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Jennifer Margulis

Mothering Outside the Lines

An Interview with Unassisted Birth Advocate Laura Shanley

March 17th, 2010

smbookcover2When we were researching unassisted childbirth before Baby Leone was born, I read Laura Shanley’s book, Unassisted Childbirth, from cover to cover, flagging pages for James to read as well. I borrowed the book from my friend Jenny (who’s pregnant with her fifth baby and probably wants it back). I dutifully returned all of Jenny’s other childbirth books right after the birth, but have held onto Unassisted Childbirth for an extra long time. It’s so full of wisdom and fascinating stories that I’ve found myself re-reading parts of it several times.

09laurakshanley1.JPGSo I’m especially pleased to welcome Laura Shanley on my blog today to talk about unassisted birth.

JM: Most people have never heard of unassisted childbirth, or never seriously considered it, because it’s so far outside the norm, in America anyway. When they do read about it, they think either, “Oh, that woman is CRAZY” or “Oh, she was just lucky!” or they get angry and insist that a woman who gives birth unassisted is endangering herself and her baby. What do you say to people who think you are crazy because you had your children without a doctor or midwife present?

LS: Usually I just try to explain it logically. Every other natural bodily function generally works beautifully unassisted–digestion, elimination, respiration, conception. So many of the problems associated with birth are actually caused by interference.

Most people can relate to this sexual analogy (which I am borrowing in part from Michel Odent):Imagine you’re having sex and everything is going beautifully. The energy is flowing and sexual excitement is building. But suddenly someone walks in the room, taps you on the shoulder and says, “Excuse me, what’s your social security number?”

Instantly you would come out of a creative, intuitive, artistic frame of mind and go into a rational, critical, thinking one. As a result, most men would instantly lose their erection, and sexual desire would probably cease for both partners.

This is exactly what happens when medical personnel are timing, measuring, counting or even simply observing a woman giving birth.

Observation changes all natural bodily functions.

Attempting to fall asleep or go to the bathroom with a crowd looking on produces the same result. When drugs, invasive medical instruments and strict time constraints are brought into the picture they hinder a woman from giving birth.

I believe two other factors cause birth to be problematic: poverty and fear. Most deaths in birth occur in Third World countries where people are often undernourished and don’t have access to clean water or proper housing.

All aspects of health are affected by poverty, not just birth. Anthropologists who have observed healthy tribal cultures throughout history have reported that death or complications in childbirth are rare.

As humans we are programmed to have a fight/flight response. Fear sends blood and oxygen away from the sexual organs and into the arms and legs so that we can fight or run from the supposed danger. Just as the face of a frightened person turns white, so does the uterus when a woman is disturbed or frightened during labor. Without “fuel” (blood and oxygen), the uterus cannot function correctly and numerous problems result.

This is why it’s absolutely essential that pregnant women face and overcome their fears prior to the birth.

Why would something as important as the continuation of the race be fraught with peril?

It’s not.

When people actually take the time to logically think it through, many of them understand that birth isn’t inherently dangerous. It’s our modern day conceptions that are dangerous, not being in labor and having a baby.

Laura and her partner David with their firstborn, John, who was born at home unassisted

Laura and her partner David with their firstborn, John, who was born at home unassisted

JM: In your book about unassisted childbirth, you write about how your parents reacted badly to your decision to have unassisted births. Was it hard for you not only not to have their support but to have them being actively against you (I think your mom actually called social services at one point, yes?)?

LS: I honestly think my parents meant well, but yes, it was very hard not having their support. For many years I actually thought my mother had called social services but recently she told me that she had called a visiting nurse in the hope that the nurse could help me with the pregnancy or birth if I needed it. It was the nurse who called social services after the birth when I had trouble breastfeeding.

Still, it was hard not having my family’s support and it’s painful to talk about it even now. I often tell people that I believe the greatest challenge to having an unassisted birth is dealing with unsupportive friends and family.

On the other hand, the lack of support can encourage us to look within. Like many other couples, my partner David and I found a previously undiscovered inner strength that has served both of us in so many situations since then.

