An amazing doula in my community is offering free doula services to wives/partners of deployed military personnel.
Wow.
Working as a doula takes personal sacrifice and commitment when you are being paid. To serve as a gift is an incredible shout-out worthy act.
Go check her out. And please pass along her website to a military spouse in need of birth support.
6:45: Wake to sounds of husband in the shower
Cedar crawls in bed with me. I feel mauled by a grizzly bear by the time she’s finished wallowing on me.
Make coffee. Kiss husband. Wave good-bye from the window with naked 2-year old by my side. Norah wanders in. Grumpy. Much like me in the mornings, this one.
Cancel my 10am playdate. Bummed about it but I have some sniffles starting and I don’t want to spread them. We were supposed to make homemade hair conditioner.
Breakfasts consumed by two small children over the next three hours (4 boiled eggs, two blueberry pancakes, 1 orange, 2 peaches, 4 spoons of peanut butter, 1 piece of toast, 1 chunk of cheese, 1 yogurt). Yes, really.
3 cups of coffee and a secret cupcake consumed by me.
Sounds of Elizabeth Mitchell on Pandora.
Save Cedar from a puppy attack. Clean up puppy mess. Find a library book shredded by puppy. Put puppy in crate.
Shower. It is a good day. And I have new soap.
While in shower, Cedar brings me her diaper. She has removed it. It contains poop. I try to lure her to the shower so I can clean her butt.
Learning with Norah: She reads to me. I read to her. We read about amazing heroines of the American War. Turns out that while Paul Revere rode 16 miles, a sixteen year old girl rode 40 miles at night. In the rain. Where is her poem? Ahem. (Oh wait! I found one!)
Back to learning. I drink coffee while she does addition with coffee beans. She reviews her timeline cards and we giggle over pronunciation of “Hammurabi,” “Amenhotep” and “Tutankhamun.”
We break so Norah can play with My Little Ponies.
I clean up potty messes made by both Cedar and puppy. Answer work emails. A friend wants to know about natural birth of twins. A woman tries to decide between VBAC at the hospital or at home. A lactation question. A contract confirmed. A private class arranged.
Norah and I worked on memorizing “The Bones Song.” It is so much fun to sing. Our motivation is to sing it for Aunt Noelle in December. The skeleton Dr. Stafford loaned us has been a fantastic visual aid.
Lunch. A triumph and a fail. Triumph: I finally convinced one of my children to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Thank you Cedar for branching out. Fail: Norah wanted a lettuce and plain wheat bread sandwich. Which she didn’t eat. She ended up with celery and peanut butter.
Cedar napped. Norah worked/played on her computer. I ate lunch and read a book. (I will be happy to finish this book 5 from Game of Thrones. Madness. Should have never started the hefty series. But I must finish. How many thousands of pages have I read?)
Phone call from a client with maternity leave ending. Daycare looming Monday. Anxieties. I push the girls on the backyard swings so I can talk without fighting in the background.
The 5 year old yells “stupid phone call. I hate your phone.” Um, it was the only phone call all day. Time for physical play! With much dread, I dress them in old underwear and we walk to the neighbors’ backyard renovation project. I unleash them with cookie cutters and buckets in a giant mudbath. My neighbor and I (and baby Elisha) talk about slings and wool diapers while my children make mud angels.
****Pictures deleted because creepy people keep searching “children playing in the mud naked.” Um, gross!****
Hose children. Bathe children. Fill and empty tub three times to get rid of mud. The girls use all my new soap.
Pack children and drive to my parent’s house. Time it perfectly for uninvited dinner. While eating, Cedar has an allergic reaction to either red pepper or tilapia. Swollen lips, red bumpy cheek (“it hurts, mama!”), sneezing, coughing. For a couple of hours. Norah entertains with a magic show involving a hat and the requirement that we all close our eyes each time she needs to make something disappear.
We look at constellations using an iPad app.
On the way back home, we listen to the unabridged Anne of Green Gables on CD. Norah asks “what is the depths of despair?” Oh child. My mind races to events that will take her there someday. I hold back tears as we continue to listen to Marilla Cuthbert and Anne Shirley with an “e” talk of what tomorrow might hold.
I feed bedtime snacks of yogurt. I risk giving Cedar some Benadryl. She’s still reacting to the pesky food. Benadryl usually causes her to go hyper-wild. Do I risk it? She seems pretty tired. I risk it. Put Cedar to bed. Norah to bed. Craving salt, I sit down with bean sprouts and tamari sauce. Bam! Cedar fell out of bed. Put child back in bed.
