Minkgirl Muses

One of my favorite intellectual indulgences is engaging in long-winded theological conversations. My good friend J and I use to stay up till all hours in college debating the nature of divinity and the various laws and practices humans have devised to explain and express their connection to it. For my own part, I believe in a kind of universal consciousness and creative force that I call G-d, for want of a better word to describe the expressible. But I've never believed this power was personal: I don't think G-d takes notice of me or the specific circumstances of my life. I think that I hold about the same position in G-d's consciousness as any other living thing: one drop in a really big bucket.

And yet...how to explain the miracle of my daughter's heart. Yes, Baby Pickle has revealed herself to us. We recently had the 2nd ultrasound - the big picture show - and because we had the good fortune of getting a technician-in-training, the test took about an hour (rather than 10 minutes), and we got to see everything. First, as I predicted, Baby Pickle is most likely a girl. I am enormously pleased by this discovery, not only because I felt she was a girl and love having my maternal intuition validated, but because I am really looking forward to having the experience of parenting children of both genders. I am also hoping that Pickle and Gman will find it easier to enjoy and tolerate each other if they are a bit different.

But by far the most amazing part of the ultrasound was the chance to see Pickle's heart. There are several measurements of the heart ultrasound technicians must take to ensure that there are no significant defects, and because ours was a novice, he was having trouble getting his shots. His teacher, a nurse who appeared to be running the whole department, patiently instructed him how to move the ultrasound wand until finally, the entire pulsing organ came into view. It was such an amazingly clear picture, everyone wanted to linger over it. We could see all four ventricles, the arteries leading into and away from the heart, and the pulsating flush of light representing the flow of blood through the heart. "Nice heart," the nurse said after a minute. And I felt a flood of pride: "I made that heart!" And then another flood of wonder: "How is this possible?" How is it possible that one human being can create another inside of them? How is it possible that information encoded on a microscopic scroll could cause the creation of such a complicated, delicate, and beautiful organ. Looking at my daughter's heart, I immediately understood why the organ has become the symbolic seat of the emotions and even the soul in human consciousness. It is the very embodiment of the universal life force that moves through all things with a steady thumping beat. You can live without a brain. You can live without your kidneys. You cannot live without your heart. And looking at this heart, I could suddenly imagine that maybe G-d does take notice of each creature created on her blue globe. I imagined the heart as G-d's pied-a-terre, the place she fills when she comes to visit her creatures in their earthly incarnation.

Now on to the 2nd Miracle. The day after this ultrasound appointment, I got a phone call out of the blue. "Hello, my name is Jeanette. I'm a one-to-one midwife. Can I stop by and see you today?" I've got to give you some backstory so you can fully appreciate the waves of ecstasy that rolled through me when I heard those words. Early in my pregnancy, I became convinced that I wanted to try for a homebirth this time around. I've had several people encouraging me toward this choice - my exceptional midwife L who graciously "specialed" me with my first pregnancy (meaning that she was the only person I saw for my prenatal care and she committed to being at my delivery), my amazing doula R (who I credit with getting me through transition quickly and in a relaxed enough state that I was able to go the distance without the drugs), and my new friend A (who is training to be an antenatal teacher here in the UK). A gave me a fabulous book called "Homebirth" by UK author and midwife Nicky Wesson, and after reading it, I was pretty sure I wanted to try it. However, the book cautioned that while 75 years ago 90% of births were done at home, today the rate is less than 2%! Thus, you can expect to find a lot of ignorance and resistance to homebirth in the mainstream medical establishment.

