Grateful for Dogs?

Even though I have a punk-rocker scar on my head where no hair grows from being bit by Skippy when I was a year and a half and I though it was my ball but clearly he thought it was his - and he paid dearly for his mistake! But anyway, even though that, and a huge scar my mother always had on her elbow from a badly trained guard dog in Uganda, even though these bad dogs bit us, I am now very grateful for dogs and in particular for Stella pictured above. She has taught me about unconditional love, playing, guilt, and determination.

Ok, there we go. So I'm grateful for D for Dogs.

But what I really wanted to talk about was D for Dreams. How we are molded and folded and ultimately completely remade by our dreams. How our dreams make us what we are and in turn we remake our dreams to fit the new person that arises whenever a dream turns sour or gets different, as dreams do.

My first dream: I wanted to dance forever on the sand, wearing little clothing and having the constant presence of my Ayah who loved me (but of course now I realize that she must have had a whole other life and that her caring for me and loving me was only part of the colonial myth that my parents were living).

My second dream: After getting yanked from Uganda to Calgary where it snowed and people wore a lot of clothes, I had a dream. My dream was to be an astronaut. I studied the planets and the stars, bought a telescope, kept a journal where I marked the positions of the stars, built model rockets, and made a small spaceship in my closet where I would head off to space every so often.

My third dream: Adolescence is a bitch. I realized life was hard and no one really knew the truth. I decided it would be a good idea to change the world. I thought I would like to be a doctor.

Then, things went crazy, life intervened, I travelled, had babies, married, and decided I wanted to accompany women in childbirth.

My Birth Dream: 

I studied midwifery and obtained my Certified Professional Midwife qualification. I started studying in 1988, when I was pregnant with my third son. I continued my distance studies for ten years, and then started working as a doula. In 2004 I started the CPM program, and in 2014 just after my mother died, I passed my final exam and became a professional midwife.

Yay!

Except ... except that I had miscalculated and I hadn't really grasped the reality of having a CPM qualification in Canada, where legislation requires midwives to be university trained in order to be licensed in order to work legally.

And now here's the big question: who wants to work illegally as a midwife? If midwifery is actually illegal, you can hone your skills and use your technologies such. as they are (Pinard horn, fetoscope, doppler, palpation, suturing skills, episiotomy if necessary, cord cutting and the like), and then if you really need to, there's always the hospital where you can pretend to be the birthing woman's friend.

But in a situation where midwifery actually is legal but restricted, that makes it much harder for anyone to actually monitor a mother and baby when things start to move outside of the norm. And, despite all sorts of people's convictions, I believe there is a norm that birth usually happens within. There's a certain time span when the woman feels certain things, when baby descends and then emerges. Within that norm, there's a ton of variation, and within that norm there's no need for intervention at all. But when things stretch outside of the normal, that's when the restrictions become dangerous and that's when our hands are tied. Because there are always women, and even more so now that Covid restrictions have made homebirth even harder, there are always women who want to birth their way, in their own home, with whomever they want present. And they call me to ask if I will be their "fly on the wall" in case something happens.

What? How can I fly do anything if the shit's hitting the fan? Granted, shit doesn't tend to unfold at a normal birth.... well of course meconium happens sometimes and mamas poop... but that's not what women are asking me to do.

Let's just use logic here: 

1. First, let's remember that the original "concept" of the modern doula was the result of a flawed study on maternal-infant bonding. One of the researchers had provided verbal support to the mothers she was observing, and those mothers had quicker and easier labours. So I guess if a mother is planning a "fly on the wall" kind of birth and she wants someone present to encourage and reassure, then she might want to hire a doula
2. What shit might hit the fan? What are women afraid of? I've asked women and they tell me they're afraid of hemorrhage, of the cord being around the baby's neck, and of something happening with the placenta. Partners are afraid the mother and baby will die. But if a woman is actually worried about these things, why would she place her trust in someone who is actually not allowed to do anything about it? Or does she think that her perfect birth is worth that other woman's livelihood, marriage, and possibly her home?
3. The unassisted births I've heard about either before or afterwards are those where the mother and her partners decided to give birth either on their own or with select family or with a doula present. NOT with a trained by handcuffed birth attendant. 

