essentialmidwifery

Birthy Thoughts by Jane E. Drichta and Jodilyn Owen

I’m Sorry, Birth Professionals-Jane October 30, 2012

Filed under: Birthy Thoughts,Jane and Jodilyn,Uncategorized — EssentialMidwifery @ 7:06 pm
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A brief aside from the trip thoughts for a few minutes, if you will so indulge me. It seems as if I have been running into a situation lately, and it is driving me ’round the bend. What has my proverbial knickers so knotted, you ask? (A situation that is both uncomfortable and even potentially dangerous?) I absolutely hate it when birth professionals, and by that I mean doulas, acupuncturists, massage therapists, midwives, homeopaths, heck anyone who has their hands or their minds on pregnant women, take credit for starting a woman’s labor.

Guess what? You don’t get to. You don’t get to claim that your magic acupressure points, or your special way of sweeping membranes or the way you channel the Goddess does anything. Now, this isn’t meant to become a debate on the efficacy of these or any other techniques. Maybe they work, and maybe they don’t. I have my own ideas about it, something along the lines of “I don’t know…maybe if a woman is teetering on the very brink of labor then maybe maybe maybe what you do can have a little tiny effect, and topple her over the edge into the Land of Regular Contractions. But most likely they would have gone into labor anyway, as most people don’t start with the desperate until they are over their estimated due date.” Those are my thoughts, and of course, you are welcome to yours. You may truly believe with all your heart that you can throw a woman into labor. And that’s great. Believe it. Just don’t share it.

There are some studies, of course, because if you look, you can find studies on anything. But they are small, and again, you can’t disprove a negative. If you are looking at term women, trying to isolate one variable can be difficult. Term women are actually known for going into labor all by themselves, which could, well, throw off a study.

I’m sorry if this is hard on your ego, or if you have made your fortune by “naturally inducing” women. Or if you like the feeling you get when you say (off the record, of course, because you are professional, and only talk about such things with your trusted birth professional circle) “Oh, she’s really close I’ll just do–fill in the blank–and we’ll get this show on the road.” But the truth is, this isn’t your show.

Like almost everything else in birth, it’s the mother’s show. And when it’s not hers, it is her baby’s.Mostly, it is a combination, as it is hard to separate these two bodies and souls, and I for one, would never want to. The last thing we need is another “professional” trying to own this process, to give off the impression that the mother is not enough. Mothers already struggle with abdicating their pregnancies and birth, with giving over their power and their process to those they believe “know better.” Jodilyn and I see so many things, almost everyday, that serve as wedges between a mother’s strength and intuition and her baby.

Mothers receive oodles and oodles of messages that they are not enough for their baby, that their bodies and minds cannot be trusted, and that it would be best if they would just surrender to these outside forces. What happens when they go to one of these professionals, hoping to start labor, and it doesn’t work? Nothing good, I tell you. More separation from intuition, more doubt, more guilt. Who needs that? Even pitocin doesn’t work if a mother’s body is not ready. How many c-sections come about because of failed inductions? A lot. Then more questioning, more trauma.

So if you are a birth professional, I ask you to offer your gifts freely, without any expectation or ego. Give real information, and please please don’t regale your clients with stories of how your last client went into labor three hours after getting off your table. Don’t even mention labor induction, even if you really truly think you can make a difference. If a mother comes to you hoping for it, tell her that her body is absolutely the most wonderful thing on earth, and that she has done a fantastic job growing this little person inside. Tell her about the benefits of relaxation. That’s something every pregnant mother can use. Tell her that you believe in her and her baby, and the inherent wisdom of the body. Tell her that it is an honor to work with her, and that you have faith in her. In short, tell her the truth.

 

Viola October 22, 2012

Filed under: Jane,Uganda — EssentialMidwifery @ 8:49 am
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There has been a woman in labor here at Shanti for the past two days.  Viola looks about my daughter Anna’s age, but she is actually 25, and this will be her third living child.  She is petite, commited to this labor, and really really working hard.  She is laboring out of site of the training, although we catch glimpes of her walking around the beautiful grounds, working with through her contractions with the help of an older woman.  I assume this is her mother-in-law, as they seem to be the most common labor attendants here.  She has captured all of our hearts; her labor is difficult, and she is so so tired.

We always say that third babies are the wild card.  While they are housed in an experienced uterus, it is one who has been stretched out.  Third babies can get into all sorts of wonky positions, causing a longer  (and depending on the position of the baby) more intense. labor.  Early this afternoon, one of the midwives asks if I would check her, as they would like to know if I can ascertain the position of the baby, and maybe give some suggestions to help.

When I enter the birth room, Viola is lying on a plastic sheet, moaning slightly, even when she is not actively contracting.  She is having a very difficult time relaxing between contractions, and she is holding her lower back.  I note where she is lying (her left side), and that she taps out a quick staccato rhythm with her right hand when she contracts.  She is sweating, shaking, and she is deep deep into that place we call Labor Land.  She does not glance up at me as I sit silently on the bed next to her, just letting her get used to my presence. Her belly is flat in front, from just above the umbilicus to a few inches below.  Her contractions are irregular, between 3 and 6 minutes apart, although when they do come, they are very strong. I ask her softly if I can feel her belly, and she nods quickly, just once.

Now, so far, my “examination” of her has been pure  observation, and observation is the heart of doula work.  If she’s clutching her back, there’s a good chance it probably hurts even in between contractions.  Lying instinctively on her left side is not only good for getting the maximum amount of oxygen to the baby, but can also help a baby rotate and come down into the birth canal.  And a flat front belly can indicate a baby who is hanging out in the occiput posterior position, also known as “sunnyside up.”  The baby’s spine is resting against the mother’s and this bone on bone action can cause the dreaded “back labor.”  And, from the shape of her belly, I can tell that the baby has not yet dropped down into the pelvis.  This is not uncommon in women who have had prior babies, so it doesn’t really concern me.   From the length of her labor, I can theorize that this baby is probably not only sunnyside up, most likely acynclitic as well, a situation where the baby’s head gets cocked off to one side or the other. This makes it harder for the baby to descend, as the surface area of the head is increased.

All of these things can be helped along (sometimes) by positioning exercises, which, coincidently, is exactly what we are teaching today!  So convenient.  The midwives have already used some of the exercises we showed them, but here is a great chance to illustrate how to read a labor, how to put all these little clues together and make a plan to get this baby shifted.  I knew that as soon at the baby worked out how to drop into the pelvis, Viola would not have to push long.  I could tell from the size of her belly and some gentle palpation that this was not a giant baby, and if she had birthed two full term babies previously, there should be plenty of room.

At this point, I pretty much knew all there was to know, and an internal exam was just going to be a formality.  She was most likely almost through dilating, but the baby was still high in the pelvis, trying to turn its head this way and that, searching for the way that fit him or her best.  The trick was going to be to give her enough time, and keep her energy up enough to let her body and her baby do their work.  She was very very tired, although she was eating pineapple and peeing frequently.  (This last is important, as a full bladder can impede a baby’s descent.  Think about how close the bladder is to the uterus, and you can see why.  For those readers without a uterus, I’m sure you can imagine.