JM: We were very quiet about our decision to have an unassisted birth beforehand because we felt worried that people’s negative energy would affect how we felt about what we had decided to do. When I was trying to find out about it I spoke with one woman who had her six children unassisted but had never talked about it before. Do you think women should speak up about unassisted birth, even if it opens them to being judged and maligned?

LS: I think it’s different for every woman and even for every pregnancy. Having a baby unassisted is a personal choice that we don’t have to justify or explain to anyone. Some women simply need to focus on overcoming their own fears and developing a strong sense of self. This is a big job in and of itself. But if a woman feels completely comfortable with the choice she has made and isn’t easily swayed by the fears and opinions of others, then I think she can do society a tremendous service by sharing her thoughts on the subject. It took me several years before I was ready to speak out about unassisted childbirth. And even then I was careful not to proselytize.

Unassisted birth was the right choice for me. But every woman has to choose her own path.

Laura Shanley cuddling her four children, all of whom were born at home without any medical assistance

Laura Shanley cuddling her four children, all of whom were born at home without any medical assistance

JM: If a woman is considering having an unassisted birth, how would you advise her to prepare?

LS: I generally share what worked for me. I encourage women to read unassisted birth stories and watch videos of women giving birth unassisted. I also recommend joining one or more of the UC message boards or email lists, as I think it can be helpful to connect with like-minded women.

I suggest reading my book, Unassisted Childbirth, or any of the other books on the subject.

When I was preparing for my births, I found Grantly Dick-Read’s book Childbirth Without Fear very helpful. I recommend that one, as well.

For women who are wanting to learn more about the basic physiology of birth, I recommend Heart and Hands by Elizabeth Davis or Spiritual Midwifery by Ina May Gaskin.

But I have to add that though I think those books are informative and written with a lot of heart, I don’t agree with everything the authors write about how to deal with complications or even what constitutes a complication.

Most complications in my opinion—things like breech births, long labors, “retained” placentas—are often simply normal and even expected variations in childbirth that merely require a change of position, a change in attitude, or perhaps an extra dose of patience.

Women preparing for birth also need to honestly face their fears. Journaling can be very helpful. When a woman understands the three primary causes for the problems in birth—poverty, medical intervention and fear—most fears vanish.

The fears that remain can often be dealt with by utilizing visualization and affirmations, so I also recommend visualizing the labor and birth that you want, writing out affirmations to help you gain confidence (and practicing both the visualizations and the affirmations every day).

JM: You had your children John, Willie, Joy, and Michelle many years ago. Do you think that more women today are choosing to have unassisted births?

LS: Yes! Based on the traffic to my site, amount of email I’m receiving, and the growing number of UC web sites, books, message boards and email lists, I believe more women are choosing this option.

JM: I was really moved reading the story of how you birthed your daughter straddling a little baby bathtub by yourself without even your partner present. I don’t know if I could have the strength to labor by myself. Was that a life-altering experience for you?

LS: Absolutely. It was truly the defining moment in my life.

I’ve often said that with her birth I felt that I touched the eternal.

I’m not sure how else to describe it. But something within me changed the moment she was born and I really haven’t been the same since. Grantly Dick-Read says that childbirth should give a woman a feeling of exaltation and this is what I believe I experienced with Joy’s birth.

To an extent, I felt it with all my births but perhaps it was stronger with Joy because I was alone. I don’t necessarily believe that solitude is a necessary requirement, but in this case it was what I needed.

Sometimes having people present at a birth can be a comfort. But often they’re a distraction. For some reason with Joy’s birth I needed to be alone.

JM: A reader wrote to Mothering recently to say “Unassisted Childbirth” should really be called “Father-Assisted Childbirth,” if the dad is present and catches the baby. What do you think?

LS: I’ve actually never felt entirely comfortable with the term “Unassisted Childbirth” (my publisher titled my book) because I believe we are all assisted in birth, both by the larger consciousness (however you conceive of that—as God, Goddess, All That Is, Nature—or something else) and by our babies, who I believe are active participants. But it’s a term I use because most people understand that it means “not medically assisted.”

Yes, some fathers do assist as well, but in the type of birth I advocate, the mother is really the one calling the shots. The late Marilyn Moran was an advocate of what some people call “daddy deliveries.” She believed that the father “planted the seed” and he should be the one to receive the baby.

