Touching Further on “Safety” in Birth

I shared my previous post on “safety” in birth in the group for my MamaMuse (un)Midwifery program mentored by Krista Joy Arias and she made a comment that spurred a new thought process. My view point on “Unassisted Childbirth” has ebbed and flowed through various thought processes, view points, and opinions since I first discovered the terminology (and the ever-growing movement) but that is for another post. We had talked some on UC in our class and I had made a comment in regards to UC being counterproductive. Krista asked in regards to my last voiced stand on UC how it related to my post on “Safety in Birth”. This was my response:

I feel that if one can go into a UC (here meaning having no one, midwife or otherwise… i.e. someone other than a midwife more experienced in birth than yourself… at your birth to “assist you” in the instance of an “emergency”) with the frame of mind that whatever happens, happens, and feel that they can be present with that and just let birth BE, that UC may be the best thing for that mother…. However, I still feel that it is counterproductive all around, whether for “safety”/”positive” birth outcome or for spiritual growth/enlightenment/what-have-you, to go into a UC planning to “be the midwife” trying to learn as much as you can and practically train yourself to be a midwife, to be able to recognize complications and be able to handle them, WHILE giving birth and being in a completely different state of mind (or, this weight and responsibility you have put on yourself is KEEPING you from going into that essential, primal, state of mind)… this is the route that I see most often in women who seek UC. I feel that it is OK to have people with you. You don’t NEED to be by yourself, to “prove” that you can do it, that your “natural”, or anything like that. I think that women have been giving birth surrounded by women, for millenia. And yes, even though they had women who were more experienced in birth, whether a great-grandmother and their grandmother and their mother (who all had 8+ children), or a midwife, or all of the above… they still knew that even if something happened and no one there knew what to do, or something happened and someone there DID know what to do, and it still didn’t help or salvage the situation and the baby or mother died, that was accepted as the way of things. There was allowance for acknowledgment in this, and allowance of time needed for grieving. But it was known to be a possibility and was accepted as such…. I think that’s the key. Not seeking safety as the goal, or throwing safety out the window. Not seeking to know as much as humanly possible to keep something from going wrong or throwing experience and knowledge out the window, but instead using what we have to the best of our ability (our skills and knowledge) and if what we had to give was not enough (or the mother did not want what we offered and so we met her in that place and acknowledged her right to chose and her choice), and regardless of the outcome let it BE. Acknowledged it, was present in the moment, and took nothing for granted. That, is the key.


Safety in Birth

As I was traversing Pinterest I came across a blog here on WordPress called “Outlaw Midwives” and while skimming the articles, I found this one:; shortly there after I re-read an article also touching on “safe birth” by my mentor, Krista Joy Arias over at MamaMuse:

They sparked a thought process in my head that I hadn’t considered before. An idea, a philosophy, that so many mainstream midwives, pro-homebirth (*cough* midwife-attended homebirth) campaigners, etc. would be furious at. Especially when it challenges their biggest ideal: “trusting birth”, that birth is “safe”. My thought process was similar to that of the Outlaw Midwife’s, supported by Ms. Arias’s points.

What is “safety in birth”? Why do we seek “safe birth”? Is it just a ploy by pro-midwifery-licensure campaigners to gain more support? They are trying to not “scare” anyone. “See, look! Birth IS safe if you don’t receive interventions!” But that’s just it. We find comfort in “safety”, even if it is just perceived– which can be dangerous in itself. Our culture, our society, fears death. It fears it, and it is taboo to not fear it, to accept it as an every-day Right of Passage. We fear it, so we fight it with medication and technology. We fight it down to our very cores, though there is a place in our souls, in each of us, that knows Death, and accepts it. But we fear letting that part of ourselves, that part of our humanity, out into the light of day.

To me, Death is a part of Midwifery. It is a part of Motherhood. It is a part of Life. There is no escaping it (though we like to think as much). And the rituals and chants, the songs and whails surrounding the Rite of Passage that is Death (and all other Rites as well, really) are being forgotten. But there are those Rogues who are grasping at the slipping rope, trying desperately to pull it back up to the surface before all is lost to the sea of modernization and technological advancement.

Consider the following taken from the blog over at Outlaw Midwives:

“this idea of safety is so ubiquitous that even the controversial ‘trust birth‘ movement says, birth is safe, interference is risky, as if the question on the table is, how do we have the safest birth possible?  do we follow medical protocol, mainstream midwifery protocol, more ‘hands off’ protocol…which one is safer?

but i want to question, why is safety the goal?  why do we first tout how safe a procedure, before we talk about whether the mama has given informed consent?  and why when we talk about informed consent, we often boil down to whether or not the mama consented to this procedure, despite or because of the risk or safety of the said action?  feel me?

what is safety?  being alive?  fitting into the normative ideas of healthy and average?

and how do we determine safety?  through clinical studies?  medical tradition?  anecdotal evidence?  expert opinion?”