I grab a glove from the box, and ask her permission to examine her.  She nods once and rolls over.  Sure enough, she is 9 cm dilated, but the baby is still floating.  As hard as she has been working, she’s going to have to do a bit more.  I explain how to position her on her left side, with her leg raised high on pillows, almost lying on her baby.  In the western obstetrical world, we call this position Modified Sims.  In Viola’s world, we call it resting comfortably.  I give the midwives a few more suggestions for when Viola is able to participate more actively, including the Captain Morgan (one leg on a chair, the other on the ground, swaying gently through contractions) and hands and knees, leaning over one of the new donated birth balls.  (Thank you, Simkin Center in Seattle!!).  I smile at her, check the heart tones of the baby to ensure that he or she is liking this position, (heart tones are perfect!) and leave her with the Ugandan midwives.

This goes on all afternoon.  Periodically I would be asked to check on her, and periodically I would go in and hang out with her, offering suggestions as we went.  Eventually the midwives start an IV, just to keep her hydrated in the Ugandan heat.  We also used the rebozo with her, and put her through a million different other positions.  She was a trooper though all of it.  Eventually it was time to leave, though, and Viola was still laboring.  I was certain she would either deliver that night, or be transported for an obstructed labor.

The next morning, I was delighted to find that she had birthed during the night.  Hooray!!  Photo: Baby Patrick and his gorgeous mother, Viola. Sometimes even 4th babies have two day labors.And sure enough, it had only taken two pushes .  Baby just had to find the way.  As Melinda and I sat admiring the baby, and telling Viola how wonderful she was, I asked his name.  “Jane, I want you to name him,” she replied, smiling.  I was shocked and honored.  Together we decided on Patrick, after my beloved husband.  It is a gift to get close enough to someone that they want you to name their baby.  A true gift  to connect on the most basic womanly level, though birth.  I hope Patrick lives a long and happy life.  I know he has a wonderful family, and I hope I can see him next time I return to Shanti.

 

“False Labor”: Misnomer of Grand Proportions–Jodilyn May 21, 2012

Filed under: Birthy Thoughts,Jane and Jodilyn — EssentialMidwifery @ 4:17 pm
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The language of pregnancy and birth showcase our society’s beliefs with perfect clarity. I can think of dozens of phrases that divide mother from baby, spirit from body, mind from health, and mother from inner knowledge. I want to look at just one phrase to showcase the way we approach these linguistic faux pas in midwifery care, and how we get to the bottom of events in pregnancy that can be difficult or seemingly in need of a cure.

We can attribute the language of divisiveness to many sinister roots and spend all day railing at The Machine and The Man–but why spin in circles when we can gain some insight instead?  Something I’ve learned over the years and hundreds of births: the roots lie beneath layers of asphalt, cement, cobblestone, and packed dirt. The energy required to dig them up and cultivate new soil and plant new trees is the work of modern midwifery. Meanwhile, we like to say we “forgive” those who have attached themselves to the practices that stem from these roots because that is their only paradigm and how they were trained. While that’s fair to some extent, each of us is responsible for lifting our heads so that we can partake of a broader vision. I know it’s not politically correct—but shame on all of us who are entrenched in one way of thinking, talking, and acting. And a double shame if that tunnel vision limits the experience of something so fundamental as the birth of a baby and a mother: the building blocks of any society. (And yes, this cuts both ways–midwifery care and homebirth are not the right fit for every woman.) What makes one person or another apt to lift their eyes and stretch their perspective or practice? I would call it holistic curiosity, and it should be taught in every medical and midwifery school. Actually, scratch that. It should be taught in every elementary school.

It is unfathomable to me that any person could witness birth and think only of the moving parts and mechanics of it, but there is where the roots of modern birth and the language and rituals that surround it lie. The medicalized perspective of birthing must work very hard to connect the parts that authentic midwifery honors as inextricably bound together. There are wonderful OB’s and OB nurses who see the whole woman—this is really not a message about them, it is a message about the environment, language, and curiosity that we surround ourselves with.

Back to the misnomer we are looking into: “False Labor”. This term is typically applied to bouts of contractions a mother has between 37 weeks and the onset of rhythmical contractions that get stronger and longer and culminate in birth. A contraction is an activity of the muscle. A mother cannot make her uterus contract the way we can flex our biceps. The uterus contracts in response to internal stimulation—be it from any of several maternal or fetal hormones, movement from the baby, an orgasm, or changes in the lower neck of the uterus called the cervix.

The idea that the body would generate activity, heat, and motion for false purposes is nothing short of absurd. Every contraction has a purpose. Each one massages baby, helps baby adjust its position in the pelvis, and stimulates receptor systems for hormones we need to birth our babies. Emotionally, contractions pull us inward and force us to spend time with our bodies and babies. They pull our attention from the world, the clock, the to-do lists. They teach us lessons about control and surrender. Often times in our busy lives it is the norm to be in a state of disconnect with our bodies. Mothering needs us present in our bodies. It demands that we feel and sense and respond to these feelings and sensations in order to ensure the very survival of our species. Contractions that come and go, sometimes for nights on end, and in fits and spurts help us acquire and practice these skills.

“False Labor?” I don’t think so. The body is wise and begs the mind’s attendance in this wisdom. A provider who looks a mother in the eye and tell her that this wisdom is “false”, and demands that she separate her wise body from her knowing sense of her truths does not see a whole woman in front of her. Midwifery care, at its very best, does not get lost in the mechanics, but honors the wisdom of the whole mother and her baby. It sees them work together in harmony to bring about motherhood in its richest, fullest sense, and babyhood with the right I wish every baby on this planet had—the right to a mother who has integrated her body and mind and honors her senses, her knowledge, her gut, and her heart and can be present for her baby. “False Labor?” I don’t think so. The next time we meet a mother who is contracting in these patterns, we can stand in awe at the integration of mother and baby, spirit and body, mind and health, and mother with her inner knowledge—and know, with absolute certainty, that there is nothing false about it.

 

More Vbac Stuff-Jane April 18, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — EssentialMidwifery @ 1:29 am
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I’ve been doing a lot of sitting on the couch lately, working with a set of premature twins in my neighborhood.  They are sweet and cute and screechy and vomit-y, and all the things that you could reasonably expect little people to be.  It also means that occasionally, between physical therapy exercises, massage, and wiping spit-up off my shirt, I get to watch some CNN.  Like many people, both men and women, who I hang with, I was shocked to hear Democratic strategist Hilary Rosen’s comments regarding Ann Romney and her decision to stay at home with her boys, rather than work outside the home.  Now this is not a political blog, and I won’t go into my own personal beliefs here, although I will say that I value good manners from all parties. What struck me, and seemingly much of the rest of America is the fact that once again, women are being divided, and once again, we are doing it to ourselves.

This lack of cohesiveness is certainly nothing new in feminism, and regrettably, it is nothing new in the birthing community.  But, you know what they say about familiarity, and I am certainly feeling a bit of contempt right now for a situation that’s a-brewing in the Seattle vbac community.  Let me tell you a story:

Once upon a time, Dear Ones, there was a little community hospital. It didn’t have a Level III NICU, but it had nurses who would gently love your baby to sleep at the desk, if you needed a nap yourself.  It didn’t have flat screen tvs or a bath tub in every room, but the rooms were large enough to stroll around, and the showers were big enough for two.  There was an ob group there, and a few independent nurse midwives who had privileges, as well as a family practice doc or two for variety.  They had nurse anestethists, rather than dedicated anesthesiologists, and all seemed to work very well for a while.  Oh, and they did vbac.  Lots and lots of vbac.

