March Gratitude the Fifth Day

I am grateful for many things the begin with "e": elephants, eggs, eggplants, endings, energy, and so on. But today I am particularly grateful for Egypt.

In a metaphorical sense, Egypt was always the place of slavery that the chosen people escaped from. I feel very uncomfortable with the concept of "chosen people" so I don't really like to think that one through much. But I do like the idea of moving away from a place of slavery. And I love the story of the midwives who continued to accompany mothers through birth, and chose not to follow the law that required them to kill the male babies.

But in my own story, Egypt was a wonderful place. We landed up in Cairo after a rather disastrous "meet the family" episode in Israel. I realized that I might be forever entwined with a narcissist, but I didn't realize it consciously so I tried to be polite. Cairo was full, smoky, sweaty, smelly. It was lovely. It evoked everything. We were only there on our way south, but Sudan was proving difficult to go to, so we stayed in Egypt for six weeks while we waited for visas. We stayed in Cairo for a while, in an awful decrepit "guest house".  Poets, drug addicts and travellers hung out there, waiting for the next adventure.

We went to see the pyramids. Some women gave us fresh pita they'd cooked on the walls of their bread oven. Then we went into the Sahara. I remember at a truck stop, we sat on a bench and waited while the men prayed. The call to prayer was coming from a little transistor radio. A dog was chained to a tree. The sun was light blue.

We were dropped off at an intersection by a gravel pit. The truck left as the sun was setting. The old man who guarded the two huts gave my husband a big rock to put on the inside of our door, in case he tried to come in during the middle of the night after me.

We made some friends in Assiut, where we had to go because I had caught a terrible desert cold. We spent every day together, from early in the morning until very late at night.

I am grateful for the fact that I have those memories of travelling the world, together with my love, and that I can remember Egypt and the desert and the prayers and the minarets and the hash and the sun and the cold and the striped cucumbers and the sweet oranges.

Birth and Fear

As I listen with exhilaration and with horror to the events that are happening in Egypt, I am reminded of what takes place so often in our hospitals when women give birth.
When I suggest that the masses in Tahrir Square may be a new force - a mass of people dedicated to peace and prosperity, some people look at me with pity, like
I am a naive fool. Who would think that people are generally good and peaceful creatures? Who would think that a woman could give birth to a huge baby without help?
Whoever is interfering in this generally peaceful process is working from a place of fear. Fear is always real, but it does not need to have the power we give to it. Birth can be frightening as well, but we do not have to act out of fear.
A few years ago, I was called to the hospital to accompany a lady who had already birthed a few babies naturally, so I wondered why she needed me there. It turned out that her family doc had bumped her up to OB care because of the suspected size of the baby - huge!
The woman was a tall, statuesque lady but not heavy. Her husband was also well over six feet. She was young and in good health.I will call her Helen. She labored for a while on her own and then called me to the hospital. When I arrived she was in good labor and progressing well. The OB on call was in and out of the room, feeling Helen's abdomen and shaking her head. They did an ultrasound which did show a large and active baby.
After about an hour, the Obstetrics resident came into the room and sat on the bed to chat. He suggested to Helen that the best route of delivery would be a Cesarian section. Helen laughed at his suggestion but became serious when he implied that the baby could die if she tried to give birth vaginally.
I decided to join in the conversation and I asked the resident, "What is the biggest baby you have ever seen delivered vaginally?"
"Around 8 1/2 pounds" was the answer.
He continued to say that if we just "let things go", we don't know what could happen - it was very frightening - we just don't know. I suggested that he never saw a vaginal birth of a bigger baby because he always intervened. And after all, eight pounders are the norm these days. Here was a resident who was embarking on a career of Surgical obstetrics! He was clear with us that it was the feeling of not knowing that was frightening for him. To his credit, he agreed to let things go for a while and see how the scary future unfolded.

Soon Helen was ready to push and she pushed her twelve pound, seven ounce baby into the world without a scratch.

We need to be aware and alert to possible dangers but we cannot let our own fears create monsters that do not exist. Let us be midwives of change - sit on our hands, watch, encourage, and assist only when needed.

Egypt

I spent time in Egypt years ago, when I felt free to roam where I wanted. We explored the pathways behind the tourist spots and made some good friends during our stay there. It's hard to believe that it is the children of our (then) young Egyptian friends who are now exulting in the possibility of change in their fascinating country. Egypt has a history of great and powerful regimes, great thinkers, and a physical reality based on extremes of sand and water. Whatever happens, it will resonate worldwide.


Change is always painful, though. We humans like stability and we are, most of us, creatures of habit. I have witnessed the change that happens when a new baby enters the world, and although it is an experience full of joy and exhilaration, and power, and love ... it almost always contains an element of pain, sadness, or regret. Ties are broken, new ones are created.



Whatever happens in a country, revolutions, wars, or a long stretch of peace and prosperity, children are always being born, and women continue to give birth. This physical reality never changes.


How we perceive that reality can change, and what we do with it. Are we to continue to suggest to women that the best way to bring a child into the world is to be drugged, to feel no pain, or to have the baby removed like a diseased organ? Or are we going to take hold of an exuberance, the joy of being alive, and recognize that birth is like life, powerful, transcendent, revolutionary.