There are tough choices to be made, all the time, in the land of the living. I myself always seem to be figuring out exactly how to live on a knife's edge. Yes, I provide prenatal guidance and support. Yes, I have been a "fly on the wall". Yes, I train doulas to accompany mothers to the hospital. Yes, I will tell you that I believe you should call your doctor, or get to a hospital, if I think that is right. No, I don't believe that nature is particularly gentle. No, I don't trust women's bodies. Not after millenia of patriarchy have inflicted deep, deep wounds on our abilities to recognize when it's right and when it's wrong. 

Would I risk everything for a birthing woman? I have and I will. But not for random shit that's hitting a fan that we ourselves turned on. 

Today, I am grateful for Dogs.

Years ago, over twenty to be exact, I started teaching a doula course with another powerful woman who I grew to love and respect. Unfortunately, our relationship ended with some rancour and bitterness, on my part at least, and we went our separate ways. She became very ill and survived Stage Four cervical cancer, and she is still a teacher, a powerful woman, and so much more.

On February 8, 2024, a young student/friend/mentee to whom I had become very attached finally chose to end her life after a struggle with mental illness. It was a tragic blow for everyone around her, and it hit us all that we don’t have much time to live, and what time we have we should make use of. 

Her death was the catalyst that brought my estranged friend and I back together: obviously we are both older and one hopes wiser, and over the years we’ve learned  to live a little more gently with ourselves. She is indeed a Wise Woman. But part of her wisdom, part of her courage and her fortitude are precisely the things that could (and didn’t, because of a combination of luck, love, and inner strength) have brought her down. The world is a better place with her on this side of the grass, and she is willing to embrace that.

Part of her power is precisely her recovery from her illness. Of course, part of it is God-given and part of it is sheer grit. But how can we imagine that a person we admire for their strength and inner peace and ability to love got that way by being perfect from birth? No, in fact, the women that become strong, powerful, loving, wise, become that way through and because of hardships, scars, disappointments. 

One of the women I work alongside completed a Birth Attendant training and she now attends mothers during their childbearing seasons. When she was a recent graduate of the course, she asked a practicing Birth Attendant if she thought it was ok if she’d never had a natural birth. In fact she’d only given birth by c-section and had never experienced a normal birth as a birthing mother. The Birth Attendant told her absolutely not, that she has to now experience a VBAC at home for her to have the validity she needs to accompany women.

Our culture has a weird relationship to scarring. We love the people who have “been through it”: the recovered addicts; the survivors of childhood trauma who speak out; the #metoo women; the women who had traumatic births and unnecessary c-sections who recount their transcendent VBAC or freebirth. But there are just as many people who haven’t gone through to that other triumphant side. The secret substance abusers; the private trauma sufferers; the women who were raped and never said anything; the birth trauma victims who never have that transcendent next birth. 

Life is messy and often the world doesn’t care. I believe that my scars and setbacks have turned me into a wiser woman: one who is able to be truly compassionate when I’m accompanying a mother who is making difficult choices. I can say “Who am I? She is the only one who can make this decision. It’s her life.”, and I can truly mean it. I’ve made difficult or complicated decisions that seemed wrong at the time, and even seemed wrong and were painful for years. And the repercussions of my suffering have seemed in some way to have canceled out other people’s suffering.

For example, I had a very traumatic and abusive c-section. I suffered and felt guilty for years. It affected my soul, if I can say that out loud. It affected my relationships with my children and especially the child in question. But because of that terrible experience, I threw myself into attending births in the hospital where I prevented many unnecessary c-sections and gave women that feeling that they were not alone. I couldn’t have done that without having been brought so low myself. 

If you are drawn to attend birth, and you’ve had a less-than optimum experience yourself, I am here to tell you that you are amazing!

If you are drawn to attending birth, and your birth experiences were transforming and powerful, I am here to tell you that you are amazing!

If you are drawn to attending women in their childbearing seasons, in whatever capacity and with whatever experiences you have as a woman, I would love to invite you to be part of our 2025 Birth Attendant course. 

And if you’re not drawn to birth, and you have scars, and you never got transformed and you never transcended … don’t worry! Feel your power! Jump from misadventure to misadventure! Keep a smile on your face and love in your heart and remember, you are wise!

Chasing Compassion

I always though compassion was one of those desirable traits, even a virtue, that you could feel for others. And even though I've talked the compassion talk for so many years, I have also walked the walk. I feel compassion for a person or a group of people, and I go and do something about it. You can google all my good works, I'm not interested in doing a CV of my compassionate activities.And I feel so much compassion for so many people in my life!