But the only constant is change, Dear Ones, and progress must be made.  The flat screens went in, and the ob group gradually morphed into another set of personalities.  The nurses still loved on the babies, most of the independent midwives eventually left, and an official CNM group was established.  Oh, and the vbacs went away.

You might think, Dear Ones, that this is the end of the story, that this is one more rant about how the opportunity to vbac is being slowly taken away. But no.  Actually, now the vbacs are coming back!  The obs are willing to accommodate vbac on a case by case basis, depending primarily on the reason for the primary cesarean.  They are especially fond of those reasons that are “non-repeating. “  In obstetrical language, this includes a breech baby, placenta previa, and basically any other condition where you had to schedule a c-section before the labor waves hit you.  It also helps if you have had a previous vaginal birth, have no underlying health conditions, like long walks on the beach, and are a Capricorn.  (Ok, that was a bit snarky.  You caught me.)

So you would think we would be celebrating, right?  After all, isn’t any vbac a cause for celebration?  Yes.  Yes, of course.  But I’m still upset, and I’ll tell you why.

While there is some statistical difference between the “success” rates of vbacs based on the initial section, it also really really doesn’t matter.  If the Big Bad Wolf of VBAC is uterine rupture, why does it matter how the scar got there in the first place?  If we are going to be scared of scars, let’s really commit to it.  Let’s be really really scared.  Let’s have a vbac ban that is honest.  Let’s not try to hide our own fear behind a colorful wall of half examined statistics and rupture stories our colleagues told us on the nightshift.  Nights are dark and cold, and even the extra cardigan in your locker can’t protect you from half buried truths, based on old school traditions and your sister’s scheduled repeat cesarean.

Even ACOG clearly states that VBAC is a “safe and reasonable choice for most women,” who have had one c-section, and even for “some women” with two.[i]  It says nothing about “non-repeating” conditions, although it does specify that a suspected big baby, carrying twins, or going over 40 weeks are not reasons for a mother to be denied a VBAC.  (It actually says denied a TOLAC-trial of labor-but that language is another post for another time.)

And, by the way, vbac is successful  75% of the time.[ii]  This is actually a better chance than an every day, run of the mill, first time mama, who has a 67.3% chance of a vaginal birth.[iii]  And by the way, in 1965, the C-section rate was only 4.5%[iv]  Just sayin’.

Jodilyn and I have said for over a decade that 99% of a vbac happens in the mind, not in the uterus.  The  research, the personal exploration, the soul searching, the intense wanting, means everything.  A supportive provider certainly helps, as does a partner who is on board.  But at the very end of the day, it is a mother’s journey.  She needs allies, certainly, but the journey is definitively her own.  She is the one who has to fight the doubts, and ultimately believe that she is not broken.  She may be a bit bent in spirit, but eventually most women can believe that most of the time, her uterus and her mind are strong.

So what does it do to a mother who is already working through her process, when she is told that not only does she have to live with the results of her c-section, but that she didn’t have the right kind of labor before her section?  And what does it do to her faith in the medical professionals who tell her that, when she realizes this is a completely arbitrary distinction?

[i] American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists. (1999). ACOG Practice Bulletin No. 5: Vaginal birth after previous cesarean delivery. Washington DC.

[ii] Coassolo, K. M., Stamilio, D. M., Pare, E., Peipert, J. F., Stevens, E., Nelson, D., et al. (2005). Safety and Efficacy of Vaginal Birth After Cesarean Attempts at or Beyond 40 Weeks Gestation. Obstetrics & Gynecology, 106, 700-6.

[iii] National Center for Health Statistics

[iv] Taffel SM, Placek PJ, Liss T. Trends in the United States cesarean section rate and reasons for the 1980-85 rise. Am J Public Health 1987;77:955-9.

 

On Grandmothers-Jane April 2, 2012

Filed under: Birthy Thoughts — EssentialMidwifery @ 2:53 am
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There are as many kinds of mother-daughter relationships as there are mothers and daughters, and I for one, can’t do that kind of math.  I’m an English major. And when it comes to baby having, things get even more complicated.  I’ve had clients who couldn’t imagine giving birth without their mothers,others who didn’t call their mother until the baby was 3 months old, and everything in between.  Like most aspects of the client-midwife experience, it is certainly not my job to get in the middle of those sorts of things.  No good can come from that.

However, if the pregnant mama has the type of relationship where she does feel comfortable with her mother’s presence, there is magic to be seen at these births. Babies wash out of us, riding a primordial slip and slide of blood, water, and change.  A woman becomes a mother in one instant, a man a father.  And for the mother of the mother, she is suddenly thrust up the ladder a rung, Whether she is ready or not, she is now a Wise Woman.

So speaking to the grandmothers, even if you consciously reject the Wise Woman title, your soul knows better. You have undergone your own metamorphosis, brought on by your own baby’s labor.  Watching a person you love in pain, is incredibly difficult, particularly if that person is your child, The same cellular connection that existed when you nursed your baby, or held her as her teenage heart broke into a million pieces, or swelled with pride as she stood up for right, still exists. That fierce protectiveness that infused your every move when she was an infant?  Still there.  When she was small, you would have done more than died for her if anything threatened her safety; you would have killed for her.  And it might come as a surprise to realize that you still would.

But here, in the labor room, hopefully lit by candles and love, there is nothing to defend against, nothing to fight.  Mama Bear has to go into hibernation.  Watching your daughter discovering her own strength, to see her feel her own sacredness, is a journey all its own.  Just as she must surrender to forces larger than herself, so must you surrender your desires and expectations.  She will find her way, and you have to do nothing but get out of her way.  And it is so so hard.

For many grandmothers, this is the most they have touched their daughters in many years. But in labor, in some ways, you can almost go back in time.  You can embrace your child again, without reservation, hold her physically again as she moans into your breast again, looking to you to make it all okay.  And while you can’t take away her physical sensations, you can imbue her with the courage and fortitude that is hers by womanly right.  It is as if she grows up all over again, in a compressed amount of time, right before your eyes.  She begins small and frightened, moves through uncertainty and doubt, and then in one instant, as her own child eases out of her body, her confidence and self trust shine through again.

Grandmothers then too are ready to take their new place in their family’s world.  For your daughter was not the only one who was birthed into another form of self that day.  Welcome to the world, Wise Woman!

 

VBAC-less in Seattle February 17, 2012

Filed under: Birthy Thoughts,Jane — EssentialMidwifery @ 12:49 am
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It is no secret that Jodilyn and I are completely and utterly committed to vaginal birth after caesarean. We believe in the right to birth your baby vaginally, whether in your own home, a hospital, a field, hanging from a trapeze…you get the idea.  We believe in intentional birth, one that is the fulfillment of carefully considered thought and soul work, and not one forced into an impersonal mold by circumstances.  In short, we believe that everyone has the right to birth the way they see fit.