Flash forward to my first prenatal appointment at around 14 weeks. I saw a woman who it turns out was a midwife (although she never introduced herself to me, nor did she do much beyond taking my blood pressure and asking 3 or 4 banal questions), and I told her that I wanted to have a homebirth. She basically said "Oh, you can't. We don't do that anymore, we don't have the staffing. We used to have this thing called the one-to-one midwife scheme, but it's only available to disadvantaged mothers now." In other words, if I was young, addicted or crazy I could have the blissful experience of seeing the same midwife throughout my pregnancy, and in my own home no less, but since I'm healthy, wealthy and middle-aged, no dice. Now to be fair, the National Health System is extremely strapped at the moment. Later I learned that it was decided at some point to save one-to-one midwifery time for people who otherwise might not receive any prenatal care. This seems like a smart idea. But still, I was flummoxed by the "we don't do that" approach to homebirth. Because not only are the outcomes better in homebirth, it's actually a hell of a lot cheaper for the state than a hospital birth. I mentioned several times during my visit that I would really like to have a homebirth. "I'll put in a request" she said in a bored tone, "but I wouldn't count on it." I figured that was a euphemism for "fuck off," and didn't expect it to go any further.

At my next appointment, at around 16 weeks, I saw the head honcho OB doctor, because I have this little genetic disposition toward developing blood clots, and I needed to check out the implications for the pregnancy. Turns out there are none for the baby (yeah!), although I could potentially croak from a post-partum deep vein thrombosis that develops into a pulmonary embolism (boo!), but the chances of that are very unlikely and it wouldn't develop quickly so there would be time to take some measures to contain it. I asked this Dr. M (a white, middle-aged, ultra-English male) if my condition precluded me having a homebirth. He said no, "but I would advise against a homebirth anyway." Why? Because my first baby was "big" at 9 pounds, 9 ounces, and 2nd babies tend to get even bigger. "We'd worry about shoulder dystocia," (fancy term for baby getting stuck on the way out). Oh, is that all. I laughed it off, because honestly, if you've seen my hips, you know I ain't gonna have no trouble birthin' no big babies.

Turns out, this conservative dude is actually the gatekeeper of my prenatal care. Because at my 3rd appointment (the one where I had the ultrasound), a much friendlier and more informative midwife said "Oh yes, we do do homebirths and we're always looking for candidates," (yeah!) "but Dr. M has said you shouldn't have one, so you'll have to convince him," (boo!) When I asked when and how I could achieve this, she told me I could see him again at 36 weeks. "Isn't that leaving things a bit late," I asked. "Oh no," she chirped, "if he says it's okay then, we can still schedule you for a homebirth." At this point I was 22 weeks (out of 40 total), and I didn't relish the thought of spending 14 weeks worrying about a big showdown with the doctor that would either result in me getting the chance to birth the way I want or in getting forced into doing it their way. Didn't seem like a good plan. But I left the hospital with the grateful knowledge that Baby Pickle is healthy so far and decided that I would hold the intention of a "homebirth" and hope that the universe or G-d was tuning in enough to pick up my broadcast.

The very next day, I got the call from Jeanette, the one-to-one midwife. I waited all day for her to turn up (she was squeezing me in), and when she finally arrived, we spent a relaxed hour together chatting over tea. She took my blood pressure again and measured my belly on the couch, while Gman played happily in his room. She explained that in fact, one-to-one midwifery care is still available for anyone who wants to have a homebirth. And it turns out the first midwife I saw - the surly one who I thought was blowing me off, actually did put in my request, and finally it had been approved, and I was in like Flynn.

I cannot describe the joy I felt that day, and the wonder that after expecting the worst, suddenly the best had become possible. It just goes to show...well, I don't really know what it shows. Except that I am considering it a Miracle - Miracle #2 (the first being Pickle's heart) - and I am so so grateful. "Hold the intention" is becoming a new mantra - a kissing cousin with "Do your part and the universe will do the rest." There are still lots of reasons why I could wind up delivering in the hospital, but I feel like I have done everything I could to create the optimal conditions for this baby to land in the world, and that is a very very good feeling.

May you experience a Miracle in your own life sometime soon. And may you be wise enough to recognize it when it comes.

Be well.

Labels: birth, Faith, Mamahood