Is compassion even a good thing?  

The Dalai Lama says this: 
"From my own limited experience I have found that the greatest degree of inner tranquility comes from the development of love and compassion." 

Albert Einstein says this: 

"Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.”

And James Baldwin said this: 

“There are so many ways of being despicable it quite makes one’s head spin. But the way to be really despicable is to be contemptuous of other people’s pain.”

So, I guess if you're going to listen to some great thinkers of our time, you will decided that compassion is worthwhile... 

Feeling for others and doing kindnesses is a good thing. Putting yourself in others' shoes is a good thing. Getting out there and helping people is a good thing. 

All this is true, my friends. But what about compassion for yourself? What about ME compassion? Because if you don't do it, there's a chance that no one else will either. And what's at the root of compassion, fundamentally? Our own desire for happiness. The Dalai Lama himself says that the true route to happiness is by exercising compassion. I know that I feel really great when I do something kind. And its good: to be spreading love and kindness; to be compassionate; to love all the creatures as they are.

I'm starting to think about gratitude these days. Compassion is something that we can feel for others, and it makes us feel good, and it almost makes us feel proud of ourselves. But gratitude, I think, is a "cleaner" sentiment. When I feel gratitude, I'm not involving anyone or anything else in my emotional life. I'm just beinf grateful for what I have, or what I'm experiencing, or how I feel. Gratitude can come upon us without us willing into being. Compassion is something we learn, that we actively do.

You could say that gratitude is learned as well: we teach children to say thank you by saying thank you to them (at least I did). But I think gratitude is part of us. Humans feel gratitude when we look around at our beautiful world. Or at least I do. 

Anyway, the most important thing about Gratitude is that I'm wondering if its actually what keeps us alive. When we fail, when we despair, when we feel like shit and feel like there will never be a way out, a spark of gratitude is often what we can use to save ourselves from self-pity and despair. And when I've seen people really suffering, people who have really lost hope, when someone is in the darkest pit of despair, I see that their gratitude reflex is weakened. It's so hard to be thankful for anything when you are gripped by such a deep despair, and yet it is that spark of gratitude that can leave you with a tiny bit of joy that can keep you going until you finally can climb out of that hole.

Maybe I'm just going batty in my crone years, but I'm mostly grateful for everything. I'm finding it's just not worth it to be angry or to hold a grudge or to feel resentment or to want revenge. I'd rather head into the countryside and go for a long, long run, and feel the fresh air around me and feel grateful to be alive.

yes

Seize the Day! Its been one of my lifetime projects to always try to say yes instead of no. This has worked really well sometimes, and other times its led me to grief. But what joy, to experience something new just because you were open enough to say yes. And what clarity you can achieve by realizing for the first time that when you said yes you were opening up a chestful of tribulations that in the end would lead to transcendence.

Memory Lane

 I'm looking back almost 15 years to when I first started this blog and little gems are hidden at the bottom of the list, so I'm reposting some of them.

Grief

When loss jumps in, we forget to eat.
Why fuel our bodies when mortality has pushed its way into our daily lives?
What use are recipes, feather dusters, and soup when there is a huge hole where there once was a warm and loving person?
We do keep trudging though. There is chocolate, a glass of wine, and happiness far, far down the road, when the wound has healed enough that you can smile again, with your eyes as well as your mouth.

Winter Solstice 2010, Tahini Pasta

Shortest day of the year, that means the least light.
To celebrate, I made:

Tahini Pasta

In a small bowl, mix 2 crushed garlic cloves, one tablespoon extra virgin olive oil, 1/2 cup tahini, 1 teaspoon sesame oil, dash of soy sauce.
Cook 500 g. spaghetti, linguine, or other long pasta al dente. When it is ready, drain and cover with olive oil, then mix in the tahini sauce. Serve hot.

Roast Chicken and Potatoes

Place the chicken legs in a roasting pan, cover with olive oil and sprinkle dried sage liberally. Cut potatoes in quarters, with the peel, and put them in the pan with the chicken. Pour more olive oil, salt, and pepper to taste and put in a 400 degree oven for one hour and a half.

Steamed Savoy Cabbage

Cut savoy cabbage into small pieces and steam until just done. Pour olive oil, vinegar and sesame oil onto cooked cabbage and serve warm.