In one of her newsletters she wrote “You can depend on your husband. He has everything you need.” But this to me is simply one step above “You can depend on your OB/GYN.” It puts the power outside of the woman. And the fact is, some husbands can’t be depended upon.

Writer Jeannine Parvati Baker, who coined the term “Freebirth,” also believed that since fathers “are the ones who made this ecstasy possible,” they should be the ones to catch the baby. But I don’t necessarily agree. I absolutely encourage fathers to participate in birth, and if they feel motivated, to catch the baby, as well.

But the course of the birth should be decided by the mother. Only she knows what position feels best for her body, when to push, when not to push, things like that.

Ultimately, even when the father catches the baby, the mother is still the one who is giving birth. It’s time that mothers get the credit they deserve—not doctors, or midwives, or cab drivers, or even fathers!

JM: Thank you so much for taking the time to visit this blog. Is there anything else you’d like to add?

LS: Only that I think it is important to remember that birth is not a curse that is meant to be endured. When approached correctly, it is an incredible, life-altering experience that changes us in ways we never dreamed possible. This is certainly what it was for me.

Related posts:
The Story of Our Unassisted Birth
Adventures in Lotus Birth
Don’t Touch My Newborn With Gloves
Liberated From Prenatal “Care”

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[ 29 comments ]

What Descartes Taught Me About Froot Loops

February 25th, 2010

When James and I met he was studying philosophy and I was studying literature. Though I struggle to understand the dense philosophical texts that James enjoys so much, I’ve always had a soft spot for literary theory, which is often very philosophical.

James says as parents, we are Cartesians. René Descartes, in his Meditations, wrote that in order for his philosophical thought to bring him to valid conclusions, Descartes realized that he had to discard all he had ever learned or heard before, and start from scratch using only what he could verify was certain.

I grew up eating Froot Loops, those neon colored O’s that make the milk turn bright pink in the bowl. My brother and I also liked Spaghetti-o’s. I came home to an empty house every day after school and watched TV from 4:00 o’clock onwards. We walked to school because everyone else walked to school. My parents put us to sleep on our stomaches because they were told babies should not sleep on their backs, for fear they would choke on their spit-up or aspirate their own vomit. My father was an atheist, a civil rights champion, and a much more involved dad than was usual for that generation. He liked to tell stories of his father being a card-carrying member of the Communist party. Still, we were mostly a family that did what everyone else did, from the food we ate to the sports we played (soccer) to the vaccine shots we received.

When I ask my mom now why she fed us Count Chocula and Apple Jacks, she says, “I don’t know. I guess because everyone else was eating that, so that’s what we ate too.”

My mom, though, is no stranger to controversy. In the 1960s when she was having her children (my oldest brother was born in 1959), my mom was told in the hospital not to breastfeed. She knew instinctively that was ridiculous. A microbiologist whose theories were so radical they were originally dismissed but are now in every basic scientific textbook but have now changed our understanding of evolutionary biology, my mom knew that calves drink cow milk, lambs drink sheep milk, and baby humans should drink human milk. So she bucked cultural pressure and breastfed the four of us. She even hand-expressed milk for one of my brothers when an infected appendix made it hard for her to nurse.

Though she questioned some of our culture’s expectations, she went along with a lot of what advertisers would have us all think is best. “Why do you drink this stuff?” I asked her when I saw she had a “fruit cocktail” beverage on her pantry shelf. The first ingredient was high fructose corn syrup. The second ingredient was sugar. “This isn’t food, Mom, it’s sugar water. It’s gross and bad for you and you shouldn’t be drinking it.”

“Oh, Jenny,” my mom said, exasperated. “I don’t care!”

But I do care.

Descartes tells us that we have to examine why we do EVERYTHING, why we feel a certain way, why we hold fast to certain beliefs. You have to take your beliefs out of the box where they are contained, spread them on the table, and look at them, as you would a rock collection. I started taking my beliefs out and examining them in a Cartesian way when I was pregnant for the first time eleven years ago.

When I did, so much in our life started to change. Luckily James was right there with me, changing too. It was James who explained that organic food was better than conventional food and convinced me that it was worth the extra money to buy it, it was I who convinced James to stop driving the mile to campus and start biking instead. Together we read an article about a baby being poisoned by Drain-O and that same day we rounded up the two buckets full of toxic cleaning products that we had always used and took them out of our house for good (we use vinegar now for cleaning, and baking soda for scrubbing).