Talk briefly with my husband before he puts a kayak into the ocean at night. Turn on his Pandora station, “GruzFrahBah”.
Search for the perfect poem for a friend’s blessingway tomorrow. Settle on this one.
Play on Pinterest.
I fret over my poor neglected blog and decide to blog something. But what?
It is 1am as I finish this post. And I gasp as I remember that Norah still has red mud in her scalp and we have to leave at 8:30 in the morning for her science lab. Shoot.
Run my mind over all the events and expectations of tomorrow. It is going to be a doozy.
I had a student who could not attend my Sept/Oct Hypnobabies series. If anyone is interested, contact me ASAP. The class begins tomorrow and she held the last space.
My Oct/nov class is almost full and then holidays and travel plans mean there isn’t another series until February.
J_Byers (at) bellsouth (dot) net
I’m certainly no expert on etiquette in the operating room but I’ve learned a few helpful things for us non-medical folks over the years.
100% of the time, when my client makes the cesarean decision, she is told that only her partner can go into surgery with her. I’ve learned to question that policy. Usually I’m still left alone in the L&D room staring forlornly at the remains of their labor scene. But perhaps six times now (and three of those happened this year) I accompanied the couple past those double doors. To the operating room.
Ask. Ask quietly but with confidence. Let them know it isn’t your first rodeo. Ask everyone. Ask the nurse. Ask the OB. Ask a passing nurse in the hallway. The first answer will probably be “no.” The nurse and OB usually defer to the anesthesiologist. Why this god of the operating room gets to make the call, I have no idea. But s/he does. I’ve found that the nurse and OB often “forget” about my request. So I ask again.
I remember talking with an OB after a vaginal birth once. I mentioned that I was never allowed into the OR at this particular hospital but XYZ hospital down the road usually let me. She replied, “Huh! I never thought about inviting the doula to come back. I bet that would be good for the patient. You be sure and ask me next time that happens.” P.S. I remember a previous birth with her when I DID ask. She said, “no.” Sigh. See, they “forget.”
“Would you ask the anesthesiologist to make an exception and let me go with my client? I’ve been allowed to back before. ” Repeat. Repeat again.
Before the cesarean, the client may want to make her special requests to the OB (delayed cord clamping, dad to announce gender, keep the placenta, etc). Of course, you might also remind staff of these choices in the moment. Just in case they forget.
Usually I’m given the same paper scrubs as the dad. They may be huge. I’ve had to tie knots in the back of the shirt 1980’s style. Once a kind nurse brought me cloth scrubs in my size. It was wonderful! Mainly because I was wearing the same color and fashion of all the other masked nurses and had more freedom to move about the OR. Doula undercover.
You’ll also get a fancy shower cap, mask, and covers for your shoes. Strangely, no gloves. But there is usually a hand sanitizer pump just inside the operating room. I use it just to be on the safe and clean side.
You will be ushered to a stool beside the mom’s head. Maybe once or twice, I was directed to stand. This is the time for grace. No tripping over your feet or craning your neck for a view. Prove to the anesthesiologist and/or nurse anesthetist that you’re one of the cool kids. Sit. Meekly. Hands folded. No snapping pictures yet. Perhaps a nod to the medical staff.
Mom will be lying flat on her back with her arms outstretched. Often her arms will be strapped down. There will be a curtain between mom’s chest and her belly. When I’m standing, I have to stand on my tiptoes to see anything on the other side. I do not recommend standing on tiptoes. See earlier mention of grace.
Sitting/standing behind mom is the nurse anesthetist and/or anesthesiologist. This person is monitoring mom’s vitals. You want this person to like you. This is the aforementioned god of the OR.
The OB is below the curtain with his/her surgical assistant(s). Sometimes a student and an attending are chatting in the background as in the picture below. Classy.
Mom’s labor and delivery nurse is there. Often with an L&D nurse who is on cesarean duty.
Near a baby warmer is a pediatrician and a baby nurse. See them in the background? Try to look beyond the bloody gauze in a hanging shoe organizer bag. No, it isn’t really a shoe organizer bag. But it surely looks like one hanging there.
Once the surgery is underway, I sort of inch my way out of the stool and move away from mom’s head. I want to get some pictures of something other than a blue curtain. This part is when I’m in ask-forgiveness-rather-than-permission mode. This part is also how I’ve managed to watch and photograph from below the curtain. Just call me Sneaky McSneakerson.
During this time, partner stays right by the mom. There isn’t any physical support that can be offered during this time. Mom can’t have ice chips or a cool cloth. Her partner’s presence is THE essential support.
