Thursday, December 15, 2011

Montreal Doula Trainings

MBC volunteer doulas had a potluck meeting the other night, and the subject of doula training came up, as it always does when you get a few doulas together.

Here in Montreal, we have a good selection of opportunities for would-be doulas - but more about that in a minute. First, the whole question of training. We do not need to be trained, any more than doulas are "coaches". One reason why we have to keep using terms that we perhaps don't agree completely with is the grip the internet and its rules has over our choices. "Training" is a keyword that many people will use. Many doula "trainers" will agree with me, this is not an exact description of what we do, but for now, that's the word we agree to use.
Suggestions? Doula guidance? Flaky. Doula program? Could work. Doula course? Too limited.

A good doula training will include teaching, guiding, role-play, hands on experience, and, exceptionally, teaching by example. Usually, the course will have some kind of text, or at least some handouts, to follow; some physical demonstrations; and a role-playing segment where the students can get a sense of what it is really like to assist a birthing woman.

Montreal doula trainings come in two flavors: French, and English. The English programs seem to be few and far between, but most of the would-be doulas here usually find their fit. DONA, the international doula organization, does doula trainings very rarely here, but I have met a few women who have travelled to Ottawa to do their trainings. They cost around $400 for a weekend, and do not include shadowing or mentorship, but do give a good basic foundation. Alternative Naissance also does trainings in English twice a year.

The most well known, and the most comprehensive training in Montreal is the one run by Motherwit. Most of the English speaking doulas in town have graduated, or in the process of working on, this training. It gives the student an excellent preparation for working within the Montreal health care system - which is no easy task! These classes are run two or three times a year, and fill up fast. Mentorship and shadowing is also possible within the program. This is a great course run by a wonderful woman.

I also take on apprentices and run quirky doula courses. I am organizing one in Barbados for the third week of February, in conjunction with the Birth House in Bridgetown.  This summer, in July, I will be teaming up with Lewis Mehl-Madrona to lead a retreat in a fantastic spot in Italy, Casa della Pace. This will be a retreat opportunity for birth workers, writers, and any one interested in healing through story.
I am often approached by would-be doulas for shadowing and apprenticeship possibilities, and I am very open to those. I have four apprentices working with me now, and one in particular is doing a self-directed program using my book as a foundation, in preparation for midwifery training.

If you are interested in any of these possibilities, please email me for further information.

One question the women had the other night was "What if I do the training - and none of them are free! - and then I find out I don't want to be a doula after all"?
My answer is this: "Learn and keep on learning." You will not waste the money and effort doing a good doula program. So much of it prepares you for life, not just for working as a doula. I have learned so much over the years working as a doula that I hope to apply to how I live. Of course, it is important to find the right teacher, and you will know that right away. The choice should be made that way, however, not by price, effort, or convenience. Find a mentor, learn from her. Talk to other doulas. Volunteer. Keep an open mind and an open heart.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Never Give Up





Never give up

no matter what is going on
Never give up
Develop the heart
Too much energy in your country is spent
developing the mind
instead of the heart
Develop the heart
Be compassionate
Not just to your friends
but to everyone
Be compassionate
Work for peace
in your heart and in the world
Work for peace
and I say again
Never give up
No matter what is happening
No matter what is going on around you
Never give up

His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Bridges

Even if you're a doula, stuff happens unexpectedly and you cannot be available for your clients. When my father went into hospital six weeks ago I had to leave town to go and see him and help my mother. One of my clients gave birth while I was away, and of course she was well taken care of by my backup, but I was sorry I missed her birth.

Then last week I had to go again. I was definitely worried because I have three ladies due in the next couple of weeks. But luckily the babies were kind and no one missed my attendance at their birth. I did miss meeting up with a lady who is looking for a doula, but she found someone else and I know she will be in good hands.

When I went to visit my father a month ago, as soon as I walked into the hospital I felt like I was slipping on a comfy old sweater. I knew what to do. I helped my father with the little things, like rinsing out his mouth, putting an extra pillow under his head, making sure he could reach his iPod. I spoke with the medical staff about his care and helped translate some of the information for my mother so she wouldn't feel so frightened and anxious.

There was a lady in his ward who was having hallucinations because of a bad reaction to one of her medications. I spoke with her about the bug she saw in my father's ear, and the mice that were climbing up the wheelchair. I made everyone laugh when I threw one of my father's special drinks in the garbage can. He wasn't allowed liquids so he had been given a bright red "solid water", which I thought was like Jello. It wasn't. As it hit the bottom of the garbage can, it splashed up all over everything. That took everyone's mind off their pain, for a little while.

Another gentleman was having trouble getting his slipper back on. I went over and asked him if he wanted a hand. Only after I explained that I am often seen putting people's socks on, being thrown up on, and generally helping out, was he happy for me to lift his foot and put it into his slipper. He asked me if the women ever got mad when they were giving birth. I had noticed that he had been pretty frustrated with himself, his immobility and in turn with the nurses. I told him that I had seen several women get angry during labor, and often just breathing it out could help.

During the next few weeks, after I came back home, I found I was often back at the ward with my father. I spoke to his nurses and doctor on the phone, and I found myself getting frustrated. I knew that my frustration was because life is so unpredictable, but I felt myself being upset with the vagueness of their answers. I realized that I sounded like the first time mother when she is thinking that she will be pregnant forever.

My father was very sick during that time. The doctor told me later that she was surprised that he made it through. Finally last week they said he would be going home, so I went back out to help get everything ready. gain, when I went into the hospital I put my doula cap on. Of course, I was more emotionally connected than a regular doula would be, but I found myself tidying up around his bed, organizing the things on his table, making sure what he wanted was in reach, covering him with the fleecy from home.

My questions to the doctor were also familiar to the doula: what is going to happen? Will he survive? Can he stay home? What if...? What if...?
These are the questions a doula deals with all the time, not only from her clients, but from partners, and their mothers and fathers. We feel so vulnerable in the face of life's events. Each chapter comes as such a surprise. I didn't think I would live past 31 (when John Keats died). How could I now be taking care of my aging parents? How could my father have gotten sold so suddenly?
New parents feel the same way: "I can't believe I'm actually going to have a baby! How can I take the responsibility for someone else's life? Will everything be okay? Will I survive?"

The doula is there to answer questions, and to let the woman (or her partner) know that some questions are unanswerable, and that that's okay too. She may just be there to provide a shoulder and a box of Kleenex. She is the companion that we take with us when we have to cross a bridge, whether its a bridge into life or away from it. She accompanies those who are here, waiting for someone to come in or someone to leave. She is probably the most important person on the care-giving team. She accepts and assists, and she knows that some questions cannot be answered.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Friends


I was so grateful to a dear friend the other day who offered me an opportunity to try to put things right between us. I had been at fault and I made the opening moves, but she was gracious enough to accept them, conditionally.

When you are working in such an intense field as birth, it is so important to have friends around who understand what you are talking about when you need to discuss how you feel about a birth, or a woman you are working with.

One of the doulas I work with summed it up the other day: she had been present for a family who had a difficult and potentially traumatizing experience. Everything was fine in the end, but during the stress of difficult events, one of the family members took her anxiety out on the doula, who chose to receive it in silence and then process it elsewhere.