We didn’t know enough to say, “No thank you,” to plastic toys and electronic toys and the bribe of disposable diapers given to us in the hospital (though we stuck with cloth) but we started to change our diet, our cleaning products, our mode of transportation, and our beliefs about the healthiest place to give birth and the best ways to raise a child.

It’s a work in progress. If you are committed to examining your beliefs, you have to be committed to re-examining them as well. You can’t ever hold one dogma and insist that it is The Correct Way. You have to constantly reevaluate, rethink, and question yourself.

It’s hard to be Cartesian. I try to be conscious of my reactions. When I have a knee jerk response of “That’s wrong,” or “That’s stupid,” or “Why would someone do that?” instead of turning off my curiosity I try to open myself to that new way, new idea, or new concept. That’s how we came to have a lotus birth (which I thought sounded gross when I first read about it), start going diaper free (which I thought must be impossible before I knew anything about it), and start eating meat (I was a vegetarian for 20 years until my body started to tell me I needed to eat meat.)

We’ve applied this concept even to shoelaces.

Have you ever thought of why you tie your shoes?

It turns out there’s a better way than the bunny ear method we all learned as kids. Ian’s shoelace site will tell you all about it.

Here’s a video of Hesperus showing Athena how to tie shoes a better way.

A new shoelace method. An unassisted homebirth. Cloth diapers. Selective vaccines. And no Froot Loops. Thank you Descartes.

Did you make changes to your lifestyle after becoming a parent? Do you think it’s a good idea to examine and re-examine your beliefs? Do you do things differently now that you are a grown-up from how you were raised as a kid?

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A Baby Born on Wednesday: The Story of the Unassisted Birth

November 12th, 2009

Author’s note: Our new baby was born at home in our bedroom a week ago this Wednesday without a birth attendant present. This is the last installment of the story of how we came to choose an unassisted birth. If you’re visiting the blog for the first time, the story begins here. JustBorn

When you’re expecting your fourth child and you’re past the due date, you become convinced that the baby will be a full-grown adult before coming into the world, which is why I pretended I wasn’t in labor for about 12 hours of regular but light contractions.

My uterus had been twitchy for days, and since the tightenings on Tuesday night were mild enough that I could sleep between them, I didn’t really think James and I would have a baby anytime soon. Besides, the squeezing feeling that woke me up was almost pleasurable.

Me: I wish I were in labor.

Myself: Maybe you are.

Me: This is way too easy. I wish real labor could be like this.

Myself: Maybe it can. Maybe labor can feel good. Maybe this is real labor.

Me: I hope I can get back to sle—

Myself: ZZZZZZZZZZZ…

I slept better Tuesday night than I had in a long time.

Wednesday morning James bustled the kids off to school. Before they left I felt my uterus tightening so hard I had to lean against the kitchen counter to catch my breath.

“Mommy! Are you having a contraction? Wait, let me get my joke sheet,” my 8-year-old, Athena, cried.

I’d been reading about how humor can really help a woman along in labor and Athena had secretly compiled jokes for me.

“Where did seaweed go to find a job?”

My mind couldn’t focus. Seaweed? Job?

“The kelp-wanted ads!” We both cackled with laughter as the contraction subsided, mine a tad hysterical.

“Maybe you’ll be coming home from school early,” I said, kissing the three kids goodbye. “Or maybe not…”

Then they were gone. I was restless and puttered around the house doing breakfast dishes, folding laundry, tidying the bathroom. I think I even vacuumed. Then I set my camera on a tripod and took some photographs. A couple of times while I was fighting with the self-timer I felt something crampy and jagged going on in my uterus but I ignored it.

I had no inkling that in a little more than three hours I would no longer be pregnant.

James came home.

“I’m not sure what to do…” I said. “I have an article to finish…”

“We could go for a walk,” he suggested. “Or watch the romantic comedy I rented?”

I sat down by the computer and realized I couldn’t sit down.

“Do you think I’m in labor or am I just being wimpy?”

