in my pregnancy. Just as I had suspected when seeing the ultrasound, the baby was sideways and it was causing me issues. He was posterior, but sideways posterior. Not exactly an optimal position. This explained the cervical lip, it explained the on again, off again labour (although not the painless part!). Rather than take the castor oil we decided that I would work on turning the baby, easier said than done at 38 weeks, with ruptured membranes and another baby perfectly lined up vertex right on top of him! But I was confident that over a few days we could encourage him to turn one way or the other and that he could be born.

I immediately started doing hands and knees which was incredibly painful. I had a bath and lay on my left side in the bath to encourage him to roll that way. We walked some more and over all I felt much better about things, knowing that we would wait a while longer, and we were no longer in a rush and I knew what was happening, and my instincts had been right all along. Once again, trusting my own instincts was proving to be the best course of action.

I decided to go with Shawn to pick up our kids at my dad’s place. I wanted to get out, and be able to collect them, as they were feeling pretty at sea with mom in the bedroom all the time and dad doing double duty taking care of me and trying to tend to them. The emotional intensity, and the anxiety and waiting had been really hard on them. When we got there I told my dad what we had learned, he was quite unsure about this whole process and asked me yet again if I would go to the hospital if something was going wrong. I reassured him that I would, but I was angry that I had to assuage his fear, and let that in to my psyche after all the work I had done to cleanse my mind, my body and my home of other people’s fears. When I got home, I sat on the porch and refused to come in until I had cleared it from my mind and heart. I lit a candle, and started writing, pages of stuff, purging all my pent up anger, frustration and fear. Our neighbour across the street came over to chat, he was feeling quite social and so Shawn and I visited with him for a while. He finally went home, and I was able to finish my writing and come in. My butt was very sore from sitting on the stairs of our porch with a baby head between my legs, I was exhausted, but at peace.

That night I went to bed, lying on my left side instead of my right. I had been sleeping on my right, because that meant I was on the bed closest to the edge so I could get up and pee, and I always rolled onto my right side to snuggle with Shawn. This of course encouraged the baby to snuggle into a curve on my right side, a position he’d been in for weeks now. So this time, I took up the spot on the inside wall, so I could put my right leg over Shawn and encourage the baby to turn over. I went to sleep, thinking that it would be days before I would meet my babies, but feeling much more peaceful.

I woke up to go to the bathroom about 4am. I crawled over Shawn, went to the bathroom and as I was sitting on the toilet looking up at the sky I had a contraction that hurt. Then almost immediately, I had another one. I felt my belly, and was stunned to realize that the presenting baby’s bum was now under my right breast, instead of deep under my armpit. My baby had turned almost 180 degrees in just a few hours, despite another baby being on top of him and his membranes being ruptured, and being wedged deep in my pelvis! I had another contraction, it really, really hurt. I called Shawn and he came to the bathroom. He helped me up and we went back to our bedroom, it was only a few feet but I had another couple contractions in that short walk.

I got in to a hands and knees position on a gym mat beside my bed, and I was in transition. I think the baby was still trying to turn a bit as the contractions were unbearable. After about a half an hour or so, I asked Shawn to call Annemarie as I didn’t feel like I was coping well at all. I talked to the babies but I was feeling like I was going to lose control at anytime. Annemarie arrived close to 4:50am. I was exhausted and totally overwhelmed. I kept thinking “I can’t do this for six hours” because the TBA I had spoken to earlier in my pregnancy had told me that third births often mimic first births, and my first labour had been six hours. Apparently, I hadn’t tackled that fear before my labour, so “I can’t do this for six hours” became my mantra. Almost as soon as Annemarie arrived I asked to lie down. I had been on my hands and knees up until then, but every part of me was in excruciating pain. I felt like my insides were being shredded, and I wasn’t even pushing yet. The area that had been so painful on my hands and knees before active labour was searing with pain now. Shawn and Annemarie helped me to the bed, but before I was even on my side, I had to clamber up off the bed, with a will that came from some unknown place, as I didn’t think I had the strength in me to continue. Lying down was absolutely the last thing my body wanted to do. I think if I had successfully lied down I would have given up, but my body wouldn’t let me do it.