She did that successfully, but during the few days we spent talking about it, she told me how strange it was - she had gone out with friends, been with her family, lead her life normally amongst people, but she did not feel that she could discuss what was really bothering her until she spoke to another doula.


Community is so important. Please, reach out to someone you have experienced a break or a rift, or perhaps you have unjustly dealt with in the past. I promise you, we will all be better off for it, and the community itself as a living, breathing entity, will be healthier.

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Dear Doula

Dear Doula,

You will need to be strong, because you will be accompanying women at any time of day or night. Sometimes you will have to leave your "private life" for what seems like days at a time.

You will need to be gentle, because sometimes you will be with a woman who needs the most gentle, loving touch of all.

You will need to be firm, because sometimes someone will want something that will not be the right thing, and you will have to be the one to say no.

You will need to be kind, because everyone will not always agree with you and you have to be able to step into their shoes.

You will need to be open, because everyone isn't you, and they all have different ideas, priorities, and make different decisions about their lives.

You will need to be respectful.

You will need to be honest.

You will need to be humble, and you will need to keep on learning.

Sometimes you may have to say you're sorry. Sometimes you may have to admit you were wrong. You cannot work from ego.

It's like being a mother, and just as hard and heartbreaking sometimes, and just as rewarding at others.


You need to know when its time to say goodbye.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Volunteer Birth Companions

I am very happy my book is selling - by the way, people, it would be a very nice Christmas or Hanukah gift for any of your close friends or relatives who are expecting a baby in 2012.

Please visit Amazon to review or "like" my book.

I want to tell you about the Montreal Birth Companions. This is a group of very special women who accompany underprivileged women  during their labor and birth experiences. Most of our doulas are just starting out, but some of them have been working with us for years. They are all volunteers, working out of their own pockets and from the goodness of their hearts to help other women have a joyous birth experience.

One of "my"doulas has been volunteering for months, doing her own research, studying,doing courses with different organizations and waiting for her time to accompany a woman in labor. Finally, yesterday, I got a call from a nurse to tell me that one of their patients who is alone here in Montreal was in labor and wanted a companion.

Our doula rushed to the hospital, where she witnessed a beautiful natural birth and was able to provide comfort and companionship to a birthing woman. She is hoping to be accepted to midwifery school this year, and I hope she gets in. She is a natural!

Monday, November 21, 2011

Buy the Book!

Support Canadian publishers!

Buy The Birth Conspiracy directly  from the publisher, at Curioso Books. You can also log onto Amazon and rate the book.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Launch Success

The Birth Conspiracy is now available for sale either through Amazon or directly from the publisher. 
Support independent Canadian publishers by buying directly from Curioso Books, then if you have a few minutes, please go to Amazon and rate my book....every star counts!
 

I would like to thank everyone who made it out to the book  launch. It was a lot of fun, and I felt honored to have all of you there. It was a different type of book launch - a real family event, with lots of babies and kids, pregnant women, and of course with my own family fully involved (well, some of them anyway).

Pastries by Giacomo
Meet and Greet
Making Friends
Lovely Mother and Babe







Monday, November 7, 2011

Book Launch Tomorrow

It's finally here. My book is written, illustrated, edited, proofed, and printed. It is ready to go, and tomorrow night we will be celebrating.
I hope all of you in Montreal will be able to come and celebrate with us. The launch will take place at 6767 Cote des Neiges, from 7 to 10 pm, and of course children and babies are welcome.

In the meantime, life goes on. I am waiting on a lady who is going to call me any minute now to accompany her during her labor and birth. I have another lady due in a week or so, and I am hoping that baby doesn't decide to arrive tomorrow night.

My mind and dreams are now full of my next book, so watch this space....

And I went to visit my father last week and did the doula in the geriatric ward where he was staying. The doula approach, how we utilize our skills, how we "do the doula", is the same whether we are attending a woman in labor, an old man in hospital, or a teenager having a meltdown. We wait, watch, listen, sympathize, fetch ice, carry water, sit still, put hands on, keep hands off, speak when spoken to, make eye contact.

A hearty thank you and much gratitude to all of those who have allowed me to be present at their births, and to all of the doulas out there who continue to do this challenging work.


Monday, October 31, 2011

Seven Billion!!

I heard today, as many of us did, that the world's population is estimated to have reached 7 billion people!

Let's not speak of low resources, climate change, and gloom and doom, but let's celebrate this 7 billionth baby's birth with a cheer and a toast, to good health, happiness, and longevity for us humans. I'm sure we can find a way to make it all work.

More interesting to me is the likely fact that this baby was probably born at home, with the attendance of a traditionally trained midwife. I do not advocate going back in time to the days when women died in childbirth, but I do believe that home is the best place to conceive and the best place to give birth. I offer a vision of birthing the future from my book:

My vision is one of most women giving birth at home, with full medical back-up available to them if needed. Midwives would provide prenatal care and accompany the laboring women through labor and birth. They would assist with the postpartum period and help the new mother adjust to life with a new baby. If there were problems, the midwives would refer the woman to a doctor, who may in turn refer her to a specialist, an obstetrician. Full emergency support would be in place for the rare occasion that it is needed, so that the midwife would know that she is covered in the case of an emergency. 
The women who chose to give birth in the hospital, in my dream world, would be there because of clear medical or social need. The hospital birthing centers would provide specialized medical care for the few women who need it. Occasionally, there would be a woman who needs the extra emotional support of a doula, but the doula would be well-integrated into the hospital system and would be on call in these situations. Sometimes a woman would want to give birth away from home, and she could go to an independent birthing center which, again, would be fully supported in case of a medical emergency. 
I do not believe that this vision is so far off in the future, or that it is out of our reach. For now, however, our reality is that most women in the developed world are giving birth in hospitals, and many of these hospitals have different philosophies about birth than many of the patients they are there to serve. In Canada, the philosophy of any hospital must be to provide the best care for the greatest number of people. This may translate into an epidural for every woman, especially if there are not enough nurses to support each woman individually. In the USA, hospitals are run as profit-making enterprises, so the word philosophy may not apply. We do know, however, that cesarean section rates are skyrocketing, and that the general consensus is that a national rate of about 15% may be optimum. Personally, I believe that the rate for emergency cesarean sections can be held to 5% without putting the mothers or babies at risk.

The doula is the interface between the birthing community and the medical establishment. This puts us in a difficult position. I have spoken to  women who thought that I would leave them to give birth alone if they decided to take an epidural (this is beyond cruel). I have been yelled at by a physician who thought I had removed an intravenous drip (the nurse hadn’t had time to put it in). I have been looked upon as a knight in shining armor (I don’t even like horseback riding) by women who had not yet understood that the birth work is done by the birthing woman.
     I have also been thanked and cherished by hundreds of women who have been happy to have me by their side as they go through the experience of giving birth. My task, our task as doulas, and in a bigger sense, our task as human beings in the 21st century, is to “humanize” birth. To me, that means affirming that all of us are different, and that we all have needs, desires, and histories that cannot and should not be judged. My job as a doula is to create a space in which a woman can reclaim her knowledge of birth and give birth according to her own birthright.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Clean and Sparkling

It has been a bit of a difficult time for me recently. It's not smooth sailing once you get grownup - the old questions still haunt you and as your children grow, you see that they are haunted as well, and life goes on. Was I ever going to make peace with myself? See the truth? Figure out what it is all about?
When I am troubled, I turn to housework - at least the house can be sparkling and all the material things in their places, and a brightness to the air, a fresh smell, even if your soul is in turmoil. The other day I was hanging out the laundry.
There's the laundry line - and there are most of the people I love.
But they had gone back to their respective tasks, and I was alone on the hill, stretching the clothes and cloths tight so as to maximize the sun and wind's potential to dry and brighten the material. And the smell of the laundry soap, the smell of the wind, the feeling of the sun on my face; the feel of my son's anima in his work jeans that he left - the memory of the day on the beach in that Sponge Bob towel (who on earth left that here?); and then I remembered that, of course, we have been hanging out our mens' clothes for decades, centuries, dare I say millennia? And the love, peace, and longing that is there in our hearts as we birth them, raise them, and love them, is there for me in the simple act of hanging out the stuff they wear, the material they lie and dream in, the T-shirt my son wears when he wants to look good, when he wants to attract and maybe take part in the next generation of love and longing.

