It was the year that effectively kicked my ass.
Friends sit around a table and discuss how amazing 2011 was. They're referencing the Arab Spring, Madison, Occupy, and other amazing grassroots efforts that reignited the spirit of people's victory here and around the world. I try to bask in the same feeling of solidarity, but my year was decidedly more complicated.
It was early July when C and I officially split, but the months leading up to that point were inwardly tumultuous. I was intensely focused on my classes and internship, my doula mamas, my writing, and anything else to keep myself distracted from my marriage's imminent demise. Friends didn't see much of me, and if they did, I was distant and disengaged.
When the walls of your lovely complacent life come crashing down, it's excruciating. For me, it didn't come as a slow, steady fall but as an all-at-once implosion. I spent the better part of a week lying in bed either sleeping or wishing I was asleep. I was taking small fistfuls of Klonopin at regular intervals. Friends came by to force feed me and make sure my cats had food themselves. I didn't shower. I didn't go to consults. I even missed a job interview.
The exact details of the next few weeks are too fuzzy (or just too depressing) to write out here, so I'll skip ahead to early October.
I'm outside in the back yard on a cool evening. The air feels clearer, as the summer's oppressive humidity is finally gone. A couple of girlfriends are coming by in a while. I'm basking in the fact that I have just built my first fire... C always did it before (he's very good at it). I realize the obvious symbolism here: she who can build her own fire is she who can survive, as such an ability is at the crux of survival. Somewhere in the past few weeks, survival had become second nature and I was ready to thrive. I decided later that night (after about a bottle and a half of wine) that I was a fucking fire goddess and was completely in control of everything I wished to be in control over. I awoke the next morning with a renewed sense of self... once the hangover cleared, of course.
I believe it was somewhere on the LIRR later that month when I realized how long this had needed to happen. I wasn't in love anymore, and I wasn't sure exactly how long that had been going on. I was thrilled. I returned to Greensboro during the heydays of our Occupy encampment, spent some nights cooking and hanging out, and felt alive for the first time in months.
The month that followed was nothing if not interesting, as I decided I needed to put out all my fires with gasoline and basically explode into a brilliant display of pure energy. Thankfully my near-daily yoga practice kept me grounded in stillness when stillness was needed (see the many previous posts on the matter). I have only my dearest friends and comrades to thank for the constant support and ongoing love during this time... the life of a ball of pure energy is nothing if not ridiculous. Energy does dumb shit... let me rephrase, it lives on stupidity and bad choices. There were more than a couple of mornings when I didn't exactly recall driving home from wherever I'd been the previous night. I can only thank the universe for delivering me home safely so that I could live to see my current lovely existence.
I'm being purposefully vague here, as I'm not a huge fan of putting every ounce of my personal life onto a public space, but suffice to say I am happier than I have been in maybe years. The months of November and December have been phenomenal. I haven't thrown caution to the wind, believe me on that, but when something beautiful rises from the ashes of your life's most profound implosion, you can't not feel like the luckiest person on the planet.
Divorce is something people pity, something you're supposed to come away from with regrets and anger. But I maintain neither regret nor anger at the way my marriage ended. 2011 was complicated. It was the year the relationship I have maintained for my entire adult life ended, abruptly at that, leaving in its wake a whole host of anxiety and pain. It was the single most excruciating experience either of us could have endured. But the gaping wound is fast on the mend, and I'm looking forward into 2012 with a renewed sense of hope, a new outlook on myself and on love in general.
That being said, there is a very good chance that I will look back on 2011 as the best fucking year of my life.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
The Politics of EC
At risk of sounding like a Plan B commercial, things don't always go as planned. The single most prepared and educated individuals can have a condom break, or hell, get lost in the heat of the moment and fail to use one at all. While the latter certainly indicates a higher lack of preparedness (or common sense), the point is this: people who engage in vaginal intercourse - be they married or single, monogamous or not, teenaged or adult, using condoms or on the pill or neither - are at risk for a situation that could lead to an unintended pregnancy.
While emergency contraception (trade names "Plan B" or "Next Choice," aka "the morning-after pill") has only been FDA approved since 1999, health care providers have been cutting up contraception pill packs for the exact same purpose since the 1980s. The drug was made available to women over 18 without a prescription in 2006, then, in 2009, the FDA arbitrarily approved the drug for OTC use for women 17 and older.
Fast forward to last week, when "pro-woman" HHS Secretary Kathleen Sebelius overrode an FDA recommendation to make emergency contraception OTC for all. A political move indeed, likely stemming from the fact that we are approaching an election year, and let's face it, Sebelius is "Obama's Girl."
We've heard the cries of disapproval from every anti-choice, anti-woman, anti-sex activist out there: "It will make young girls engage in sex at a younger age." "Women will start using it as their only form of birth control." "It causes early abortions." "It will turn the country into a 24/7 orgy," and so on and so forth.
I'm not about to spend a lot of time refuting these claims, sighting the ways we know that making contraception available to teens does not lead to earlier sexual contact, how it makes no sense to take a $35 pill every time you have sex instead of going on OCs for $20 a month, how it does not cause "early abortions," etc. What I will spend some time on, however, are the reasons the mainstream population allows themselves to be swayed by the Christian Right's barrage of anti-sexuality bullshit.
It comes down to a conversation I had with my dad over Thanksgiving. Neither of us had any clue that the FDA was considering OTC status for emergency contraception at the time. I believe I was going on about how securing a prescription for Plan B involved little more than a 5 minute conversation with an advance practice clinician about your family history, and no, the girl's parents did not have to sign off on it, at least not in North Carolina.
While relatively conservative, my dad has a more progressive outlook on some social issues, and birth control seems to be one of them. However, he seemed shaken by the fact that a 15 year old girl could walk into a Planned Parenthood, talk with a nurse practitioner, and walk away with Plan B without her parents ever knowing. My first reaction would have been to accuse him of being a typical anti-woman wingnut, though he's my dad and I know he's really not a raging misogynist. Such a disconnect led me to take a moment to process exactly what his major objection could be.
Then it hit me.
Dad is a 62 year old man with a daughter who was 15 a mere twelve years ago. When he pictures a 15 year old girl, he pictures his daughter: an awkward string bean of a high schooler who, in his mind, has absolutely no interest in dating, let alone sex. When he pictures that 15 year old procuring Plan B, the thought is horrifying. That girl is, after all, someone's daughter.
On the opposite side of the spectrum, I picture a 15 year old girl and I see one of my teens. They've had a condom break (or didn't use one at all), or maybe they forgot to take their pill or get their Depo shot. Now is no time to tell them that they shouldn't have been doing whatever they were doing to get themselves into that situation. That conversation can be had after they get their EC, and if it's one of my teens, you know we'll be having it. "You were drinking and didn't know what you were doing? Tell me what's wrong with that." "You didn't use a condom? Why on earth... we have a giant bucket right here in the office." "Condoms break, yes... it's rare but it happens. Do you want to talk about an IUD or another method?" "What can we do to help you remember to take your pill? Have you thought about the NuvaRing, or maybe an Implanon?" Nowhere in the above scenarios do I think for even a second that I can change what's already happened, nor do I believe that having made EC available will make them more likely to do it again.
Then I started thinking into the future. Will I become one of those moms who used to be uber sex-positive but now has a kid who she doesn't want to admit is a sexual being? Let's be real... kids are humans. Humans are sexual. There is no "sex switch" that gets flipped on when you turn 18 (or when you get married... but that's a whole other post). We don't like to talk about it, but children masturbate. I was just having a conversation with a friend who told me that her two year old son gets an erection when he nurses; the thought horrified me for about 2 seconds until I checked myself and realized that it's not at all weird... it's a normal biological response to a place of extreme comfort and happiness.
It makes us so uncomfortable to think of kids, especially our own, being sexual beings, but ignoring it (or trying to "save them" from their inherent nature as a living breathing human) is hardly going to change that. If anything, it makes things worse. Too many times young girls fail to ask for EC because they're embarrassed, or they think they need their parents' permission, or they can't afford it, or they don't even know it's available to them. That doesn't make them stop having sex... it makes them more likely to face an unintended pregnancy and have their childhood come to a screeching halt. If all we have to do to keep that from happening is toss our ridiculous notions of "the virtuous child" out the door, well, I think we owe them at least that much.
While emergency contraception (trade names "Plan B" or "Next Choice," aka "the morning-after pill") has only been FDA approved since 1999, health care providers have been cutting up contraception pill packs for the exact same purpose since the 1980s. The drug was made available to women over 18 without a prescription in 2006, then, in 2009, the FDA arbitrarily approved the drug for OTC use for women 17 and older.
Fast forward to last week, when "pro-woman" HHS Secretary Kathleen Sebelius overrode an FDA recommendation to make emergency contraception OTC for all. A political move indeed, likely stemming from the fact that we are approaching an election year, and let's face it, Sebelius is "Obama's Girl."
We've heard the cries of disapproval from every anti-choice, anti-woman, anti-sex activist out there: "It will make young girls engage in sex at a younger age." "Women will start using it as their only form of birth control." "It causes early abortions." "It will turn the country into a 24/7 orgy," and so on and so forth.
I'm not about to spend a lot of time refuting these claims, sighting the ways we know that making contraception available to teens does not lead to earlier sexual contact, how it makes no sense to take a $35 pill every time you have sex instead of going on OCs for $20 a month, how it does not cause "early abortions," etc. What I will spend some time on, however, are the reasons the mainstream population allows themselves to be swayed by the Christian Right's barrage of anti-sexuality bullshit.
It comes down to a conversation I had with my dad over Thanksgiving. Neither of us had any clue that the FDA was considering OTC status for emergency contraception at the time. I believe I was going on about how securing a prescription for Plan B involved little more than a 5 minute conversation with an advance practice clinician about your family history, and no, the girl's parents did not have to sign off on it, at least not in North Carolina.
While relatively conservative, my dad has a more progressive outlook on some social issues, and birth control seems to be one of them. However, he seemed shaken by the fact that a 15 year old girl could walk into a Planned Parenthood, talk with a nurse practitioner, and walk away with Plan B without her parents ever knowing. My first reaction would have been to accuse him of being a typical anti-woman wingnut, though he's my dad and I know he's really not a raging misogynist. Such a disconnect led me to take a moment to process exactly what his major objection could be.
Then it hit me.
Dad is a 62 year old man with a daughter who was 15 a mere twelve years ago. When he pictures a 15 year old girl, he pictures his daughter: an awkward string bean of a high schooler who, in his mind, has absolutely no interest in dating, let alone sex. When he pictures that 15 year old procuring Plan B, the thought is horrifying. That girl is, after all, someone's daughter.
On the opposite side of the spectrum, I picture a 15 year old girl and I see one of my teens. They've had a condom break (or didn't use one at all), or maybe they forgot to take their pill or get their Depo shot. Now is no time to tell them that they shouldn't have been doing whatever they were doing to get themselves into that situation. That conversation can be had after they get their EC, and if it's one of my teens, you know we'll be having it. "You were drinking and didn't know what you were doing? Tell me what's wrong with that." "You didn't use a condom? Why on earth... we have a giant bucket right here in the office." "Condoms break, yes... it's rare but it happens. Do you want to talk about an IUD or another method?" "What can we do to help you remember to take your pill? Have you thought about the NuvaRing, or maybe an Implanon?" Nowhere in the above scenarios do I think for even a second that I can change what's already happened, nor do I believe that having made EC available will make them more likely to do it again.
Then I started thinking into the future. Will I become one of those moms who used to be uber sex-positive but now has a kid who she doesn't want to admit is a sexual being? Let's be real... kids are humans. Humans are sexual. There is no "sex switch" that gets flipped on when you turn 18 (or when you get married... but that's a whole other post). We don't like to talk about it, but children masturbate. I was just having a conversation with a friend who told me that her two year old son gets an erection when he nurses; the thought horrified me for about 2 seconds until I checked myself and realized that it's not at all weird... it's a normal biological response to a place of extreme comfort and happiness.
It makes us so uncomfortable to think of kids, especially our own, being sexual beings, but ignoring it (or trying to "save them" from their inherent nature as a living breathing human) is hardly going to change that. If anything, it makes things worse. Too many times young girls fail to ask for EC because they're embarrassed, or they think they need their parents' permission, or they can't afford it, or they don't even know it's available to them. That doesn't make them stop having sex... it makes them more likely to face an unintended pregnancy and have their childhood come to a screeching halt. If all we have to do to keep that from happening is toss our ridiculous notions of "the virtuous child" out the door, well, I think we owe them at least that much.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
transition
When birth workers hear the word "transition," our minds immediately go to the final moments of labor's first stage. During transition, the cervix is dilating its final two centimeters. Contractions are longer, stronger, and closer together. A woman experiencing unmedicated labor will likely ask for an epidural during this time (though she'll be complete and not want one anymore by the time the anesthesiologist gets there). She will usually say something like "I can't do this anymore." The doula's role here is to tell her that these are all good signs, that labor is progressing and she'll be done very soon.
This stage of labor is aptly named. Transitions are indeed difficult.
For the past few months I've been living in a house with all of C's things just waiting around. I've had to put certain things on hold while I wait for the time when he finally returned to town and moved his stuff to his new apartment. That time has been this week.
I've been saying for several months that my life is interrupted when C comes into town. There's considerations we have to make, conversations we have to have, etc. The groove I've spent months creating for myself has to take a backseat for visitation and heavy conversation. Not that I mind, it's worth it if it means we can get through this process in a compassionate and (relatively) simple manner.