I went back to hands and knees for a few minutes and then the contractions started to change. They started as transition contractions, but they midway through, they changed to pushing contractions. It was confusing and strange, nothing I had ever experienced before. Pushing, during my other births, had always been so much easier than transition, but this was like transition and pushing all squished together. At one point Annemarie said to me “You’ve done this before and you can do it again!” I really didn’t think I could do this, I felt truly on the edge. But when she said this it helped me focus. She apologizes later for being so blunt, but it was exactly what I needed at the time. After a few more of these weird in-between contractions, Annemarie helped me in to a supported deep squat. Then the pushing started in earnest and after only a few minutes the baby was crowning, I pushed the head out, and unlike my other births, I had to wait for another contraction to push his body out in to Shawn’s waiting arms. Shawn scooped up our son and passed him straight in to my arms. He was crying a bit, and as soon as he was on my chest, he bobbed over and latched on to my breast. I kept saying “my big baby,” “my big baby.” He looked so gigantic to me. And so perfect, and so much like his big brother Neil, the first born of my other set of twins. I sat on the floor, holding and nursing him. He was born at about 5:20 am, an hour and 20 minutes after my labour had “officially” started. We were all so ecstatic.

Eventually, I had to sit up, so Shawn and Annemarie helped me up on to the birth stool, with the baby still in my arms. With our first set of twins, I had ached for my baby after Neil was born and we were waiting for Theo, I desperately wanted to hold him, but I needed to change positions and things were to stressful, he was crying, and passed between Shawn, my mom and Shawn’s mom, while I changed positions and talked to him across the room. It was heart-wrenching. This time I held on tight knowing I wouldn’t have to give him up if I didn’t want to. As I sat nursing our new son, I talked to him and kept telling him that his brother or sister was coming out too and that they would be together again soon. I also told the baby inside that his brother was out here now with mommy and daddy and that he would be with us soon too. I wish I had told Neil and Theo what was going on during their birth. I think it would have helped us all stay calm. Meanwhile, Shawn called our moms and our daughter Talia got up. My sister Hannah (who was sleeping over and helping with our other kids) had been awake during the birth, but knew how desperately I had wanted privacy. We invited Hannah and Talia in.

Once the phone calls were done, we chatted for a few minutes and I started talking to the second baby, as I wanted to be sure he was ok. I felt him kick, and Annemarie asked if I wanted to check the heart tones, as that had been a great fear of mine earlier in my pregnancy. I said yes, but I already knew he was doing just fine from his movements. His heart rate was perfect, and he was already engaged in my pelvis. My mom got in the door just in time for my pushing contractions to start up again. The baby’s nursing helped get things going again, and I was so glad for that. After a few pushes, I realized I couldn’t concentrate with the little baby in my arms, looking over my shoulder I saw Talia sitting on the bed, and I knew what I could do. I asked her if she wanted to hold the baby, she was thrilled. I started to push and after another minute Talia gave the baby to my mom while she went over beside her dad so she could see the next baby be born. I pushed and Shawn said “I see the head, I see the head! “ And in the next moment there was a big explosion and water went everywhere. For a split second, he thought something had gone terribly wrong, and then we all started to laugh, the baby’s head had not exploded; it was the sac of waters. I had never had that experience before as all my labours started with my membranes rupturing, and Theo had has his artificially ruptured. On the next push, the baby’s head was crowning, and then I pushed out the head, and finally the body. Our second baby boy was born after about 4 minutes of pushing, 29 minutes after his brother. He was a bit gurgly, and we rubbed him a little, he looked so wide eyed, and covered in vernix and looking quite a bit like Theo, his older brother, and the second born of our first set of twins. I was quite stunned to have two more boys, so similar looking to their brothers, but we were all in love with the two new souls who had chosen us as their family. Within a few minutes, I had a contraction and pushed out the fused placentas before anyone could scoop them up with the bowl. They were perfect and healthy. Beautiful homes for my babies for the last nine months.

When we weighed Nikolas and Patrick, I was quite surprised to discover that my “big baby” was actually my smallest baby at 6lbs 4ozs. Patrick was my second largest at 7lbs.