Of course the big moment is when the baby is lifted up over the curtain for mom to see. Often the partner is instructed to stand up to see this moment. The curtain is usually lowered a bit.
The OB passes the baby to a nurse. Baby goes to the warmer for the pediatrician to check. This is standard for cesarean. I switch places with the Dad so he can follow baby while I stay near to mom. I pass the camera to Dad.
And I giggle/cry/oooh/aaaah with the mom about the amazing baby. I describe what I see happening over at the warmer. “Aww, baby just got her first rectal temp. check.” Good stuff. If it is taking a long time, I will grab the camera back and show mom pictures of her baby.
Post-birth, I’ve also noticed that many moms experience pressure in their abdomen. Sometimes they are shaky or feel dizzy/nauseous. Blood pressure might drop. There isn’t much I can do except encourage and normalize her physical feelings. Or speak to the nurse anesthetist about what she is feeling.
Dear super doula, you can be a game-changer if you play the cards right and all the stars are aligned. You can sometimes get almost-immediate skin-to-skin contact for your client. If the pediatrician and the nurse anesthetist/anesthesiologist agree, your humble request may be granted. You may have to pinky swear you’ll hold the baby in place especially if they are unwilling to unstrap mom’s arms. And swear on your great-grandmother’s tomb that you will not let the baby get cold.
When your wish is granted, unsnap mom’s gown at the shoulders, expose some skin. There may be monitors stuck to her chest. Ignore them. Place baby skin-to-skin on mom’s chest, cover baby with a blanket, and then you or partner hold the baby there. Sometimes, against the hopes and dreams of the medical team, the precocious baby will even latch on to a breast while the OB sutures away below the curtain. Babies don’t know hospital policy.
It is tough to see since I pinky swore baby would stay covered by the blanket, but the picture below is a baby skin-to-skin.
However, please be attuned to mama during this time. She may have been vocal about skin-to-skin before the surgery. But a cesarean is a pretty big deal. And if she doesn’t feel able to hold her baby just then, encourage dad to hold on to baby (and not to let go!).
Cesarean births can be a tad bloody. Expect to see bloody guaze, perhaps some blood on the floor. Sounds of suction. The smells can be strong especially if the OB uses a cautery. And it is a little unnerving when the OB and nurse count the instruments and gauze to double-check that nothing was left inside. I have plenty of pictures to illustrate my point but I think I’ll spare you.
Sometimes birth partner and doula are asked to return to the L&D room or recovery with the baby. If the nurse says to put the baby in the warmer in the room, I suggest dad strip his shirt off and do his own skin-to-skin with his offspring. Makes a nice picture for mom to see later.
Dad should be clear about mom’s wishes for possible baby procedures. If he isn’t sure and it is not an emergency, he would be wise to delay until mom is there.
At some point soon after, everyone is reunited. If I’m told the policy is only one person in recovery, I pretend I didn’t hear. Yep, I develop strange and sudden hearing loss. I melt into the background (those nurse scrubs sure could help!) or become indispensable to someone. I have not yet been kicked out of a room after the one-person-policy has been stated. The same technique works for epidural placements. Just pretend the rule doesn’t apply to you. “Hmmm? Who are they talking about? Not me, surely.” Or write intently in your client folder and don’t make eye contact. Be invisible.
Your job is now breastfeeding initiation. The L&D nurse or recovery room nurse will focus on mom’s blood pressure and other vitals. Sometimes mom needs to lie almost flat until her bp stabilizes. But babies can still nurse. You may need to hold a breast and hold a baby because mom might be weak or shaky. One client tells me she remembers very little of this time but she is thankful that someone was there to (literally) support her and baby.
I hope that helps some! Does anyone else have insights into the world of cesarean birth? Was your doula able to accompany you? What could have made your cesarean birth better? What can you add?
*And a big special thanks to the families who let me share these pictures!
ETA: By request, I’m adding a better picture of the shoe organizer. 🙂
Space is a hot commodity in our house. Some of our poor hall closets have been repurposed five times in as many years. One was Cedar’s “nursery” since we knew she’d sleep in our room for at least the first year. And one even got absorbed into a recent room remodel. So when it came time to commit to a homeschool space, of course, I was scoping out the weary closets. I imagined a rolling cart of some sort that would appear during the day and disappear when we were finished.
Then I remember a time when Scott and I were first married and had the tiniest kitchen space ever. It was when we lived in the haunted farmhouse. Have I ever mentioned that place? No matter. We needed a place for two to eat. And we needed compact storage. On a crazy impulse, I bought a china hutch that had a murphy-bed-ish table. It seemed the perfect solution. And it was. Only it turned into our first REALLY awful, REALLY big marital argument. Something about making big purchases without talking to the other person first. Yada, yada.