Only, what happens when you can’t? We have been so lucky here in Seattle, because while the actual number of providers doing vbacs has remained fairly low, there has traditionally been a nice mixture of types of providers.  We have homebirth midwives, hospital midwives, family practice doctors, obstetricians, and even a few perinatologists.  Unfortunately this has changed radically over the past year.

Hospital midwives who do vbac are in short supply here in the greater Seattle area, and getting shorter.  We have lost two major midwifery groups, and one extremely popular independent practitioner.  We now have only two hospital midwifery groups in Seattle  proper who do vbacs, and one of those are severely restricted due to insurance limitations.  While we do have many doctors who deliver vbac babies, they are, in fact doctors.  They may be delightful people, but they practice under many limitations, some self imposed, some practice or hospital based, and some pushed upon them by insurance companies and malpractice issues.  They are not midwives.

And midwifery care IS the answer here.  If anyone needs the focused care and tender compassion of a midwife, it is the vbac-ing mother.  The long office visits, the search for answers from her last pregnancy, the wading through pages and pages of safety studies…these are not the exclusive territory of homebirth midwives.  It is the right  of ALL midwives, regardless of where they serve, to hold a woman as the tears come during prenatal visits, to flush with anger alongside her for indignities done, and questions left unanswered.  ALL midwives should be privileged to wipe the sweat from a laboring vbac-ing mama’s face, to bring her water, to sing to her softly in the tub.  And ALL midwives should have the opportunity to discover the humility and strength that  reside in their souls in a way that is only possible when they stand silent in the birthing space, the one solitary being who truly and absolutely believes in this mother, body and spirit.

It is honor beyond measure to attend these women in their most creative time.  And I am so sad for the midwives who are being denied this.  I want our sisters back.

 

Winding Down…–Jodilyn July 25, 2011

Filed under: Jodilyn,Vanuatu — EssentialMidwifery @ 12:03 am
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Thursday was humid and sweaty.  I felt like I was  moving through Jello and time was going soooo sloooow.  One of the midwives asked me, “Will today ever end?”  I don’t know what was going on unless they all felt the effects of the humidity as well or this is just one of those common workplace occurrences where everyone has slow-days.

We had several moms in early labor and lots of paper work to catch-up on.  We attacked the paper work, the tidying that never ends, making empty beds, mopping up…on and on.  I did a bunch of newborn exams and spent a lot of time hanging out with the twin’s family.  The dad was there to help get mom and the girls home and we chatted about their older son’s reaction to the babies and seeing mom and dad holding them.  Parenting is a universal challenge—we talked about Touchpoints (thank you Dr. Brazelton) and I shared some stories from when the kids were little.  Dad owns a tour company and they invited me to come and see “their little island” which reminded me of MamaMia : )

Of course everyone decided to have their baby at the same time—we had four mamas going within ten minutes of each other and they threw me into one to work with a student.  I had assessed this mother throughout the day and she would only let me touch her, telling the student and the other senior midwife who came in that she would have none of their fingers in her body.  Ok.  I actually wanted to support this student through it as she needs the hands-on.  At this point, strangely, I am feeling like I have done a lot of births and don’t need to do more.  (time to come home?!)  But I understood her position and respected it.  To make a very long story short she had a super tight fit and pushed for an hour and half, which is like 4 hours of pushing at home—it is unheard of.  She was bleeding ahead of the baby and complaining of acute pain.  We kept tabs on the mother in the bed across from her and they were having parallel experiences.  We prepared for both of them to have some serious bleeds and just asked the doctors to come hang out.  All the other babies were born first—3 girls.  This mother was insisting that she wanted a boy.  I slipped in once, “ok, it might be a girl too” and then held my peace—she would have to make hers or not make hers when the baby was born and I just decided I am wrong to interfere with her hopes and push reality on her when she is clearly a)not ready for that idea and b)in possession of 50% chance of getting what she wants.  The other mother had a high tear that required suturing by a physician and after baby was born so did this mom.  Baby was indeed a boy (!) and she asked me to go out and tell dad.  I went to tell him—he was a young 20 years old.  I asked him to come and see the babe but he wanted to know first what it was.  I told him it was a boy and he told me he actually knew that already so it was no surprise to him—he had had a very strong dream and had no doubts.  He made the transition from playing it cool to being uber excited quite rapidly and jumped up and snapped my finger—a trick the locals do which he later gave me detailed instructions in so I can show Jeffrey.  He wooted and hollered and danced around and clapped me on the back and kept saying, “alright!  alright!”

Friday I filled out and folded dozens of “blue cards” which are health records that parents use keep to track immunizations, well-child visits and any notes a provider would like to make mention of.  I also filled out and folded dozens of birth certificates.  So the next many many babies born in this hospital will have my signature on their birth certificate.  Which is kind of funny, considering I am not even a citizen here.  I am doing a lot of newborn exams as I have to pass my exam in the fall and have to match my scoring to the examiner’s scoring in order to be certified.

The weekend was all atwitter with building booths around the perimeter of the park for a week of celebration.  The booths are made by stripping the bark off of branches and then notching them at the ends so they fit together.  A whole frame is made in this way.  Ceilings and walls are made of woven leaves.  Each booth is about 10×5 or 10×7, depending on the use and they all share a wall with the one next to them.  Everyone was busy preparing, either with the weaving or the framing and then the moving.  That’s right, the moving.  Families move into these booths and use the front to sell goods—mostly food–and the rear to sleep in.  It is like a week-long Seafair from the old days when peons like us could pitch tents and actually enjoy themselves without spending a fortune.  All Sunday afternoon people were hauling pots, pans, sleeping mats and household goods down to the park.  Many of the houses are empty.  Chicken road is well represented with a few booths that are triple-wides in a row.  So now it is easy to visit my friends, I just go to their corner of the park and hang out.

Sunday at 3:00 began the festivities of Children’s Day with a parade led by the Big Chiefs from several islands, the minister of finance of Vanuatu, and several other dignitaries.  Behind them came the band and then the children and then the stragglers.  This parade does not work like our parades where everyone starts at the start and ends at the end.  This one started with the Chiefs and the band and a few children and they parade around the neighborhood and people wait on the street to see them and then join in at the end of the line so that by the end of the parade, when the procession marched onto the field there was a hodge-podge of people of all ages tagging along.  The prize has to go to my father-in-law’s counterpart here who ran around the corner from his house, got a big hat and stuck a Vanuatu flag in it and then waited for his grandkids to come down the street.  They clearly thought they had lost him and laughed and laughed at his prank.  He swooped up one of them and joined in the parade.  I happened to have been on the corner he ran to and he told me his joke while he got his hat situated.  Grandpa’s are da bomb.  I have been listening to so many stories lately and a lot of them are about grandfathers.  I will share one in a later post.

The parade entered the field and the Big Chiefs were called to do an opening ceremony, which is actually a ceremony once reserved for the start of wars between villages, and the singing sounded much  more war-like than happy-Children’s-Day-like.  They went to the middle of the field and exchanged Kava.  There were several chiefs present and they started to dance in a circle.  After a moment a group of grandmothers (I kid you not, some of them are great-grandmothers) ran to the center of the field and started dancing around the chiefs, much to the delight of the onlookers.  The chief from Pentecost saw them and stepped out of the chief’s circle and danced with the grandmothers instead.  This was extremely popular and there were loud cat-calls from the audience, who stood around the perimeter of the field.

