For my sister, in her last moments of pregnancy

As I write this, I’m sitting in a fully prepared nursery in the home of my 41-week pregnant sister in Nevada. Around me are beautiful children’s books filled with empowering messages for this new tiny human, and a re-purposed CD rack with at least 30 cloth diapers of assorted colors and increasing sizes to fit her tiny bum that will grow faster than we can even imagine, I’m sure.

I have the privilege of acting as my sister’s doula; this impending birth will be the first for us both. As her doula, I take my role of keeping her calm, comfortable, and as stress-free as possible very seriously. This re-emergence of the Fein Toothed Comb (after a nearly four-year hiatus) is dedicated to her, the Comb’s number one fan.

Probably unsurprisingly, this blahg is about our culture and its treatment of pregnancy and birth. While my Master’s credential actually has the term “reproductive health” in it, never have I felt so deeply connected to the issue as I am now with not one, but THREE of my siblings bringing a child into the world within six weeks of today. (We are still trying to figure out which water fountain they all drank out of that caused this to happen… but I digress.)

A few months ago I decided to embrace this mass family impregnation as the time to fulfill a decade-long personal dream of becoming a birth doula. For those of you who haven’t heard that term before, a birth doula is a support person who provides physical, emotional, and informational support to a woman (and her partner, if she has one) before, during, and just after giving birth. The doula course was phenomenal. In so many ways. I learned a ton about emotional support for new parents, conscious and sensitive communication, conscious and productive physical touch, the ins and outs of childbirth (so-to-speak,) and much, much more.

I was struck, and overwhelmed to tears, by the more in-depth look at the medicalization of childbirth that this course explored. I was stunned to hear about the extraordinarily high rates of unsatisfactory childbirth experiences, unnecessary medical intervention, and a culture of fear that has permeated the most quintessential process our bodies have evolved to endure.

I began asking questions. I asked the women around me who have given birth about their own experiences and those of others whom they know. I asked about what happened, how it played out, how they felt then, and how they remember back on it now. I asked what they loved about the experience, if anything, and what they would change about it, if anything.

The emerging theme in my anecdotal experiment, supported by Penny Simkins’ discussion in this article, is that those who felt a sense of control and support throughout their labor tend to view the experience as an important feat, one that increased their sense of personal ability, confidence, and esteem. On the other hand, those who felt that they lacked control or power over their birth experience, recalled the memory apprehensively, negatively, and in some cases a harmful trigger of past trauma.

Whhyyyy, I wondered, is this happening?! This is the most powerful natural process our human bodies are capable of, why is it something we have devalued and dismissed our own ability to accomplish to such a profound degree? Why do we fear the process so deeply in our culture?

While somewhere around 10% of births will require medical intervention due to naturally occurring complications (and thank goodness we have access to modern medical technology when it is necessary,) our country is up to a whopping 33% cesarean birth rate. We have actually medicalized the process of birth in the United States to the point that we've increased the risk and made it a more dangerous endeavor for women and babies.

Mind-boggling, I know. Don't even get me started on parental leave and breastfeeding in our country...

It’s important to note that when I speak of “control” as it relates to childbirth, it is not about controlling the exact specifications of labor, as so much of it is inevitably unpredictable. Control is about being the primary voice in the proceedings, unencumbered by coercion and unwelcomed influence, advice, or intervention. Control is about choosing to allow our bodies and our babies to do what we may not even know we are capable of yet: powerfully, naturally, and majestically. (Not surrendering, but allowing.) And control is about being able to trust that those who we invite to be around us (family, friends, doulas, midwives, doctors) will work to uphold our values and desires to the very best of their ability, and ensure that our health, safety, emotional well-being, and that of our offspring is the highest priority.

So, here we are, a mere seven days past my sister’s estimated 40-week “due date.” We go on long walks every day, we are working on projects around the house, watching movies, and making birth-day cakes to enjoy in anticipation of the day that is just around the corner now. We are in the “in-between” zone, which Jana Studelska so beautifully articulates. We have one foot in both worlds: crib constructed, diapers stacked, breastmilk ready… just no baby yet.

As Dr. Studelska discusses, our language entirely lacks an expression to honor this “in-between” human experience with positivity and strength… so instead, we worry. Rather than resting and reflecting, this time is often fraught with anxiety and frustration over when the baby will come and if it is safe to let the cycle conclude on its own. (I can’t tell you how many people have already suggested that my sister go to extreme measures to induce labor. By the way, stop that, please. She’s got this.) 

When we can’t define something, we tend to fear it, rather than embrace it. When we approach something with fear, rather than open-mindedness, positive outcomes may be hindered. Let's all work to calmly support this in-between time and offer empowering words and actions, rather than upsetting the fragile state of eager anticipation that we are working hard to maintain. Trust me, you'll know when the baby is here.

So for now, my sister and her support team – me, her partner, her midwife, and her German Shepherd – are waiting (some moments more patiently than others,) waiting for this magical, mysterious, beautiful human to emerge, bright-eyed and ready for the world. My sister, in her ever-present wisdom and strength, has laid the groundwork for her birth experience to be empowering, comfortable, and supportive in a way that suits her to a T.

And, we wait.