Then the stuff started disappearing. The binary of stay still/keep moving that has defined my life over the past couple of months has gone from a basic reality to a constant juggle. Moving between the extremes - figuring things out with Charlie and living the independent life I've created for myself - has worn down my seams. I need tons of extra support, extra self-care, and hell, probably extra stillness as well.
I knew the process would be difficult in many ways. The move was anticipated, it's necessary, and it's wanted by the both of us. Doesn't make it any easier to realize that every sound in the house echoes into the spare room that's now mostly empty. Moving forward, at long last, is cathartic. It is, at the same time, terribly wonderful, sad, liberating, upsetting, and joyous.
This stage of labor is aptly named. Transitions are indeed difficult.
For the past few months I've been living in a house with all of C's things just waiting around. I've had to put certain things on hold while I wait for the time when he finally returned to town and moved his stuff to his new apartment. That time has been this week.
I've been saying for several months that my life is interrupted when C comes into town. There's considerations we have to make, conversations we have to have, etc. The groove I've spent months creating for myself has to take a backseat for visitation and heavy conversation. Not that I mind, it's worth it if it means we can get through this process in a compassionate and (relatively) simple manner.
Then the stuff started disappearing. The binary of stay still/keep moving that has defined my life over the past couple of months has gone from a basic reality to a constant juggle. Moving between the extremes - figuring things out with Charlie and living the independent life I've created for myself - has worn down my seams. I need tons of extra support, extra self-care, and hell, probably extra stillness as well.
I knew the process would be difficult in many ways. The move was anticipated, it's necessary, and it's wanted by the both of us. Doesn't make it any easier to realize that every sound in the house echoes into the spare room that's now mostly empty. Moving forward, at long last, is cathartic. It is, at the same time, terribly wonderful, sad, liberating, upsetting, and joyous.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Everything I need to know about birth, I learned from Bradley
The Bradley Method is one of the more popular childbirth education programs in the U.S. Which is just wonderful, because Bradley has so many great lessons to teach us about the process of pregnancy and childbirth. To name a few:
- All laboring people are heterosexual and married to a man. Moreover, all laboring people are women.
- Your husband (what, you have one, don't you??) knows more about your process than you do. Don't ever forget this.
- Everything you put in your body during pregnancy makes your baby sad.
- If you utilize any medical interventions, be it an epidural or just a Foley bulb, you've failed as a woman and your body hates you.
- If you have a cesarean, you suck at life and should just go ahead and kill yourself.
- Don't listen to your HCP when she tries to give you postpartum Pitocin for excessive bleeding... she's way too medical and doesn't know anything.
- If families really care about their birthing experience, they will find a way to shell out the big bucks for a Bradley class. Priorities, folks.
- Teaching expectant parents about the pros and cons of medical interventions will only encourage their use. You don't need to know how an epidural is administered... you aren't going to have one because it will kill you and your baby.
- Erythromycin is only for the babies of slutty unmarried women. Hospitals shouldn't even mention it to married women because there is absolutely no possible way that they have gonorrhea. Additionally, erythromycin will make you fail at breastfeeding and therefore as a person.
- The female-bodied are incapable of doing anything rad without a strong male presence overseeing their entire process.
- Miscarriage, fetal demise, and birth defects don't just "happen." You did something wrong and should feel very, very bad for poisoning your baby like that.
- "Tough love" is the best way to ensure a woman gets the birth she hoped she'd have before labor even began. Seriously, lock the anesthesiologist in the supply closet if you have to. The mama is completely incapable of knowing what she wants during such a hysterical period. (Pun totally intended.)
- Only people who support late-term abortion have amniocentesis. How dare you would kill your baby like that.
- Even a drop of infant formula will make your child retarded. Forget so-called "failure to thrive" and don't worry... IBCLCs are a part of the medical conspiracy and don't know shit either.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
(un)Occupied
My head was full of junk until last night.
I mean that literally, I had a terrible cold that started Wednesday and took its time subsiding. Maybe there is a connection between head congestion and mind congestion. Because my mind was certainly congested when last night's yoga practice began.
I thought Monday's "Vinyasa Challenge" would be perfect for my uneasy mental state. After all, that class generally begins moving and doesn't stop until savasana. Last night, however, Andrea took a different approach.
A fair warning: I'm going to start sounding like a broken record here. Andrea's opening remarks had to do with - surprise surprise - stillness and sitting with things. It's almost like she knew I'd been talking a lot about it but doing very little to live it. She told us that we'd be flowing through poses slowly, allowing things to sink in instead of moving right along to the next one (sound familiar?). Great, I thought. This is not going to work for me.
And at first it didn't. I tried very hard to stay present through an opening flow, but my mind was everywhere else. I was just about to give up when BOOM. First chaturanga, a mandatory moment of strength. And the focus was there. And it was liberating. (Really, it was probably the first time I've ever hoped I could stay in a chaturanga forever.)
I spent the remainder of the practice fully in my body, total self-awareness. Rooting down, I felt so expansive that I was sure I could touch every wall in the room if I really wanted to. After a series of balancing poses (definitely kicked my ass... like I said my head was congested too), I felt like I'd finally retained all the focus that last week's "yoga hiatus" had forced me to lose. And things were clear again.
Then, as we settled into savasana, Andrea read a poem. Going into the subject matter gets a bit more personal than I'd like to here, but it was the single most perfect end to one of the most mentally-challenging practices ever. The themes from her earlier remarks were all tied in: sitting with empty spaces, allowing room to breathe, etc. The metaphor, though, is what got me. It's almost as if the universe is throwing these things in my face on purpose. I think it is... at least, I want to believe it is.
I spent the remainder of the evening at a wonderful GA for Occupy UNCG, had a drink with some friends, and came home to half-ass a first draft of a paper that's due next week. I went to bed with absolutely none of the previous baggage that had been occupying my congested brain, and much of the post-plague congestion had left me as well.
I truly hadn't slept that well in weeks.
I mean that literally, I had a terrible cold that started Wednesday and took its time subsiding. Maybe there is a connection between head congestion and mind congestion. Because my mind was certainly congested when last night's yoga practice began.
I thought Monday's "Vinyasa Challenge" would be perfect for my uneasy mental state. After all, that class generally begins moving and doesn't stop until savasana. Last night, however, Andrea took a different approach.
A fair warning: I'm going to start sounding like a broken record here. Andrea's opening remarks had to do with - surprise surprise - stillness and sitting with things. It's almost like she knew I'd been talking a lot about it but doing very little to live it. She told us that we'd be flowing through poses slowly, allowing things to sink in instead of moving right along to the next one (sound familiar?). Great, I thought. This is not going to work for me.
And at first it didn't. I tried very hard to stay present through an opening flow, but my mind was everywhere else. I was just about to give up when BOOM. First chaturanga, a mandatory moment of strength. And the focus was there. And it was liberating. (Really, it was probably the first time I've ever hoped I could stay in a chaturanga forever.)
I spent the remainder of the practice fully in my body, total self-awareness. Rooting down, I felt so expansive that I was sure I could touch every wall in the room if I really wanted to. After a series of balancing poses (definitely kicked my ass... like I said my head was congested too), I felt like I'd finally retained all the focus that last week's "yoga hiatus" had forced me to lose. And things were clear again.
Then, as we settled into savasana, Andrea read a poem. Going into the subject matter gets a bit more personal than I'd like to here, but it was the single most perfect end to one of the most mentally-challenging practices ever. The themes from her earlier remarks were all tied in: sitting with empty spaces, allowing room to breathe, etc. The metaphor, though, is what got me. It's almost as if the universe is throwing these things in my face on purpose. I think it is... at least, I want to believe it is.
I spent the remainder of the evening at a wonderful GA for Occupy UNCG, had a drink with some friends, and came home to half-ass a first draft of a paper that's due next week. I went to bed with absolutely none of the previous baggage that had been occupying my congested brain, and much of the post-plague congestion had left me as well.
I truly hadn't slept that well in weeks.
The Left Behind
Unpaid interns need flexibile work. Last year, this work took the form of afterschool tutoring.
I was first placed with a fifth grade student at a High Point elementary school. This child fell squarely in the "difficult" category. Difficult, and clearly in need of special attention/intervention. The first (and only) day that I worked with him, I was having him read aloud. Testing indicated that he read at a 4th grade level, and the passage I had him reading was at the 3rd grade level. Four sentences in, the child became frustrated. I watched helplessly as he stood up, ran over to the wall and began punching it with his fist.
When I finally got him calm and back in his chair, I realized his knuckles were bleeding. After a quick trip to the school nurse, we got back to it, but getting him to do any more reading was out of the question. So we talked. We played tic-tac-toe. I found the child to be incredibly sweet when he was calm. He was also very smart with games that involved words or strategy.
Still, his behavior troubled me so much that I later emailed my boss to tell her that I couldn't provide the kind of education he needed. I was not a trained educator... tutoring was something that I signed up for to help me pay my bills. The next group of kids they assigned me to were just perfect: easy, kind, and hard working. I felt absolutely fine with passing the troubled kid off to a more experienced tutor.
Skip to today. My former boss emailed me to let me know that the child I had "passed off" had been through three tutors during the previous year. He had dropped from the tutoring program stopped after being suspended for pulling the fire alarm multiple times in a day. He had been arrested (ARRESTED!) three times since, and was already facing expulsion from middle school.
This hit me hard. Even with my little knowledge about troubled kids, I knew the signs. He was aggressive, resistent, and angry. And I, like apparently lots of other people, had just passed him off as someone else's problem.
I know I can't be the person to save everyone, but hearing about this particular child has been weighing heavily on my heart. Why? I'm not an elementary educator. I teach adults and teens about sex, relationships, contraception, birth, and breastfeeding. I am no counselor, I am no school teacher. I know many amazing teachers who work with troubled kids like this, and it's their passion. They would have been able to handle this child, which is what I assumed would happen once I passed him along.
Of course that hadn't happened. Other people had taken the same approach as me. And here we are... the kid is 11 or 12 and already has a record. He is on the fast track to becoming yet another troubled-child-turned-criminal. A statistic. Had I passed him along because I truly didn't think I could make a difference in his life, or because I just plain didn't want to try?
This child is a prime candidate to just be written off like this. He's African American and lives in public housing. He is in a school where the average class size is 30. He lives with his mother who works two jobs and is never around. He has a social worker. His teachers know him as a trouble maker. So do the tutors. All the red flags are there, and yet we pass him along to the next person. Someone else's problem.
I was first placed with a fifth grade student at a High Point elementary school. This child fell squarely in the "difficult" category. Difficult, and clearly in need of special attention/intervention. The first (and only) day that I worked with him, I was having him read aloud. Testing indicated that he read at a 4th grade level, and the passage I had him reading was at the 3rd grade level. Four sentences in, the child became frustrated. I watched helplessly as he stood up, ran over to the wall and began punching it with his fist.
When I finally got him calm and back in his chair, I realized his knuckles were bleeding. After a quick trip to the school nurse, we got back to it, but getting him to do any more reading was out of the question. So we talked. We played tic-tac-toe. I found the child to be incredibly sweet when he was calm. He was also very smart with games that involved words or strategy.
Still, his behavior troubled me so much that I later emailed my boss to tell her that I couldn't provide the kind of education he needed. I was not a trained educator... tutoring was something that I signed up for to help me pay my bills. The next group of kids they assigned me to were just perfect: easy, kind, and hard working. I felt absolutely fine with passing the troubled kid off to a more experienced tutor.
Skip to today. My former boss emailed me to let me know that the child I had "passed off" had been through three tutors during the previous year. He had dropped from the tutoring program stopped after being suspended for pulling the fire alarm multiple times in a day. He had been arrested (ARRESTED!) three times since, and was already facing expulsion from middle school.
This hit me hard. Even with my little knowledge about troubled kids, I knew the signs. He was aggressive, resistent, and angry. And I, like apparently lots of other people, had just passed him off as someone else's problem.
I know I can't be the person to save everyone, but hearing about this particular child has been weighing heavily on my heart. Why? I'm not an elementary educator. I teach adults and teens about sex, relationships, contraception, birth, and breastfeeding. I am no counselor, I am no school teacher. I know many amazing teachers who work with troubled kids like this, and it's their passion. They would have been able to handle this child, which is what I assumed would happen once I passed him along.
Of course that hadn't happened. Other people had taken the same approach as me. And here we are... the kid is 11 or 12 and already has a record. He is on the fast track to becoming yet another troubled-child-turned-criminal. A statistic. Had I passed him along because I truly didn't think I could make a difference in his life, or because I just plain didn't want to try?
This child is a prime candidate to just be written off like this. He's African American and lives in public housing. He is in a school where the average class size is 30. He lives with his mother who works two jobs and is never around. He has a social worker. His teachers know him as a trouble maker. So do the tutors. All the red flags are there, and yet we pass him along to the next person. Someone else's problem.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Pro-Life vs. Anti-Choice: What are abortion restrictions really all about?
A piece at RH Reality Check begins, "Restrictions on abortions just don’t work in that they don’t result in the desired outcome. This is the predictable, yet bold, conclusion of a report to be presented at the United Nations on Monday, October 24th by Anand Grover, a UN-appointed independent expert on health." The article goes on to discuss such restrictions in a global context, adding in quotes from the author's friends about women who have "too many" abortions.
I have to take issue, however, with the lack of discussion regarding what, exactly, abortion restrictions are really all about.