Then came the speeches.  I had been warned.  But I’ll just say that I listened to about 6 of them over an hour and a half and then headed back to my room to call home and say happy birthday to Jeffrey and drink water.  I could hear them talking for another 2 hours so it was a good decision.  I had the chance to skype with Jane and I’m not sure what exactly happened but there was an extremely high rate of laughter and accusations leveled at each other regarding something to do with acting like 12-year olds.  Looking back, I’m not sure if 12 isn’t too mature.  Either way, just one more thing making me feel ready to come home.  I talked a long time with the kids and Benjy as well which was so great–also, making me feel ready to come home.  I am really happy to have these feelings.  I was kind of worried when I got here about how I would manage to get on a plane and leave.  Ever.

The partying went into the wee hours of the morning and this morning was the only morning since I have been here that the neighborhood was not awake with the sun.  I walked to the pool and it was still pretty quiet with the exception of a few toddlers who rose at the usual hour and teenagers who hadn’t gone to bed yet.  This will continue on for a week—even now there is a huge game of soccer going on the field and a live band playing music.  And it’s only 10:00am.

I am winding down my work hours as I want to see some more sights here before returning home and am frankly wanting fresh air.  All of the weeks in the hospital and the fumes from the cleaning agent still make my eyes water and set my gagger off.  I have caught a lot of babies.  I have delivered quite a few.  I feel confident about suturing, dystocias, breeches, twins, internal exams, and mothers with friable tissue.  But not so confident that I will ever approach birth without knowing that regardless of what I know, the mother knows more and the baby knows more and as a team they know best about how to birth and be born.

And not so confident that I would ever assume I could midwife better, just because I midwife differently than my colleagues, mentors, or peers.  This place has knocked the judgment out of me.  I hope that I can go on to support those in my profession with an open heart and genuine curiosity about who they are and how they arrive at decision points.

And certainly not so confident that I will ever stop learning or wanting to know more about why things unfold in the way that they do.  I am so lucky that the people I work with are information seekers and that they not only put up with my endless energy for getting to the bottom of things but they one-up me or encourage me or sit patiently with me as we talk these things out again and again so that we can all be better for the families we serve.

 

Waterbirth, Waterbirth, Waterbirth–Jane July 19, 2011

Filed under: Uganda — EssentialMidwifery @ 8:21 pm
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At one point, almost 90% of the births I attended took place in the water.  It has dropped off a little, due to some speedy babies that wouldn’t wait for the tub to be filled, but there is just no denying that this is a very popular way to birth.  I was excited to hear Shanti’s take on it, and share what we have learned over the years.

They have a built in tub there, but it is really much too small and much too deep.  Its lovely, of course, as is everything there, but I’m afraid it just wouldn’t really work.  Luckily, Kristin, the coordinator, already knew that, so I wasn’t breaking anybody’s heart with that observation.  They assured me that they could just pull out all the tile and build another one, quite quickly.  (Now, I don’t want to judge, but “quite quickly?”  Well, we will see.)

I was asked to give a workshop on the down and dirty details of waterbirth, and I was delighted to.  It was so off the wall, so unheard of, that I actually think it could work out fine.  See, Shanti is fighting a battle with their midwives.  They have all been trained in the classic 1950′s Western model of birth.  Even getting them to acknowledge that there are better positions than McRoberts has been a bit of a challenge.  They begged me to ask Kristin to get rid of the large queen sized beds with the homemade quilts in the birthing room, and get them some real hospital beds.  They said the beds were too low, and were hurting their back.  (I can completely sympathize with that, of course)  However, when I gently asked if they could just climb up on the beds with their mamas, well, let’s just say my suggestion wasn’t met with overwhelming enthusiasm.  I did, after much roleplaying and coaxing get several of them to promise to at least try it.  So again,we will see.

And don’t even get me started on the episiotomy issue.  I’ve been reading Jodilyn’s struggle with this, and I can only nod vigorously.  They ladies love to cut.  (When they found out I had never ever done one, I think I actually lost some of their respect.  I had to make it up later by bringing chocolate to share.)

I think the main issue here is that out of hospital birth is not seen as a beautiful, candle lit experience, where the mother is surrounded by people of her choosing, and comes gracefully into her power as a woman.  No, here it is a dark and dirty affair, usually with no trained attendant,  the threat of hemorrhage, or other disasters lurking just over there in the corner.  The hospital is a place of (relative) safety, even though that little bit of increased safety comes at a huge moral price.  Shanti is trying to change that.  But its slow going, especially when you have to start with your staff.

But waterbirth?  They had hardly even heard of it, so they had no preconceived ideas.  And that, I have found, is one of the best places to start from a teaching standpoint.  We talked for hours, first dispelling the normal waterbirth questions that everybody from my mother to the guy in the supermarket have asked me.  No, the baby won’t drown.  No, you shouldn’t leave the baby underwater for a long time.  Yes, we tend to see less tears.  Yes, it IS hard to cut an episiotomy in the water.  How great of you to notice!) Etc etc.

Then, one of my favorite midwives asked the question:  “How do you run a resuscitation?”  And just like that, we were off, off in a completely juicy conversation regarding the physiology of delayed cord clamping, the unseen yet oh so powerful bond between a mother and her child, how the midwife’s own attitude and demeanor can influence outcomes, when to actively help and when to encourage from the sidelines…oh, it was wonderful!  We had almost no common ground to start with; they have not been trained in NRP in the same way that I have, so we really had to start from square one, because we really weren’t even talking about the same thing.  But once we defined our terms a bit, we were deeply engaged in one of those meaty philosophical discussions that all midwives love.  (It was a bit more difficult because of the language barrier, but we kept at it.)

By the end, they were excited about waterbirth, and I think, even a little bit eager to try it out.  Annet even wanted to skype me in on their first one, to help guide them.  I wonder how the mother will feel about that!  And I hope its not a long birth, because there is no electricity at the center.  But those are just details.  I’m sure we will work it out.  The point is that we are starting to give these mothers options, options that they have never even heard of before.  And with options comes choice, and with choice comes dignity.  And that is what all mothers deserve.

 

Knowledge vs Fear: a 12 round bout. –Jodilyn

Filed under: Jodilyn,Vanuatu — EssentialMidwifery @ 3:35 am
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Working nights has its distinct advantages and disadvantages…it is quite rough as the senior midwives on at night deliver babies using a method called “chinning” which is quite rough on both mother and baby.  This is the method taught in 1940’s and 50’s Obstetrics.  It is brutal to watch and I have taken to actually looking away just to preserve my sanity.

I did have one of them ask me why we leave the placenta instead of clamping and cutting it right away and she was really amazed to learn about the transfer of blood from placenta to baby that takes place.  I saw the light turn on as I explained the physiology of it to her.  She has now taken to waiting until the cord stops pulsing before cutting.  I am always impressed when someone in the middle or end of their career wants to learn and grow in their knowledge and skills and she surprised me with her eager discussion.