Really consider that for a minute…. “What IS safety?” ….. “WHY is safety the goal?”

In the words of Krista Arias:

“So, when I hear someone say, Birth is safe or Trust Birth –your body knows how to give birth, something in me rebels.

“That’s not true,” it says.

“Birth is anything but safe.”

Birth may not be a medical emergency, but that does not mean it is safe. It is a serious and intense rite of passage that can shake us to our depths. Persephone’s trip to the underworld was not safe. Safe is a cop-out in life, and in birth.”

Let me repeat that: Safe is a cop-out in life, and in birth.

I feel that women, midwives, mothers… that they should not focus on “safety” and “what-if” and “Where did we go wrong” or “What could have been done to make it safer”. Instead, they should focus on allowing what is to be, allowing the birth to unfold in the manner of which it is meant to. Even if you attempt to do what you can with what skills and knowledge you have, and the “best outcome” doesn’t happen, accept that. Accept it as it is. Be present, be responsible, and own the part of the story that is yours. Meet mothers where they’re at. Do not hold judgement. Know the rites, know the rituals, know the words and the way of life and death and you can accept it as it comes, and help mothers and families to do so as well.

Another thought from the Outlaw Midwife:

“i guess it is because i think of safety/security as an illusion.  there  are no guarantees in life.  and playing the statistics game (deciding  ones protocol based on what has proven to be statistically safest or  most effective) is a fools errand.  because you can easily find yourself  in a situation where you do all the right things and the outcome is  horrible.  and you can do all the wrong things and in the end everything  turns out just how you wanted.
and if something is 99 percent  effective, and you turn out to be that 1 percent, do you really care  that 99 other people had difft outcomes?  and what if you are the mama  and you lose your babe, because you are the 1 percent?  is your grief  any less? probably not.
but yr grief probably is harder if you were told to go against your own motherwit, because the stats said xyz.
and  if you did follow your intuition, and the outcome is not what you  expected, then at least you can take responsibility for what happened.   rather than blaming mw’s and obgyns etc, ppl who have little  accountability to you, and will go on doing their jobs barely  remembering you existed a couple of weeks or months later.
i dont  know.  i tell mamas, look, everything will not be perfect.  but if you  follow your own sense of what to do, then you are taking responsibility  for your own life and choices.  everybody has to be who they are.
and  from what i have seen if you follow your own sense of what to do, then  you will have more self-respect, self-love, self-empowerment.  and the  more that we value ourselves, the more we are able to value others  around us, including/especially our children.”


Shifting the Paradigm: Thinking Outside the Box

As I continue along my journey in the birth field, I have evolved time and again. New information is found, new opinions formed, new facets of spirituality discovered. I’ve noticed a shift in my “birth consciousness” that was once all for an off-the-wall seemingly radical idea such as that spouted from the mouths of natural birth advocates, such as “Avoid doctors and Cesareans at all cost!”, “You have to have a midwife at a homebirth”, “Trust Birth”, “Birth is Safer than Not”, or Unassisted Birthers and their stand (I had even considered a UC). Now, I have again shifted my personal paradigm on birth to something seemingly even more radical.


I have read articles about UC women losing babies, of people who once advocated UC turning against it, fearing it. I have read over and over again the claims that birth is “inherently safe” and we’ve been doing it “by ourselves” forever. I have compared the “babies lost to UC” to “babies lost under midwifery supervision” to those lost under “OBGYN supervision”. There are varying numbers, but in all cases there are deaths. And in a recent essay I wrote, I talked on the connection between birth and death, and especially that of the role death plays in midwifery.


Before I continue, let me make it clear that I am not bashing, advocating, or any of the like any one “side” of the fence (because in my mind, there is no fence, it’s more like the lunch tables in the school cafeteria that are designated to each ‘clique’. Some people are at the hospitals and doctors are the only way table, some are at the pro-midwifery licensure table, some are at the anti-midwifery licensure table, some are at the “trust birth”, pro-UC table). I’ve found that I am at none of those tables, and seek to get people thinking. Let me explain.