To be sure, a large portion of mainstream anti-abortion people probably do just want abortion rates to fall. While these people still don't seem to want to hear arguments for better access to contraception and sexuality education, they do indeed just see abortion as an evil procedure that should be stopped. I know this because I have a handful of anti-abortion ("pro-life") friends with whom I have been able to have civil, intelligent conversations. Neither party has ever come away from these conversations with a total change of opinion, but I'd like to think we have - at the very least - obtained a slightly better understanding of why the other person thinks the way they do. Such an outcome is hardly going to turn the tides of "The Abortion War" any time soon, but I can't help but think it's a step in the right direction.
Thing is, these "pro-life" friends of mine aren't exactly at the forefront of the anti-choice movement. They don't set the agendas, and they certainly aren't in the driver's seat. Many don't even follow the larger anti-choice movement: they're simply anti-abortion in their own right, which is why I am able to call them friends.
The anti-choice movement, on the other hand, has never been and never will be about simply reducing the number of abortions. These people lead the way, set the tone for how all anti-abortion arguments will be made. They are increasingly radical and dangerous, pulling more "moderately" anti-abortion people with them. They use violence, threats, and harassment. They spin bad research to make pseudo-scientific arguments poised as fact, exploit the vulnerability of people who have had abortions, and write large checks to make sure lawmakers put their desires first.
For these people, the agenda is far more dangerous: relegating female-bodied individuals to hapless incubators, reinforcing a culture of male dominance, enforcing social injustice that intersects every aspect of humanity (race, class, sexual orientation, gender identity, etc)... this is their game. And as leaders of everything anti-abortion, they have the weight to pull more moderate "pro-lifers" with them. We see their militant tactics infiltrate the mainstream political climate as "personhood amendments" and funding cuts to preventative health care become the norm.
Make no mistakes: it is true that abortion restrictions do absolutely nothing to reduce the number of abortions in the U.S. or anywhere else in the world. But we need to be constantly critiquing the motives behind most of these restrictions. Far from some sort of altruistic ideology, the anti-choice movement is not-so-gently reshaping the way women (and all female-bodied individuals) are seen, heard, and allowed to live.
I have to take issue, however, with the lack of discussion regarding what, exactly, abortion restrictions are really all about.
To be sure, a large portion of mainstream anti-abortion people probably do just want abortion rates to fall. While these people still don't seem to want to hear arguments for better access to contraception and sexuality education, they do indeed just see abortion as an evil procedure that should be stopped. I know this because I have a handful of anti-abortion ("pro-life") friends with whom I have been able to have civil, intelligent conversations. Neither party has ever come away from these conversations with a total change of opinion, but I'd like to think we have - at the very least - obtained a slightly better understanding of why the other person thinks the way they do. Such an outcome is hardly going to turn the tides of "The Abortion War" any time soon, but I can't help but think it's a step in the right direction.
Thing is, these "pro-life" friends of mine aren't exactly at the forefront of the anti-choice movement. They don't set the agendas, and they certainly aren't in the driver's seat. Many don't even follow the larger anti-choice movement: they're simply anti-abortion in their own right, which is why I am able to call them friends.
The anti-choice movement, on the other hand, has never been and never will be about simply reducing the number of abortions. These people lead the way, set the tone for how all anti-abortion arguments will be made. They are increasingly radical and dangerous, pulling more "moderately" anti-abortion people with them. They use violence, threats, and harassment. They spin bad research to make pseudo-scientific arguments poised as fact, exploit the vulnerability of people who have had abortions, and write large checks to make sure lawmakers put their desires first.
Make no mistakes: it is true that abortion restrictions do absolutely nothing to reduce the number of abortions in the U.S. or anywhere else in the world. But we need to be constantly critiquing the motives behind most of these restrictions. Far from some sort of altruistic ideology, the anti-choice movement is not-so-gently reshaping the way women (and all female-bodied individuals) are seen, heard, and allowed to live.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
What's THAT supposed to mean?
Another contradiction I've noticed about myself: I believe all life exists in many shades of gray, and yet I have an overwhelming need to label things. Even if the labels are vague, it doesn't matter. I need them.
Someone recently told me that this would become a crippling social need if I wasn't careful. If that comment had come from a close friend, I would have taken it to heart and owned it. But this was someone I'd barely even known, and their ability to see into me so profoundly bothered me. They were 100% right, and yet I got defensive. And so I've spent the past couple of weeks dissecting it.
The conversation was innocent enough, focusing on mere political identities and nothing more. I had said that I considered myself a "nomadic leftist," meaning I tend to float between far-left ideologies on any given day. The offending comment came after I had mentioned that this is a common theme for me, adding labels (even if I just pulled them out of my ass) simply due to a need to clarify my place in the world.
My dissection of the conversation, however, was about way more than a political identity. In the past six months, I've gone from having it "all figured out" to having absolutely no idea what I'm doing, where I belong, with whom I identify, etc. When those things are clear (or just clearly vague), I'm in my element. When they're not, that's when the dissection and over-analysis begins. "What did so-and-so mean when s/he said that?" I start to obsess. It's really not healthy.
Same goes for my relationship with C. I've been making people laugh by calling him "my ex-ish," but that's not a joke. It's really the best I can come up with right now. He's not my "ex" because that would imply that we're divorced, right? Which we're not. Ex-ish is, I suppose, a shorthand version of "the husband I'm separated from and probably will divorce," but with a smidgen of humor so that I don't have to follow it up with, "But really, I'm fine."
A close friend told me not to worry about it, that such a tendency comes with a total openness about what I'm thinking and feeling. I don't tend to hold much back. I will usually tell you what I think, which not everyone is used to. "It's mature," I believe were her exact words. Mature or not, I can see how it would get annoying. You could look at me with an innocently-raised eyebrow and I will spend the remainder of the day wondering why. Not that my sense of self hinges completely on what you think, but because I just plain want to know. Did I say something you found to be ridiculous? Interesting? Offensive? I can usually read people pretty well, but now and then non-verbal interactions leave me clueless. As do verbal ones, on occasion... "Hey, remember earlier this week when you said you 'liked' October... what did you mean by that?" It can really be that innocuous.
Don't get me wrong... this impulse (can we just go ahead and call it a compulsion?) stems from a vested interest in human thought and behavior. Believe me - I've dissected this many times over - it's hardly about how people see me, at least not in the "I have to be loved" sense. If I could have one superpower, it would be to be able to read people's thoughts. Partly out of curiosity, mostly out of a true desire to know what folks are thinking at any given time. It's probably my tendency to over-empathize.
(Sure let's go with that.)
The conversation was innocent enough, focusing on mere political identities and nothing more. I had said that I considered myself a "nomadic leftist," meaning I tend to float between far-left ideologies on any given day. The offending comment came after I had mentioned that this is a common theme for me, adding labels (even if I just pulled them out of my ass) simply due to a need to clarify my place in the world.
My dissection of the conversation, however, was about way more than a political identity. In the past six months, I've gone from having it "all figured out" to having absolutely no idea what I'm doing, where I belong, with whom I identify, etc. When those things are clear (or just clearly vague), I'm in my element. When they're not, that's when the dissection and over-analysis begins. "What did so-and-so mean when s/he said that?" I start to obsess. It's really not healthy.
Same goes for my relationship with C. I've been making people laugh by calling him "my ex-ish," but that's not a joke. It's really the best I can come up with right now. He's not my "ex" because that would imply that we're divorced, right? Which we're not. Ex-ish is, I suppose, a shorthand version of "the husband I'm separated from and probably will divorce," but with a smidgen of humor so that I don't have to follow it up with, "But really, I'm fine."
A close friend told me not to worry about it, that such a tendency comes with a total openness about what I'm thinking and feeling. I don't tend to hold much back. I will usually tell you what I think, which not everyone is used to. "It's mature," I believe were her exact words. Mature or not, I can see how it would get annoying. You could look at me with an innocently-raised eyebrow and I will spend the remainder of the day wondering why. Not that my sense of self hinges completely on what you think, but because I just plain want to know. Did I say something you found to be ridiculous? Interesting? Offensive? I can usually read people pretty well, but now and then non-verbal interactions leave me clueless. As do verbal ones, on occasion... "Hey, remember earlier this week when you said you 'liked' October... what did you mean by that?" It can really be that innocuous.
Don't get me wrong... this impulse (can we just go ahead and call it a compulsion?) stems from a vested interest in human thought and behavior. Believe me - I've dissected this many times over - it's hardly about how people see me, at least not in the "I have to be loved" sense. If I could have one superpower, it would be to be able to read people's thoughts. Partly out of curiosity, mostly out of a true desire to know what folks are thinking at any given time. It's probably my tendency to over-empathize.
(Sure let's go with that.)
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Zero to Sixty
When things are complicated, we tend to want to skip to the end, a time where the complicated has turned into wisdom. A time where we can move on with our lives and dedicate ourselves to simplicity.
Of course this is impossible. We may find a way to "fast forward" to some kind of conclusion, but in doing so we deprive ourselves of the valuable experience we wanted to run to in the first place. And in the end, that can make things more complicated than they already were, and probably a whole lot more regretful.
I've written a lot, here and in a private journal, about the value of "sitting with it." I have come to accept that this is the only way to handle difficult life events, but it takes a lot of reminding myself. It takes even more energy to remind the others involved. When you're in something with somebody else, you're tied together even when you're separated. This is especially true when the relationship is long: not only are there emotions to untangle, there's also material objects and logistical matters that - let's face it - have their own share of emotional entanglements.
The real complicated stuff comes when you're ready to run with some things but still need to sit with others. You're already stretched thin enough from emotional wear-and-tear and the exhaustion of your day-to-day life; one part of you running off while the other struggles to stay put is a true testament to our elasticity. You have to have elasticity, otherwise you'll be torn in half. Fortunately I've always been flexible.
Sometimes, though, the "ready to run" part takes off like a leashed dog who's just seen a rabbit. It takes you by complete surprise. Your arm gets yanked, your wrist strained from the leash almost slipping from your grasp, and you fight to keep things at a more reasonable pace. It's still too fast for the part of you that needed stillness, but way too slow for the one that needs motion. Onlookers view the event, knowing full well what it feels like but laughing all the same, mostly because your "no-really-I'm-fine" demeanor has cued them to do so. Still and again, no amount of flexibility can sustain such instantaneous force applied, and you're bound to at the very least be sore from the event, even if your arm hasn't been completely torn from its socket.
The simple can be so complicated.
Of course this is impossible. We may find a way to "fast forward" to some kind of conclusion, but in doing so we deprive ourselves of the valuable experience we wanted to run to in the first place. And in the end, that can make things more complicated than they already were, and probably a whole lot more regretful.
I've written a lot, here and in a private journal, about the value of "sitting with it." I have come to accept that this is the only way to handle difficult life events, but it takes a lot of reminding myself. It takes even more energy to remind the others involved. When you're in something with somebody else, you're tied together even when you're separated. This is especially true when the relationship is long: not only are there emotions to untangle, there's also material objects and logistical matters that - let's face it - have their own share of emotional entanglements.
The real complicated stuff comes when you're ready to run with some things but still need to sit with others. You're already stretched thin enough from emotional wear-and-tear and the exhaustion of your day-to-day life; one part of you running off while the other struggles to stay put is a true testament to our elasticity. You have to have elasticity, otherwise you'll be torn in half. Fortunately I've always been flexible.
Sometimes, though, the "ready to run" part takes off like a leashed dog who's just seen a rabbit. It takes you by complete surprise. Your arm gets yanked, your wrist strained from the leash almost slipping from your grasp, and you fight to keep things at a more reasonable pace. It's still too fast for the part of you that needed stillness, but way too slow for the one that needs motion. Onlookers view the event, knowing full well what it feels like but laughing all the same, mostly because your "no-really-I'm-fine" demeanor has cued them to do so. Still and again, no amount of flexibility can sustain such instantaneous force applied, and you're bound to at the very least be sore from the event, even if your arm hasn't been completely torn from its socket.
The simple can be so complicated.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Sitting With It
I woke up this morning overcome with anxiety. It was awful, a feeling I haven't felt in weeks. Needless to say, I skipped my class and even crapped out on a consult. That didn't make the anxiety any better, but I finally allowed myself to let it go, knowing that today needed to be spent for myself.
A quick self-inventory revealed what should have been painfully obvious: I haven't stopped moving since before I went to New York. That was 15 days ago. New York was non-stop go (and very little sleep to boot), and upon my return my life has consisted of catching up. There was work, plus my doula mama had her baby, and I've been spending time at Occupy Greensboro cooking and helping out in whatever way I can. Everything that has kept me strong over the past few months - good food, down time, yoga - has taken a backseat.
Not that I'm complaining. All of the aforementioned "stuff" that has kept me in a constant state of motion has been wonderful. I am truly happy these days. But I need to remember to take the time to sit with these experiences whenever possible, even only for just an evening.
It's kind of like running or any sort of cardio workout for that matter. The real pain comes when you stop. If you don't stop at your body's first cue to do so - out of fear or just the inability to sit still - you're just delaying the inevitable. But the pain will be worse.
Let me back up a bit. First off, I have come to realize that I have fallen out of love. This isn't any big new breaking thing; like these things tend to go, it has been in process for probably weeks now. But only in the past week or two have I realized what it was: falling out of love.
Since coming to this realization was so liberating, my take on it has been almost completely celebratory. Drinks with girlfriends, etc. Charlie signed a lease on Friday, and that in and of itself made me want to celebrate. Things are moving forward, and I no longer feel that they're going in the wrong direction.