A senior midwife has just returned from 3 months at the hospital on another island so I met her for the first time last night.  We were sitting with a mom who had been induced using Cytotec.  This off-label use of the drug causes terrible labors.  I have seen many back in the day at home (it is not used as often in the US anymore due to piles of research and controversy about its safety) and recall with perfect clarity the vomiting, the intense pain, the constant contraction as the uterus clamps down and will not release for extended periods of time.  This mother was having a classic cytotec birth.  I explained this to the students who were kind of baffled by her behavior.  She was literally out of her mind and laying on the bed groaning and rolling from side to side.  I stood next to her and placed a hand on her chest, below her neck.  She stilled and reached up and looped her arm through mine.  I rubbed her forehead with my thumb and she rolled towards the other midwife who was on the other side of the bed and puked.  The look of surprise on the other midwife’s face was something else.  Women don’t typically throw up here.  This is only the second one I’ve seen who has.  Somehow the shower of vomit narrowly missed the midwife and she barked at a student to go get a bowl and the mop and clean it up.  Sometimes it just sucks to be the lowest one on the totem pole.  I mean, you have no responsibility which is awesome, but you also get the grunt work.  After all was tidy the midwife I normally work with at night came in.   These two proceeded to tell me their life story—they have been friends since they were small and slip into stories and laughter at each other and themselves.  All of the sudden one of them starts singing, “Darling I’ll miss you…Remember I’ll always be true…And then while I’m away I’ll write home everyday…” they trail off, forgetting the words to this classic Beatles tune.  I pick up where they left off and it prompts them to continue with their concert, which becomes a medley.  I have my hand on the mother and feel her still.  I look at her and her mouth is agape in clear wonderment at this turn of events.  There is a popular Fijian musician who apparently came and sang at the conference in the Solomon Islands last week.  The midwife who was there proceeds to reenact both his singing and the response of the Fijian midwives, nurses, and doctors.  This included fanning and screaming “Oh Sossi, you’re so sexy!  You’re so sexy!”  I have to say that I was so completely entertained by this woman—I could not peel my eyes away.  I was having fantasies of bringing in a Kareoke machine and setting her loose.  The mother also seemed to be taken with the show but felt too lousy to enjoy it.

Mother was stuck with an anterior lip—something I am convinced most mothers have but we don’t worry about because we don’t know about them because we are keeping our hands out of their most intimate private places and leaving the baby to do the work of birth as much as possible.  With the help of the nursing student who has become accustomed to my ways, the mother got on her hands and knees for four contractions, on her left side for two, and then rolled onto her back and pushed her baby out.

The next birth was also a primip but everything was slow going.  I have come to expect the friable tissue when things go that slowly here…a lack of coordination of the uterus was clear as her contractions were quite short despite the fact that baby was so low.  The baby’s heart rate was very low due to the never-ending head compression and it felt like time to birth.  We gave her what we call a “whiff” of synto—a super small dose just to inspire the uterus a bit and it clicked her contractions right into the strength she needed to push the baby out.  I put my stethoscope on the baby’s back and listened to its heart and lungs as they kicked into gear.  I caught a glimpse of the cord and noticed it looked strange, with big bubbles of Wharton’s jelly staggered up the length of the cord.  I was helping the student with the placenta which looked odd when it came out and sure enough the membranes dissolved before they were totally out.  Thus I went on my first true fishing expedition.  I have had to coax them out before when they trail or break but there is still a visible bit there.  This was about looking for bits and pieces.  I gave myself a pep talk—I knew that it would hurt her but the other choice was to let her bleed endlessly.  I proceeded to fish bits and pieces from near and far until I could find no more.  I watched her bleeding and wondered if there were some left.  I tried again but got none.  I asked the other midwife to check as well—they do this all the time so have experienced hands.  She found no more but I paid attention to how she held her hand and her methodology.  Learning, learning, always learning…

After getting both mothers and babies settled in they asked me to do a CTG on a mother with twins.  I went to fetch her—she has asymptomatic pre-eclampsia and was sleeping in the private room of the hospital.  I brought her to the room and she sat down and cried.  She looked like a Samoan princess—tall and with a regal face and posture and gigantic belly full of babies.  I sat down next to her and put my arm around her and she started talking in English (!)  She was afraid.  She did not understand this hospital and just wanted  her babies to be healthy and did not want a cesarean birth.  She did not want to take medicine to make her numb so they could operate on her.  She did not want to feel so out of control.  Oh mama.  Oh mama.  How hard it is to come into a strange place and feel that people will do things to you without your permission.  How frightening not to understand why or have things explained to you.  Of course you are stressed out.  You have been housing and loving these babies for 36 weeks.  You are not a woman anymore.  You are a fierce lion-mama and you feel protective.  You have the power to take down anyone who comes near you and you feel that power in surges over and over and over again throughout the day as a parade of doctors and midwives and students come in to “feel the babies”, ignoring the person that you are.  She nods in vigorous agreement.  “Yes, like a lion!  I want to claw them!”  I nod and listen to her tell me her story.

She was married in 2009 to a man she met at a church conference in Samoa.  They had exchanged letters and one day he appeared at her house with his family and spoke with her parents and the two families happily became one as they married.  They moved to his home here in Vanuatu where he runs day tours to a small island and is quite successful.  They hoped for babies but none came.  A woman she knows in Samoa had her 8th child and could not provide for him.  She asked this young couple to adopt him.  They have loved him hard.  He is the child of their heart and he cries when his daddy goes to work each day.  About 30 weeks ago she started feeling ill and vomiting.  She came to the hospital where they told her she was pregnant.  She could not believe it.  They rejoiced and he comes home every day for lunch—not to eat but to take care of the baby so that she can rest for a half hour.  She has a good man.  She went home to visit her family in Samoa for Christmas and visited the hospital there where she was told she has twins.  She called home and told her husband and he was so stunned he just kept repeating, “it can’t be, it can’t be.”  But it is, and they are so excited.  And now she has learned that both babies are head down but she doesn’t know anything about birth because her girlfriends at home started to tell her how much it hurt and she felt that was bad preparation so stopped listening to them.

We had a little childbirth education class.  I talked with her about the physiology of the sensations.  She asked questions, and we talked and talked.  After an hour and a half she was ready for the CTG.  The machine here does not handle twins very well but I tricked it into giving a reading on one baby, and a reading on the contractions.  I used a handheld Doppler intermittently throughout the 20 minutes to listen to the second baby and wrote its heart rate on the strip of paper issuing forth from the little machine.  Babies sound wonderful.  She held my hand and we walked back to her room and she asked if she could eat some dinner.  I encouraged her to prepare as if she was going to run a marathon, plenty to eat and drink.  Because the worst that will happen is she will go into labor tonight and feel like she has to throw-up and so-what if she does!  She should take care of herself.  She was smiling and happy and beautiful.  It was nearing the end of my shift and I went to review the CTG results with the head midwife.  She asked me to go and get a full set of vitals from her before I left.  I went back in and her mother, who had been sitting in the corner on a chair looking at me suspiciously before stood up and hugged me and smiled and said thank you.  I checked her blood pressure, her temperature, her pulse and told her to get a good dinner and sleep, and left them alone for the night.  All I want to do is go in and see how she is doing today but my shift doesn’t start for another hour.