James smiled at me. “Well … I’m inclined to think you’re just being wimpy…”

Nonetheless, I emailed my editor and told her I was in early labor, maybe, and might need an extension.

That was around 8:50 a.m. I put Sadé on the stereo and took a shower, then a bath, then a shower. By now it was obvious, even to a denialist like me, that I was in full-blown labor. I oohed and aahed and breathed through contractions.
laboring_in_the_shower
Me: This isn’t so bad, see? Mind over matter really works.

Myself: Aaahhh. Ooohhh. That was a good one.

Arms straight, I propped my hands on my knees, which allowed my belly to feel suspended, and I kept the warm water pounding on my back.

Pretty soon, though, the tightenings got really intense.

Me: This is what I wanted. This is what I wanted. This is what I wanted.

Myself: Careful what you wish for.

James made juice with garlic, ginger, kale, beets, carrots, lime, and orange. He brought me some in the shower.

“I can’t,” I sobbed. “I’m sorry.” All the sorrow in the world seemed to enter my body because I couldn’t drink the juice my husband had so kindly prepared.

By then I was starting to lose it. I could no longer ooh and aah through contractions. They weren’t coming in waves with a peak building slowly but instead slamming into my body like a truck crashing into a cement wall.

Me: If you relax your eyebrows and your mouth, your vagina will relax.

Myself: F**k off. I can’t do this. It hurts too much.

Me: What about mind over matter? This isn’t pain. These are interesting sensations you need to pay attention to.

Myself: Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow.

Me: Breathe in and expand your belly, everything is opening up.

Myself: Shut the f**k up already, will you?

James stayed in the bathroom with me. I wasn’t breathing anymore. I wasn’t groaning. I was screaming, rocking my weight onto the balls of my feet, making loud animal noises that came from some primitive place.

“Help me,” I begged him. “Help me, help me, help me.”

“There are a finite number of contractions,” he said. “You’re getting there.”

I turned off the shower.

“Should we get the kids?”

“I don’t think I want them to see me like this,” I whined, utterly miserable, during a lucid moment between contractions.

We put a pillow on the back of the toilet and I made it through a couple of contractions, gripping James’s hands for dear life.

I stood up from the toilet and a flood of fluid flecked with blood gushed down my legs onto the bathroom floor.

“I think my water broke,” I moaned.

“Oh good!” James sounded chipper.

All of a sudden I felt like bearing down. By this time I was talking to myself in an almost schizophrenic way. “You’re okay Jennifer. You’re okay. You can do this. You’re doing a good job.” I didn’t really believe it but the reassuring words helped me anyway. I was also chanting in a tight and whiney voice, “Honey, honey, honey. I don’t think I can doooo this.”

Everything felt like elbows and hard angles and cramps and my body seemed to be taking on a life of its own. But it—I mean we—were going so fast I could barely hold on.

During another lucid pause, I looked at James. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“You’re not worried?”

“Not at all.”

He was so focused and centered, completely unfazed by how miserable I was. Though reluctant about doing this birth by ourselves, once in the moment James was totally there, totally present, and totally calm.

After my water broke I somehow managed to walk the 10,000 miles between the bathroom and our bedroom though I’m not sure how. We put down a cloth pad and some disposable chux. I leaned against the dresser. I leaned on James. I squatted. I stood. I went on all fours. My legs were shaking. I was sweating. I was dying of thirst. I wanted to be touched. I couldn’t bear to be touched. Nothing felt right. I was pushing now with my eyes squeezed shut and the most animal-like groans coming out of me.

Pushing during my last three labors was easy and pleasurable almost—I only had to push two or three times before each baby came right out. This time felt different. I felt like I was tearing in half. The pressure was unbearable. Everything felt stuck. I was pushing so hard I felt sure the baby would emerge from my rectum. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done and by far the hardest stage of this labor.

But in between the knee-weakening, body-shaking Mack truck pushes, time stopped. I was completely lucid and pain free. I could have talked about the weather, the stock market, or Obama’s health care proposal. I felt strong, healthy, in my body. It was so surreal that I wasn’t sure I was really in the bedroom squatting on chux, moaning for water (which my husband gave me sips of through a straw), trying to birth a baby.