Laundry hung, I went in to prepare lunch. And I chose to cook some of the potatoes that "Mountain Lady" brought us from her garden. When I say garden, I mean that in the loosest term. A patch of forest, dug and planted, stolen from the wild boar, badger, and deer. And of course, as I peeled those mountain tubers, I felt again that sense of stretching back. It wasn't just me, who finished lunch and went to check my emails. It was also the beauty who was hiding in a cellar, the sailor, the old lady preparing a potato for her husband, the new bride who could only boil.

Giving birth is that way. I met a couple yesterday who were looking at my book, and they started telling me their birth stories - aggressive and rude midwives, cervix closing up, the man feeling impotent....

Giving birth, doing laundry, peeling potatoes, these are our tasks, and they are begging to be done with attention, with presence. Do not give these tasks away to others! Peel a potato! Fold the laundry! Take back your own birth and do not allow rudeness, aggression, or ego in your birthing room! All of the women through history will accompany you as you labor.

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Illegal Midwives part 2


 The bureaucracy in Quebec has decided to remove another hurdle for women who choose to give birth at home without the support of a registered midwife. There aren't enough birthing centers or registered midwives to go 'round, so more and more women are giving birth "unassisted" or with the attendance of an unregistered midwife.

The women who choose to have their babies at home with  "illegal" midwives pay a price: registered midwives are free, paid for by provincial medical insurance. The other midwives charge around two thousand dollars for their services, which is a great deal as it includes sometimes months of prenatal care, personalized and attentive labor and birth attendance, and comprehensive postnatal support.

They also pay with hours of bureaucratic nonsense, when it comes to getting their new baby a birth certificate.
It may be that raggedy old hippies or sneaky foreigners on tourist visas come to mind when you are imagining the women who choose this route. But they are more often highly educated, professional women who are used to doing things "their way" and do not want to go outside their own home to give birth.

I have heard stories of women being threatened with the police and child protective services if they did not present themselves and their hour-old baby at the hospital to do their paperwork.  This new directive is a small fairy step in the right direction:
Quebec bureacracy

Monday, October 3, 2011

Killer Mama

The other day, yesterday in fact, we lit the woodstove for the first time and stayed inside like the two children in the Cat in the Hat and watched the rain. Of course there was laundry and cooking and homework and computer tasks and all that, but when it's pouring outside you do feel like you are just sitting looking. And it did pour, great grey poodles of it.

So when the ten year-old suggested a movie, we adults jumped to it and we all set off to see Spy Kids, even though on one site it had a dismal rating of three. Movies are great! Especially when it's wet and cold, and it's a matinee so you know you aren't spending thirty dollars, if you include a drink (what am I saying - a drink for two people for four dollars?). The warm smell of popcorn, everyone running in without their raingear on yet because it's still October, kids yelling, a young man with his older parents laughing and joking with the cashier. To the movies!

Spykids is about a step-mom who is actually a spy. The step-kids are having trouble with the blended family and ... don't want to spoil it for you. But the most hilarious scenes are at the very beginning, when spy-mom is beating the bad guys, seriously beating them - don't mess with the spy-mom. The thing is, though, that she's about to give birth to the blended baby - product of the new marriage.

This is a bizarre scene presents a beautiful sexy yummy-mummy, dressed in tight leather with belts and things, pregnant and actually in labor, beating off the bad guys with high-powered karate kicks. She says things like "I still have time"   kick, whirl ... "my contractions are still only three minutes apart"... jump, punch, kick, ..."was that my water breaking"?

She leaves the bad guys lying on the ground (kids' movie - they just fall down, no muss, no fuss) and hops into a conveniently waiting ambulance. Next scene, she is rushed into the hospital where she disappears into a room and all you can hear are terrible screams of absolute deathly pain, then whaaaa! A baby!

Oh, dear. I can't begin to unravel the cultural tangle that I observed yesterday in that movie house.I don't know why we are so interested in the image of beautiful women acting aggressively and why we try so hard to silence them in labor. Why don't most women say "My contractions are still only three minutes apart?" 

I do know, though, that I was laughing the loudest when I saw that lovely woman being physical, upright and downright active in labor.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Conspiracy

Conspiracies abound: are we are being controlled  by giant lizards? No, most of us would agree that we are not. Is the exhaust from planes flying above the Italian skies affecting the Italians, making them doll-like and unable to oust Berlusconi? A surprising number of seemingly rational people I have met actually believe this. Did man reach the moon? What evil was behind 9/11? Is Big Pharma out to drug us all, whilst stealing our life savings?

Of course not! We are rational, sensible human beings. Then why do we believe that the simplest task needs a multitude of experts? From conception to birth to early childhood education and beyond, we are confused and abused by lowly-qualified experts telling us which way is the right way.

The Birth Conspiracy is this: an understanding, created by all of us, that we cannot function without experts. We cannot give birth without birth experts. We cannot labor without assistance, without classes and checklists. We cannot make our own decisions, or accept consequences for our own actions. It is a way we can avoid responsibility for our lives. Those of us who are experts want and need to control the process. It is very hard to sit on your hands and wait while a woman labors. It is much easier to interfere, to preach, to suggest, and to control.

The doula sits uncomfortably on something between a fencepost and a pillar here, protecting the birthing woman from well-meaning experts who do not understand the truth about birth. She is in great danger of becoming an expert herself, and there is only one way for her to prevent this from happening. She should gain as much knowledge as she can about the birth process and how it unfolds in different environments. She should take this knowledge with her to every birth, to every meeting, to every workshop. With all of her knowledge and experience, she needs to remember only one golden rule, that is, that the woman she is accompanying is going through HER experience. The doula can hold her hand, literally or figuratively, but she needn't teach, judge, or convince. Then she is overstepping the bounds of the Birth Companion and becoming just another expert.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Just Visiting

I have always traveled a lot. From the time I was born I have traversed oceans, flown in small rickety planes over the desert, walked through Africa, hitchhiked countless times back and forth across the country I found myself growing up in. I love to see how we humans live our lives. Do you know, at this very minute, there is an old lady walking through a chestnut forest, on her own, looking for mushrooms that she will dry for the winter? And there is another woman, cooking a small pot of corn meal over a fire made from waste crude oil she collected from the stream near her home. She is waiting for her husband to return, annoyed with him for keeping her waiting but full of love for her man. On a train, there is a family from Belgium, staring at the immensely beautiful scene that is spread before them.