I am back where I started six weeks ago—that humanity always matters.  Kindness and communication transcend culture, skin color, and the “way things have always been done”.  Fear will always rule where knowledge is lacking—in one woman or in a society of people.  And while midwives can’t solve all of the problems of a society, we can always ease the fear of the woman in front of us by sharing the truths in the most complete ways we can find to do so (even when they are unhappy truths).  Did I miss a birth?  Actually, I missed two.  And I feel I was the beneficiary of this woman’s sharing of her-self and the story of her family.  Today I don’t want to go see and what that busy ward will bring me in terms of experience and skill development.  I just want to see her and sit with her and hopefully welcome those babies and tell them what a great mama they have.

 

The Story Unfolds–Jodilyn July 17, 2011

Filed under: Jodilyn,Vanuatu — EssentialMidwifery @ 9:59 pm
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Yesterday was Sunday.  It has been raining and although I got myself all caked in mud on Friday in the name of going to market and getting out a bit, I stayed inside Saturday and had cabin fever by 5:30am Sunday morning.  The computer seemed like a trap I had no desire to lose my toes in so I decided to go to work.  I brought my umbrella to walk there.  It doesn’t rain for 10 or 15 feet and then the showers come on and frankly, they come on so fast and so hard that by the time my umbrella is up I am already drenched.  So I was mostly wet by the time I arrived but I passed one of my favorite midwives on her way home as I walked down the hill to the hospital.  She told me it was super busy and they will be happy to have my hands.

After that there is a giant blur but I will try to break it apart.  I walked in and put my backpack down in the lounge.  As I made my way to the board to see what was happening someone handed me a baby with directions to bathe and give it shots.  Oh Happy Work!!  I love love love floating these babies in warm water, watching as they unfold and look around and kick and relax.  Not to mention the baby cuddles which come in spades as I hold them in a towel to dry them off instead of rubbing their skin which I think must feel so sensitive in the first days after birth.  I brought baby to her mother and got them skin to skin, laying down in bed and then walked back to check the board which I had not managed to do.

“Jordilyrn!”  (every midwife here has their own version of my name, this I recognized as one of the senior midwives who walks with a limp but manages to lift mothers out of bed and scrub blood and muck out of sheets and do all of the hard labor involved in working here.)  I followed her voice to the delivery room and she told me she thought this mama was going fast.  She was opening the delivery kit and I looked at the mom, walked over to the counter and put on some gloves and turned around and caught the baby.  “Oh, you are going to do this delivery?”  She asked.  “Ummmm….you are welcome to but here is baby.”  A delighted laugh issued forth as she turned around again and saw baby already skin-to-skin with mom.  I offered to clean up and suture which she gratefully accepted.   I tidied up, sutured, and then got to scrubbing while the mother enjoyed her baby and her extended family came in to admire the new arrival.  I got mom to her bed, baby bathed and in bed with mom and then went to try again to look at the board and the charts.

The hallway was swarming with pregnant women.  They rub their own backs through contractions, reaching around and pushing up and down on their tailbones.  Sometimes their mothers or aunties or sister-in-laws will be there doing it for them and sometimes they will be sitting nearby chatting with the other mothers and aunties and sister-in laws.  Who is who?  I wonder about them.  I like to have my hands on a woman’s body before she births so I have an idea of her.  I want to know her name and what number child this is and if she tested positively or negatively for STDs.  I want to feel her belly and say hello to the baby.  I want to have a sense of her hygiene and some idea if her hemoglobin is beyond the low we think of as low.  I read through as many charts as I could but another page through the hallway, “Jordilyrn!”

I follow the call back to the delivery room where a young mother (and by young, I mean she is the exact age of my own daughter) is pacing back and forth, moaning.  I assume she is a first time mother because she is so young.  The midwife tells, me, “you stay with her.”  So I do.  I pick up her chart off the counter and see this is her second child.  The first was by cesarean section birth because the baby had been lying sideways in the belly.  OK, hooray!  A VBAC! I am really good at these.  I am smiling to myself and happy to be there.  I read the whole chart.  The doctor wants regular updates as to her progress and he wants her waters broken when the baby gets low enough.  OK, out of the range of things we would do to a VBAC but I am here on their turf.  I pause and watch her and start to think this through.  My rebellious VBAC self is screaming just to let her go and to have her baby before we call.  I rub her back and she wraps her lanky arm around my neck and strokes my shoulder.  She nuzzles her face into my neck and moans.  She is a child.  I feel her body, rubbing her hips and shoulders.  I look at her mother who is watching us and her daughter cries out to her, “Auwe Mommy!” I miss my girl.  Her mom is crying, watching her daughter like this.  She wipes her tears and shakes her head and comes to her daughter who launches herself from me to her mother.  She leans on her mother as I rub her back and talk in soothing soft words.  Telling her not to be afraid of what she is feeling.  Telling her she is safe and this is ok.

As her labor progresses I ask her if she wants me to check her.  She says she does.  I go and get my favorite nurse who acts as my translator.  She speaks softly to the moms and treats them gently.  I ask her to tell the mom that if the baby is low enough we can break her water, which will make her labor more intense.  I want to know if she wants me to do this or if she prefers not.  She wants me to if I can so I prepare ahead of the exam and confirm the plan with the head midwife.  I feel the baby, so low into the pelvis, and a bulging bag of waters ahead of it.  I snag the bag gently and it opens.  But the give of the bag was too easy and I felt it pull apart and rip down.  I listen to the baby as I think about what I felt.  Baby is doing great.  When I think about things not being as robust as I would expect them to feel or be here, I wonder right away about nutrition.  I ask the mom if she eats fish, chicken, beef, or ham.  No.  She eats island cabbage and white rice for dinner.  I park that in the back of my mind.  I tell the head midwife that she is nearly complete but since it is the first time she is pushing a baby out it could be a while. I don’t want the doctor cranky with me for calling too soon.

I walk back into the room and she is pushing.  I trot back out and say, “Nevermind.  She is pushing.  Calling Dr. B.”  The midwife comes into the room as the first of the head is showing with strict directions from the doctor to call if she has not delivered within an hour.  I ask her to stay.  I don’t feel good about friable tissue.  I see the telltale sign of bleeding from behind the baby.  I know what this is now, after having seen it so many times and know that she will be shredded on the inside and I want a witness to see that I did not do it to her by not cutting an episiotomy and that I have followed the doctor’s orders.  The midwife even remarked that she must be tearing on the inside.  Baby is born with three pushes, it is a beautiful wonderful birth.  And then the bleeding starts.  It is not pulsing, just gushing.  I feel for the uterus and can’t find it.  I make a map of her belly and start my search in quadrants.  I finally locate it but it is too low down.  Something is really really not right.  I rub and rub and it finally hardens beneath my hands.

I ask the midwife to start an IV and give her fluids and synto.  She gets it up fast.  We can’t run IVs as fast as mom is bleeding.  I take gauze and go in hard, looking for the source of the bleeding, thinking that if I can compress the tear it will stop.  It hurts mom.  I tell her I’m sorry and to take deep breaths.  I see one big tear, and what looks like the uterus, or the front of the uterus, or some other organ.  There is blood everywhere and it is hard to see but I know my landmarks and that is not one.  I start packing gauze into every tear I can find.  I am screaming in my head, “Protein!”  I know this is not the time to be thinking about nutrition and that I should be screaming other things in my head.  But I am frustrated with these women falling apart.  The doctor comes in and he is friendly and kind.  Blood is pouring over the gauze I have packed in her.  I am trying to convince her uterus to stay firm and I say outloud, “I would really like this uterus to stay firm.  Mama:  talk to your uterus, tell it to get hard.  Talk to your body.  Tell it to stop bleeding.”  It sounds bananas but this really does help when we do it at home.