Of course, none of this is 100% good. Had I taken the time to scratch the surface of what has happened, I would have realized the intense pain that also comes with falling out of love. And so, with the good feelings and celebrations behind me, I allowed myself to feel the other side. Obviously, it wasn't nearly as pretty.
There were warnings... last night, I went to a fun Halloween vinyasa practice that was as irreverent as it was challenging. Lots of prana, lots of ujjayi, lots of crude jokes and laughter. Sitting with that practice in savasana, I realized I was crying. Or not. My eyes were watering, a lot. I wasn't sobbing or weeping or anything like that, but there were definitely many tears streaming out of my eyes. It felt very therapeutic, and I left with a renewed sense of clarity. My biggest mistake was that I didn't sit with it longer, and as a result woke up this morning with a slight hangover and a lot of anxiety.
The whole experience was buffered by the fact that the person I'm falling out of love with is a lovely person, and when I called he was ready and willing to talk me through it. He'd been through the exact same process only several months ago, after all. We talked for a while, and it made me realize how lucky I am to have such a great person to go through this with. As I've said, none of this is malicious. There's very little resentment, and only the occasional screaming match (which is to be expected).
These ups and downs are to be expected, but I know I can ease the anxiety factor by allowing myself to sit with things more frequently. Major life changes are usually wonderful and scary all at once, and I know I can do better for myself by simply letting things sink in before moving on to the next big thing, even for only five breaths.
A quick self-inventory revealed what should have been painfully obvious: I haven't stopped moving since before I went to New York. That was 15 days ago. New York was non-stop go (and very little sleep to boot), and upon my return my life has consisted of catching up. There was work, plus my doula mama had her baby, and I've been spending time at Occupy Greensboro cooking and helping out in whatever way I can. Everything that has kept me strong over the past few months - good food, down time, yoga - has taken a backseat.
Not that I'm complaining. All of the aforementioned "stuff" that has kept me in a constant state of motion has been wonderful. I am truly happy these days. But I need to remember to take the time to sit with these experiences whenever possible, even only for just an evening.
It's kind of like running or any sort of cardio workout for that matter. The real pain comes when you stop. If you don't stop at your body's first cue to do so - out of fear or just the inability to sit still - you're just delaying the inevitable. But the pain will be worse.
Let me back up a bit. First off, I have come to realize that I have fallen out of love. This isn't any big new breaking thing; like these things tend to go, it has been in process for probably weeks now. But only in the past week or two have I realized what it was: falling out of love.
Since coming to this realization was so liberating, my take on it has been almost completely celebratory. Drinks with girlfriends, etc. Charlie signed a lease on Friday, and that in and of itself made me want to celebrate. Things are moving forward, and I no longer feel that they're going in the wrong direction.
Of course, none of this is 100% good. Had I taken the time to scratch the surface of what has happened, I would have realized the intense pain that also comes with falling out of love. And so, with the good feelings and celebrations behind me, I allowed myself to feel the other side. Obviously, it wasn't nearly as pretty.
There were warnings... last night, I went to a fun Halloween vinyasa practice that was as irreverent as it was challenging. Lots of prana, lots of ujjayi, lots of crude jokes and laughter. Sitting with that practice in savasana, I realized I was crying. Or not. My eyes were watering, a lot. I wasn't sobbing or weeping or anything like that, but there were definitely many tears streaming out of my eyes. It felt very therapeutic, and I left with a renewed sense of clarity. My biggest mistake was that I didn't sit with it longer, and as a result woke up this morning with a slight hangover and a lot of anxiety.
The whole experience was buffered by the fact that the person I'm falling out of love with is a lovely person, and when I called he was ready and willing to talk me through it. He'd been through the exact same process only several months ago, after all. We talked for a while, and it made me realize how lucky I am to have such a great person to go through this with. As I've said, none of this is malicious. There's very little resentment, and only the occasional screaming match (which is to be expected).
These ups and downs are to be expected, but I know I can ease the anxiety factor by allowing myself to sit with things more frequently. Major life changes are usually wonderful and scary all at once, and I know I can do better for myself by simply letting things sink in before moving on to the next big thing, even for only five breaths.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
New Name, New Look
Pretty much the same blog. So why the change?
Where to begin?
Life has thrown some major changes my way in the past few months. Blogging in general has taken a backseat to my own need to simply survive. Between school, lactation, birth work, a new job, and a wealth of personal stuff, my down time has mostly consisted of resting and binging on contrived TV shows like Grey's Anatomy.
Which was all well and good, but it's time to pick myself back up and use my down time for things that are productive and meaningful to me. Things like writing. Looking back, I see that my blog has (not surprisingly) consisted mostly of political rants and raves. Also well and good, and these issues remain very close to my heart. But my day-to-day experiences have been so unique to anything I have lived before, and I would like to use this forum to share those insights as well.
Without going too deeply into private issues that involve other people that I care deeply about, I'll just say this: I am facing the possible end of a very long-term relationship with the person I love. This came as some surprise, and so I have spent the last several months of my life dealing with that loss. I have come to terms with a lot so far and will continue to do so. These new experiences have been painful and inspirational all at once. I've both grieved and remained hopeful, usually also all at once. But that's getting more personal than I'd like to at this point in time on such a public forum.
So back to the new name.
Yoga has provided a kind of sanctuary for my troubled head; it has fueled my drive to be a better person, both physically and mentally. When I was a dancer, I allowed myself to "cop out" on upper-body strength with self-defeating excuses ("My arms are hyper-extended so it's really hard to build muscle," "I have bad wrists," etc). Yoga always seemed like a non-judgmental zone where I can peacefully build such strength on my own schedule. Before long, I could chaturanga, something I never thought my hyper-extended arms and aching wrists would allow me to do. Then last week, I did my first full arm balance, a totally-rad eka pada koundinyasana (say that three times fast). I felt so good about it that I later busted my face while trying to show off to some friends after a few glasses of wine.
The point is this: practicing yoga has, for me, given me the fuel I need to get through the day. It strengthens me physically, spiritually, and emotionally. I accomplish things in my physical body and it gives me the ability to become a stronger person overall.
In yoga, poses are timed not in seconds but in breaths. A downward dog in surya namaskara, for example, is usually held for five breaths. Other resting poses are, in my experience, held for five as well. This allows for the pose to "sink in," for the yogi to sit in the pose and get stronger all at once. Sometimes the pose gets exhausting, my legs or (more often) arms get tired, and it becomes uncomfortable. I want to move to the next pose without letting that feeling sink in and take effect. But I know that I have to hold it in order to become stronger, to be able to hold that pose for longer and to do it with more strength and grace. When I'm feeling overly ambitious, holding a resting pose such as child's pose for five breaths seems like a waste of time. However, I know that taking those five breaths to allow my body to feel the result of the previous series is just as important.
I'm not going to spell out how that all relates to my current quest for survival... you can probably put two and two together. But while we're on the subject of survival...
The most influential people in my life right now are those who have been able to offer wisdom about the difference between pain and suffering, as well as the difference between surviving and thriving.
My education as a birth doula has always harped on the difference between pain and suffering. Pain is a part of life. It is a normal human experience. In the context of childbirth, this is obvious. My job as the doula is to help a person cope with the normal pain of labor such that it does not become suffering. We learn that how you approach the inevitable discomfort (or pain) shapes how you experience it. Once pain becomes suffering, it is no longer normal. My yoga practice has helped me transpose this idea into my day-to-day life in a time where my very unpainful life became almost unbearable. With proper compassion, coping skills, and attitude, pain is only pain. Suffering is optional.
The same goes for the difference between surviving and thriving, except that a period of survival is required. The likely end to a long-term relationship has to involve a period of intense pain, and in those moments, you are in survival mode. Then, slowly, you do more thriving and less surviving. You start to live again. For me (and I imagine most folks in my situation), this has happened so organically that I almost didn't realize it. It was October 10, just a few months after all this started, and I realized I was happy. I had a groove going, things were promising, and I was no longer in a 24/7 cycle of survival. Pain was present, but intermittent. Suffering seemed more optional as I realized that I was in control of my pain. I was thriving.
If you have made it this far into this very slapdash and very vague entry, you've probably realized that it has taken weeks to complete. Where I was at the top of this page is not where I am today. Things change, that's the only constant in our lives. Things always change.
So I hope you will continue following my journey from survival mode to a state of living for myself, a place of equanimity in constant flow. The future is indeed unwritten, but this period of intense personal growth makes all that seem less frightening. I just need to remember to act when action is required, but to sit when stillness is the best practice. Five breaths.
Where to begin?
Life has thrown some major changes my way in the past few months. Blogging in general has taken a backseat to my own need to simply survive. Between school, lactation, birth work, a new job, and a wealth of personal stuff, my down time has mostly consisted of resting and binging on contrived TV shows like Grey's Anatomy.
Which was all well and good, but it's time to pick myself back up and use my down time for things that are productive and meaningful to me. Things like writing. Looking back, I see that my blog has (not surprisingly) consisted mostly of political rants and raves. Also well and good, and these issues remain very close to my heart. But my day-to-day experiences have been so unique to anything I have lived before, and I would like to use this forum to share those insights as well.
Without going too deeply into private issues that involve other people that I care deeply about, I'll just say this: I am facing the possible end of a very long-term relationship with the person I love. This came as some surprise, and so I have spent the last several months of my life dealing with that loss. I have come to terms with a lot so far and will continue to do so. These new experiences have been painful and inspirational all at once. I've both grieved and remained hopeful, usually also all at once. But that's getting more personal than I'd like to at this point in time on such a public forum.
So back to the new name.
Yoga has provided a kind of sanctuary for my troubled head; it has fueled my drive to be a better person, both physically and mentally. When I was a dancer, I allowed myself to "cop out" on upper-body strength with self-defeating excuses ("My arms are hyper-extended so it's really hard to build muscle," "I have bad wrists," etc). Yoga always seemed like a non-judgmental zone where I can peacefully build such strength on my own schedule. Before long, I could chaturanga, something I never thought my hyper-extended arms and aching wrists would allow me to do. Then last week, I did my first full arm balance, a totally-rad eka pada koundinyasana (say that three times fast). I felt so good about it that I later busted my face while trying to show off to some friends after a few glasses of wine.
The point is this: practicing yoga has, for me, given me the fuel I need to get through the day. It strengthens me physically, spiritually, and emotionally. I accomplish things in my physical body and it gives me the ability to become a stronger person overall.
In yoga, poses are timed not in seconds but in breaths. A downward dog in surya namaskara, for example, is usually held for five breaths. Other resting poses are, in my experience, held for five as well. This allows for the pose to "sink in," for the yogi to sit in the pose and get stronger all at once. Sometimes the pose gets exhausting, my legs or (more often) arms get tired, and it becomes uncomfortable. I want to move to the next pose without letting that feeling sink in and take effect. But I know that I have to hold it in order to become stronger, to be able to hold that pose for longer and to do it with more strength and grace. When I'm feeling overly ambitious, holding a resting pose such as child's pose for five breaths seems like a waste of time. However, I know that taking those five breaths to allow my body to feel the result of the previous series is just as important.
I'm not going to spell out how that all relates to my current quest for survival... you can probably put two and two together. But while we're on the subject of survival...
The most influential people in my life right now are those who have been able to offer wisdom about the difference between pain and suffering, as well as the difference between surviving and thriving.
My education as a birth doula has always harped on the difference between pain and suffering. Pain is a part of life. It is a normal human experience. In the context of childbirth, this is obvious. My job as the doula is to help a person cope with the normal pain of labor such that it does not become suffering. We learn that how you approach the inevitable discomfort (or pain) shapes how you experience it. Once pain becomes suffering, it is no longer normal. My yoga practice has helped me transpose this idea into my day-to-day life in a time where my very unpainful life became almost unbearable. With proper compassion, coping skills, and attitude, pain is only pain. Suffering is optional.
The same goes for the difference between surviving and thriving, except that a period of survival is required. The likely end to a long-term relationship has to involve a period of intense pain, and in those moments, you are in survival mode. Then, slowly, you do more thriving and less surviving. You start to live again. For me (and I imagine most folks in my situation), this has happened so organically that I almost didn't realize it. It was October 10, just a few months after all this started, and I realized I was happy. I had a groove going, things were promising, and I was no longer in a 24/7 cycle of survival. Pain was present, but intermittent. Suffering seemed more optional as I realized that I was in control of my pain. I was thriving.
If you have made it this far into this very slapdash and very vague entry, you've probably realized that it has taken weeks to complete. Where I was at the top of this page is not where I am today. Things change, that's the only constant in our lives. Things always change.
So I hope you will continue following my journey from survival mode to a state of living for myself, a place of equanimity in constant flow. The future is indeed unwritten, but this period of intense personal growth makes all that seem less frightening. I just need to remember to act when action is required, but to sit when stillness is the best practice. Five breaths.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Whales are badass.
To preempt NOW Foundation's Love Your Body Day (October 16, y'all!), I thought I'd share this gem I came across today.
A while back, at the entrance of a gym, there was a picture of a very thin and beautiful woman. The caption was "This summer, do you want to be a mermaid or a whale?"
The story goes, a woman (of clothing size unknown) answered the following way:
"Dear people, whales are always surrounded by friends (dolphins, seals, curious humans), they are sexually active and raise their children with great tenderness.
They entertain like crazy with dolphins and eat lots of prawns. They swim all day and travel to fantastic places like Patagonia, the Barents Sea or the coral reefs of Polynesia.
They sing incredibly well and sometimes even are on cds. They are impressive and dearly loved animals, which everyone defend and admires.