The life of a tourist is a hard one. There you are. You have saved for this small chunk of time for a while - perhaps all year. You are in a place where you probably don't speak the language. You don't know the customs. The food is different. You suspect you are getting cheated most of the time. You miss your own bed. The place smells funny. Your spouse has decided that it is NOW that you have to figure out your problems. The children are either sick or adolescents.

But the place is beautiful! You don't have to get up early! You are really in love with your spouse, especially when you get some time alone to walk on the beach in the moonlight. You imagine selling everything and moving here. You would wear comfortable clothes every day. Your wife would wear those sexy sandals and that little dress. Your kids would be all tanned and happy.

It doesn't usually work out that way though.

I live in two places these days. Most of the time I am in a big city, and for three months I am on top of a mountain far away from everyone. I always imagine I will spend those three months really sorting everything out. I will come back all transcendent-looking and calm. But, like the midwives say, meconium happens, and life does tend to keep going. The vacation, the holiday, the three-week all inclusive, ... it's all just life, and why should it be otherwise?

And so it is in life, it is in birth. It is one of the most important days of a mother's or father's life - and of course the most important day of a baby's. But at the same time, life does continue, before, during, and after. So, as in life, it is not the hugely transcendent, mind-blowing experience that it is the important thing. It's not the orgasm, the blinding flash of out-of-body-ness, that is important. It's the quiet, day-to-day, pleasant (yes, even when you're in labor!), humdrum traveling that is important. Let us turn to Cavafy for some wisdom:

Ithaka

As you set out for Ithaka
hope the voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.
 
Hope the voyage is a long one.
May there be many a summer morning when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you come into harbors seen for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.
 
Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you are destined for.
But do not hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you are old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.
 
Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.
 
And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

Translated by Edmund Keeley/Philip Sherrard. (C.P. Cavafy, Collected Poems. Translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard. Edited by George Savidis. Revised Edition. Princeton University Press, 1992)

Monday, September 19, 2011

Passing of a Wonderful Lady

My aunt was a wife, a mother, an aunt, a grandmother, and she loved to have fun, to entertain, to laugh.
She liked to have happy people around her so, to that end, she was happy and always had a smile waiting.

She didn't have it easy. She was widowed suddenly and too early. She had health problems from when she was in her forties. But she always had a positive attitude, and wasn't kept down for long.

A few weeks ago, she spent the day with her lifelong best friend. They did what old friends do, talking and traversing their time together. In the afternoon they came home and got themselves ready for dinner. They got dressed up, and gave each other pedicures.

They went out for dinner with a group of friends. After drinks and the first course, my aunt put her head down on the table and left us.

She is gone but remembered with joy. All of us should hope to go out like she did, not with a bang, not with a moan, but with a gentle sigh.


Thursday, September 15, 2011

Birth Companion Doula Course

Birth Companion Doula Course
A knowledge-based, hands-off approach to accompanying woman during the birthing experience.

I am very excited to propose a new series of courses designed to assist women to attend births as companions, as friends, as knowledgeable and respectful assistants.

I will not be training or offering anything novel or out of the ordinary. We will be developing our innate skills as women - patience, kindness, strength, care - and these skills will lead to confident, non-judgmental companionship.

The courses are thirty hours and of varying schedules, and they are priced reasonably. The participants will receive lessons and interactions on theory, practice, and healing during the childbirthing year.

The first of these will take place in Montreal in mid-October 2011 and several are upcoming internationally throughout 2012.

Places will be filling up fast so if you are interested in attending please let me know as soon as possible.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Illegal Midwives?

"Illegal" is a word that brings to mind outlaws, bandits, drug runners, hoaxters and jails. I prefer to use the word "underground" when I am talking about the midwives I know who are working outside the (extremely limited) system of registration, colleges,and paperwork that is in place in most of Canada. I joke that they are underground - they'll only assist a woman in an underground parking lot or a basement. Ha ha.

In fact, the women working outside the system are not allowed to assume the title of midwife or sage-femme, which is why many of them describe themselves as birth attendants or even as birth activists. The Montreal Gazette's story about this phenomenon presents some bare facts and portrays a sympathetic, sensible woman who has chosen to assist women who would otherwise be giving birth in a hospital with a doula, or alone at home. Not so say that giving birth with a doula isn't the choice that most women ultimately make. The doula's job is often a difficult one, because of this. She has to straddle compromises that are often unbearable to watch.

"Brave" and "courage" are often words I hear about the women who choose to give birth at home with a qualified, if "illegal", attendant (or "stupid" and "selfish"). But I think a woman is much braver who knows exactly the kind of treatment she may receive in a hospital, after she has already had an unnecessary cesarean section, and chooses to go back into that environment with a doula at her side, in the hopes that she will be able to give birth with dignity and autonomy.

The sad thing is, birth shouldn't have to be about bravery, about ego, about choices, the law, surgery, or drugs.Here is an excerpt from my upcoming book:

The other day I was at a birth. My client was a third-time mother and she didn’t want to be in the hospital for too long, but her previous two births had not been that short. So as she kept in touch during the day I agreed that she didn’t have to rush to the hospital. It was mid-morning when she decided to go, after having a bath and making sure her kids were settled. When the doctor examined her, she was almost ready to give birth. The birth proceeded very quickly, and afterwards, the obstetrician said “Oh, ladies like you will put me out of business!”

I would like to be put out of business. I would like the system to change so much that the privately hired doula is a thing of the past. Certainly, there will always be women who do not have anyone to accompany them at their birth, and for these situations we will have the volunteer doula associations that already exist today. My vision is one of most women giving birth at home, with full medical back-up available to them if needed. Midwives would provide prenatal care and accompany the laboring women through labor and birth. They would assist with the postpartum period and help the new mother adjust to life with a new baby. If there were problems, the midwives would refer the woman to a doctor, who may in turn refer her to a specialist, an obstetrician. Full emergency support would be in place for the rare occasion that it is needed, so that the midwife would know that she is covered in the case of an emergency.

The women who chose to give birth in the hospital, in my dream world, would be there because of clear medical or social need. The hospital birthing centers would provide specialized medical care for the few women who need it. Occasionally, there would be a woman who needs the extra emotional support of a doula, but the doula would be well-integrated into the hospital system and would be on call in these situations. Sometimes a woman would want to give birth away from home, and she could go to an independent birthing center which, again, would be fully supported in case of a medical emergency.

I do not believe that this vision is so far off in the future, or that it is out of our reach. For now, however, our reality is that most women in the developed world are giving birth in hospitals, and many of these hospitals have different philosophies about birth than many of the patients they are there to serve. In Canada, the philosophy of any hospital must be to provide the best care for the greatest number of people. This may translate into an epidural for every woman, especially if there are not enough nurses to support women individually. In the USA, hospitals are run as profit-making enterprises, so the word philosophy may not apply. We do know, however, that cesarean section rates are skyrocketing, and that the general consensus is that a national rate of about 15% may be optimum. Personally, I believe that the rate for emergency cesarean sections can be held to 5% without putting the mothers or babies at risk.