James grabbed the flashlight. “I see the baby!” He cried, full of joy. “I see the head!! There’s tons of black hair! I’m the first one to see the baby!!!!” He sounded as happy as Etani, my 6-year-old, trick-or-treating on Halloween. His glee was contagious. I started to laugh.

After the next overwhelming, body-numbing, elephant-pressure need to push, a tuft of hair stayed out even as I felt the head retreat. On the next push the head was out. James told me later the baby, eyes closed, was frowning, moving its head from side to side disapprovingly, as if to say, “Where is this place anyway? Do I want to be here?”

“I don’t think I can do this,” I cried after the head was out and there was a lull between pushes.

“You can. It’s happening.” James was so matter-of-fact and logical. “Here comes a shoulder!”

James_and_babyIn a slippery gush after the first shoulder, the baby came out. James caught it. I was on all fours as the baby was being born and with the relief of the baby coming out, I sat down backwards. He handed the baby to me. I was laughing and crying at the same time. “Oh my god, we did it, we did it.” The baby–it was a girl–started bawling lustily, coughing amniotic fluid and spluttering with discontent. I cried with her and so did James. We were so happy—finally—to meet the tiny being who had been growing inside me for nine and a half months. The whole world had changed now that this new life was in it.

I was such a baby during the contractions—crying and pleading and screaming, “help me”–but birthing this little person by ourselves was the most empowering experience of my life.

Human women have been having babies unassisted for more than 200,000 years. I’m not strong or brave or exceptional. If I can do it, you can too.

Jennifer_baby_Etani
Baby_and_siblings
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Coming up next week: 10 Things No One Tells You About Pregnancy; Experiments in Lotus Birth; When a Baby Spits Up Blood; Nervous Nellie 4th Time Parents, and more.

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[ 46 comments ]

A Baby Born on Wednesday, post 4

November 11th, 2009

Author’s note: Our new baby was born at home in our bedroom this past Wednesday without a birth attendant present. This week’s posts are the story of how we came to choose an unassisted birth and about the birth itself. The first installment is here. The second installment is here. The third installment is here. The final installment, about the labor itself, will be posted on Friday.
bathtowels

“So, who’s your midwife?” A friend asked.

“Oh, someone from out of town,” I heard myself lying into the phone.

“Have you chosen a midwife?” A mom from my daughters’ school wanted to know.

“Um, well, sure, yeah,” I hedged. “Hey, have you signed up to volunteer at the Winter Faire?”

It was my mother who asked the most urgent questions. She called James on the sly and told him to make sure we picked someone—anyone—as soon as possible. Away on a business trip close to my due date, she phoned from Puerto Rico to be sure we had a birth attendant.

“We found a midwife Mom,” I said. “A young woman who’s very competent. You have nothing to worry about. She’s great.”

“I’m. Just. So. Relieved.”

I hung up the phone and went into the kitchen.

“I think I just lied to my mother,” I said to James.

“You told her we had a midwife,” he laughed. “But you didn’t tell her the midwife was going to be at the birth.”

It had taken him a good four months but James had come around and actually seemed to be looking forward to the birth. He was as excited and impatient for us to be in labor as I was. And we really had identified a midwife in the Valley who supported our choice to have an unassisted birth and offered to be our “knowledgeable family friend,” willing to come over if we needed her, though not technically as a midwife (for which she could lose her certification) but just as a friend.

I told fewer than half a dozen people our plan for an unassisted birth. I didn’t want to talk about it because I didn’t want people sending negative or fearful energy in our direction. I also found it trying to allay other people’s irrational fears.

“I’m not a hero,” I heard myself say several times, “I have nothing to prove … if something goes wrong or if there’s any reason that we need to, the hospital is a 2-minute drive from our house. I trust my body. I trust myself. I trust that I will know if something is wrong…”

I spent an hour on the phone reassuring my best friend that unassisted childbirth was safe. Sue wanted me to talk her through everything that could go wrong, so I did.

I told her what most people don’t know: that taking a shower is more dangerous and results in more deaths than having a baby, that driving in a car to the hospital is the most dangerous part of labor—besides what can go wrong because of hospital intervention—that large scientific studies most recently in Canada, but also in the United States, New Zealand, and Australia have all shown very clearly that homebirth is safer than hospital birth, and that there are women all over the United States having unassisted births, but because they fear social disapprobation and people’s irrational rage, they mostly keep it to themselves.