Mermaids do not exist.
But if they existed, they would line up to see a psychologist because of a problem of split personality: woman or fish?
They would have no sex life and could not bear children.
Yes, they would be lovely, but lonely and sad.
And, who wants a girl that smells like fish by his side?
Without a doubt, I'd rather be a whale.
At a time when the media tells us that only thin is beautiful, I prefer to eat ice cream with my kids, to have dinner with my husband, to eat and drink and have fun with my friends.
We women, we gain weight because we accumulate so much wisdom and knowledge that there isn't enough space in our heads, and it spreads all over our bodies.
We are not fat, we are greatly cultivated.
Every time I see my curves in the mirror, I tell myself: "How amazing am I?!"
Sunday, September 4, 2011
What the doctor said, what the evidence says
This past week I attended the fastest birth I have ever (and maybe will ever) attend. By which I mean, the mother's water broke at 7:30, and the baby arrived at 9:30. We all got to the hospital at 9pm, and she was 8.5cm dilated. The mother had a history of rapid labor, so this wasn't exactly a fluke. Regardless, everyone was wonderful by the end of the night, including the mama who, while a bit shell-shocked, felt like a total rockstar for the way her body was able to work.
After a history of high-intervention preterm birth, this family was determined to have a normal birthing experience. And normal it was, except for the sheer rapidness... of course, seeing how the labor began on its own and progressed without any medical intervention (including pain medication), it was normal. Fast, but normal nonetheless.
The doctor, however, was not exactly an advocate for "normal birth" in many respects. In the short 30 minutes of contact I had with him, I found him to be abrasive, paternalistic, condescending, and just plain rude. I keep turning the story over and over in my head, and I just can't make sense of several things he said and did.
Let me be clear: this is not just some sort of wingnutty vendetta by some conspiracy theorist doula (see previous post). My philosophy of birth is based in sound, evidence-based research. I respect anyone who provides care according to the research, be they midwives, obstetricians, lactation consultants, nurses, doulas, or educators. This isn't me railing against the obstetrical field just because some guy was mean to my client... this doctor displayed a clear disrespect for the evidence-based practices from which positive birthing outcomes have shown to come.
His major offenses are as follows.
1) Physician-Directed Pushing
What happened:
The mother was completely dilated minutes after I arrived in her delivery room. However, she did not feel an urge to push right away. This did not stop the doctor from trying to speed things up. Once he found her to be complete, he immediately started telling her to bear down and "hold it for 10 seconds." The mother said she did not feel the urge to push yet, so she was going to rest. The doctor's response was, and I quote, "Honey, you're not going to have a baby by just lying there and resting."
What the evidence says:
Once the cervix is completely dilated, the baby's head drops into the the birth canal. During this time, the uterus must "re-form" over the baby's buttocks. This can take up to 1 hour, though it generally takes about 20-30 minutes. This has been fondly named the "rest and be thankful" phase of labor.
A woman who has not had an epidural will get a strong urge to push, called the Ferguson reflex, when the uterus has completely clamped down and is ready to help her deliver her baby. There is much research to suggest, in fact, that pushing before the urge is completely pointless; all the mother is doing is wasting much-needed energy. This is so true, in fact, that many caregivers will advise a woman who has had an epidural to "labor down" for at least 30 minutes (rest and wait) before they begin pushing.
So really, the doctor was completely wrong... she was going to have a baby by sitting there and resting. In fact, she was doing her body a favor.
2) The Friggin' Lithotomy Position
What happened:
When mama was finally ready to push, the doctor immediately began placing her legs into stirrups. This, to me, seems like a major violation. To place a woman's body into such a position without asking first, well, that's just wrong. The mama cried out, "NO!!!" and quickly moved her legs back to a place that was comfortable for her. Her husband then explained that she hadn't wanted to give birth in this position. The doctor visibly rolled his eyes and said, "I can't deliver a baby when your legs are shut!"
What the evidence says:
Here's a "duh" moment for you: the human body is capable of a number of different positions! {gasp!} There's really no reason to think that a laboring woman's legs can only be either in stirrups or completely shut.
In fact, lying flat on your back with the legs in stirrups increases your likelihood of tearing and decreases the elasticity of the perineum by 30%. Our Bodies, Ourselves declares this position "the single most dangerous position" for childbirth.
3) Immediate Cord Clamping
What happened:
It was the parents' wish to wait to cut the cord until it has stopped pulsating. This is not common practice with obstetricians, though it is usually done with midwife-assisted birth. Seconds after the baby girl was born, the obstetrician reached for the clamps. The husband, keeping a close eye on the doctor's every move, asked, "Has it stopped pulsating?" The doctor looked at him with a condescending glance and said, "Yeah... sure."
What the evidence says:
More and more parents are asking their care providers to delay cord clamping, and with good reason: immediately following birth, the remaining blood retained in the placenta rushes into the newborn infant. To immediately clamp off the cord is to waste a boost of high-nutrient cord blood that could very well benefit the newborn.
The umbilical cord will usually stop pulsating on its own in about 2-3 minutes, during which time the newborn can receive up to 25% more blood than an infant whose cord was clamped within the first minute of life. This boost has been associated, in healthy full-term infants, with higher APGAR scores, higher red blood cell counts through the third month of life, and decreased iron deficiency during the first year of life. In preterm infants (>37 weeks gestational age), delayed cord clamping is associated with decreased risk of late-onset sepsis and better health outcomes overall.
Why is this not a more common practice amongst American obstetricians? Their midwife counterparts usually wait at least 2 minutes, and obstetricians in European nations delay clamping as well. The only known risk is hyperbilirubinemia (jaundice), but such a condition generally resolves itself with early breastfeeding.
The only explanation I can come up with is that delayed cord clamping takes time, and when you're in a hospital labor and delivery unit, time is always against you. The wam-bam-congratulations-ma'am mentality leaves countless women feeling like they are being worked through a machine instead of experiencing a joyous, empowering occasion that they can feel good about. Such a mentality also explains why the doctor didn't want to wait for the mama to feel the urge to push.
Of course, the medical field in general just doesn't jive with the process of childbirth. Childbirth is unpredictable, and doctors don't like unpredictable. Hence we've seen an alarming rise in the induction rate... an alarming (and unnatural) percentage of babies being born Monday-Friday, 9am-4pm. While medical science has indeed saved countless lives in managing births that have become problematic, normal birth should be left to take its own course. Care providers who work with laboring folks need to take a breath and slow. It. Down.
“The woman’s body is smarter than the doctor. Time, patience, and the baby will come. Respect the woman’s rhythm." -Dr. George Tiller
After a history of high-intervention preterm birth, this family was determined to have a normal birthing experience. And normal it was, except for the sheer rapidness... of course, seeing how the labor began on its own and progressed without any medical intervention (including pain medication), it was normal. Fast, but normal nonetheless.
The doctor, however, was not exactly an advocate for "normal birth" in many respects. In the short 30 minutes of contact I had with him, I found him to be abrasive, paternalistic, condescending, and just plain rude. I keep turning the story over and over in my head, and I just can't make sense of several things he said and did.
Let me be clear: this is not just some sort of wingnutty vendetta by some conspiracy theorist doula (see previous post). My philosophy of birth is based in sound, evidence-based research. I respect anyone who provides care according to the research, be they midwives, obstetricians, lactation consultants, nurses, doulas, or educators. This isn't me railing against the obstetrical field just because some guy was mean to my client... this doctor displayed a clear disrespect for the evidence-based practices from which positive birthing outcomes have shown to come.
His major offenses are as follows.
1) Physician-Directed Pushing
What happened:
The mother was completely dilated minutes after I arrived in her delivery room. However, she did not feel an urge to push right away. This did not stop the doctor from trying to speed things up. Once he found her to be complete, he immediately started telling her to bear down and "hold it for 10 seconds." The mother said she did not feel the urge to push yet, so she was going to rest. The doctor's response was, and I quote, "Honey, you're not going to have a baby by just lying there and resting."
What the evidence says:
Once the cervix is completely dilated, the baby's head drops into the the birth canal. During this time, the uterus must "re-form" over the baby's buttocks. This can take up to 1 hour, though it generally takes about 20-30 minutes. This has been fondly named the "rest and be thankful" phase of labor.
A woman who has not had an epidural will get a strong urge to push, called the Ferguson reflex, when the uterus has completely clamped down and is ready to help her deliver her baby. There is much research to suggest, in fact, that pushing before the urge is completely pointless; all the mother is doing is wasting much-needed energy. This is so true, in fact, that many caregivers will advise a woman who has had an epidural to "labor down" for at least 30 minutes (rest and wait) before they begin pushing.
So really, the doctor was completely wrong... she was going to have a baby by sitting there and resting. In fact, she was doing her body a favor.
2) The Friggin' Lithotomy Position
What happened:
When mama was finally ready to push, the doctor immediately began placing her legs into stirrups. This, to me, seems like a major violation. To place a woman's body into such a position without asking first, well, that's just wrong. The mama cried out, "NO!!!" and quickly moved her legs back to a place that was comfortable for her. Her husband then explained that she hadn't wanted to give birth in this position. The doctor visibly rolled his eyes and said, "I can't deliver a baby when your legs are shut!"
What the evidence says:
Here's a "duh" moment for you: the human body is capable of a number of different positions! {gasp!} There's really no reason to think that a laboring woman's legs can only be either in stirrups or completely shut.
In fact, lying flat on your back with the legs in stirrups increases your likelihood of tearing and decreases the elasticity of the perineum by 30%. Our Bodies, Ourselves declares this position "the single most dangerous position" for childbirth.
3) Immediate Cord Clamping
What happened:
It was the parents' wish to wait to cut the cord until it has stopped pulsating. This is not common practice with obstetricians, though it is usually done with midwife-assisted birth. Seconds after the baby girl was born, the obstetrician reached for the clamps. The husband, keeping a close eye on the doctor's every move, asked, "Has it stopped pulsating?" The doctor looked at him with a condescending glance and said, "Yeah... sure."
What the evidence says:
More and more parents are asking their care providers to delay cord clamping, and with good reason: immediately following birth, the remaining blood retained in the placenta rushes into the newborn infant. To immediately clamp off the cord is to waste a boost of high-nutrient cord blood that could very well benefit the newborn.
The umbilical cord will usually stop pulsating on its own in about 2-3 minutes, during which time the newborn can receive up to 25% more blood than an infant whose cord was clamped within the first minute of life. This boost has been associated, in healthy full-term infants, with higher APGAR scores, higher red blood cell counts through the third month of life, and decreased iron deficiency during the first year of life. In preterm infants (>37 weeks gestational age), delayed cord clamping is associated with decreased risk of late-onset sepsis and better health outcomes overall.
Why is this not a more common practice amongst American obstetricians? Their midwife counterparts usually wait at least 2 minutes, and obstetricians in European nations delay clamping as well. The only known risk is hyperbilirubinemia (jaundice), but such a condition generally resolves itself with early breastfeeding.
The only explanation I can come up with is that delayed cord clamping takes time, and when you're in a hospital labor and delivery unit, time is always against you. The wam-bam-congratulations-ma'am mentality leaves countless women feeling like they are being worked through a machine instead of experiencing a joyous, empowering occasion that they can feel good about. Such a mentality also explains why the doctor didn't want to wait for the mama to feel the urge to push.
Of course, the medical field in general just doesn't jive with the process of childbirth. Childbirth is unpredictable, and doctors don't like unpredictable. Hence we've seen an alarming rise in the induction rate... an alarming (and unnatural) percentage of babies being born Monday-Friday, 9am-4pm. While medical science has indeed saved countless lives in managing births that have become problematic, normal birth should be left to take its own course. Care providers who work with laboring folks need to take a breath and slow. It. Down.
“The woman’s body is smarter than the doctor. Time, patience, and the baby will come. Respect the woman’s rhythm." -Dr. George Tiller
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Your Doula Training: The Cast of Characters
Note: The following blog entry is an intentionally irreverent parody of doula stereotypes. While it is true that several characters depicted below were inspired directly by women in my doula trainings, any likeness to anyone in particular is purely coincidental.
That being said, let's reinforce some stereotypes!!
------------
So you're becoming a doula!
You've probably already decided that your personae fits within your understanding of what a doula is. Understandable, that's what I thought as well. Until I attended my first training. It was then I realized that "the doula personae" is not always what you think. In fact, there are many kinds of people (highly different from one another, as you'll find) who believe they also embody these qualities. You might experience some serious cognitive dissonance when you meet them. How could you be the same kind of person as her?! Are you really that crunchy/grandmotherly/opinionated/touchy-feely?
Don't panic. You're probably not very much like most of them. There are maybe hundreds of pregnant folks in your area, and they probably each have a very unique perspective on what a doula is. That's why families interview more than one of us... heaven forbid a conservative religious woman ends up with a transgendered anarcho-feminist, or vice-versa.
You will notice, however, that there are definite patterns in the personae of aspiring doulas, each with their own unique perspective on birth, women, and life in general. Let's take a quick tour of the major ones, shall we?
The Experienced Mama
If her mismatched, spit-up-stained attire didn't give her away, her advanced insight into the birth process most definitely did. The Experienced Mama is the one who has had a number of varying birth experiences. She can speak from experience on induction, c-section, VBAC, and natural birth. She has probably taken a variety of childbirth classes, and who knows, may be on track to becoming a childbirth educator herself. When it comes to breastfeeding, she's experienced it all, and probably is still nursing her youngest child. A kind, sisterly woman in her 30s, The Experienced Mama will score big on the relatability factor when she starts going to interviews.
