once again i'm ranting and raving about the american way of birth.
oh, how it offends my delicate sensibilities.
so many things about it that piss me off, that function to displace, reduce,
render comically superfluous, a woman's autonomy, her "experience,"
her bravery, mystery, splendor, achievement.
oh, i was raised a feminist through and through, and i remember as a grade schooler
being astonished and appalled when i learned "they," those anonymous ancients,
used to think a woman was just a "vessel" for a man's "seed."
it sounded crazy, delusional, or an egregious and calculated lie,
and i was so very glad those terrible days were over.
i laughed about the "homunculus" scientifically observed inside the microscopic sperm head,
and marvelled at the way the questions Science asks determine the answers Science gets.
i rolled my eyes at the Health Class filmstrip about the brave army of sperm assaulting
the giant, passive, fortress-like "egg." i still roll my eyes at the shouting over "when life begins"
(in the the tubes, at the moment of penetration? in the uterus, at the moment of penetration?)
versus the cooing over the so-called "first day of life," "first week of life," etc., of a creature
who's been kicking and swimming and hiccupping, in a very lifelike way, for months.
oh, Science - you're so cute.
then i learned how ridiculous obstetrics could get, so much so that some sneaky copyeditor
inserted into the index of Williams Obstetrics (15th & 16th editions), "chauvinism, male,
voluminous amounts, pp 1-1102," indicating the entire contents. oh, those illustrations!
in obstetric textbooks of, well, holes, allegedly representing "the mother,"
shaved and draped and gestured towards with a shiny black-gloved hand.
their terminology for the physiology of labor: "The Passenger, The Passage, and The Powers."
the shaving, the enemas, the restraints, the stirrups, the sharp scissors always poised!
i was so very glad those terrible days were over.
i learned how man doctors gave orders, and woman patients obeyed them,
and the man doctors liked this arrangement very much, and the woman patients
thanked them for it. how a conspiracy of half-educated snake-oil salesmen
legislated "granny midwives" as filthy ignorant filthy swarthy filthy foreigners,
and nearly destroyed completely their place in the world. i was so very glad - almost smug -
those terrible days were over.
now every woman is obliged to have an ultrasound, it's only a question of when,
because we have to see the baby, after all, and the woman's body
can thus conveniently be gotten out of the way.
she will be delighted to see the baby. she will ask and ask for another picture, she'll name the baby and buy the right clothes
from the appropriately gendered aisle, months before the birth.
at the start, she'll be cajoled to have "just a blood test" to find out
the truth about the baby, and if she gets bad news, she'll be urged
to "get the amnio," then she'll wait for a couple of weeks
to be told whether it's a baby, or a monster, in there.
if she's a certain age, she won't tell her relatives she's pregnant
until the geneticist tells her she is. if she forgoes all this,
we'll roll our eyes, and try again: "but don't you want to know?"
it's selfish, because we want to know, Science is working
hard every day, to find new ways of "knowing." new blood tests.
new ultrasounds. new, "less invasive" (of the fetus) kinds of biopsies.
we think we can distinguish between normal and abnormal,
but who can say what the results may ultimately mean?
we'll keep the results ourselves;
they're medicolegal documents now.
everyone's "at risk."
when she labors, it's really the fetal heart monitor,
flashing and bleeping in its multishelved cart, that labors,
that must be hovered over, comforted and consulted, praised and blamed.
why feel any labor pains? once she has the epidural, she'll lie there
watching television for the rest of the day,
tethered to the bed by her dead-weight anesthetized limbs
and the IV line from her hand to the pitocin on the pole,
the epidural catheter from her spine to the box on the other pole,
the "pain button" clipped to her shoulder from the box,
the blood pressure cuff on her arm, hooked to the machine,
inflating and deflating every fifteen minutes,
the urinary catheter taped to her leg, snaking from under the sheets
to the see-through sack hanging on the bedrail, visible from the hall,
the intrauterine pressure catheter taped to her leg,
stretching from uterine cavity (formerly, inconveniently, fluid-filled)
to fetal monitor, and either the elastic belly-band,
or a wire taped from her vagina to to her leg, its fine sharp corkscrew
twisted into the "presenting part,"
all plugged into the flashing, thumping monitor,
to "keep an eye on the baby,"
doctors and midwives and nurses all staring at the
fetal heart rate variability graphed on remote monitors
down the hall, not needing to enter the room
where the woman is simply lying quietly, unable to move her legs, watching tv,
but needing the screens every minute, to tell us the truth
about this birth, to reveal what the woman's body selfishly conceals,
the baby, the baby, how is the baby, is the baby okay,
the baby might be in trouble, always always always and by definition
might be in trouble, as long as it's in there.
if we need to shout at her or lean on her belly or get out
the sharp scissors or the steel forceps or just cut her open
and pull the baby out, we will - and she'll thank us for it.
all that matters is a healthy baby. because. she's just. a vessel.
and i am so very angry.
that these terrible days are not over.
we can teach her from her age of five that abortion is nasty and horrible (don't!),
and "giving up for adoption" is sweet and beautiful (do!), because she's just a vessel.
we can sue her and win, if she doesn't give us the infant we paid for, as a "surrogate mother,"
because she's not a mother, she's just a vessel.
we can put her in jail, and take custody of the fetus in utero,
if she fails her drug test, because she's just a vessel.
she'll be guilty of illegal drug distribution, to a minor,
through "his or her" umbilical cord, because she's just a vessel.
if her boyfriend beats her up or shoots her, it's a crime
against the fetus, because she's just a vessel.
if she shoots herself, it's "attempting
to procure an illegal abortion," because she's just a vessel.
we certainly can appoint the fetus a lawyer and order a cesarean,
because she's just a vessel.
we'll cajole her to quit smoking, to quit drinking, to take her vitamins,
"for the baby," because she's just a vessel.
having health insurance and a warm place to live and enough
food to eat matters, but only after the sixth month.
full-term gestation matters, because the baby matters,
but if starting her labor artificially is ok for the baby
and convenient for the rest of us, then we might as well.
breastfeeding matters, because the baby matters,
but if replacing her milk with something else is ok for the baby
and convenient for the rest of us, then we might as well.
mothering matters, because the baby matters,
but if warehousing the baby in daycare is ok for the baby
and convenient for the rest of us, then we might as well.
her drug abuse, her malnutrition and smoking, her bruises
and broken teeth, her gunshot wounds,
her womb, her breasts, her youth, time, life, place
in this world all matter, because the baby matters,
and - you know - not as much, otherwise.
i am so angry that these terrible days seem to be going on and on and on forever, and we have understood nothing.
in my world, when a woman is pregnant, it's a woman who's pregnant.
when she labors and gives birth, it's her doing it.
when she becomes a mother, she's a mother.
everything we offer her should extend naturally from these realities.
why should this be so difficult to understand
she asked disingenuously?
so i'm trying to prepare to give a little talk to a roomful of fellow physicians
about how no-epidural might be easier, safer, more psychologically sound,
and cheaper than epidural,
how one might consider suggesting to one's "ob cases" that "it's an alternative,"
and i might just as well give a little talk about how someday
we'll all have flying cars and food pills and life will be terrific.
i'd be accomplishing just as much.
don't tell any of them i said this.