I suggested she read Heather Cushman Dowdee’s incredible cartoon about the unassisted birth of her son and look at Shauna Mama’s unbelievably moving and amazing photographs of herself catching her own baby during an unassisted birth.

I told her about Sarah J. Buckley, the Australian family physician, whose husband is also a doctor, who decided on an unassisted birth at age 40 with their fourth, a daughter who surprised them all by coming out breech (with no complications).

I also spent a lot of time preparing for the birth. I bought two kinds of “chux’s”: one package of disposable absorbent pads and one single chux made of cloth; I also bought ultra thick sanitary napkins and witch hazel (you put witch hazel on the napkins and put them in the freezer for after the birth); we had a handy man install a metal bar in our bathroom shower so I could lean against it during labor if I needed to; I drank loads of red raspberry tea, which is supposed to tone your uterus; I exercised every day; washed our cloth baby diapers; cooked and froze a huge batch of burritos; and started being obsessive about keeping the bathroom—where I expected I’d be laboring a lot of the time—clean and tidy. My friend Jenny leant me an herbal tonic to stop post partum hemorrhage and I asked friends to be on stand by to drive the kids home from school (Athena and Etani both wanted to see the birth) or pick them up from after school activities.

But most importantly I spent quiet time every day imaging the kind of birth I wanted us to have, relaxing, and meditating. If you know me in real life, you know that I’m not much for relaxing and I tend to dismiss the hooey-wooey stuff that people in Ashland like so much. I usually don’t have the patience for baths or the concentration for meditation but I’m trying to change that. To prepare for this birth I made myself slow down. I lit candles and sat in the tub and practiced making “aahh” and “oohh” noises, thinking about the baby moving through my body, being gently squeezed by contractions.

“I will have an easy, gentle birth,” I told myself every day. “I can do this.”

“My body is strong,” “The birth will be fun,” “I will keep a sense of humor,” “James and I will catch our baby,” “Contractions are an interesting sensation to pay attention to,” “This will be an easy, gentle birth.”

I said these things over and over to myself and made myself believe them. But here’s the truth: I wanted to have an unassisted birth more than anything and I couldn’t wait to go into labor but there was a small person in the back of my mind who thought I was asking for too much and was secretly terrified that something would go wrong.

Cartoon courtesy of Heather Cushman-Dowdee.

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[ 8 comments ]

A Baby Born on Wednesday, post 3

November 10th, 2009

Author’s note: Our new baby was born at home in our bedroom this past Wednesday without a birth attendant present. No name (yet). No weight (we don’t own a scale). No midwives. This week’s posts are the story of how we came to choose an unassisted birth and about the birth itself. The first installment is here. The second installment is here. To read the rest of the story, please check back daily.

The not-yet-certified midwife we chose for our second home birth, M., had dreadlocks down to her ankles. She didn’t have an office. Instead, she brought her 4-year-old daughter with her when she visited our house for prenatal appointments.

Mostly we just talked.

She told me about how everything always got broken in her house but she didn’t get angry at her ten children because there was no point. She told me about how one of her daughters was autistic and would walk in circles for hours, a smile on her face. And how her second oldest wanted to be a midwife too.

I told her how I tore during Athena’s birth.

“You won’t tear this time,” she said. “You didn’t need to tear.”

“I didn’t?” I knew instantly that she was right.

But the birth process with my son started inauspiciously. My water broke at 11:00 p.m. and catapulted me into active labor. With my oldest daughter my water had broken at 11:00 p.m. as well, though she wasn’t born for another 22 hours.

I sobbed as amniotic fluid went into the toilet. I didn’t want to have another birth like Hesperus’s and I felt scared and tired. I didn’t wake James because I was afraid that everything would happen like the first time and that he would get exhausted. Instead I sat on the office couch and sewed up his robe, inside out, until the contractions were too intense to stay still. By then M. was there, though James was still sleeping.

M. was right, of course. I didn’t tear. The labor lasted only about four hours and was not nearly as bad as I had feared when it started. My friend Kathleen, a medical doctor who came as a friend not a doctor, showed up about twenty minutes before the birth.