The doula is the interface between the birthing community and the medical establishment. This puts us in a difficult position. I have spoken to  women who thought that I would leave them to give birth alone if they decided to take an epidural (this is beyond cruel). I have been yelled at by a physician who thought I had removed an intravenous drip (the nurse hadn’t had time to put it in). I have been looked upon as a knight in shining armor (I don’t even like horseback riding) by women who had not yet understood that the birth work is done by the birthing woman.
I have also been thanked and cherished by hundreds of women who have been happy to have me by their side as they go through the experience of giving birth. My task, our task as doulas, and in a bigger sense, our task as human beings in the 21st century, is to “humanize” birth. To me, that means affirming that all of us are different, and that we all have needs, desires, and histories, that cannot and should not be judged. 

I fully support those women who choose to give birth at home, who choose to assist others at home, and who choose to follow a different path. My only condition, however, is that birth attendants keep their egos, their pride, and their ambitions out of the birthing room, and indeed, out of the process. That way, knowledge of the craft can be the highest priority, assessments can be made honestly, and difficult decisions are not clouded by personal needs.

Two of the most famous midwives, Shifra and Puah, were "illegal"; they disobeyed the Pharoah of Egypt to assist women at home ... power to the women who follow in their footsteps! May we merit to be midwives to a better way of giving birth.




Monday, August 22, 2011

WWOOF Italia

I got a call from Ninni the other day. She was the first Italian Wwoofer we had years ago on our farm. Her and her boyfriend drove up from Sicily, held hands while they picked stones from the wheat, which I then ground and made our bread and pasta, and were generally a lot of fun to have around. Even though I could hardly understand a word of what Ninni said when she got excited and slipped into full Sicilian.
Talking to Ninni got me reminiscing about WWOOF Italia, and thinking about volunteers and the difference they can make to people’s lives.
We bought a crumbling stone farmhouse and seven acres of land, part vineyard, part wooded, with a pond and a spring, when I was expecting my fourth child. What a time those boys had! When we were in the fields or up on top of the roof, they were fighting battles, rafting in the goose-ridden pond, and making wooden schooners next to the chicken coop.
We had many helpers over the years. Our youngest was a seventeen year-old from England who came, took one look, and asked to be taken back to the station. Our oldest was a lovely woman who had done with family and children, and wanted to explore the world. They helped weeding the garden, picking grapes, building stone walls, cutting hay, … in return for a place to stay and three good meals a day.
Wwoof has changed over the years. In 1991 there were two or three hosts, now there are hundreds. The typical host was like us: lots of children, a small mixed farm, no money, and lots of energy and determination. There are still many hosts like we were, but there are also large “agriturismos”, which use volunteers to change beds and set tables.
And the volunteers have changed too. Back in the day, they were mostly travelers, or people in search of a different lifestyle, or curious about farming, or wanting to get away from their city-based life. Now, especially in the summer, we are inundated with young tourists, who are looking for a cheap place to stay, and consider a little farm work to be a good way to get some exercise. Winter is generally better, when tourism is down.
Still, it is a good way to get experience, and a wonderful way to meet people, and learn or practice languages. The hosts still benefit from a helping hand, and tolerance and generosity are generally the order of the day.




Sunday, August 21, 2011

Rites of Passage

Today is my birthday - I am 55 years old. I am finally a grown up. It didn't happen when I was fifteen and I left home. It didn't happen when I was twenty-five and met my true love. Neither did it happen when I had my first child at twenty-seven. Nor when I had my fifth at forty-four. It just suddenly happened on the long stroll up to fifty-five. It feels good!

L'chaim! To life - I hope you all have a wonderful birthday day.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Feel the Love


Blackberries are my favorite fruit. I made four jars of blackberry jam this morning. I made a blackberry pie the other night. They are in season around my birthday, so they are a yearly treat for me. They taste of the end of summer, the sugary heat of June and July is stored in their black bubbly taste. They have a rich taste that lends itself well to jam. So I'm jamming.

Jamming and reading my emails. And I read a beautiful account of a birth attended by one of "our" volunteers doulas. She assisted a mother who labored for many hours, and finally the decision was made to go to surgery. The baby was born, and the mother is recovering well from surgery and is mothering, as we do, to the best of her ability. Her doula was fully present for mother and baby from the beginning of labor, in the labor room, in the operating room, and at home.

If I look at the details of the story, I could probably find places where decisions were made that were not optimum, that may have led to further interventions, where this woman could have avoided surgery. But that's what I love about "my" volunteers and apprentice doulas. They are not working from information, experience, or an agenda. They are the best doulas I know, because they are working from a sense of companionship. They are loving the birthing woman.

I know several artists and musicians. A familiar refrain in the world of creativity is "Ah, if I could draw/see/play as a child does! If I could regain that way of looking at the world, where everything is new and interesting." In the birth world, as well, that sense of innocence, of wonder at birth, is something that we all strive to keep. I remember when I was looking forward to going to my first birth - I would have done anything just to be at that woman's side and accompany her through labor and birth. Not to say that I am not as dedicated to birthing women as I used to be. But I know them better - I've seen more - I don't have that freshness of vision that a "new" doula or a child has.

As doulas, we need to remember to forget ourselves and our knowledge when we are accompanying a woman in labor. Just as I greet the first wild blackberries with joy and appreciation, we should greet every birthing woman with respect and with a sense of her "newness" in the world.Forget about how much or what you know, and remember that it is her journey and you are a guest. Be happy.




Sunday, August 7, 2011

Birth Day

I posted a picture on Facebook the other day. The young man is my son’s good friend, and he is visiting us up on the mountain. His mother posted a comment about remembering when he was a baby – as we mothers do. I love watching my sons grow into men, and marvel at the fact that, for me, they retain that quality they always had, that I loved when they were babies and young children, and still love now.

One of my sons turned twenty-five this summer. I remember when I was in labor. We were living in a beautiful farmhouse in Tuscany that belonged to a famous yoga master (I only knew her as my landlord back then, not being initiated into the realms of yoga and the like). I labored and labored, and I remember the farmhand and his wife coming to visit, dressed in their Sunday best. The day before, I had watched him picking apricots in the field below. Their daughter had started labor at the same time as me, had delivered, and was cuddling her baby in bed, so they thought I would have a baby to show off as well. We told them we would let them know when the baby was finally born, which he was in due course.

When I got home with my newborn, the landlady’s daughter came to visit, bearing a huge bunch of blue cornflowers. I can never see cornflowers growing, or apricots being picked, without thinking of those few days of labor and birth. I remember the taste of the rice ice cream I ate while I was laboring.

Apricots, ice cream, flowers, babies, love ... summertime!