I feel like saying slogans such as the aforementioned give women a false sense of security that sets them up for failure, or disappointment. But at the same time, I believe that it is possible, and biologically normal, for a woman to give birth on her own. However, I have a growing uneasiness in my gut about how this topic is being handled and gone about. The common scenario that I’ve come across is as follows: a woman is pregnant and decides that she wants to have a “natural” birth. She reviews her options. Attempting as “natural” a birth as possible in a hospital or birth center setting, having a midwife attended homebirth, or an “unassisted birth”. She is more inclined to a homebirth, and considers the options regarding that route. Midwife, or no midwife. Perhaps she can’t afford the midwife, lives in a state/area where there are no midwives/homebirth midwifery is illegal, etc. So she begins to look more at the UC route. Another scenario is that she, from the gate, heads straight for the UC route. Either way, she begins looking into it, trying to find out what she “needs to know”, and essentially begins to self-train herself as a midwife. And of course, there are those out there who do not believe in doing this, after all they “trust birth” as a “biological function” (which it is, I’m not arguing that point) and so they believe that they do not need to be educated in the ways of a midwife and that their bodies will handle everything accordingly. In the first instance, there is the woman who studies and crams as much knowledge as she can, hoping she hasn’t overlooked any vital piece or will forget something in the moment. This, to me, seems counterproductive to the seemingly common thought behind “natural” births as being able to let mom be free of worries and responsibilities and allowing her to be in her own headspace (and in my personal belief, her own spiritual place) while someone else is the one with the knowledge to utilize in the case of a possible emergency. And yes, a birth that is not intervened with, a mother who is allowed to move about as she pleases, eat and drink as she pleases, etc. is the best scenario for the best outcome—that of a smooth, complication-free birth. But it seems to me that a mother who plans a UC, and tries to become “knowledgeable enough” to undergo one, is in a sense a hypocrisy against the theory of “our bodies are capable on their own” and, also, takes the mother out of that worry-free, personal head/spiritual place in my personal opinion. And, it sets her up for potential trauma, disappointment, and failure if she were to happen to have a complication and she does not know how to respond, forgets how to respond, is incapable/incapacitated from being able to respond appropriately and her partner is not “trained” to handle the situation, and the result is a hospital transfer or even death of herself and/or the child. I have read story after story of UC-ers ending up with a hospital transfer, either due to just a “gut feeling” that something was wrong, or there was an actual complication during labor or delivery they couldn’t handle or weren’t prepared for, or even if they were, couldn’t make a difference. Then there are the deaths. And like I said earlier, death is inevitable, in any birthing situation, with any attendant (or none).


I think that instead of spouting slogans or teaching women that birth is safe and our bodies are capable at all times of giving birth without the need of assistance from an outside person (which not only gives women the assumption that they shouldn’t have a midwife, but also that they shouldn’t even have a doula, or in some circles even their partner, present at the birth)— that we should be talking about death. We should be teaching midwives and mothers about the death aspects of birth, the potential for death in birth, how to cope with and accept death, the rituals, chants, etc. (the spiritual side) around both birth and death. Not hiding from it, not trying to avoid it at all costs, even at the cost of quality of life, not setting up women for possible trauma, because that’s what’s being done.


Here is something to ponder on. I became pregnant with my first child at the age of 16, and subsequently went into preterm labor and delivered a 29 week baby. He was whisked away, unseen, not held to my chest, for almost three days. He was kept in a great NICU facility in a town an hour and a half away, had his ups and downs, and on one of his downs was transferred even farther away to a supposedly “better” hospital, which in my eyes seemed no better than a local hospital, and was a downgrade from the first. Throughout his three weeks of life, he was given intervention after intervention, was denied my breast, was denied my holding of him time and again. I held him, and not even how he should have been held (for hours, skin to skin) maybe a hand full of times in those three short weeks. And regardless of their technology and their efforts, he died. Actually, partially due to their technology, he died. And thinking back on it, with where I’m at right now in my beliefs, I would have done it differently. I would have asked to hold him immediately after birth. I would have made them let me keep him, would have held him naked to my bare chest and stuck my nipple in his mouth, whether he would be able to eat or not. I would have held him for every waking 

moment, and probably the sleeping ones as well. And maybe he would have died anyway, maybe he would have lived. Maybe he would have thrived. (Kangaroo Care saves as much if not more infants, with a better quality of life, than our “technology” which studies have shown over and over). But regardless of the outcome, I would have at least have had those moments, I would have been with him for every second. He wouldn’t have died alone, three hours away from his parents. He may have died, but not alone. And I think that maybe I would have been able to cope with that trauma and be able to better overcome it in that alternative scenario. Maybe not, but I like to think that it would be better. And so many women don’t think about that, or maybe they do but they lock those thoughts and gut-feelings down inside because the “doctors know best”, and I think that needs to change.

I also believe wholeheartedly that we should stop shunning c-section mothers, stop snubbing them—those who chose a Cesarean and those who received emergency surgeries. We should instead be meeting women where they are, accepting them, being present for them, helping them to heal from that trauma (if healing is needed/it was traumatic, because it is possible it was not), and helping to guide them out of that place of ostracized outcast that they most often find themselves in the natural birth community. Help with trauma mending, help with information sharing on VBACs and even being present for them for a repeat c-section and helping them to be able to come to terms with it and make it a more “interactive” experience instead of one where they have no say from start to finish. This is something that I see quite frequently and that the attitude and treatment of needs severe 180 degree turn around on.