When our son’s head crowned, I started walking away and Kathleen panicked, “Jennifer! Where are you going?!”

“JUST DON’T DROP THE BABY,” I cried, and twisted my body onto the bed as he slid out. M., who was crouching behind me, caught him.

My son's birth, attended by a midwife-in-training and a friend, had the least intervention

My son's birth, attended by a midwife-in-training and a friend, had the least intervention

That’s when Kathleen flew into a frenzy of action, grabbing a towel and vigorously rubbing the baby, directing James on how to cut the cord, whipping out a tape measure to measure his tiny perfect head. (“Can you leave him alone, please?” I said, annoyed. “It’s better to have a baseline, Jennifer,” she answered, clicking her pen closed as she finished writing on the chart.)

Our bedroom was small and it felt like there were a lot of people present. M. had essentially done exactly what we needed her to do: nothing. She checked the heartbeat five times while I was in labor but she did it so unobtrusively and gently that I did not even notice. Kathleen, who later told me that sitting on her hands and watching—this was the first and only home birth she had ever attended—was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, had done too much.

M. and Kathleen being there made James’s presence that much less important.

They were the authority we were deferring to, directing a natural process that could have unfolded on its own.

As much as I love and appreciate both of them to this day, their presence made the birthing that much less intimate, that much less about our family, that much less about our love for each other and our trust in the process.

We still weren’t at the same place about unassisted birth, but James agreed that our best birth had been Athena’s BEFORE the midwives arrived, when it was just the two of us, James and me, working as a team to ride out the contractions and help my body open up.

Maybe, just maybe, this birth could be like that one. But sans midwives.

Talking about our previous births, reading about unhindered childbirth, and thinking more about it, James started to believe that an unassisted birth might actually be a good idea.

Maybe, just maybe, our next birth could be without midwives

Maybe, just maybe, our next birth could be without midwives

Interested in reading more? Post 4 tells the story of our unassisted birth.

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[ 11 comments ]

A Baby Born on Wednesday, post 1

November 7th, 2009

Author’s note: Our new baby was born at home in our bedroom this past Wednesday without a birth attendant present. No name (yet). No weight (we don’t own a scale). No midwives. This week’s posts from Monday to Friday will be the story of how we came to choose an unassisted birth and about the birth itself. To read the whole story, please check back daily.

CoupleAtOdds
“The thing is, I don’t know if I really want a midwife,” I said to James when I was nearly five months pregnant and still had not chosen anyone.

“Oh God.” He furrowed his brow and looked unhappy.

We’d been having “conversations” like this one for months. Every time we interviewed a midwife, James would say, “Great! She seems great,” and I would hesitate.

The midwives were great—I liked every one I talked to on the phone and the three I met in person. They all seemed smart and knowledgeable and compassionate and interested, definitely women I’d like to have as friends.

The problem wasn’t with the midwives.

It was with me.

Though I liked all these women, I didn’t want them touching my belly or sticking their fingers up my yaya or telling me what to eat or to have blood work done.

No one had been in the room when James and I conceived our baby. I was beginning to feel like childbirth is as private and intimate as making love and I had trouble imagining having anyone else present.

“I don’t think I want anyone at the birth,” I tried to explain to my worried husband. “I think I want to do it by myself. With you.”

There’s a term for this: Unassisted childbirth. Some people call it “unhindered birth” or “free birth.” There’s a forum on Mothering.com dedicated to it. And some incredible Websites about it.

I started reading everything I could about childbirth—hippie books from the 1970s about home births, manuals written for emergency medical professionals in case they unexpectedly have to deliver a baby, unassisted birth stories on the Internet and in magazines, classics like Spiritual Midwifery, and a book by Laura Shanley called Unassisted Childbirth—and talking to women who had had successful unassisted births.

The more I read, the more convinced I became that we could have the birth we wanted, by ourselves, without anyone guiding us, interfering, or telling us what to do. And the more I read, the more I thought about my three previous birth experiences, and how I wanted this one to be different.

But James wasn’t completely on board. I knew what I wanted, but how could I convince my husband?

Interested in reading more? Post 2 tells the story of our first home birth attended by midwives.

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[ 18 comments ]






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