I am dumping a bowl-full of blood out and putting the bowl back again.  And again.  I give the doctor the summary.  What has happened.  What I’ve felt.  What I’ve seen.  He takes my position and asks for a speculum.  I do not waste time removing my gloves and my bloody hands open the door and get out the kit he needs.  He confirms that the lower segment of the uterus has come down, he can see the rectum.  Everything is in the wrong place.  The one thing I know about this is that we can get it back up where it goes.  Sure enough he pushes the uterus back up and I can see it rolling up her belly.  I lock my hand in place on her belly to hold it there from the outside.  I massage it with my other hand.  It won’t stay hard despite the massive quantities of syntocin going into her through IV.  We place a second IV and draw blood to cross and match it, then hook her up to more fluids.  The doctor meanwhile is busy trying to find an apex to one of the tears so he can start suturing.  He eventually does it by feel.

He worked for 45 minutes with myself and another doctor assisting him.  She was bleeding the whole time.

He cleans up the best he can—the room is a flood of blood and looks like a hurricane has hit it as we tore open supplies and cracked bottles of medicine and fluids.  I am eager to clean up, I know it will feel soothing.  I ask for instructions from him—how often to do vitals (I did them twice as often), how much fluid to give, when to call him back.  I made a chart to record everything and put in consults to him once every 45 minutes for the first three hours.  He leaves and she has the shakes.  I chase him down and ask him how he feels about that.  He tells me to put some blankets on her and watch her vitals.  I do.  Her blood pressure tanks.   I get the senior midwife back again and she tells me to load on a plasma replacement gel and she will call the doctor and tell him that he wants us to do that.  I love that woman.  He tells us to load her with two doses of gel and keep running fluids until her pressure normalizes.  She has no urine output despite the now 4000 units of fluid we have put in.

I spent four hours with her, scrubbing the room to a shine while taking her pulse and temperature and blood pressure.  The grand-mother had taken the baby out to be with family.  I realized she needed a family member with her so I went to find her mom.  I saw her boyfriend there and I changed tactics.  I asked if he would come see her.  He too is just a teenager and he was scared witless.  I told him just to come talk with her.  She was in a sleep when we got to the room so I woke her and told her to say hello…I would later tell the doctor that this young man was the best medicine we gave her all day long.  I watched him step over his fear to be with her and encourage her.  She was shaking and pale and he spoke gently to her.  He looked up at me and said, “I think she is hungry.”  Teenagers are magnificent, capable, wonderful creatures.  I know they are busy finding out who they are but the sensitivity and depth of empathy they display when the chips are down are palpable.

I sent him to go get her some food and he returned with the source of her friable tissue….orange soda and white bread.  Frankly, I thought the sugar would do her good so did not object but made my way to the mom to ask her to go and get some milk.  She slowly ate and the combination of his company, the fluids, the food, and time seemed to be bringing her some strength.  At the end of the fourth hour her blood pressure looked pretty darn good and there was urine output again.

For my birthy people, don’t think I haven’t wondered if I had ignored orders and not broken her water if she would have shredded.  All I can offer up is past experiences here which tell me it did not make a difference whether the water was neatly emptied on a midwife’s schedule or came flying out all over me—this is so far beyond what we know of in America.  Poor nutrition here is not fast food and snickers bars.  It is a lifetime of orange soda, white bread, fried leafy greens and white rice.  No protein.   An entire lifetime of it.

It was already two hours past the end of the shift but the senior midwife had stayed with me to see this mom through.  I learned from this mother.  At home I always tell laboring moms who are having a long labor that they and the baby each have a story to tell and a journey to make, and we will understand it very clearly when it is all over, but cannot know it before then.  So too for the midwife.  The labor will tell its own story.  If I assume that each moment is the story I will be mired in parts instead of learning from the whole.  She was dying.  Then she was not.  And she did not.  And I worked hard and sweated and used everything I had available to me, including a consult to a very good physician to make it so.   We moved her to a postpartum room close to the midwives’ desk and got her settled with her baby, who forgave her the hours she had been away and eagerly looked at her and nursed well.

As I was dragging myself toward my backpack and home, I heard it again.  “Jordilyrn!”

I took a breath.  Really?  “Can you just check one mom before you go?”  Of course I can.  I brought mom into the admissions room.  A fourth time mom.  A posterior cervix.  No bleeding, no broken waters.  Hardly a contraction to speak of.  I saw Dr. B in the hall and asked him to come translate as she had no English.  “Can you ask her if she has any concerns?  I am wondering why she is here so early in labor if it is her 4th—she must feel something is happening.”  He skips my version and asks her all of the questions I already know how to ask and he tells me she should just go home.  She lives nearby and can come back later in more active labor.  Now a fourth time mother usually has a reason for calling a provider or showing up to a maternity ward.  I put her on the CTG to get a read on baby and contractions, just making sure everyone looked good before sending her home.  They looked stellar.  After 10 minutes I unpluged the machine from her and told her she could go home, or walk-about around here, or go into town with her sister for a girls night out…the choice was hers.  I helped her sit up.  She stood and there was a puddle of water.  I looked at her.  Her face had changed.  She was sweating and looking at me like I might  have the missing piece to a puzzle she has been working on for years.  “OK”  I say, “let’s go—right there”  I was pointing to the delivery room.  She is nodding slightly and making small deep questioning Scooby-doo-like noises.  “huhhhhh?”

I would like to pause to thank the two women I have been with as a doula who had posterior cervixes hardly dilated, followed by two contractions, followed by a baby.  Thank you.  I recognized in her what I was privileged enough to see in you.  I remember the nurses yammering on and on about how you couldn’t possibly be in labor, about how it will be several hours…I resolved not to be that person.

Mom took two steps up the stool to the bed and lay down.  I put on some gloves and turned around. I placed my hand gently on moms belly.  “Ok baby, today is your day.  Now is your moment.  Come to us gently and kiss your mama who has taken such good care of you.”  Mom smiled and pushed her baby out slowly.  A lovely pink healthy girl.  She did not cry.  She just lifted her head from mom’s chest and looked around.  “Welcome, welcome” I hum.  Mom was smiling dreamily from the baby to me and back again.  Auntywas laughing and crying.  I was waiting for the hemorrhage but it did not come.  I know how to do this birth.  I relax and smile and am thankful.  So thankful.  I feel the cord pulsing.  It pulsed for 19 minutes.  Aunty cut the cord.  Placenta came easily.  Hardly any bleeding.  “Surprise!” I say, laughing.  “Happy, Happy Birthday Baby…I’m so happy you are here ” I talk to the baby as I check to see if the cord has three vessels, if she is really as healthy and strong as I think she is.   Mom names her Jodilyn on the spot.  I can’t refuse.  I’m too happy.

 

 
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