Why We Do What We Do - Part 2

I've struggled a little with how to phrase this installment, because I don't think it would serve for me to recount a play-by-play of each birth story all at once (not to mention the fact that it would take me a ridiculously long time to do so - you know, on account of my myriad of children. All four of them.), and I still want to avoid any smacking of why everyone else should do such-and-such. Countless books have been written on the subject of pregnancy and childbirth, by those actually qualified to present and explain all the clinical aspects, so I won't try to do that, either. Of course, those books run an interesting and bewildering gamut of conflicting facts and information,and I myself have been all over that gamut in regard to my own birth experiences. I began on the "Whatever you say doctor... I don't want to feel a thing... I want everything sterile, please deliver me of my baby" end, and I drifted far over into the "My body knows how to give birth without your interference, thank you, and there's no way I'll ever give birth in a hospital again unless absolutely necessary" end. Both "sides" (I hesitate to put it that way, but there it is) tend to look at each other askance, if not even down their noses. The former sniffs, "That's all very well for HER," secretly believing that "natural birth" people are eccentrics, to put it nicely. Incidentally, the way they think and say "natural" doesn't actual sound very natural at all - but rather like something extreme and well outside the normal. I can say this safely because I was one of them. The latter regards the former group with exasperation, and often with a sense of pride in knowing just what's real and true about birth. Not all of them, but some of them DO, and that's just the way it is. I do like to hope that my course from one to the other has helped me avoid some of the superior attitude toward those more ensconced in the conventional medical birth mindset. But at the same time, I also want to be a small part of helping to dispel some of the myths perpetuated by the medical model of birth. I believe, in this area as well as others, that God made things the way he made them for a reason - and often, it turns out the reason is wonderful and amazing indeed. I do wonder if we Christians sometimes labor (no pun intended) under the assumption that childbirth is so corrupted by the Curse that it is something to be treated, the way we regard sickness. But like just about everything else that is part of that Curse, I believe that God has placed redeeming benefits in every aspect. Pain in childbirth, for instance, is not just needless suffering, but an indicator to a woman that she needs to change her position - often into one that will assist her baby in his descent. Overall, I think that for some reason we're afraid to connect with that part of birth that is all at once wild and earthy and yet mystically spiritual - and we think we're too Christian and civilized to admit that God made it just that way. Certainly our American culture, Christian and everyone else alike, has wholeheartedly bought the notion that without doctors and hospitals, ultrasounds and blood tests, pitocin and epidurals, etc, etc, etc., pregnant women are incapable of giving birth. Amazing, isn't it, that the human race made it at all before the past 100 years or so?

But I'm wandering onto the soapbox I'm trying to avoid. My own feelings about childbirth were first shaped by my mother's birth stories. She had four C-sections, the first one (when I was born) after laboring for a few short hours and then being informed in no uncertain terms that she was "too small" and my head was "too big." Thereafter, as was the most common practice of the day, she was not allowed any other option but to have repeat sections with subsequent births. I can't speak for my other sisters, but I believe that doctor not only undermined my mother's confidence, but robbed me of some of my own years later. When I was pregnant with my first baby, I told gave everyone the popular line, "I'm going to try to go as long as I can without pain medication," but I really believed that birth was too powerful for me to handle on my own. I had an uneventful, by-the-book pregnancy, and I was naive putty in the hospital's hands by the time I went into labor. The first thing that a nurse said to me when I went in, by the way, was, grimly, that I was "awfully small." What a confidence booster. I allowed them to give me whatever they suggested - something to help me sleep and something to "take the edge off. I stayed overnight neither sleeping nor resting, but fighting a bewildering combination of nerves and a drug-induced haze. They sent me home after I hadn't progressed, but then I returned later when the real thing hit, and after a few contractions that I thought were intense (as I lay in bed simply waiting for them to come), I asked for an epidural. It gave me some necessary sleep, and shortly after I woke up from a very long nap, I was ready to push, and out my 6 an a half pound daughter came. Oh wait - that is, she came, my small little girl, after the doctor made a "little cut" and I ripped the rest of the way, a fourth-degree tear that would trouble me for months and even years afterward. It was only later that I learned all about episiotomies - the side effects, as well as the extreme and thoughtless overuse by doctors. For my other hospital births, I strenuously insisted, and sometimes I had to be very firm indeed, that such a thing not happen again. The next 3 babies were all over 8 pounds, with much larger heads than Aimee's, and I needed no such intervention. My episiotomy experience was the first that made me aware that I may need to question the accepted way of doing things.