We should be teaching midwives to be able to be as hands-off as mothers want them to be, but to be able to step in in the case of a complication with quiet gentle guidance and quick skill. I wonder how many hospital transports for unassisted births (which include not just the transport and possible fetal/maternal hospitalization, but maternal/fetal separation, delayed nursing, etc.—all of the things that were set out to be avoided in the first place) could have been dealt with at home with someone who has the training, who could have been the quiet presence in the corner, allowing the mother to have her space and her freedom from the weight-bearing of “Will I remember what I learned?” and the like. They could have been dealt with, at home, and there would have been little to no negative side effects such as the aforementioned (of course, unless a dire emergency was indicated and transfer was needed). This is just one of my many personal and evolving views.


And, again personally, I believe we did not give birth “alone” in the past. Maybe, when we were Homo erectus in the plains of Africa, we did what mammals do—found a quiet, secluded place safe from predators and were left to our own devices to either come back with a baby, or not. But, looking historically, at least since recorded history, there are records across cultures of women being attended by women. And this was not necessarily just “medical” supervision, but just women-to-women, mother to daughter, grandmother to granddaughter, aunts and cousins and other female tribe members supporting, and being present, for the birthing mother. They were her chair, they were her arms, they were her spiritual support also, and probably most importantly. There may, or may not have been a midwife, but there were women who had birthed before there who knew some ways of birth, and if there wasn’t, or something was wrong, the midwife was called. But regardless, the mother was allowed to “be”, and whatever the outcome was, it was also allowed to “be”. This is my evidence for my argument against UC-ers who preach “birthing alone”, etc. in order to be a “true” UC-er. Yes, women are mammals and the actions behind mammalian birth is the same (quiet, safe, dark places, etc.) but this can be accomplished with a woman still being supported, cared for, adored and pampered, and spiritually supported.


We should also be looking more at the biology around labor, on a cultural level as well as a personal, woman by woman basis. If you want to claim birth is “biological” then act like it matters. Look at how we have changed biologically, physiologically, over the last few hundred years. How does that affect how we birth? Yes, women have “known” how to give birth since we evolved. But, how have we changed, physically (and mentally) that could hinder this natural, biological process? A major one: pelvic shapes. The major contributor? Diet. Diet has been probably the most drastic change humans have undergone in the shortest time, and even though birth is natural and we were capable of birthing, supposedly without midwives or other more-knowledgeable attendees, we are different now than when we were then. Even just compared to a few hundred years ago, or even less than a century ago. We should be looking at, and again training midwives and teaching mothers, and potential mothers, about how things in our lives could affect our capacity to birth, naturally. Diet I, and many others, believe is the main contributor, but also environmental factors such as chemical exposure, mental health, past traumas (whether birth related or not), etc. We should be trying to change these kinds of things, to help bring women back to the way it was before, when we could “birth naturally” instead of just saying “Oh, you can do it by yourself, no problem!” not even considering that even if that mother did everything “right” and still had a complication or her baby still died, no one thought to help her with a past trauma that re-surfaced during birth, or to talk to her about nutrition, before pregnancy or during. (Of course, even in antiquity, before the drastic lifestyle and diet changes of the mostly-Western world and those places that they have influenced, babies and mothers died. It was a part of life. And even if we can get back to a similar way of life or way of eating, death is inevitable at any time, for anyone, and takes me back to what I said earlier about the other key point that we are missing in regards to birth—death.)


And again, yes I believe that birth is a natural, biological function. I’ve even seen it mentioned a few times that if it didn’t “work” there wouldn’t be so many people. My radical thought on that? Doctors and technology is the reason for the outrageously high human population of this earth. Yes, birth “works” and more babies survive birth than they die during it, but with the increase in “life-saving” and “life-extending” technology, which is the field of doctors, more and more live (regardless of their potential quality of life). It has always been that babies die. Mothers die. And though populations steadily increased over time regardless, it was nothing compared to the last few hundred years with the advent of such “advanced” technology. And now, we have the ever-present looming fact, the elephant in the corner that everyone seems oblivious to, that our ecosystem (the Earth) has long-since reached its peak in population sustaining capabilities. In simple terms, the Earth cannot sustain us anymore at our current nor projected population growth rate.


And I understand, and am prepared for, how the aforementioned comments, personal beliefs, and theories will cause people to react. But, like those before me who went out on a limb and became “radicals” in their thinking, and their doing, so shall I take my turn, and perhaps, someone will read this and be able to think for themselves and possibly they will take their turn, and on it will go.

[And again, please take heed that I am NOT bashing or belittling anyone’s personal beliefs, or any one particular institute or organization’s beliefs or teachings. I am only stating my personal take, and hoping to get people thinking in a new light.]