It would not be our last argument.
As time passed, the table was removed from the hutch, the chairs went to other rooms, and the hutch became merely a hutch.
Until.
I repurposed as my homeschool hideaway.
I think it will suit. I can fold the table up when we’re not using the space to keep the destructive curious two-year old out.
Don’t think I don’t hear you veteran homeschool moms laughing. Of course, I realize that soon my hideaway will spill out into the house and yard. I know my house will reek of homeschool when guests come over for dinner. But a girl can try, right?
This morning at the grocery store, the teen bagging our groceries dared to touch our cart.
Oh dear.
You see, two year olds are on high alert for any possession infractions. He crossed a line.
Cedar: MY CART! MY CART!
And she pushed the teen in the kneecaps.
For a moment, he flexed his muscles like he was going to engage. I intervened and we quickly left. However, as I pushed the cart out, Cedar snarls, “Get Your Hand Off!” Because, of course, two year olds not only own everything, they also can do anything.
I had good intentions of blogging Cedar’s birthday last week. I suppose I was busy running interference.
So the sum-up:
The child still sings Bob Marley and asks for the Ai-yai song (Buffalo Soldier) 52 thousand times a day. She’s a groovy lil bit, though, and will boogie to most tunes.
She has a high-pitched scream and a belly laugh. Her voice is husky. She has strong opinions about what is “pretty.”
Cedar prefers to be naked. And will strip anywhere, anytime, given half a chance.
She despises the potty. She hides her stand-alone potty and has chucked her potty seat at my head while screaming “no potty.” That said, if she is naked and needs to potty, she will bring me a “piper” to put on her.
Cedar sleeps through the night and slips into our bed each morning between 5am and 6am.
She still nurses. And I will not wean her until we complete the crazy trip to Asia in Dec/Jan. The other passengers on the 15 hour flight will appreciate my dedication to breastfeeding. And the dramamine cookies I plan to bake.
She reminds me of a sheepdog. She likes things in their place. When she wakes from a nap, she must walk the perimeter. Last week, she woke and immediately noticed that Scott moved his truck while she slept. It was a nightmare! Screaming, pointing, and finally collapsing onto the floor. And she herds other children. If they leave the group, she must nip at their heels until they return to the fold.
The fights between Norah and Cedar are already the stuff of legends.
Eating is a challenge. I struggle to get veggies in her. Especially green ones. Her favorite foods are butter, cream, cheese, mayo, ranch dressing, candy, crackers, cookies. And coffee. I’m trying. Really I am.
While Norah always loved the dentist and the doctor, Cedar plots to assassinate them.
She plunges into lakes without hesitating. Climbs heights. Already plays tricks. Can work an iPad. And recently said, “No Fair!”
Happy Birthday to my spirited, quick, courageous, strong two-year old.
You leave a first-time mom when she chooses to get an epidural.
The doctor or midwife spends more time with your client than you do.
You charge extra when a woman labors longer than an allotted time.
You require the client to pay your back-up doula if you have to leave.
You charge extra for “false alarms.”
You are hired by the client but really you are the midwife’s apprentice/assistant disguising yourself as a doula (so that you get paid.). Of course, this is fantastic if you are truly working for the client. But it can be easy to focus too much on pleasing your preceptor and not as much on serving your client.
You tell the client you’re on your way to the hospital and inexplicably fail to show up.
You bring your children to the hospital and ask the client’s family who are in the waiting room to watch them.
You promise to back up a fellow doula but when she calls you have excuses why you cannot. And so does her other back-up. And even her THIRD back-up.
I am sure this offends some of my fellow birth workers and this post won’t win me any popularity contests. We are only human and sometimes there are unusual circumstances beyond our control. But these are real stories I’ve been told in the last few months by women and doctors/nurses who were disappointed by a doula. In my town. A place where the natural birth community is making headway in creating change. Scenes like these send us three steps back.
Birth is sometimes long. It is (usually) inconvenient. Yes, we don’t make as much money when we have to pay a back-up or a birth is long. But at the end of the day, remind youself that you also had some short births (I have many more now that I take Hypnobabies clients!) and scheduled births (thankfully these are rare). These births “subsidize” the long ones. Figure that factor into your fee. Consistently, at the end of each year, when I add up all the hours I spent at births, it averages out to around 12 hours per couple.
Please, dear doulas, stay with your client. Serve her well. We offer continuous care. What kind of message does it send when her doula leaves? Wow, my doula has even given up. Defeat.