When Aimee was about 8 months old, I found La Leche League, and was put more in touch with women who tended toward the natural in everything, including birth. It appealed to me, and I readily embraced some things, but I still didn't think I could ever have a "natural" birth. When I was pregnant with Drew, I read The Birth Book, by Dr. Sears, and appreciated its balanced approach, but I still had no confidence in my own abilities. Drew was a much larger baby than Aimee had been, and as soon I expressed that fear, the doctor scheduled me to be induced. I knew a little about pitocin-laced contractions, and my fear prompted me to get an epidural as soon as I was allowed, and yet, even before I was experiencing any real discomfort. But it was a horrible experience. My labor didn't progress very well, and my numb lower body held me prisoner in one position in bed while I waited helplessly for my labor do to what it would do. That's exactly what it felt like. Drew, too, reacted badly to the unnatural contractions (which can too strong and close together for babies subjected to them) and I had to be hooked up to all kinds of monitors and tests. The doctor would have done a C-section if he hadn't been too busy. When he had time to check me again, I had progressed satisfactorily enough so that he didn't feel it was necessary, and eventually I was ready to push. It wasn't quite as easy as when Aimee was born , and at one point a nurse snapped at me that I wasn't doing it right. I didn't think that was fair, because I couldn't feel anything and was simply having to guess at what I was doing. At the end, the doctor used a vacuum suction to assist the delivery, and at last, my son was born. He was tired and stressed, and for weeks afterward, I felt badly about having forced him to come before he was ready.

And I was tired of medically directed births and of the hazy, disconnected feeling after both births. Even though I didn't have any other medication besides the epidural with Drew, his delivery still had a dream-like quality about it. It seemed to take days for my mind and body to catch up with each other about what had happened. I was determined to do something different with my 3rd birth, and I went to a group of nurse-midwives during that pregnancy (after one visit at a pristine doctor's office in which no children were allowed and during which a doctor brusquely examined me and then immediately offered me medication to take the edge of my mild morning sickness, which I thought was a little hasty). It was a far different and altogether more pleasant experience than I had ever had before. Still, though because I was terrified about family members missing the birth, I agreed to an induction the day after my due date. The night before, however, my water broke, and even though I rushed to the hospital a little prematurely, that event broke the fear cycle for me. Since things had begun on their own, I was peacefully determined to let them progress without intervention. I had a doula at the hospital who was quietly encouraging the entire time (absolutely indispensable, overall!), and my midwife and the other nurses were actually supportive. They offered me information, and then let me make my own choices, rather than announcing what they were going to do next. At the very end, after a long time of stalled labor, my midwife did persuade me to use a little pitocin, which ratcheted up the contractions several notches and made the last stage nigh unto intolerable. But I remember thinking that I couldn't lose it, because if I did - well, I just couldn't. There was nowhere to go but all the way through and finish it. So I did. And when it was done, it was done. The bliss was immediate, and I was there, fully in the moment. I had felt everything, but I had FELT everything - all the glorious sensations that are muted or even lost when the pain is blocked. Ryan, too, was incredibly alert and aware, and never went through that sleepy newborn phase. Perhaps for me the experience was heightened by the personal confidence it aroused. I remember being wheeled to my room, and saying over and over to the nurse, "I did it! I didn't think I could ever do it, but I did!" I had had to dig deeper than I ever thought possible, but I found there an intense inner strength I didn't know I had, and had conquered greater heights than I had ever known. I don't know how I can describe in words the significance of that - how I can express that it is more than just a nice bonus to experience such a thing, but something of infinite and intrinsic value that every woman has a right to experience. More than a right, almost a need, because it is a natural and normal thing that God has designed as a part of the rite of passage into motherhood, for all kinds of physical and emotional reasons. And at the same time, in a beautiful paradox, it doesn't make a woman superhuman to do it. Someone said that about me after I had Ryan, and while she said it with admiration, I remember thinking, No, not at all! I was just a woman, doing what woman is designed to do - what every woman CAN do. Knowing that - that I had tapped into a deep strength, but one that was always there, nonetheless - was valuable to my entire womanhood from that point on.