Midwives and Death: Part I

Reincarnation and the Otherworld (either many other realms besides our own, or some kind of afterlife, or a combination thereof) is not a new concept. The younger concept seems to be that of not reincarnating. Reincarnation is the belief that the soul returns over and over again to this world, being born and dying repeatedly for eons. Some believe that this is continued until the soul or spirit achieves some sort of divine revelations, obtains purity, has learned all it has to learn, has received all the lessons it was meant to receive, etc. and then joins the Divine and is no longer reincarnated. Many believe that a person’s soul is only ever reborn as a human, others believe in metempsychosis, when the same soul could reincarnate as human, animal, or even as a plant or stone. Philostratus of Tyana in the Second Century reported that the Celts of Europe believed that in order to be born into this world, we must die in the Otherworld, and vice versa. So when we celebrate a birth, that soul just underwent a death in order to be born, and when we are mourning a death, that soul is being born. This belief, not to mention death in general, seems critical in the role of Midwife. Also, looking at different cultures and world religions past and present, most if not all “midwife” related goddesses, were also associated with death, and death and rebirth are intrinsically tied across belief systems.


The predominant emotions and responses surrounding the vastly separate and yet not all that different acts of being born and dying are rather strict, especially in Western culture. We rejoice our newborns and mourn our dead. Our midwives often help bring our children into the world and we focus on the “birth” aspect of that soul’s reincarnation, but think not once on the “death” of that same soul. Should midwives not be, as gatekeepers in their own right, knowledgeable of this phenomena and of what is at work? Should they not realize that not only are they attendants to help keep Death at bay, that the newborn is assured a safe entrance into our world, but they should be acknowledging and mourning the death of that same soul just as she rejoices in its birth? And, should she know the ways of Death, the words and prayers, the proper etiquette, should it come regardless of her efforts in the birthroom? And she should teach families of these ways, and help them to understand their workings.


In our Western society we hold, as a culture, a taboo around death that many other cultures do not. We emphasize so much on Birth, and not enough on Death. And the correlation between the two is almost unheard of. There is not just the death and rebirth of the soul being recognized at the time of birth. There is also death of a phase of the maternal-fetal relationship, the death of the placenta—that life-sustaining maternal-fetal organ, the separation of the umbilical cord and the death of it. There is so much death involved in birth and yet no one sees it. No one acknowledges it. And this seems wrong.


In our highly advanced, technology-filled Western world, doctors and midwives no longer know Death’s face. But perhaps a few have seen Death shrouded in the corner of the birthroom, waiting eagerly, and yet patiently. But, instead of nodding in recognition and allowing to come what may, they go into a mad scramble for something, some sort of technology to reverse what is inevitable, to prolong what is coming regardless, because we have forgotten as a culture to respect, honor, and expect Death, even in Birth. We have forgotten what to do when it comes. We fear it, we fear what comes after it, we fear the ache of loss. It is not wrong, but it isn’t right either. If our birth attendants were knowledgeable in the rituals, the prayers and chants, the soothing words to comfort a grieving family; if they were aware of the correlation between birth and death; if they were honoring, and helping families to honor, both the death and the birth surrounding a soul entering this world, perhaps things would be different. Loss would be easier to cope with, death wouldn’t be feared, birth would be honored, life would be valued, and death would be celebrated. For when a soul dies in this world, they are reborn in the Otherworld.

Birth Rape and Trauma: What about Abortion Trauma?

I keep hearing stories about “birth rape” and “birth trauma”, and I believe that this is very real and very common and something that seriously needs to be addressed. But I think that many people are either ignoring or are not recognizing something similar that is going on- abortion trauma. From what I’ve been reading most “birth rape” instances occur when a mother says “No!” to a procedure and a doctor proceeds anyway. It is a violation of their person and their rights. But what about those women who elect for an abortion, they have consented to the procedure, and yet they come out of it feeling violated, disrespected, thrown away? It was not the fact that they had the procedure performed, that they “killed and unborn child”, it was HOW the procedure was performed, the energy of the physician and their assistants/those in the room, and how they were cared for (or NOT cared for) afterwards. It is the feeling of alone-ness that one feels post-abortion during recovery because there is not adequate support systems in place or information/counseling available. That is abortion trauma, if nothing else. And it is being ignored. I understand that abortion is a very tricky subject, a touchy one, that many don’t want to talk about. But it is a fact of life, and those who go through it need and deserve support just like those who undergo birth trauma need and deserve support.