Monday, August 1, 2011

Put Up a Parking Lot

We were surprised to see yellow signs all over our mountain, even in the most hidden and isolated forest. The signs were reminding people that they have to pay for mushrooms or berries picked in the zone. There was a lot of effort, and a lot of money, put into the sign project, and it’s a joke to everyone I’ve spoken to.
Down by the river, as well, a new sign appeared the other day, also yellow, stating that the river is a spot only open to residents of the area.
I know it’s childish of me, but signs like this make me want to pick as many mushrooms and berries as I possibly can, and bring as many of my foreign friends and relatives to have loud parties at the river. We go to the river occasionally – it’s wonderful – there is a narrow waterfall, a cliff to climb, rocks to sunbathe upon, and the supply of skipping stones never seems to decrease.
There is another river, closer to our house, that you get to by going down the path to the left, following the trail past the abandoned villages, until you get to the old midwife’s house, then you keep going down until you hear the river, keep on going, past the fallen tree, until you are in the valley and there is the most beautiful little mountain river, wading size, but with pools you can bathe in if you can stand the cold.
Our guest picked cherries the other day: he found a cherry tree that was full of red cherries. I didn’t have time to make a pie or jam, and no one wanted to eat them so they turned mushy and went into the compost. He was upset at the waste but I showed him the trees all up and down the road, full of cherries. The myrtle berry bushes are full. The raspberries are finished, left to the worms. The blackberries are ripening, but there’s no way I can make jam with all the blackberries on the mountain.
We found some Chanterelles the other day and ate them fried in olive oil. But we haven’t found any Porcini yet, it’s a strange season this year. The old-timers don’t know why – even in their secret spots they are not finding the usual amount. But it’s not because of the signs. Nature has its mysteries that we can’t understand. It may be because of all the spring rain, or the lack of early summer rain, or the heat in June, the cold spell in July … we can put up signs, parking lots, and tollbooths, but no one can tell the mushrooms where to grow.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Crossroads

I remember in grade seven when all the girls were excited about becoming women. I spent grade six in England where the social girl language was probably different, because I don't remember anything being talked about. There must have been some kind of high-pitched squeaks that I didn't recognize, but when I returned to Canada it was palpable. All the cool girls were wearing plastic go-go boots and training bras. I always wondered what the breasts were being trained for, exactly. I tried one and discarded it soon after, relegated to my dresser drawer along with highly scented deodorant, ugly costume jewelry, and pantyhose. We all waited anxiously for our periods to start, and then complained when they did. My body continued to do what bodies do and it grew and formed in most surprising ways. As it happened, I felt my spirit, my character, the definable part of me changing unaccountably. I was not the common-sensical little girl any longer, I was a nonsensical mix of girl, woman, and beast. "And when she was good, she was very, very good, and when she was bad, she was horrid."

The initiation ceremonies of Junior High took me completely by surprise, the couplings and pairings, the whisperings, the poms poms and bottles. I remember a girl asking me "Do you drink?" I looked at her with astonishment - how could a person not drink? Was this another strange attribute of the Blond Westerner?

I turned away from adolescent drama, made my own way through the sex, drugs and rock 'n roll generation, and slowly became accustomed to being a woman. Childbearing and breastfeeding became part of my life, and when my youngest weaned I was sad but content.

Now, all of a sudden, the body is acting up again. I was always rather slim. 52 kilos was how much I weighed. That was part of me, except when I was pregnant (or that time in London when I survived on Guiness and chocolate cookies)... Now, suddenly, my waist has thickened. My hips are wider. The skin all over my body feels softer. Everything is somehow changing, changed. My body feels like it is not mine any more. I am trying hard to accept it. I think I should build up my abs - but I never used to build up my abs! I look at twenty year-olds and wonder - did I ever look like that? I ask my husband if he still loves me.

And I dream of sailing the Atlantic, or cutting loose, leaving the rat race, not doing the dishes....

Life is constant change, constant wonder. I am always at a crossroads. I wonder what I am going to do when I grow up...

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Frutti di Bosco

I winter in a cold and unfriendly climate. Some love to ski and skate, and walk the wintry streets. I enjoy a bit of cross-country skiing, but my African infancy taught me the pleasures of a nice hot sun, preferably above body heat. Which pushes me to southern and equatorial climes. But, as I said, I winter in a cold spot and that is where I can make enough money to summer in the sun.

As I work and struggle with the winter, I watch my cold-weather friends and I see there is a definite sense of scarcity. The Rat Race is a northern concept, and the affluence of the northern societies is born from and gives birth to this sense. After all, if there really is enough to go round, we don't have to claim anything as ours. I find myself subscribing to the scarcity theory, when I don't feel I have enough work for a month, I blame my colleagues' greed and worry that I will lose clients to less qualified folk. We all rush around, in the cold, to get and spend more and more, to fill our days with goods and things.

I summer in a paradise, fertile, green, affluent in a different way. We live alongside wild boar, deer, badgers, snakes, scorpions, mice, and all sorts of creepy crawly creatures. Birds sing in the morning and evening. A predatory bird and his family fly and call overhead. We spent the first few years in tents and now have a cozy house that echoes Middle Earth. It is not everyone's idea of a villa in Tuscany.

But here I learn about scarcity. I reflect on my life as a farmer, when we were raising children, poultry, grapes, and grains. Feeding our family from the earth was our priority, and we managed to do it with a great sense of satisfaction. Here in the middle of nowhere, on a mountain top, I can wander down the road and pick wild berries, or not, as the whim suits. There are mushrooms growing in the woods, some will kill me, others are delicacies. An egg is produced every so often from one of my hens. Nature doesn't care if I eat or not. There is definitely enough to go round, but we humans continue to build mazes and fences to feed our rats. Let them free!

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Sailing

There is a Muslim saying, "Pray to Allah, but tie your camel to a tree". There's a longer Jewish story about a fisherman who is having trouble in a storm and his boat is being blown towards a rocky shore. His advice is "Pray to God, but row away from the shore".

My oldest son is sailing across the Atlantic this summer. My friends and relatives have asked me if I am afraid for him. My answer is, well, actually, no. I know he is afloat in a 40 foot boat, bobbing on top of many thousands of feet of water. Rogue waves, storms, whales, and possibly even sea monsters do exist and are a threat. But his safety and well-being are not in my hands. I know he and his crew mates are conscientious and skilled. Beyond that, well, pray. Or at least have faith. Or just have a pragmatic or fatalistic view of the world. But the worst thing to do is either to live in fear, or to attempt to wrap yourself and your family in bubble wrap so as to avoid the rocky shore. At the same time, of course I am afraid. I would like my sons to stay at home and ... sit in the living room?

Of course, our fear and worry for our children starts when they are still in the womb. We try to eat well, to avoid dangerous substances. We wonder if they will be okay, even if we have an argument or become sad. Then during the labor and birth we try to have as gentle and positive an experience as possible, in the hopes that this will reflect on the small human's life.

Fear during birth has been discussed through history and is still a controversial subject. Unfortunately, it can be a pivot upon which a woman may make choices that can be dangerous for her and her baby. Of course, most of us, if we are told the baby may die if we do not do such-and-such, will agree to whatever it is immediately, in order to save the baby's life. Unfortunately, I have seen this type of prediction based upon bad science, or fatigue, or simply impatience, and I have seen women make choices based upon fear that they later regret.

The presence of a doula dilutes this feeling of anxiety and fear. We can radiate a sense of calm, that even when the most unexpected and difficult events take place, will allow everyone to do their work in a sensible and honorable fashion. We do not suggest that fearful predictions are wrong, but when a doula-assisted birth is going smoothly, and the woman and her partner are confident that the process is normal, then fear-based predictions are out of place. The medical staff will enter the room and recognize a normal, active process. The room is full of calm, concentration, activity, emotion, but the dominant feeling will not be one of fear.

So, my advice: keep your faith, but hire a doula!

Monday, July 11, 2011

Snakes from a Copter

When we first saw our place it was just a spot of orange in a sea of green, with an amazing view - on top of the world. The orange was a little bit of the roof of the barn, and the house was completely covered by greenery.

Our youngest was only two years old and as we were clambering down from the road, someone stopped and said "Be careful of snakes." Well, of course we knew about snakes, having farmed in Italy for many years. We taught our children about vipers and were careful to keep the grass short around the house.