In yet another paradox, this birth experience didn't steal anything from the joy I felt at Aimee and Drew's birth. The negative aspects to any birth, whether out of necessity or ignorance, somehow don't, in themselves, demean the basic beauty of birth, and I don't look back on those times with any distaste, even as I learned from what I deemed were mistakes. But I didn't intend to volunteer for that kind of birth model again, so when I was pregnant for the fourth time, I found a midwife at a birth center. She became a friend, and everyone looked forward to my prenatal visits. When we spent an hour there, we spent the whole hour talking with her(as opposed to waiting in a waiting room for most of it), and the kids often "helped" her. Chase's birth turned out to be the longest and hardest for me physically (and, incidentally, the absence of pitocin at the end was an incredible and wonderful difference - there actually were breaks in between the contractions at the end), but by far the most satisfying in every other way. Sandy was skillful, understanding, and supportive, and she was my partner in the birth process, not an authority figure who took it away from me. When Chase was born (finally!), he belonged to me from the very first. She placed him into my arms, and didn't remove him until after I had met him, adored him, and nursed him. She examined him while I held him (even if he had needed oxygen, she would have given it to him there), and it was altogether a gentle, natural contrast to the bright, brisk handling given my other newborns. She did all a more thorough examination later, but by that time he was calm, and it wasn't intrusive in the least. After everything was cleaned up, Dave took the older kids home, Sandy and her assistant left the room, and my mom and I snuggled with Chase in the bed to sleep for a few hours. It was sweet, peaceful, and just right - and all mine. This was how birth was meant to be.

Of course, I know that sometimes things do go wrong, which is the first thing skeptics always say. I had perfect assurance that if there had been a medical problem, Sandy would have been quick to consult our back-up doctor, or we would have gone to the hospital. As natural birth proponents have said, we live in an age in which we could have the most ideal birth environment - skilled midwives (and they are skilled) for normal births, of which there are, or could be, many more than our current American medical community would have us believe, and obstetricians to "stand by" and offer their expertise only when needed. The problem is that this medical community (on the whole, but certainly not every member) has led women to believe that they have rescued us from the danger that is birth and that somehow we are mostly inadequate to do it ourselves. And while I have seen facts and information about the safety and advantages of midwife-assisted births (studies have shown that they are as safe for babies and probably more safe, given the extremely low rate of C-sections, for mothers), I have only ever heard fear-mongering from the other side. "It's not safe," I've actually heard doctors warn, but they won't say why. And worse, women are largely uninformed about the risks of the interventions used in hospitals. Most of those interventions can serve a good purpose at times, but many Americans are completely unaware of possible side effects and risks, and they are willing to do whatever a doctor suggests, without thinking. It isn't right that mothers should have so little an understanding of the natural process of birth, how interventions affect that process, and are thus unable to make informed decisions. From what I understand (and Carrie can correct me if I'm wrong!) many OB's rarely see completely normal, unmedicated births - if they've ever seen one. How interesting to me that our culture will almost unquestioningly and unreservedly trust them with all births, when I doubt we would be willing to trust a doctor so fully in any other area, however great his skill in treating the pathology of that area, if he didn't know what a healthy specimen looked like. Birth is certainly something to be respected - there are dangers and risks, no matter where it takes place - but not something to be feared.

So IF I were to tell another mother my opinion, IF she were to ask me - because I try to avoid being preachy about this and other topics - I would simply encourage her to think. There is a reason God made this process the way he did, and it's not all just a punishment for Eve's folly. It's also so much more than just a necessary, but let's-get-it-over-with, prelude to the long-awaited baby. I would also encourage her to claim her right to her own birth story and not to feel she must kowtow to the practitioner she chooses. Of course there should be a trust relationship there, and I wouldn't advocate constant friction, but a woman should feel she can be informed and can ask questions, and she shouldn't allow herself to be controlled by fear-mongering. I would point her, in addition to a few really good books on the subject, to the documentaries The Business of Being Born and Pregnant in America, both of which I watched after I had Chase, but which confirmed our beliefs and choices.

So as for me, as for us, this is why we treat birth as we do - not because I just want to be different, or because I'm reckless or don't know any better. I've had a range of birth experiences, and in my journey have, hopefully, touched on the mysteriously beautiful and awesomely powerful way God designed the way for life to begin. I believe he did it for a reason, one that ought not be quickly dismissed as unimportant to the larger picture. It's also wonderful the way he made people resilient, so that all is not lost if something changes that natural course, but that still doesn't lessen the greatness and importance of what He has created.