The Religious One
You picked her out the moment she drove up in her full-sized van covered in pro-life bumper stickers. She's not just religious; she's an unapologetic fundamentalist. Like The Experienced Mama, The Religious One has had a variety of birth experiences... how could she not, she has 10 kids! Of course, unlike The Experienced Mama, her birth experiences are likely to be recounted with vaguely-relative Bible passages.
Here's a woman who believes in "keeping her womb open to the will of God." Meaning, she does not use any form of birth control (including FAM), believing that God will decide how many children she will have. She pipes in rather often, decrying the modern age as a force that has made women forget "what their bodies were made for." Her clinging to "the way God intended it to be" rubs the majority of the room the wrong way regardless of religious affiliation. Look for an entertaining spat between The Religious One and The Rabid Feminist during lunch.
The Rabid Feminist
She made her entrance donning a tank top that read "FUCK PATRIARCHY." Between that and the vulva pendant hanging around her neck, The Rabid Feminist doesn't hide why she's interested in becoming a doula.
She probably has a history as a pro-choice activist or a clinic escort. She is fascinated by the process of childbirth, the strength of laboring women, and finds it all to be political in nature. She drives the group slightly bonkers with her constant correction of "the generic he" and her many off-kilter remarks about how not all pregnant folks identify as women. Despite her fierce attitude, she seems rather taken with The Natural.
The Natural
Here's a woman who, before the training even begins, seems to radiate doula. We're always told that being a doula is more about presence than experience, and in this person's case we believe it. She has probably never attended a birth before, and while she knows childbirth basics, she in no way possesses any more trainable doula skills than any other person in the room.
The Natural has a voice that immediately calms. It's quiet while being firm, reassuring and instantly relaxing. When she speaks, shoulders around the room drop an inch. Her face naturally rests in a pleasant expression, even if she is not physically smiling. In her other life, she is probably a Reiki practitioner or a clinical herbalist. She's adorned in loose-fitting, neutral toned garments and several pieces of under-stated turquoise jewelry. Look for The Natural purchasing bulk herbs in your local organic co-op.
While she means well, this is a person who can't seem to stop relating every single topic back to her own experience. It seems literally anything said by the trainer or fellow participants can be related back to The "At My Birth, We..." Discussing epidurals? She thought about having one of those, but by the time the anesthesiologist got there the baby was already born. The double-hip squeeze? Her husband did that, and it helped for a little while but not during transition. Turkey sandwiches for lunch? She had one of those after the birth of her 1st child, but after the 2nd she'd had roast beef. By the end of the training, the entire group could write whole volumes on this woman's birthing experiences.
She might be the same person as The Experienced Mama.
The Conspiracy Theorist
The entire medical establishment is out to get you. At least, that's the case if you believe The Conspiracy Theorist.
Having no medical experience herself, The Conspiracy Theorist "knows in her heart" (or possibly read somewhere on the internet) that inductions and c-sections are never actually necessary. She pipes into the discussion rather infrequently, but every time she does, her remarks raise eyebrows around the room. "Did you know that the postpartum eye goop has been shown to cause blindness in rats?" "Did you know vaccines contain a chemical that brainwashes children?" "Did you know that school lunches contain tracking devices so that the government can keep an eye on you at all times?"
The Conspiracy Theorist is the only person in the room who scoffs when the trainer discusses car seat laws and will likely be the same person who gets all doulas banned from the area hospital.
The Traumatized
The uncontested heartbreaker of the group, The Traumatized has experienced the worst that the field of obstetrics has to offer. Maybe she was uneducated and timidly agreed to an unnecessary induction. Maybe she had care providers who wouldn't inform her about what was going on. Maybe she had her first baby young, or maybe she had endured a c-section after the epidural had worn off.
Whatever it was, The Traumatized brings tears to everyone's eyes when she gently recounts her birth experience. Her impetus for becoming a doula rests primarily in her mission to ensure no woman ever has to endure what she endured. Or maybe she later had a beautiful birth experience with a doula and wants to share that with the world. The Traumatized can speak to the cascade of interventions with tears in her eyes, though as a survivor she in and of herself is a healer. She may inadvertently add fuel to the flames burning within both The Rabid Feminist and The Conspiracy Theorist.
The Bored Housewife
This week, she wants to be a doula. Two months from now, she might be enrolling in karate classes. The year prior, she briefly considered selling Mary Kay.
The Bored Housewife probably suffers from "Empty Nest Syndrome." Her entire adult career has centered around being a wife and mother, and now that the kids have left the nest and her wealthy husband spends most of his days on the links, she needs to find a new cause to keep herself active. She's sincere about her passion, but she lacks the motivation to move forward with it. Or maybe she does and becomes the best doula ever. Only time will tell.
The Birth Junkie
Some people jump out of airplanes. Others shoot up heroin. This woman gets her fix attending births.
The Birth Junkie is nothing if not passionate. She will go on to love and connect with every mother she works with, but let's face it... at the end of the day, the reward is in the crowning. Such an adrenalin rush lasts her several days, at which point she collapses on her bed awaiting her next client's call. Though she may be older, The Birth Junkie never seems to get tired of the work. Younger doulas look up to her and regard her energy as nothing short of awesome. Her only downfall is that she tends to relive her own birth experiences vicariously through her clients.
She may be the same person as The Professional Grandmother.
The Retired Nurse
In her years of working labor and delivery, this woman has seen it all. If the doula trainer cannot answer a question about the physiology of childbirth, bet your bottom The Retired Nurse can.
She worked as a L&D nurse for a while, but the long hours and hospital wear-and-tear finally got to her. With her nursing career behind her, The Retired Nurse is excited to be responsible for only one laboring family at a time, and better yet, she doesn't have to subject women to vaginal exams ever again! As an added bonus, she already knows all the area's midwives and obstetricians. Her pitfall will be her impulse to adjust fetal monitors or do a quick blood pressure check during labor, but overall, you can count on this one to be a champion doula.
The Professional Grandmother
Your first conversation with her ended with you thinking, "Well isn't she nice!" That's her inner doula already shining through. The Professional Grandmother is what you'd consider to be a "motherly doula." Her kids are all grown and maybe have even had the privilege of having her at their own births. Women will hire The Professional Grandmother first and foremost because she reminds them of their own mother (without all the maternal baggage, of course).
That being said, let's reinforce some stereotypes!!
------------
So you're becoming a doula!
You've probably already decided that your personae fits within your understanding of what a doula is. Understandable, that's what I thought as well. Until I attended my first training. It was then I realized that "the doula personae" is not always what you think. In fact, there are many kinds of people (highly different from one another, as you'll find) who believe they also embody these qualities. You might experience some serious cognitive dissonance when you meet them. How could you be the same kind of person as her?! Are you really that crunchy/grandmotherly/opinionated/touchy-feely?
Don't panic. You're probably not very much like most of them. There are maybe hundreds of pregnant folks in your area, and they probably each have a very unique perspective on what a doula is. That's why families interview more than one of us... heaven forbid a conservative religious woman ends up with a transgendered anarcho-feminist, or vice-versa.
You will notice, however, that there are definite patterns in the personae of aspiring doulas, each with their own unique perspective on birth, women, and life in general. Let's take a quick tour of the major ones, shall we?
The Experienced Mama
The Religious One
Here's a woman who believes in "keeping her womb open to the will of God." Meaning, she does not use any form of birth control (including FAM), believing that God will decide how many children she will have. She pipes in rather often, decrying the modern age as a force that has made women forget "what their bodies were made for." Her clinging to "the way God intended it to be" rubs the majority of the room the wrong way regardless of religious affiliation. Look for an entertaining spat between The Religious One and The Rabid Feminist during lunch.
The Rabid Feminist
She probably has a history as a pro-choice activist or a clinic escort. She is fascinated by the process of childbirth, the strength of laboring women, and finds it all to be political in nature. She drives the group slightly bonkers with her constant correction of "the generic he" and her many off-kilter remarks about how not all pregnant folks identify as women. Despite her fierce attitude, she seems rather taken with The Natural.
The Natural
The Natural has a voice that immediately calms. It's quiet while being firm, reassuring and instantly relaxing. When she speaks, shoulders around the room drop an inch. Her face naturally rests in a pleasant expression, even if she is not physically smiling. In her other life, she is probably a Reiki practitioner or a clinical herbalist. She's adorned in loose-fitting, neutral toned garments and several pieces of under-stated turquoise jewelry. Look for The Natural purchasing bulk herbs in your local organic co-op.
The "At My Birth, We..." 
The one thing that brings the whole group together, aside from the desire to be doulas, is the growing disdain for The "At My Birth, We..."
While she means well, this is a person who can't seem to stop relating every single topic back to her own experience. It seems literally anything said by the trainer or fellow participants can be related back to The "At My Birth, We..." Discussing epidurals? She thought about having one of those, but by the time the anesthesiologist got there the baby was already born. The double-hip squeeze? Her husband did that, and it helped for a little while but not during transition. Turkey sandwiches for lunch? She had one of those after the birth of her 1st child, but after the 2nd she'd had roast beef. By the end of the training, the entire group could write whole volumes on this woman's birthing experiences.
She might be the same person as The Experienced Mama.
The Conspiracy Theorist
Having no medical experience herself, The Conspiracy Theorist "knows in her heart" (or possibly read somewhere on the internet) that inductions and c-sections are never actually necessary. She pipes into the discussion rather infrequently, but every time she does, her remarks raise eyebrows around the room. "Did you know that the postpartum eye goop has been shown to cause blindness in rats?" "Did you know vaccines contain a chemical that brainwashes children?" "Did you know that school lunches contain tracking devices so that the government can keep an eye on you at all times?"
The Conspiracy Theorist is the only person in the room who scoffs when the trainer discusses car seat laws and will likely be the same person who gets all doulas banned from the area hospital.
The Traumatized
Whatever it was, The Traumatized brings tears to everyone's eyes when she gently recounts her birth experience. Her impetus for becoming a doula rests primarily in her mission to ensure no woman ever has to endure what she endured. Or maybe she later had a beautiful birth experience with a doula and wants to share that with the world. The Traumatized can speak to the cascade of interventions with tears in her eyes, though as a survivor she in and of herself is a healer. She may inadvertently add fuel to the flames burning within both The Rabid Feminist and The Conspiracy Theorist.
The Bored Housewife
The Bored Housewife probably suffers from "Empty Nest Syndrome." Her entire adult career has centered around being a wife and mother, and now that the kids have left the nest and her wealthy husband spends most of his days on the links, she needs to find a new cause to keep herself active. She's sincere about her passion, but she lacks the motivation to move forward with it. Or maybe she does and becomes the best doula ever. Only time will tell.
The Birth Junkie
The Birth Junkie is nothing if not passionate. She will go on to love and connect with every mother she works with, but let's face it... at the end of the day, the reward is in the crowning. Such an adrenalin rush lasts her several days, at which point she collapses on her bed awaiting her next client's call. Though she may be older, The Birth Junkie never seems to get tired of the work. Younger doulas look up to her and regard her energy as nothing short of awesome. Her only downfall is that she tends to relive her own birth experiences vicariously through her clients.
She may be the same person as The Professional Grandmother.
The Retired Nurse
She worked as a L&D nurse for a while, but the long hours and hospital wear-and-tear finally got to her. With her nursing career behind her, The Retired Nurse is excited to be responsible for only one laboring family at a time, and better yet, she doesn't have to subject women to vaginal exams ever again! As an added bonus, she already knows all the area's midwives and obstetricians. Her pitfall will be her impulse to adjust fetal monitors or do a quick blood pressure check during labor, but overall, you can count on this one to be a champion doula.
The Professional Grandmother
Your first conversation with her ended with you thinking, "Well isn't she nice!" That's her inner doula already shining through. The Professional Grandmother is what you'd consider to be a "motherly doula." Her kids are all grown and maybe have even had the privilege of having her at their own births. Women will hire The Professional Grandmother first and foremost because she reminds them of their own mother (without all the maternal baggage, of course).Wednesday, June 15, 2011
NC General Assembly overrides veto, defunds Planned Parenthood
There are numerous reasons North Carolina residents should be angry this morning. If you are a teacher, a parent of a child in public school, a college student, a state employee, a woman, uninsured, lower-income, a person with mental illness, an infant, or a health worker, yesterday's late-night veto override of the state budget affects you.
Five Democrats joined the Republican majority in the override. I could go on and on about all the ways that this budget is, pardon my language, royally fucked, but I need to focus primarily on the defunding of Planned Parenthood.
Despite the fact that 57% of NC voters support state funding for Planned Parenthood, the GOP has used its majority, once again, to enact an ideology. With this budget, the GOP is waging class warfare against the most underserved communities, not just in its defunding of low-cost health clinics, but in its major cuts to education and human services as well. Don't even get me started on what this means for state employees (predominately lower-income people of color).
But I digress. This entry is about Planned Parenthood.
Last night's vote basically removes Planned Parenthood's ability to be a Title X provider. They are now no longer eligible to receive grants from the Women's Health Services Fund or the Teen Pregnancy Prevention Initiatives program.
I have been a regular client of my local Planned Parenthood clinic for four years. I have received annual pap smears, regular physical exams, low-cost birth control, and a very inexpensive breast exam that one time I found a strange lump. Not one of these visits ever put me in the poor house even though my health insurance doesn't cover me unless I get hit by a bus. Hell, they even did a strep throat test for me this one time I was on call for a birth and thought I was getting sick.