We have been honored with an invitation to grace a sacred space. It is a timeless space. We do not punch a timecard. Our shift is not over until our healthy client is nursing her baby postpartum. This might be two hours after the birth or several weeks later. My summer client who birthed prematurely was finally able to nurse her baby after weeks and weeks of coaxing. Only now do I close the file.
I know it is a tough job. Burnout is high. Please weigh the cost of your commitments and represent your birth community with integrity.
And to the moms looking for a doula: read the contract carefully. The doula should list any extra fees and discuss refunds if she misses your birth. Ask how she handles long births and what her definition of long is. My contract, for example, states that after 24 hours, I might call in a back-up doula so that I can rest and return. I’ve never done this but my contract allows it if I must. Knock on wood.
What a strange phrase. Who came up with this one? It sounds entirely trite for such an immensity. Falls short.
“my roommate and I weren’t really compatible.”
“is this cord compatible with your cell phone?”
Incompatible with life.
Huge, helpless, grief for any parent hearing these words.
My dear friend will meet her baby tomorrow. She has heard these words.
I am supposed to be there with her. Should have been on a plane today. But I’m waiting on a post due client and cannot go. I suppose that means I’m really not meant to be with my friend. And I’ve always trusted God to get me to the births I’m meant to attend. I believe this one is the first I’ve missed.
So here I sit. Feeling helpless and aching for my friend. Praying for her body and her emotions. Praying for her amazing husband. Praying that they will grieve with abandon yet it will not freeze them. Praying for peace and beauty. Yes, even beauty in this terrible birth.
She once sent me this poem and I post a fragment as hope to all of us.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”
“When I am among the trees” by Mary Oliver
Sweet friend, go easy and be filled. Even as your arms feel empty.
I don’t trust my sister to blog this story so I’m keeping it alive here.
Noelle and her husband, Zach, were strolling down a street in Phnom Penh this week. Noelle was wearing Asher on her back in the Ergo.
They notice a large lizard (I’m thinking a tree monitor?) hanging out in a tree above them. It had a snake hanging out of its mouth. They stopped to watch and said, “Go lizard! You got that snake.”
At which point, the snake put it in reverse and came out of the lizard’s mouth and booked it down the tree.
Straight towards the hapless Slagel family.
Zach did what we’ve all been instructed to do–he froze. Noelle saw the snake eyeing her and ran. With baby on back, she ran.
And the Green Pit Viper took up chase! Seriously chased her down the street.
Again, the Ergo saves the day!
I found one Southeast Asian variety of Green Pit Viper listed on several sites as being among the World’s Most Disturbing Animals.
Noelle was later informed that the lizard was not eating the snake. The snake was eating the lizard’s eggs inside her body! Ouch.
I’ve had two embarrassing run-ins with my neighbor.
Our neighbors are wonderful and we love them. We’ve known them a long time and that is a good thing because they would surely think I’m crazy otherwise.
The first event happened last year sometime. I came home and found my kitchen rug sitting on the front porch. Why? Why would that be? The only thing I could imagine was a burglar used it to carry out something heavy. Which would be what? What heavy object in my house is worth stealing? The cupboard? Wooden dollhouse? Bed? We don’t have any fancy electronics. So, yeah, unlikely. But why was my kitchen rug on the porch?? I digress.
So I walked next door to my neighbor. Mr. Police Officer. He came over and searched my house with gun in hand. Gave me the all clear. When I went inside, I noticed the floors were wet from mopping and the counters were suspiciously sparkly clean. I realized I wasn’t robbed. My house was stealth cleaned by an unknown intruder. Love my mom! And wish I’d inspected the house before involving the neighbor.
Next episode: yesterday. For the past, oh, TWO YEARS, I’ve put Cedar down for a nap in the afternoon. I always tell Norah to be quiet because I’m putting Cedar to sleep. It sometimes takes 30 minutes. Sometimes I fall asleep. For whatever reason, yesterday, Norah completely ignored me when I did the usual, “I’m putting Cedar down, stay quiet” speech.
She was in the adjoining room playing.
I did fall asleep. And woke feeling unnerved. I walked down the hall and heard, “Julie!” in a deep male voice. After jumping out of my skin, I found Mr. Police Officer in my living room. This time holding his newborn baby rather than a gun (awww). Norah had not been able to find me (!!!) and per our drill when needing help, went next door to the neighbors.
A groggy and embarrassed (and slightly confused) me assured Norah that I was in the room next to hers the whole time! While trying not to look like an unfit mother in front of my neighbor!
Sigh. At least Cedar hasn’t called 911 in awhile…
Inexplicable Ways 