Just before my 18th birthday I found out I was pregnant. Me and the father were not dating at the time and we decided to go through with a surgical abortion. Prior to going, I sat and went inside myself, I did visualizations. I talked to the baby and told it that this wasn’t a good time, we wouldn’t be able to give it everything it deserved, and to go to a family that could and that desperately wanted a child, or to come back later when it would be better for everyone involved. Afterwards, I felt empty. I didn’t “feel pregnant” anymore. I felt I could go through with it at this point. What I wasn’t expecting was how I would feel physically. We went just after my 18th birthday so that my parents wouldn’t have to take me. I was 8 weeks almost to the day. The waiting room was full of couples, women by themselves, and a couple women there with female friends for support. I talked with a woman next to me and we were there for each other in a way. The nurses seemed nice enough, but it was when I went in for the actual surgical procedure that my trauma began. They give you a medicine to put inside vaginally to help soften your cervix to make it easier to dilate. After about 45 minutes of waiting, they call you back. You are instructed to get undressed and put on a hospital gown. You are laid down on a bed, your feet suspended and your legs spread. There was a male doctor doing the procedure, an old man. I can already tell I do not like him. There is an older female nurse there who holds my hand. I think he tried making a bit of small talk with me at first, then as he begins he talks to the nurse, something about golf I believe. I am crying, it hurts. He numbs my cervix, that’s what I was afraid of hurting. I didn’t realize it would be the dilation that would hurt, that would be so traumatizing. The shot was a pinch, then my mouth feels funny. He begins inserting the rods to dilate me. It hurts so bad, I feel like I’m being torn open, I don’t want this. This pain. I don’t want this man between my legs who sees me as just another knocked up teenager coming across his table to get rid of an inconvenience. The nurse, I know she means well, but I can feel her anxiety as I’m crying into her hand and she continues talking to the doctor over the noise of the suction machine. That part of the procedure is painless and takes just a few seconds. He removes his tools and removes himself. The nurse helps me sit up, I’m shaking and crying. I feel broken. Violated. I get dressed and she takes me to the recovery room where other women who had gone before me are sitting with sunken, painful expressions on their faces. They don’t speak to one another like they had in the waiting room. We are isolated in a room full of broken women. We bleed together and mourn together, but we are alone. We are given heating pads for our abdomens, the cramps are painful. We are brought soda instead of water to help our blood sugar. We stay there for 30-45 minutes. If someone came with us for support, they are not allowed with us to comfort us. The nurse comes and checks our blood pressure. We are given a bag of drugs- painkillers and antibiotics with directions. We are dismissed. I wobble into the waiting room clutching my stomach. Tears are dried on my cheeks. I am broken inside, my womb has been forced open and emptied by a man who didn’t care. I was surrounded by women who feel how I do, and yet we knew not to comfort each other and are not comforted by anyone else. I am driven home and taken care of for a night and day before having to return to my parent’s house.


This is the first time admitting to myself how it made me feel, how I feel that I was raped, in a way. Raped in the sense of being opened by and being in the presence of someone that I felt did not care. I consented, but I was opened by someone who had no respect for my body, for my soul, for anything but getting his pay. At least, that was the energy that I picked up on. I was emptied by someone who can never know the pain, the loss. I feel very strongly that this is something that needs to be addressed. I believe that the way abortions are done and how women are “supported” pre-, during, and post- abortion needs to change and become more women-centered. Women should be encouraged to tell their stories just like those who have experienced birth trauma and rape are encouraged to, and something should be done. I know that it is not the same as “birth rape”, but it is similar and I do think that it  is something that should be addressed. It is something that a woman may  choose to go through, but it should be a woman-based procedure, it  shouldn’t be just “one more patient” because that’s no better than our  maternity care system that has the same mentality of “just one more  patient”. I think there should be more support, more information.  Especially at the clinics. That is the point of saying all this. It wasn’t the fact  the getting it done and “killing an unborn” that traumatized me, or many others. It’s the procedure itself, those who perform it, and the lack of support.

In antiquity, midwives, who were also the village healers-witch doctors, were gone to for abortions. Midwives knew the herbs, they knew the chants. They knew how to help women, and Be With women. That is a part of midwifery that I think is critical (and I will touch on midwifery and death in later posts) but is being swept under the rug.

My Witness to the Truth: Pregnancy and Birth in Our Society

[This post was originally written by me back in January, 2012 while I was still pregnant with my second son, and since its writing some of my views have changed a bit, which you will see in posts to come.]

Most of you know that I delivered a premature son back in 2009 who did not make it. Most of you also know that I am currently speeding down the road to another birth. Most of you, however, don’t know much about either experience, or about how my experiences in the modern prenatal/postnatal medical field have validated how screwed up the system is or how they led me to the place that I am as a person, mother, and activist……


The premature labor of my son was not caught soon enough to be hindered, nor was it diagnosed correctly when it was. When I complained of painful, irregular cramps I was told I might be dehydrated and had a urinalysis taken. However, I never learned the results of the test. When I had gone into full-blown labor 3 days later (still with menstrual-like, irregular cramping switching with low-back pain/pressure), L&D nurses at the naval hospital told me over the phone that I was dehydrated and not in ‘real labor’ and to take Tylenol extra strength, drink lots of water, and get in a bath. When that didn’t help they said to come in to be checked. I arrived in an ambulance around 9 am. holding the descending amniotic sac cupped in my palms. I delivered a 29 week old baby at 9:36 am after about 4.5-5 hours of labor and 15-20 minutes of pushing.