I have friends who have received all that and more from Planned Parenthood clinics. They've gotten STD testing and treatment. They've had cervical cancer screenings. They've gotten pregnancy tests and options counseling. They've had abortions. They've received referrals for low-cost prenatal care.
If this is what our General Assembly really thinks the state wants, they have another thing coming. There are too many of us who have received quality health care that they can afford, in part due to the state's funding of Planned Parenthood through the health block grants that they are now ineligible to receive. We will see the results of this, and fast. Sweeping cuts to education, massive lay-offs in the government sector, rampant attacks on the environment, cuts to WIC programs, and of course the lack of low-cost health care outside of county-run health departments resinate with far too many NC residents for us to just sit back and take it.
The question now is, what are we going to do about it?
Five Democrats joined the Republican majority in the override. I could go on and on about all the ways that this budget is, pardon my language, royally fucked, but I need to focus primarily on the defunding of Planned Parenthood.
Despite the fact that 57% of NC voters support state funding for Planned Parenthood, the GOP has used its majority, once again, to enact an ideology. With this budget, the GOP is waging class warfare against the most underserved communities, not just in its defunding of low-cost health clinics, but in its major cuts to education and human services as well. Don't even get me started on what this means for state employees (predominately lower-income people of color).
But I digress. This entry is about Planned Parenthood.
Last night's vote basically removes Planned Parenthood's ability to be a Title X provider. They are now no longer eligible to receive grants from the Women's Health Services Fund or the Teen Pregnancy Prevention Initiatives program.
I have been a regular client of my local Planned Parenthood clinic for four years. I have received annual pap smears, regular physical exams, low-cost birth control, and a very inexpensive breast exam that one time I found a strange lump. Not one of these visits ever put me in the poor house even though my health insurance doesn't cover me unless I get hit by a bus. Hell, they even did a strep throat test for me this one time I was on call for a birth and thought I was getting sick.
I have friends who have received all that and more from Planned Parenthood clinics. They've gotten STD testing and treatment. They've had cervical cancer screenings. They've gotten pregnancy tests and options counseling. They've had abortions. They've received referrals for low-cost prenatal care.
If this is what our General Assembly really thinks the state wants, they have another thing coming. There are too many of us who have received quality health care that they can afford, in part due to the state's funding of Planned Parenthood through the health block grants that they are now ineligible to receive. We will see the results of this, and fast. Sweeping cuts to education, massive lay-offs in the government sector, rampant attacks on the environment, cuts to WIC programs, and of course the lack of low-cost health care outside of county-run health departments resinate with far too many NC residents for us to just sit back and take it.
The question now is, what are we going to do about it?
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
The Follow-Up
Today I received a birth announcement from a mama whose birth I attended last month. It was such a beautiful card, featuring two pictures of the adorable baby girl that I had been privileged to see enter the world just six weeks earlier. I am on call for another birth now, and have been for almost two weeks. I hate being on call. There is something about my mind that is never quite settled, and every on call session, I start to wonder why on earth I chose this path.
Then, of course, the mama goes into labor and I get to watch it all over again: a woman's inner strength shining through her as she brings into the world a new tiny lifeform. There's blood. There's sweat. There's usually some tears. It's amazing, and each time I kick myself for questioning my love for this work, no matter how fleeting the thought was.
My favorite thing, honestly, is running into the family at a later date. Sometimes they contact you with an accompanying photo, the baby that had been a mere six pounds now pulling up and taking practice steps. Sometimes you just run into each other in the grocery store or at a yoga class. It's all wonderful, and such a great feeling to know that they thought of you as an important part of their birth experience.
Last month I also supported a woman through an abortion. Since we are not yet ok'ed by the clinic, I can't say I was her "doula," but I did my best with what I had: we had several conversations over the phone, I drove her to the clinic, I held her hand as she completed her paperwork, and after it was over, I drove her back home and left her with self-care instructions to go along with the instructions she had received at the clinic.
This was a very wanted abortion, at least as wanted as it could be considering its need arose from a very unwanted pregnancy. It was not sought due to financial restrictions, fetal anomoly, or an abusive relationship. This woman had simply become pregnant accidentally. She was young and not ready to be a mother. By the time we left the clinic, all the anxiety I had read in her voice in the days prior were gone. We barely even talked about the abortion on the half-hour drive back to town, except that she had used the breathing techniques I suggested and they worked really well. We talked about what she was studying in college, how she was hoping to feel upbeat enough to go to a party that evening, and how she was planning on spending her summer break. Back at her house, she hugged me and thanked me for being there for her, and I told her to give us a ring if she needed to talk about anything later on. I haven't heard from her since.
The difference between birth doula'ing and abortion doula'ing may seem immense, but it's really the same kind of work. You discuss options, make sure the person you're supporting can make informed decisions, support them through whatever decision they make, and are there for them every step of the way (except during the abortion procedure, for security reasons). The major difference is, obviously, the outcome. I could sit down and write an email to any one of my birth clients, and I'm sure I would later recieve not only an update, but a link to a Picasa album as well. When I emailed my abortion patient the next day, just to see how she was feeling, I never heard back. Which is fine. And I'm sure if I did run into her at the grocery store, we would chat and things would be cheerful. But of course, there would be very little ooh-ing and awe-ing over how not pregnant she was the way I would ooh and awe over my birth clients' babies ("Oh, he's gotten so big!" "Oh wow, you look great!" etc).
This makes abortion doula work rewarding in a completely different way. At the end of the day, you don't get announcements in the mail about how not-pregnant your client is. They don't send you pictures of their flat belly or write you telling you how not being pregnant is going for them. From what more experienced abortion doulas have told me, you usually don't hear anything from them ever again. Statistically, you're not even likely to get a request for a post-abortion resource.
When you're supporting someone through an abortion, the moment that you actually connect is very fleeting. But that's really the beauty of it. My abortion patient told me that she was happy I was able to drive her, because her friends would have had expectations of how she should act/feel/react. I, on the other hand, had no expectations for her: to her, I was a kind stranger with a good ear. What I was for her was exactly what she needed, and I suppose that in and of itself is plenty for me.
Then, of course, the mama goes into labor and I get to watch it all over again: a woman's inner strength shining through her as she brings into the world a new tiny lifeform. There's blood. There's sweat. There's usually some tears. It's amazing, and each time I kick myself for questioning my love for this work, no matter how fleeting the thought was.
My favorite thing, honestly, is running into the family at a later date. Sometimes they contact you with an accompanying photo, the baby that had been a mere six pounds now pulling up and taking practice steps. Sometimes you just run into each other in the grocery store or at a yoga class. It's all wonderful, and such a great feeling to know that they thought of you as an important part of their birth experience.
Last month I also supported a woman through an abortion. Since we are not yet ok'ed by the clinic, I can't say I was her "doula," but I did my best with what I had: we had several conversations over the phone, I drove her to the clinic, I held her hand as she completed her paperwork, and after it was over, I drove her back home and left her with self-care instructions to go along with the instructions she had received at the clinic.
This was a very wanted abortion, at least as wanted as it could be considering its need arose from a very unwanted pregnancy. It was not sought due to financial restrictions, fetal anomoly, or an abusive relationship. This woman had simply become pregnant accidentally. She was young and not ready to be a mother. By the time we left the clinic, all the anxiety I had read in her voice in the days prior were gone. We barely even talked about the abortion on the half-hour drive back to town, except that she had used the breathing techniques I suggested and they worked really well. We talked about what she was studying in college, how she was hoping to feel upbeat enough to go to a party that evening, and how she was planning on spending her summer break. Back at her house, she hugged me and thanked me for being there for her, and I told her to give us a ring if she needed to talk about anything later on. I haven't heard from her since.
The difference between birth doula'ing and abortion doula'ing may seem immense, but it's really the same kind of work. You discuss options, make sure the person you're supporting can make informed decisions, support them through whatever decision they make, and are there for them every step of the way (except during the abortion procedure, for security reasons). The major difference is, obviously, the outcome. I could sit down and write an email to any one of my birth clients, and I'm sure I would later recieve not only an update, but a link to a Picasa album as well. When I emailed my abortion patient the next day, just to see how she was feeling, I never heard back. Which is fine. And I'm sure if I did run into her at the grocery store, we would chat and things would be cheerful. But of course, there would be very little ooh-ing and awe-ing over how not pregnant she was the way I would ooh and awe over my birth clients' babies ("Oh, he's gotten so big!" "Oh wow, you look great!" etc).
This makes abortion doula work rewarding in a completely different way. At the end of the day, you don't get announcements in the mail about how not-pregnant your client is. They don't send you pictures of their flat belly or write you telling you how not being pregnant is going for them. From what more experienced abortion doulas have told me, you usually don't hear anything from them ever again. Statistically, you're not even likely to get a request for a post-abortion resource.
When you're supporting someone through an abortion, the moment that you actually connect is very fleeting. But that's really the beauty of it. My abortion patient told me that she was happy I was able to drive her, because her friends would have had expectations of how she should act/feel/react. I, on the other hand, had no expectations for her: to her, I was a kind stranger with a good ear. What I was for her was exactly what she needed, and I suppose that in and of itself is plenty for me.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
On Fidelity
This whole Anthony Weiner thing has got me thinking about the parameters of "fidelity" in relationships. By which I mean, fidelity is (to me) a relative concept, defined by the individuals involved in the relationship.
First I have to say this: I don't know whether or not these internet and phone exchanges were okay with Weiner's wife. He mentioned that she knew about them before they were married, but we don't know whether or not that means she was cool with it. If she doesn't consider it cheating, then he wasn't cheating. Period.
Regardless of the parameters of the congressman's marriage, there are many couples out there who would not consider what he did cheating. Some couples have open relationships where outside sexual experiences are fine. For others, the partner has to actually have sexual contact for it to be considered cheating. On the other side, there are folks who believe that sending suggestive photos over the internet is, in fact, cheating. There are also those who think that receiving a lapdance is cheating. Even further down the spectrum, some people consider watching pornography cheating, and others think that even masturbating is cheating. Some people even believe that looking at another human with a lustful eye is cheating (think Christine O'Donnell here).
What I'm trying to say is that this concept of "fidelity" is too relative for us to just point blank say that Anthony Weiner was cheating on his wife, especially if we don't know what was and was not okay between both partners. If his wife was fine with it, then he wasn't cheating, because "cheating" by definition implies that one partner was breaking the rules of the relationship.
Cue the barrage of conservative Bible-thumpers who believe everybody should live by their standards. Many have probably already spoken out about Weiner's supposed "infidelity," and to be sure many more would if they themselves hadn't already been caught toe-tapping in some airport men's room. For these folks, even couples who have a polyamorous agreement are "cheating." While they may be "cheating" on the standards laid out in certain religious beliefs, not everybody conforms to such a rigid set of rules.
What would be lovely is if we were all comfortable enough with our partners to discuss these parameters, and have them be equally-applicable. But because we live in a patriarchal society, there will always be a certain shame in discussing just how "faithful" we need to be. To be sure, if we can't clearly discuss our thoughts on morality, monogamy, lust, attraction, etc, then we're going to continue having a whole lot of "cheaters" in the world. Some folks who don't believe looking at porn is cheating might be surprised when they're "caught" and their partners accuse them of infidelity. Others might push the limits further and further until they do cross a boundary that, instead of being discussed thoroughly, was assumed to be cheating by one partner but not the offender.
Me, I have my own definitions of what constitutes cheating, but those aren't really any of your business. Not being a relationship counselor, I can't say what folks should do when their boundaries don't meet, though it's fair to say that a simple compromise might lead to grudges and back-handed revenge.
Regardless, I don't know whether or not Weiner cheated on his wife. I honestly think he apologized to her, first and foremost, for having made the mistake of making his "junk" so public, and for making her the wife of a guy involved in a sex scandal. Or maybe she wasn't okay with it but pretended to be, or maybe she just decided to turn a blind eye to avoid the matter altogether. Again, I really don't know, but as much as I'd like to find out, I know that their personal definitions of fidelity are really none of our damn business.
First I have to say this: I don't know whether or not these internet and phone exchanges were okay with Weiner's wife. He mentioned that she knew about them before they were married, but we don't know whether or not that means she was cool with it. If she doesn't consider it cheating, then he wasn't cheating. Period.
Regardless of the parameters of the congressman's marriage, there are many couples out there who would not consider what he did cheating. Some couples have open relationships where outside sexual experiences are fine. For others, the partner has to actually have sexual contact for it to be considered cheating. On the other side, there are folks who believe that sending suggestive photos over the internet is, in fact, cheating. There are also those who think that receiving a lapdance is cheating. Even further down the spectrum, some people consider watching pornography cheating, and others think that even masturbating is cheating. Some people even believe that looking at another human with a lustful eye is cheating (think Christine O'Donnell here).
What I'm trying to say is that this concept of "fidelity" is too relative for us to just point blank say that Anthony Weiner was cheating on his wife, especially if we don't know what was and was not okay between both partners. If his wife was fine with it, then he wasn't cheating, because "cheating" by definition implies that one partner was breaking the rules of the relationship.
Cue the barrage of conservative Bible-thumpers who believe everybody should live by their standards. Many have probably already spoken out about Weiner's supposed "infidelity," and to be sure many more would if they themselves hadn't already been caught toe-tapping in some airport men's room. For these folks, even couples who have a polyamorous agreement are "cheating." While they may be "cheating" on the standards laid out in certain religious beliefs, not everybody conforms to such a rigid set of rules.
