Remember Cara Mulhahn, the midwife prominently featured in The Business of Being Born?
Recently, a family was shown on the Today Show in a segment titled “The Perils of Home Birth” where they spoke of how they hired her, and she labored a long time, and then her baby was born still. That family is now suing.
You bet your bippy that the media is having a field day with this. Take a look at Celebrity Midwife Cara Muhlhahn Sued for Negligence Resulting in Stillbirth
Other articles are out there too, if you google her name.
Perhaps she made a mistake. I understand she let the mother labor for days before going to the hospital – although I know many women who have labored for days and done just fine (I am one of those women.) But maybe she missed something. Or, maybe it just happened – as these things often do. If it happened in the hospital, we wouldn’t even hear about it. We would assume that everything possible was done and that it was meant to be.
Something’s got to give. Every time one side pushes, the other side pushes back. Those of us who are in favor of midwifery care and ensuring that women have access to the safest care in the style of their choosing cannot back down – we need to get stronger until our voices are heard. We can’t let all midwives get lynched for something that may have simply be an act of God.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Would I have wanted to know?
I've decided to get personal today.
At this time seven years ago, I was about four months pregnant with my first daughter. My OB/GYN was a charming man whom I had chosen on the recommendation of a trusted friend because my husband and I thought we might struggle with fertility, and heard he was very aggressive in helping couples conceive. I had waited all my life to be a mother and wasn't taking any chances or wasting any time. If there was going to be a problem, I wanted it addressed and dealt with as quickly as possible.
Turned out, fertility was not a problem. Seemed like we only had to think it was a good idea, and it happened. We were elated. At the time, I had one friend who was pregnant four months ahead of me, one who was two months ahead of me, and one who would be pregnant soon after. All but one of us were first-timers. We shared stories, looked to each other for advice, complained, laughed... I remember that time fondly.
As each of us had our babies, there were certain presumptions. We presumed that if we didn't have our baby by a certain date, we would be induced. In fact, we presumed we would have some kind of intervention - whether it was induction, or pain meds, or having our water broken, or a cesarean . Most of us took "the class" at the hospital which gave a pretty thorough rundown about procedures and protocols, and read books like What to Expect While You're Expecting, which told us what to expect but gave us no indication of what to question. We planned to breastfeed. We talked about our birth plans. We oohed and ahh'd over each other's baby registries. We anticipated.
The first mom went in for her induction. She was given a sleep aid with the expectation that things would take a while. They didn't. Within a short amount of time, her labor was strong and she had an epidural. Soon after, all the while fighting off the sleep medication, she managed to push her baby out with some help and a lot of tearing. Breastfeeding was written off almost immediately because it wasn't working. It was a horrible experience for her, but nothing seemed odd about it to me. It's just how it was.
The second mom was having her second baby. She planned a cesarean since she had some kind of "failure" the first time. Her doctors were very supportive of this idea and I don't know if she ever gave much consideration to having a VBAC. When her son was born, she said, "My doctor said my uterus was so thin she was glad I didn't try for a VBAC because she was sure I would have ruptured." I was relieved for her.
Then came me. I had some amount of hope that things would be natural, but little expectation. I saw my friends, and others, before me. Nobody was doing it natural. It was a "nice idea" but I knew not to count on it, so I hoped for the best and tried to prepare for the worst and figured like everyone else, I'd land in the middle somewhere.
So, when I had a cesarean, it wasn't exactly a shock. I knew the odds... I didn't think I would be that woman, but I knew it could happen. Still, the whole thing was so surreal. What I did not expect was how I felt afterward. I hated myself for how it had happened. I didn't think I deserved her. I thought I was being irrational and stupid, which only led to me being harder on myself. So, down I spiraled.
Somewhere in there, a lightbulb switched on and I realized I had to get myself out of there. I started searching. I found ICAN, and other resources. One brazen night I just put my story out there, expecting people to tell me I was being dumb but having no other option; and they responded in droves, telling me they understood and explaining things to me like nobody ever had before.
That's when I started reading. I learned there were other books. I learned there were other websites. I learned many factors that had likely contributed to having a cesarean, and it made me mad. I felt used and betrayed by my OB and the system. I blamed myself.
But you can only know what you can see.
I remember knowing about midwives, but I made an assumption that they did not exist around here. But if I'd known, would it have made a difference? I didn't know anyone who used a midwife. I didn't really understand midwives. I might have listened to a woman who told me about what it meant with a "that's great for you, but I really do love my OB" kind of way. I might have secretly judged her for being too earthy. I never would have believed my OB would harm me, intentionally or otherwise.
I would have said a doula was too expensive. Even now, I probably wouldn't use one - though I promote the idea to other women - mostly because I would rather hide from people than have that.
I knew that the increase in cesareans was of concern, and that my own OB, by his admission, had a higher rate of c-sections than others in the area. I knew this, but I was sure I would not be a statistic. The rules of the rest of the world did not apply to me.