I remember once being admitted to the hospital that my contractions, which had stopped in the ambulance ride, returned. The doctor said we could either push the sac back and hope I don’t get an infection, or break my sac and have a baby. I chose to have the baby. I remember having to pee terribly and they wouldn’t let me go to the bathroom so I peed there in the bed after refusing a catheter. I remember they refused to let my mom in the room, only my boyfriend, even though there was room in the corner for her or up by my head next to Shaun. She was supposed to be my coach. I remember having a NP holding my right leg and a nurse holding my left and the NP wouldn’t let go or lower my leg to be even with my other one even though I kept trying to push it down with my hand, she was holding my leg so close to my body that I had muscle damage in my hip from straining against it (that was the only thing I took pain medicine for and had hip problems until recently). They kept telling me when to push, how long to push, and I barely got to breath they had me pushing so close together. I started to black out and hyperventilate and because of that don’t remember much of the actual birth. I remember the doctor saying he was coming and it would burn a bit, I said “It burns!” and with one push he came sliding out. I remember a flash of red and fluids, can’t really say I remember seeing my son actually come out, and then I remember nothing until they brought him to me cleaned up and bundled to give him a kiss before taking him away to be hooked up tot he CPAP machine to breathe for him. I don’t even remember delivering the placenta that’s how out of it I was. I remember being scared, Shaun scared and so amped on adrenaline that he couldn’t sit still for hours after. I was up and walking not even 30 minutes later because I had to pee (again) from the IV they had given me. I got to see him for only a few minutes even though they didn’t transport him until an hour or so later.


When we got to Pitt Memorial the next day (after a huge mix up between hospitals… I was delayed discharge because Pitt thought I had the H1N1 virus when it was a doctor who had been taking care of my son right after birth who had called in the next day with the flu and she had to be tested to make sure it wasn’t H1N1) they told us a little something about ‘kangaroo care’ and had a book there for me to flip through. We didn’t get to hold [my son] until he was 3 days old I believe, and I didn’t even get to do full kangaroo care, but when his naked skin touched the little bit of skin my shirt exposed on my chest, my milk immediately came in. That was the only time in the 3 weeks he was alive that I got to feel him skin to skin. And now, years after the fact and having done more research on KC, I wonder if I had gotten to do it every time we were there if he might have lived/not needed some interventions that came from complications developing, if it would have helped his sleep apnea and his digestion problems. I also remember that the last few days he was up at Chapel Hill, the last day I saw him before he died I wanted to do KC and the nurse said since my mom wanted to leave in like 30 minutes that it wouldn’t be ‘worth it’ because it would ‘take too much time to get set up’ that ‘i would only get to hold him for maybe 5 minutes’. She was so uncaring and nonchalant about it. And even though I was upset, I didn’t question it. And I wish I had.


Being pregnant with [my first son] was what opened me up to the worlds of natural childbirth, midwifery, and homebirths. The pregnancy and subsequent birth trauma led me to the path of becoming a midwife. When I got pregnant again I knew I wanted to have a homebirth, or at least a birth center birth. Unfortunately, the closest center is 3 hours away and CPMs are illegal in NC. They’re abundant up in the mountains practicing under the radar either solo or under the eyes of nurse midwives at birth centers. Down here on the coast, it’s almost impossible to find one or a homebirth NM. But I searched and searched. When I had given up, I decided to settle for a doula-attended hospital birth. While searching for a doula, I found a local woman who was planning a homebirth with a local CPM and was due in a matter of days. I got the contact info for the midwife and set up an appointment. I thought I was going to luck out and get the birth I wanted, I deserved. But having found her so late in the pregnancy, there would be no way we could afford to pay half the bill ($1,000) by the time of delivery, even though she was nice enough to let us pay her back the other half over the course of a year. So there went that option. Severely let down, now being out a birth center, a midwife, a homebirth, and more than likely a doula (the one I was talking to delivered her baby and took maternity leave from doula-ing and wasn’t sure she’d be able to attend me come Feb. since her husband is deployed and she has 3 other kids). Disheartened, I began to try and come to terms with having to deliver in the hospital, with a doctor I may or may not have ever met while receiving care at my clinic, with the risk of having my freedom and desires taken away.