But what we didn't know was that here in Lunigiana, vipers have been "seeded" from helicopters, by those who want to save the lives of predatory birds. So they sent sacks of young vipers up in copters, and the sacks were thrown into the hills, releasing the babes into the woods.

So we do in fact have a large population of poisonous snakes to deal with, and whether or not the buzzards and kites I have seen above our house are grateful, who knows. It does seem strange, though, that the lives of birds would be considered more carefully than the lives of humans.

City people can often be very sentimental about Mother Nature. But nature isn't gentle - she is strong and can be cruel. The subtle opening of a flower and the pounding of a hailstorm, a giant tsunami, and a baby sparrow, are all part of nature's variations. Who are we to interfere? And especially at the expense of our own kind.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Words and Birth

I was the late-blooming Jewish girl with pigtails and crooked teeth, at sea amongst the Aryan cheerleaders, hormonal giants and cowboys. Back then we had real cowboys, not just dress-ups. I bloomed suddenly, and became the craziest, most radical cowgirl in the west. But not before I learned a few things. One of these was, never use a word with more than two syllables if you want to be accepted.

I continued to write longer words in my diaries - I have a fine assortment of them now, dating back to 1966. My diary did not judge me, and I could be as magnificently cantankerous as I wanted.

What joy when I finally decided to go to university, several years later. I met people who spoke with many syllables, and occasionally used words I didn't even understand! We wrangled about concepts that were beyond belief, wrote terrible poetry, and thought we were the vanguard.

How much of schooling is simply imposing? King Julian suggests it may be fun to "impose my ideology on them - even if they don't want it." How many unspoken and unheard beliefs and opinions have flooded my mind and the minds of my children, just from being in school? I'm not suggesting home schooling is any better - I never thought that I could provide absolutely everything for my children. I sent all my children to school, and school itself was mostly a dismal failure. But I have five completely different and magnificently cantankerous sons, who like to use many words in many languages. So their difficult birthing and difficult schooling didn't destroy their characters at all.

I digress.

Of course, that is part of being alive, being affected by our surroundings and affecting others. At what point does this process become dangerous, when does it start inflicting wounds that cannot be healed? Do we ever truly understand how sensitive most human beings are? How absorbent children's minds are? How fragile a developing character?

During the birth of a child, this fragility is beautiful - a woman is at her most vulnerable and her strongest. At this time, more than ever, it is very important for the attendants to watch what they say and how they say it. Th doula can act as a filter for rough language, and she can heal hurtful words if they are spoken. The birthing woman is well equipped with filters of her own - lost in the absorbing task of giving birth, she will sometimes not hear what anyone has to say. But if she has been pulled out of her task, she may hear and absorb some though that will plague her forever.

Words are powerful! Use them well!

Monday, July 4, 2011

Tickets for Italy!!

We'll be arriving before June 15 this year so we can definitely put some piantine in and hopefully get some vegetables this year. I'm thinking basil, tomatoes, lettuce, dill, zucchini...

Time travels so fast! Here we are already - tomatoes, lettuce, squash, onions, green beans, basil, parsley, comfrey, all my herbs from last year, except my huge rosemary who died probably from the cold.

Insect aggression is on us this year - the first night I was attacked by spiders, then G got a tick, then the wasps built a nest in the wall by the door. Small beach mosquitoes caused hives. Mice as well, they had a fun time with some pillows. But we have reclaimed our territory.

And minor ailments, I thought I broke my finger with a hammer but although it is very colorful I can move it well.

We got our hens back from their winter home - fresh eggs are so good.

City slickers back in the countryside - where the water tastes like wine ... and you can see forever from your front door ...

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Witch Doctors?

I had to go to the hospital yesterday with my son for a small but annoying problem. While I was sitting waiting I thought about the hocus-pocus of medicine and about why we need ritual and ceremony during a healing experience.

We went to the Emergency Ward and my son was poked and prodded for an hour or so until the nurse said we had to go to the clinic in the next town. We drove down and, after doing some paperwork, we sat in a small, hot waiting room for three hours until we were admitted to see the doctor. The waiting room was uncomfortable, the chairs were hard, the other patients were anxious. Once we got into the room, the doctor was wearing a green outfit, and a young woman assisting him was wearing white. Strange-looking instruments were produced. When the young woman hit my son on the head with the metal basin, nobody laughed. Only when the doctor's cell phone started singing a White Stripes song from his pocket did my son finally crack. The doctor asked "Why do you laugh"?

The last time I went was for a series of tests a few months ago (all good!). That time, the mystique was much more serious. I had an ultrasound first. I went to the clinic, paid my money, and sat for a while in the obligatory waiting room. My name was called and I was led into a small cubicle where I had to remove all my clothes and put on a little paper gown. I was allowed to bring my purse into the examination room, where a technician smeared me with a cold blue substance and then pushed a magic wand onto my abdomen. This went on for about twenty minutes until she handed me a small tissue, told me I could leave, and left the room. I ineffectually wiped some of the blue gel off and then stickily tried to find my room. My bladder was bursting as I had not been allowed to pee since the morning. I found my room, my clothes, and the bathroom and left the clinic.

A week later I was in a similar room but this was a co-ed changing room in a public hospital. The gowns were cloth but didn't fit around the back. I was tilted on a hard table and a heavy object was placed over my pelvis. Everyone left the room. A few minutes later they came back in and said I could leave.

A few weeks later I went to my doctor and she said everything was okay. Yea! The blue goo, the isolation room, the magic wand, and the heavy object cured me!

Not so far from reality, really. Maybe all I needed was some ritual, some magic, someone knowing more than I about the mystery of my own body. Perhaps I just needed someone to say "Everything is fine - your body works". Maybe I needed to feel vulnerable in a paper gown so that I could fully comprehend how scared I was of something being really wrong.

We can't know in the end what heals and what doesn't - and why some cures work for some people and not for others. Or who will not be cured in the end, and who will walk away. For this reason, it is important to have an open mind, to accept the rituals, no matter how annoying they may seem. And to remember to do no harm.

Sunday, June 5, 2011

Winter Blues, Spring Fever

As I write this I can hear a bird from the back yard, through my open window. I suddenly came alive again about two weeks ago, when the sun came out and my blood started moving. I realized that I'd been in hibernation for most of the past six months, my body was sleeping and that affected my mind. Oh, yes, I know I was at those meetings, I attended births, I wrote stuff. But I was moving through a sludge of hormones that were not letting me wake up.

How much of what we do and feel is just about chemicals? We are synapses, elements, neurons, electrons, and those little neutrinos and prions are part of us as well. Where's the "me" that feels happy when the sun finally shines?

I watched the hockey game last night. Oh, what testosterone! What violent ballet! What ballerina skill those large men have, and how I love to watch them jostle and spin their way across the frozen water. I am happy when my team wins, sad when they lose.

When I am accompanying a woman giving birth, I remember that we are all part of a net of atoms, molecules and love and I enter into that shimmering net with an open heart. Her hormones pass to me and we make the journey together. Even if it is in the dead of winter, when I take my son to school and pick him up from school in the cold and dark, the hormones of birth are warm and bright. Small punches of light in a darkened window. Just like the cardinal in my back yard in the winter whiteness, when the snow covers everything and he is a patch of crimson and a sharp song in the darkening day.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Book!