Shawn’s mom arrived right after they were born, and I called my dad to reassure him right away. He was already up and getting ready for a trip, so he was relieved to be able to come and see us before he left town. We had many visitors that day, and the days that followed. I probably should have enforced more of a babymoon than I got, as we were all completely emotionally exhausted from the experience. However, we made sure to enjoy those little boys as they grow up so fast.

So on what turned in to a very warm September 4, 2006, Labour Day Monday after about twelve days of irregular labour (mirroring twelve days of bleeding early on). Our sons, Nikolas Joel Michel Goa Robinson and Patrick Evan Magnus Robinson Goa were born into their daddy’s arms, in our home and into our hearts, with lots of help and support, but without any “professional” assistance.

Quotes that were on my wall:

“An expectant mother should thank Providence for her good fortune if she has her baby in a taxicab on the way to the hospital. The cab driver may not be much help, but at least he will spare her from all of the purposeless, perilous, and unpleasant intervention her obstetrician had planned to inflict on her. If the new mother has her wits about her she’ll ask the driver to wait, have the cord cut in the hospital emergency room, and get back in the cab and take her baby home. Ideally, she shouldn’t have been in the cab in the first place, because the safest place for a healthy mother to have her baby is not in a hospital, but at home. After working in hospitals for most of my life, I can assure you that they are the dirtiest and most deadly places in town.” Dr. Robert Mendelsohn, from his book “MALE PRACTICE”

Play With Words #1 July 11, 2006 Hathor The CowGoddess comic http://www.thecowgoddess.com/2006/07/11/play-with-words-1/

“birth one of the safest things you will do in your life”

The highest officially recorded number of children born to one mother is 69, to the first wife of Feodor Vassilyev** (1707-1782) of Shuya, Russia. Between 1725 and 1765, in a total of 27 confinements, she gave birth to 16 pairs of twins, seven sets of triplets, and four sets of quadruplets. 67 of them survived infancy.

“First we wait for the first twin, then we wait for the second twin, then we wait for the placentas.”

Michel Odent’s twin birthing protocol. Nikolas has his name as a middle name, because we waited a very long time for the first twin!

Saving My Baby

2009-10-15T22:43:00.000-07:00

I gave birth on a February afternoon by repeat caesarean. A pink, squalling bundle was handed to me, and I gazed lovingly into eyes that seemed to recognize me. I whispered sweet words of belonging to this girl child of mine, and comforted her outraged cries. She was the daughter I so desperately wanted.

A week after her birth, a friend dropped off a ring sling. I snuggled my 7 lb bundle into it and went about my way with a mostly content baby. Within two weeks, I was wearing her constantly. Towards afternoon, she’d begin to sob and scream inconsolably. She would arch and thrash, refuse to nurse, refuse a soother, the swing, my arms. The only thing that would quiet her screams was the sling.

Screamy baby began to lose weight. I carried her – day in, day out – in the sling. Repeated trips to the doctor revealed nothing. She was unable to nurse, screaming hysterically within moments of latch on.I was told rudely “ Do breast compressions. Breast is best.” Breast compressions made her choke and gag... and scream. I began feeding her formula. We went back to the doctor. Reflux. Milk Intolerance. Delayed gastric emptying. Her weight gain was poor, and the screaming increased in volume. Nights were long, filled with arching, thrashing baby. There was many a night that I slept with her in the sling, sitting up on the couch, unwilling to move her from her comfort zone. People told me I was spoiling her. I told them “ We’re coping. This is all that works.” I was told to let her cry it out, but I had no desire to abandon my child to a dark room to cry out her angst. My responsibility to her did not end when the sun went down. I whispered in her ear that I couldn’t stop her crying, but I could hold her while she cried.

I paced the floors with her, snuggled tummy to tummy in the sling. At six months, I begged the doctor to hospitilize her – I knew something was dreadfully wrong. The paediatrician agreed. She was poked, prodded, xrayed, and force fed. The screaming continued.

A day before discharge, my pediatrician’s partner waltzed into our room with his holier than thou attitude. He told me I wasn’t putting in the effort to feed her, to put her in another room to sleep and let her cry it out. I banned him from treating my child.