During my pregnancy I have been receiving care from a local Women’s Clinic that has over 30 doctors and nurse midwives working there. I’ve seen probably about half of them at some point or another. There is a chance of having any one of them, and any one of the docs or NM from the other women’s clinic across the street from them, to be the doctor on the floor when you go in to deliver. So there is a large chance of being delivered by a doc or NM that you’ve never met. And there’s no way of requesting a certain care provider. While going to this clinic, it has been one thing after another. I’ve memorized practically my entire medical file/history, etc. because they never know what’s going on, where I’m at, what treatments I’m getting or when my next US is, etc. even though they have my file in front of them, in paper format AND now on laptops that they carry around with them. The standard procedure for an appointment is as follows: arrive at clinic right on time for appointment. Called to the lab to pee in a cup, be weighed, and have BP taken and asked “do you have any complaints today?” anywhere from 10-30 minutes after arrival. Then you return to the waiting area and it could be another 15-30 minutes before you’re called into the actual exam room. (I will admit a couple times I got back into a room after just a few minutes). Then, once in the room, you wait another 15-30 min. on average for the doctor or NM to come in. When they do, they spend more time looking through your chart on their laptop then they do talking to you. Listen to baby’s heartbeat, measure your fundal height, ask if I’ve received my progesterone shot yet, then begin to mutter over my next visit, put the request in the laptop, then leave and I go home. They’re usually in the room with you for maybe 5 minutes.


There has been an instance where an inaccurate bit of medical procedure history was put into my file and I had to have that cleared up (it took 2-3 visits to get cleared up). Multiple times I have had doctors try to reschedule me for 2 weeks or a month when I’ve been coming weekly for my shot for months and HAVE to get it weekly.They seem to not really care, they see me as just another patient, another belly to measure and send on my way. They don’t ask how’s my home life, have I been feeling ok emotionally, they don’t even ask regularly if I have any questions and only bring anything up if I’ve mentioned a ‘complaint’ to the nurse while being weighed and even then I usually have to bring it up again or they’ll forget. It has not been the kind of care that I want, need, or deserve, me or any other woman there. Until last week.


Last week [at around 32 weeks] I was seen by a brand new NM, she had just started the week before. She came in, skimmed over my history and pregnancy so far with me to make sure the info was correct, asked if I had any questions, was very adamant about answering them, was very upbeat and positive and gave off good vibes. She checked to make sure my BV was cleared up, listened to baby, measured my fundus, and even palpated my belly to see where baby was positioned and that was the neatest thing to me because she seemed genuinely ecstatic about it. She beamed when she found his head down in my pelvis told me his head was right there and she said something along the lines of ‘that’s so awesome’. She advised that I really try to stick with my multivitamin and that I should start iron-supplementing.


And as soon as I mentioned I wanted to become a homebirth midwife she got all excited. She told me she had come from Wyoming where she had been attending almost entirely homebirths and birth center births. So that was it. THAT was the key to the phenomenal difference between her and all the others. She was a homebirth midwife. A nurse midwife, who loved attending homebirths, so she had a foot in both worlds. She had the nursing/medical training/background with a homebirth midwife’s mentality. She believes in women being able to labor how they want to, where they want to, and to catch their own babies. She admitted to wishing she could deliver me, but she knows how slim the chance is of getting her.


All of this has further opened my eyes to the world of the medical field in regards to pregnancy and childbirth. It took me out of other women’s stories and into my own. Gave me real, tangible evidence, personal experience, to work from and grow from. It has shown me how royally screwed up the entire system is. It’s shown me how detached doctors and non-homebirth trained NMs are. How screwed up the hospitals are, the NICUs. It’s shown me how desperately we need midwifery to be legal in NC [and everywhere] and that women need to be taught to trust their bodies and their intuitions, not to fear them or dismiss them. And I hope that my own experiences can be added to the thousands of others to help bring these things into the light. To help people realize, women, couples, dads, legislators, doctors even, that hospitals and doctors are not a requirement for a safe birthing experience. They are only required when life-saving interventions are a MUST, not a convenience. And when it is only for convenience, they can become life-threatening, scarring, and traumatic.


  • The US has the 2nd highest infant/maternal mortality rates in the WORLD.
  • The US has some of the highest rates of C-sections in the WORLD.
  • The infant/maternal mortality rates skyrocketed in the 1930’s when the rates of childbirth at home went from around 90% to less than 5% in a few decades. Babies born in hospitals and not at home= higher death rates. This was a time when doctors were becoming more popular and they were pushing to eradicate homebirths using slandering and racist ads to promote hospital births (for example, a picture of an old Irish midwife and a caption reading ‘would you want this woman to deliver your baby?’).
  • Only 1% of US births are attended by midwives. In all other industrialized countries (Japan, Norway, Great britain, Australia, and others) 60-70% of all births are midwife attended, and subsequently those countries have lower death rates that the US. There are hundreds of 3rd-world countries that have higher maternal/infant survival rates than the US does and many, if not most births in those countries are Unassisted Births (no doc or midwife).

If the stories themselves aren’t enough to make you question what’s going on, the statistics should be enough. The changes in rates over the last 100 years should be enough. Do your research. Know your options.