My book is actually in print!
Only review copies are available now, so if you are a journalist and would like to review please contact me.
It looks good, and reads beautifully...the culmination of many months of work.

Monday, May 30, 2011

Doula Breakdown

Last week was a week full of difficulties and ruptures - it wasn't a rapture, silly, to quote my dear friend Syd...

All sorts of very difficult things happened to a lot of people I know, and by the end of the week I was just wondering what was going to happen next. And then, after a rather difficult labor and birth, a proud new grandmother hugged me and said, "This is the happiest day of my life"!

It was the same day a very gentle and wonderful woman in our family passed away, so it was especially poignant to me to see the paradox of being alive with such clarity.

A couple of months ago I called one of my apprentices to let her know that our client was in early labor. She said she just couldn't come with me - literally that minute she had broken up with her boyfriend. I let her know that this is something that happens - the doula's life goes on, and even if something disturbing is taking place in your life, you can still put that something in a box and go to take part in another woman's joy without reserve, clean, fresh, and open.

How do we do this? I have spent many taxi rides doing just that - letting go of my worries about one of my sons, or the fact that my husband and I had planned a much-needed evening together, or what that strange phone call was about from my dear friend. I let it go, and I try to concentrate on the woman I will be attending, and her needs.

Sometimes the doula does have to take a break from doula work in order to concentrate on sorting out her personal issues. I remember several years ago when a doula called me in tears because her husband was not happy with her being away at nights. She chose to move to a different area of maternity care and is happy doing childbirth education and staying home nights. I personally take a break every summer and turn my energies to creating a different sort of life in a very different environment. That life may include birth one day, I don't know right now, but I do know that I am happy without my pager when I am working the cement mixer up on our mountain.

Just fixing everything up here with a little love, some words, and a dab of cement!

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Michel Odent in Montreal

Michel Odent came to town the other day, and I was very interested in finally hearing him speak. I first heard about him when I started learning about natural birth, twenty five years ago. His accounts of natural birth and his respect for the birthing woman seemed legendary among some circles, so I was eager for a first-hand impression.

The talk took place in a huge imposing building, on a cold, windy, and rainy night. The hall was a good size, though, so the audience was packed in and everything seemed cozy. I saw three or four men in a huge sea of women, and there were enough babies there to make a considerable noise at odd moments during the talk.

As a radical old feminist, I was uncomfortable with the dynamic of the evening. Here were over one hundred women, of all shapes and sizes and ages. One lady wore a head covering; a couple of ladies were different colors. And here is a man, old enough to be our father, or even our grandfather, telling us about what our bodies could and couldn’t do! And we were all lapping it up, eager to ask questions, eager to be spoken to by the expert.

I appreciated one point that M.Odent made. He said that the traditional midwife not only is witness to the births of generations of babies, but she is also the transmitter of information from generation to generation. We tell the younger women we attend what we know about birth, about babies, about children, about how to treat your man, about herbs and healing, about grief and dying. I feel the weight of that responsibility every time a woman calls me to ask a question. We are the keepers of woman knowledge. We keep knowledge in our breasts, in our uteruses, in our scars and in our hearts.

M. Odent spoke of the nature of natural birth, and the difficulties women in our culture have with the process of natural birth. “Natural Birth” has become a buzz word, a goal, and through and because of this popularity, it is becoming more and more misunderstood.
I agree so far. I agree with M. Odent that a truly natural birth is a birth during which a woman is simply giving birth. A birth during which her body takes over, when she has no more control over it than when she is digesting her food. The body takes care of itself. The baby wants and needs to be born; the uterus obliges by making contractions, the cervix opens, e violĂ ! We have all witnessed births like this, and we do well to identify these births as normal and natural. A first time mother usually takes about 6 to 8 hours to birth, and multiparas take much less time.
I agree as well with M. Odent’s suggestion that the presence of the woman’s husband (does that include lesbian women’s partners?) can actually have a negative effect on labor. About one third of all the births I have attended have been with women whose husbands stay out of the birthing area. These women tend to give birth effectively and easily, but there are other factors involved.

So what is the problem? Why do we have women laboring for days in the hospital? Why do the babies not come out? How can all these babies get stuck? Why is our surgery rate so high? Why does everyone else end up with a second-degree tear?
M. Odent says that a woman needs to be able to labor within a protected environment, where her neo-cortex is not activated with silly questions, and she feels free to do what she needs to do. Every doula knows that this is part of what we try to provide for the mother when she is laboring. If we are at home with her, we like to rest in the armchair as she labors. If we are in the hospital, however, the dynamic changes and we do need to become protective of the birthing space. For this reason, we like women in labor to go to the hospital as late as possible in their labor, which gives her body a better chance to get into the birthing mode, with full-on oxytocin and triple shots of the birthing cocktail.

M. Odent stated that “oxytocin is timid”. I disagree. I believe that characterizing oxytocin, which is thought of as primarily a female hormone, in this way, is to do women yet another disservice. Oxytocin isn’t timid! I have watched so many women birth their way right through all sorts of ridiculous situations, with their oxytocin going strong. I have seen women answering questions and filling out forms while their oxytocin gets the baby ready to be born. I’ve seen women pushing in the elevator, with people asking them if they need a wheelchair.
No, oxytocin is not timid. There’s something else happening here.
Let us remember that in this world, as soon as you observe something, it changes. So whatever you are witnessing at a birth has been changed by your act of observing. The less we observe, the better off the birthing mother will be. If I am there with a woman, as her friend, sister, or mother, I can mitigate that difficulty by entering into the birthing woman’s world.

M. Odent went on to decry the masculinization of childbirth, and suggested that our culture’s obsession with a dysfunctional sexuality is at the root of the de-naturing of childbirth. Again, I take exception to this interpretation.
Let me propose another explanation:
We live in a hypersexualized society, where young people are expected to have their first sexual encounter before they turn sixteen; where Viagra is advertised on prime time TV; where any seven-year old can access movies of sexual acts on a cell phone; where marriage is temporary and our private sex life is grist for the public mill.
At the same time, though, real sexuality, the vibrant, living, and intimate communication with one another, is shunned and feared. Pictures of breastfeeding mothers are banned from Facebook, and regularly purged. A long and fertile marriage is caricatured on national radio (“Who wouldn’t need Viagra when their wife is old and wrinkly?”). Women in labor are silenced with epidurals or breathing techniques.
Our culture is afraid of childbirth. Men have always been afraid of birth – remember, only the woman knows who the father of the baby really is. The miracle of birth - bizarre, shocking, and extraordinary – is difficult for men to accept. They are shaken by it. It moves them in ways they do not appreciate.
But how can I say what men feel? Who am I to theorize about how a man feels when he sees a baby come out of his wife’s vagina? How can I, as a woman, presume to imagine what a man feels at this elemental time of his life?

We are a culture full of fear. We are afraid of terrorists, of viruses, of weight gain, financial ruin, cancer, mold, in fact, we are afraid of our own shadows. We have been “rimbambolito”, reduced to doll-like proportions, by our media, by the conclusions we have drawn, by the absence of real mothers and fathers. Women in particular need to grow up, and we need to take back our own voices and our own bodies. If a man feels the need to take Viagra, so be it. If he tries to tell you that your own body is “timid”, shout him down.
Birth is powerful, duh.
Women are strong. Life is good.