I would have like to know though, that I could change OB's, that someone out there would have taken me at 37 weeks when mine turned on me. I'm not sure that I would have though. You know how it is, you spend your time getting to know and trust someone, and when there seems to be more good than bad, you want to give it a fair chance. You blame your "erratic pregnancy hormones". You doubt your instincts.
If I had known then what I know now, I wouldn't be who I am - a woman who is much stronger, and a better mother for it. I know now that I would not have listened - I would have just stayed in my comfortable, ignorant bliss. What I wanted then, and what I got, was to follow the road more traveled, because it seemed to be the obvious choice. In the end though, I got burned, but I survived.
At this time seven years ago, I was about four months pregnant with my first daughter. My OB/GYN was a charming man whom I had chosen on the recommendation of a trusted friend because my husband and I thought we might struggle with fertility, and heard he was very aggressive in helping couples conceive. I had waited all my life to be a mother and wasn't taking any chances or wasting any time. If there was going to be a problem, I wanted it addressed and dealt with as quickly as possible.
Turned out, fertility was not a problem. Seemed like we only had to think it was a good idea, and it happened. We were elated. At the time, I had one friend who was pregnant four months ahead of me, one who was two months ahead of me, and one who would be pregnant soon after. All but one of us were first-timers. We shared stories, looked to each other for advice, complained, laughed... I remember that time fondly.
As each of us had our babies, there were certain presumptions. We presumed that if we didn't have our baby by a certain date, we would be induced. In fact, we presumed we would have some kind of intervention - whether it was induction, or pain meds, or having our water broken, or a cesarean . Most of us took "the class" at the hospital which gave a pretty thorough rundown about procedures and protocols, and read books like What to Expect While You're Expecting, which told us what to expect but gave us no indication of what to question. We planned to breastfeed. We talked about our birth plans. We oohed and ahh'd over each other's baby registries. We anticipated.
The first mom went in for her induction. She was given a sleep aid with the expectation that things would take a while. They didn't. Within a short amount of time, her labor was strong and she had an epidural. Soon after, all the while fighting off the sleep medication, she managed to push her baby out with some help and a lot of tearing. Breastfeeding was written off almost immediately because it wasn't working. It was a horrible experience for her, but nothing seemed odd about it to me. It's just how it was.
The second mom was having her second baby. She planned a cesarean since she had some kind of "failure" the first time. Her doctors were very supportive of this idea and I don't know if she ever gave much consideration to having a VBAC. When her son was born, she said, "My doctor said my uterus was so thin she was glad I didn't try for a VBAC because she was sure I would have ruptured." I was relieved for her.
Then came me. I had some amount of hope that things would be natural, but little expectation. I saw my friends, and others, before me. Nobody was doing it natural. It was a "nice idea" but I knew not to count on it, so I hoped for the best and tried to prepare for the worst and figured like everyone else, I'd land in the middle somewhere.
So, when I had a cesarean, it wasn't exactly a shock. I knew the odds... I didn't think I would be that woman, but I knew it could happen. Still, the whole thing was so surreal. What I did not expect was how I felt afterward. I hated myself for how it had happened. I didn't think I deserved her. I thought I was being irrational and stupid, which only led to me being harder on myself. So, down I spiraled.
Somewhere in there, a lightbulb switched on and I realized I had to get myself out of there. I started searching. I found ICAN, and other resources. One brazen night I just put my story out there, expecting people to tell me I was being dumb but having no other option; and they responded in droves, telling me they understood and explaining things to me like nobody ever had before.
That's when I started reading. I learned there were other books. I learned there were other websites. I learned many factors that had likely contributed to having a cesarean, and it made me mad. I felt used and betrayed by my OB and the system. I blamed myself.
But you can only know what you can see.
I remember knowing about midwives, but I made an assumption that they did not exist around here. But if I'd known, would it have made a difference? I didn't know anyone who used a midwife. I didn't really understand midwives. I might have listened to a woman who told me about what it meant with a "that's great for you, but I really do love my OB" kind of way. I might have secretly judged her for being too earthy. I never would have believed my OB would harm me, intentionally or otherwise.
I would have said a doula was too expensive. Even now, I probably wouldn't use one - though I promote the idea to other women - mostly because I would rather hide from people than have that.
I knew that the increase in cesareans was of concern, and that my own OB, by his admission, had a higher rate of c-sections than others in the area. I knew this, but I was sure I would not be a statistic. The rules of the rest of the world did not apply to me.
I would have like to know though, that I could change OB's, that someone out there would have taken me at 37 weeks when mine turned on me. I'm not sure that I would have though. You know how it is, you spend your time getting to know and trust someone, and when there seems to be more good than bad, you want to give it a fair chance. You blame your "erratic pregnancy hormones". You doubt your instincts.
If I had known then what I know now, I wouldn't be who I am - a woman who is much stronger, and a better mother for it. I know now that I would not have listened - I would have just stayed in my comfortable, ignorant bliss. What I wanted then, and what I got, was to follow the road more traveled, because it seemed to be the obvious choice. In the end though, I got burned, but I survived.
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