I worked part time, baby in sling. I got a mei tai, two more ring slings. I carried her everywhere. In the shower. To the doctor, to the park, on playdates. People nastily asked me how she would learn to walk if I never put her down. I ignored them. Carrying her stopped the screaming.

Just before her first birthday, she developed a high fever and cough. I took her to the ER, still wrapped in my sling. We waited 7 hours. Xrays revealed her heart was enlarged. We were admitted. I carried her nonstop for the next few days – through a terrifying whirlwind of echocardiograms and finally a diagnosis. During one particularly memorable screaming fit, a nurse turned to me in tears, and handed me my sling. My daughter quieted, safe in her sling.

She was in heart failure. A rare and very serious heart defect had been causing massive heart attacks. Fatality rates were 90% in the first year. The screaming was her suffering from crushing chest pain. In the hallway, the cardiologist turned to me and quietly told me that it was my parenting – the constant carrying – that had allowed her to survive against all odds.

My daughter never cried alone, left in a room. Had I ever practiced CIO, I would have woken to a lifeless baby. I held her through months of gut wrenching doubt, moments when I cried too. But today, I watch my daughter play and run, and laugh. I carried her through a mom’s worst nightmare... and we both survived.

Sarah Kaganovsky

Updated- October 2010~

Mila is now a happily thriving three and a half year old. The scrawny screaming baby has grown into a confident and outgoing preschooler because of the constant babywearing. looking back, it amazes me... My trusty sling and I... We SAVED her.

Mila now has had two brain surgeries as well. And a little sister! The only way I've been able to care for them both is to be wearing one. In a way, babywearing has allowed us to cope as a normal family. The baby deserves Mommy. Mila requires hands on care. And I can provide both girls exactly what they need!

An Introduction

2009-10-15T20:36:00.000-07:00

The experience of keeping (or retrieving) your power will make you fierce. As all mamas should be.

I’m pretty sure I’m post-feminist. I know many who will disagree so I’ll only speak from my experience. Is feminism still necessary? Probably- but I don’t believe I’ve ever been the victim of gender discrimination. I realize this is entirely due to the efforts of women before me (thanks Mom!). Things change, though. The feminist movement was about power- men had it, women were denied it, women took it. Women today are still in need of power, but these days, it’s not necessarily the men who are holding it.
Never is this so obvious as when women become mothers. The process of becoming pregnant, giving birth & parenting a young child seems to marginalize educated, intelligent women to the point where many will throw their power at anyone willing to catch it. Why is this? What makes a mother devalue herself as the least expert on her own body, her own baby? And why are the women who reject this system and keep their power for themselves so criticized? Worst of all, why are those willing to take the power the most likely to be those we’re encouraged to trust- our doctors, nurses, midwives, teachers? Is it human nature to take power when someone tries to give it to you? The answer to all these questions is summed up with one word: responsibility.
Power & freedom, to my mind, are two sides of the same coin. We all know that with greater freedom comes greater responsibility. What if all these power-abdicating women are actually giving away their responsibility? Such a system would work, if those taking the power also accepted the responsibility. But when was the last time the doctor who performed the c-section went home with the mother to help her recover? Do the specialists who give bad breastfeeding information pay for the formula when breastfeeding fails as a result of their advice?
This leads us to a big taboo that very few parents will acknowledge- they, & they alone, are responsible for their children. We can pretend we’re not. We can choose a hospital birth just in case. We can accept breastfeeding information that allows it to fail. We can place our children in daycare; send them to public school, countless other choices, big & small, that allow others power over our children’s lives. But ultimately, we are the ones left responsible for the outcomes of those choices.
Please don’t misread me here- I am not saying that those choices are irresponsible. In many cases, these would be appropriate. I am addressing those who might be making their choices based on fear of accepting responsibility. Is it easier to accept a negative outcome if it wasn’t your fault? I don’t think so. No one loves your kids more than you- why would you knowingly make a poor choice for them? Keep your power and trust that you know what you & your baby need. Your body can grow your baby, can birth your baby, can provide milk for your baby. You can educate your children. You can advocate for them. The experience of keeping (or retrieving) your power will make you fierce. As all mamas should be.
Maybe I’m more of a feminist than I think.