What would be lovely is if we were all comfortable enough with our partners to discuss these parameters, and have them be equally-applicable. But because we live in a patriarchal society, there will always be a certain shame in discussing just how "faithful" we need to be. To be sure, if we can't clearly discuss our thoughts on morality, monogamy, lust, attraction, etc, then we're going to continue having a whole lot of "cheaters" in the world. Some folks who don't believe looking at porn is cheating might be surprised when they're "caught" and their partners accuse them of infidelity. Others might push the limits further and further until they do cross a boundary that, instead of being discussed thoroughly, was assumed to be cheating by one partner but not the offender.
Me, I have my own definitions of what constitutes cheating, but those aren't really any of your business. Not being a relationship counselor, I can't say what folks should do when their boundaries don't meet, though it's fair to say that a simple compromise might lead to grudges and back-handed revenge.
Regardless, I don't know whether or not Weiner cheated on his wife. I honestly think he apologized to her, first and foremost, for having made the mistake of making his "junk" so public, and for making her the wife of a guy involved in a sex scandal. Or maybe she wasn't okay with it but pretended to be, or maybe she just decided to turn a blind eye to avoid the matter altogether. Again, I really don't know, but as much as I'd like to find out, I know that their personal definitions of fidelity are really none of our damn business.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
The Importance of Clinic Defense
Note: The following was first published at ChoiceUSA's Choice Words.
---------------
Every Saturday morning, a dedicated group of volunteers arrives outside of the Louisville EMW Surgical Center, Kentucky's only abortion clinic. On the surface, their job is simple: accompany the clinic's patients from their cars to the clinic doors. But considering the crowds of invasive protesters doing everything in their power to block people from entering the clinic, a day in the life of a clinic escort is anything but simple.
After having possibly driven hours the morning of an abortion, this is what Kentucky's abortion patients can expect to encounter upon arrival:
They call themselves "sidewalk counselors," many of which are from the crisis pregnancy center across the street. Some wear orange jackets similar to those worn by the escorts to further confuse and ambush folks trying to enter the clinic. The ACLU has said that the EMW Surgical Center encounters some of the largest, most aggressive anti-abortion protests in the country.
Further south, the NC-based antichoice group Operation Save America regularly targets Family Reproductive Health, a Charlotte clinic known by many to be one of the most caring, compassionate clinics in the state.
The man depicted in the above video, Flip Benham, was found guilty of stalking a doctor last November and given 1 year probation. The ruling hasn't stopped Benham's followers from appearing week after week to shout over the clinic's gate in his place. Clinic defender and activist Scott Trent describes OSA as "one of the most reactionary, bigoted Christian Fascist groups in the country." Despite the very dedicated group of defenders that show up in the wee hours every week, the harassment continues. "They regularly climb the tree on the border of the property to shout at women going into the clinic, block the driveway in flagrant violation of the FACE Act," Trent tells me, adding that local police regularly neglect to enforce the federal law.
During one of the weeks I was able to make the 90-mile trek to Charlotte, a representative from an area mom's group approached me with a contact sheet. "As a group, we're neither pro-choice nor pro-life," she told me, but they oppose Operation Save America because of their tactics. She was referring to the giant posters depicting aborted fetuses and embryonic remains, saying that as moms, they don't want their young children exposed to such gruesome images. Additionally, she continued, "One of our moms has had multiple miscarriages, several have had abortions, and the posters trigger panic attacks." The moms group is working on a project where folks can hold signs warning oncoming traffic that there are graphic images ahead, then point folks in the direction of a detour.
I could go on about the importance of clinic defense, how activists in both small and large numbers sacrifice their time and their safety to uphold the right to choose. It shouldn't have to be this way, but this is the reality we live in. And while the Feds and local law enforcement alike could be doing more to enforce the FACE Act, defenders put themselves on the line to pick up where the police do not (or cannot) step in.
End Note: This summer, Operation Rescue is revitalizing the "Summer of Mercy" event that led to increasingly violent action against the slain Dr. Tiller in Wichita 20 years ago. This time they're targeting Dr. Carhart at his new Germantown, MD location. If you are able, hook in with local organizations, contact folks organizing defense projects to keep this clinic safe and open. The Summer of Mercy event 20 years ago involved human blockages of clinic entrances, massive arrests, violence, and profound harassment of those receiving much-needed needed care.
---------------
Every Saturday morning, a dedicated group of volunteers arrives outside of the Louisville EMW Surgical Center, Kentucky's only abortion clinic. On the surface, their job is simple: accompany the clinic's patients from their cars to the clinic doors. But considering the crowds of invasive protesters doing everything in their power to block people from entering the clinic, a day in the life of a clinic escort is anything but simple.
After having possibly driven hours the morning of an abortion, this is what Kentucky's abortion patients can expect to encounter upon arrival:
They call themselves "sidewalk counselors," many of which are from the crisis pregnancy center across the street. Some wear orange jackets similar to those worn by the escorts to further confuse and ambush folks trying to enter the clinic. The ACLU has said that the EMW Surgical Center encounters some of the largest, most aggressive anti-abortion protests in the country.
Further south, the NC-based antichoice group Operation Save America regularly targets Family Reproductive Health, a Charlotte clinic known by many to be one of the most caring, compassionate clinics in the state.
The man depicted in the above video, Flip Benham, was found guilty of stalking a doctor last November and given 1 year probation. The ruling hasn't stopped Benham's followers from appearing week after week to shout over the clinic's gate in his place. Clinic defender and activist Scott Trent describes OSA as "one of the most reactionary, bigoted Christian Fascist groups in the country." Despite the very dedicated group of defenders that show up in the wee hours every week, the harassment continues. "They regularly climb the tree on the border of the property to shout at women going into the clinic, block the driveway in flagrant violation of the FACE Act," Trent tells me, adding that local police regularly neglect to enforce the federal law.
During one of the weeks I was able to make the 90-mile trek to Charlotte, a representative from an area mom's group approached me with a contact sheet. "As a group, we're neither pro-choice nor pro-life," she told me, but they oppose Operation Save America because of their tactics. She was referring to the giant posters depicting aborted fetuses and embryonic remains, saying that as moms, they don't want their young children exposed to such gruesome images. Additionally, she continued, "One of our moms has had multiple miscarriages, several have had abortions, and the posters trigger panic attacks." The moms group is working on a project where folks can hold signs warning oncoming traffic that there are graphic images ahead, then point folks in the direction of a detour.
I could go on about the importance of clinic defense, how activists in both small and large numbers sacrifice their time and their safety to uphold the right to choose. It shouldn't have to be this way, but this is the reality we live in. And while the Feds and local law enforcement alike could be doing more to enforce the FACE Act, defenders put themselves on the line to pick up where the police do not (or cannot) step in.
End Note: This summer, Operation Rescue is revitalizing the "Summer of Mercy" event that led to increasingly violent action against the slain Dr. Tiller in Wichita 20 years ago. This time they're targeting Dr. Carhart at his new Germantown, MD location. If you are able, hook in with local organizations, contact folks organizing defense projects to keep this clinic safe and open. The Summer of Mercy event 20 years ago involved human blockages of clinic entrances, massive arrests, violence, and profound harassment of those receiving much-needed needed care.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
This Is Why Your Kids Are Sick
Mere hours after running across this fantastic mama blog on all the great reasons to let your kids get dirty, I discovered a brand new product that Lysol thinks we should all be using: disinfectant spray for your fabrics!
Not to get all "back in my day," because to be sure, "my day" wasn't all that long ago. And I'm sure the 80s had their share of "Lysol Moms" too. Fortunately, my mom wasn't one of them, and I have the immune system to thank for it. This is not to say that all kids who get sick a lot or who have many allergies are victims of over-cleanliness, but if you're questioning why more and more older kids and young adults seem to get knocked on their asses every time a virus goes around, you might not have to look much further than Target's cleaner aisles. (And a few other choice environmental hazards.)
The "germophobia" thing bugs me for more reasons than the fact that other people's kids are going to be getting sicker (though I do work in health, so it is a concern of mine). It's bad enough that whole generations of children are being denied the ability to develop their own immune systems, but there are other consequences as well:
Not to get all "back in my day," because to be sure, "my day" wasn't all that long ago. And I'm sure the 80s had their share of "Lysol Moms" too. Fortunately, my mom wasn't one of them, and I have the immune system to thank for it. This is not to say that all kids who get sick a lot or who have many allergies are victims of over-cleanliness, but if you're questioning why more and more older kids and young adults seem to get knocked on their asses every time a virus goes around, you might not have to look much further than Target's cleaner aisles. (And a few other choice environmental hazards.)
The "germophobia" thing bugs me for more reasons than the fact that other people's kids are going to be getting sicker (though I do work in health, so it is a concern of mine). It's bad enough that whole generations of children are being denied the ability to develop their own immune systems, but there are other consequences as well:
- The burden of a sterile environment falls, not surprisingly, on Mom. Women, especially moms, have long been targeted for their consumer ability and the expectation that they will keep their homes spotless. The blame for anything less than a 100% sterile environment generally falls right smack on "bad mothering."
- Creating a sterile environment requires a home keeper to purchase products, and lots of them. Clorox, Proctor and Gamble, and others are really cashing in on the germophobia that they have surely had a hand in creating.
- These products are horrible -- let me say that again -- HORRIBLE for the environment. Whether it's in their manufacturing, transport, or utility, the vast majority of cleaning products are riddled with chemicals that create a toxic (albeit a "sterile" version of toxic) environment.
- I'm not gonna lie... I believe that germophobia can limit a kid's right to be a kid. Playing in the dirt, touching stuff that all their friends have touched, sharing an ice cream cone with your dog... it's what I want for my kid(s?), and I know it's what many kids want for themselves. They don't need to have these awesome activities interrupted every 20 minutes for a "Purell break."
- That a huge body of medical research encourages parents to let their kids be dirty little hooligans proves just how pervasive the sterile impulse is.
The product that started it all. You know, for all the household items that can't be sprayed down with traditional disinfectant. I imagine this product is much like Febreze, except it's guaranteed to kill everything in its path... including, most likely, one or two layers of your skin.
Proudly wear your Purell Bling! Hook it everywhere... your pocket book, backpack, diaper bag... oh yes, don't forget to slop the stuff all over your infant (I've seen it done)!
Lysol Disinfectant Spray... for the air! Just spray it everywhere. For serious, just run around your house letting that aerosol can add some sterility to the very air you breathe.
Germ-X is basically just isopropyl alcohol, so while its over-use will eventually create more alcohol-resistant bacteria (not to mention halt your kids' immune development if it's over-used), it's generally not terrible for the environ... oh, shit. "Individually Wrapped Wipes?" Crap.
Meanwhile, in the world of creating a problem so you can sell the solution, Kleenex is trying to convince you that cloth hand towels are germ-ridden plague factories. According to their website, "The CDC guidelines for hand washing recommends hand drying with a single-use towel." (Oh, do they now?) Of course, for those committed to keeping their home as sterile as the average clinic environment, sure, why not toss out those money- and environment-saving cloth towels for a single-use piece of paper?
Taking a break from cleaning products to point out the single most effective way folks can help their kids develop a strong immune systems: BREASTFEEDING! Won't go too deeply into this one, since if you're reading my blog you already know it, but breastmilk contains more readily-digestible vitamins, nutrients, and yes, immune-building antibodies than any other infant food. In fact, new research suggests that the mama's skin cells (ingested by baby when s/he latches) contain antibodies that fight off air-borne infections that might have just entered the environment (can't find the article right now, sorry). In other words, putting baby to breast is like a more effective (and less stinky) Lysol spray!
I know, I know... shopping carts are loaded with nasty crap. But come on. If it's flu season, by all means, wipe it down with a wet cloth (or just be old-school and wash your hands after you shop), but let's not forget the effects of antibacterial over-use.
I might get shat on for this one. I admit, shopping carts are incredibly dirty, and the covers are incredibly cute. It might make us cringe to think about what flavors of nasty lurk upon our carts' handlebars, but I have enough friends with toddlers to know that this is far from the grossest thing your kid will put in her mouth today. Besides, isn't this just one more product that moms are being guilt-tripped into purchasing? One more thing to carry in the diaper bag? One more thing to futz with at the grocery store while your other youngsters run off and eat god knows what?
I saw a lil' one the other day at Earth Face, probably around 18 months, vociferously gnawing on the bare handlebars of the shopping cart. And you know what? I bet that child is going to be just fine.
Do I even need to discuss the over-use of antibiotics? I didn't think so. I mean, if we're talking a severe infection with a fever and all that, for the love of all that is holy, get your child some antibiotics! But a sniffle with nothing more than a low-grade fever? No diagnosis of infection? Prescription for Amoxicillin "just in case?" I wouldn't go there.
Of course, as I've said, the biggest issue I have with the clean craze (aside from the total robbing of one's childhood) is the burden it puts on women, particularly Mom, to keep the kids safe from any and all things germy. A child that gnaws on a shopping cart handle, eats mud, or decides that the contents of the kitty litter box is candy may very well contract a virus, an infection, a parasite... but that's why we have medicine. Preemptive treatments -- that is, the treatments that rob us of our natural abilities to fight off the bad stuff -- are well-known to put us at greater risk, and from that no one benefits. Of course, waiting until an illness pops up doesn't make a lot of money, especially to the P&Gs of the world. So we create problems, then sell the stuff to fix it. And when it comes to such pervasive indoctrination of entire generations, we gotta start 'em early:
For the rest of you, let your kids' filth flags fly!
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