Canned Laughter

I have never written about the birth of my children because there is nothing much to tell.  I drop ‘em quick and easy. Moreover, I am a firm believer that there is more to women than their ability to give birth. The experience of childbirth does not make me bigger, badder, better as a woman. It does however, give me a small glimpse into the wide range of pre-natal and obstetrical care available in the United States.

My first pregnancy was monitored almost from the moment of conception by the kind of overbooked, overpriced, impersonal and incompetent medical professionals Texas is famous for. I do not care to share the details of my son’s gestation and birth except to say we both had a long recovery and that I wish I could have a do-over knowing what I do now.

Four years later and six weeks before my due date, I defied my parents, my doctors and all the well-meaning advice givers in my life to haul my enormously pregnant self up to Martha Stewart’s uber-affluent home town in Connecticut. Spouse had landed a job up there with a company he had been courting for over a year. We talked about having me join him after the birth, but decided that being together instead was the right choice for us.

Holy smoke! What a difference a location makes! My new, nationally recognized Harvard educated obstetrician changed my care plan completely and had me feeling healthier than I had felt in years. Then can you believe it? Spouse’s company upped and moved their headquarters to New Hampshire a week before my due date! Super OB  gave me a referral for an obstetrician in Portsmouth along with detailed pre-natal instructions and a big hug and secured a promise to call her when I’d delivered.

I went north for a reconnaissance trip and to my delight I discovered Baby Havin’ Nirvana. The hospital had big private birthing rooms with a state of the art surgical room down the hall in case of emergencies. My doctor was Dartmouth educated and spent an hour going over my care and birth plan with me instead of patting me on the head and saying pay down the hall.

Over the next two weeks I was a little thrown by the woman who sat in on our appointments. He said she was a midwife. What? I thought midwives were women who helped when no doctor was available. Like in third world countries and communes. I’m not a hippie. What the hell? Then he told me that we wouldn’t need drugs since I was a fast birther. I laughed nervously, then saw he was serious. Oh. No.

My little bunnie came into the world right on time after a nice cup of sweet hot tea and a warm shower. The attending midwife made my delivery quick and relatively painless. I felt amazing afterward and asked to go home the next day. I’ve read where midwives have been called witches at different times in different places. Let me tell you, if you’re having a baby, you’ll want some of that marvelous magic.

Unfortunately the reality for many women both here and abroad is that pre-natal and obstetrical care are unavailable. Every minute of every day a woman dies due to complications of pregnancy and childbirth. The White Ribbon Alliance wants to change that.

This year I will be skipping the traditional Mother’s Day corsage I usually wear to chuch, replacing it instead with a simple white ribbon. I am going to spread the word about maternal mortality and the simple ways we can help put an end to these needless deaths. Won’t you join me?

For more birth stories and information on how you can help, please click the link for Momocrats’ Make Every Day Mother’s Day campaign on my left side bar.