Birth and Pregnancy Matter: Part I
Birth and Pregnancy Matter: Part I
A Manifesta Five Years in the Making
Before I begin, I feel inclined to say a few things. Number one: I wholeheartedly believe people can and do live full, meaningful lives without ever having or raising children. There are so many problematic ideas swirling around the idea of having kids: see the Pope's comments about child-free people being "selfish" and that old cliche about never knowing love until you have kids. Bullshit.
“Never knowing love until you have kids? Bullshit.”
Number two: it is a painful reality that are many wonderful, loving people out there who want to be able to carry children, but cannot. We hear the success stories of fertility treatments, but gloss over the fact that a sizable group are unsuccessful. A significant amount of people also suffer pregnancy loss, another uncomfortable fact that is not widely discussed.
Finally, there is no such thing as "just" adopting—as in, if one has suffered infertility and/or pregnancy loss, they should "just adopt"! Adoption is its own complicated decision and process, a road my husband and I began to travel down ourselves before quickly realizing there is nothing simple or "just" about it. And for those families that successfully complete the adoption process, the connections to their children are no less strong for not having birthed them.
“There’s no such thing as ‘just’ adopting.”
Given all those caveats, I am now comfortable writing, without hesitation, that Birth Matters. That is the title of Ina May Gaskin's "midwife manifesta," a book I held in high esteem when I was pregnant the first time. Birth is an event that comprises feminism, health care, equity, and all their intersections (among others). One important fact that we don’t discuss enough: Maternal mortality remains shockingly high in the United States, with Black mothers dying at rates three to four times higher than white mothers.
Pregnancy and birth can be difficult, fraught, complicated—and thus every person should have the freedom to either enter into that process with their eyes wide open—or choose not to do so.
“Every person should have the freedom to either enter into [a pregnancy] with their eyes wide open—or choose not to do so.”
Morning Sickness is a Misnomer
A few months into my first pregnancy, I was ready to write a manifesta of my own. The first declaration: the term “morning sickness” should forever be banned, as it is an incredibly inaccurate euphemism that perpetuates a stereotype of what early pregnancy is supposedly like. See: any movie or show that portrays a woman gagging over a toilet in the morning, before daintily wiping her mouth and then going about her day before the realization dawns: “Oh! I must be pregnant!”
Congratulations! You feel terrible.
For me, and for many, the nausea was not confined to the morning. It was all-consuming, making it extremely difficult to go about my day, to work and complete the most basic functions.
I was not, to my knowledge, ever officially diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum—severe nausea and vomiting of pregnancy—despite the fact that I felt nauseated every waking moment, and suffered from an illness that affected every aspect of my life. To be fair, I wasn't vomiting all the time; my dehydration had only landed me in the hospital once, for an IV treatment. A sympathetic nurse told me that some women came weekly throughout their pregnancies—that maybe it would become my fate too. I didn't end up coming back, but whether that was because I didn't need it, or didn't have time to fit the trips into my work schedule, I can’t be sure.
Despite the debilitating effects of nausea and vomiting of pregnancy, it’s not treated with much concern. And perhaps that’s understandable: it is temporary, and people who suffer from it go on to birth healthy babies. And that is one of the problems: that a mother’s suffering is perceived as good, and perhaps even necessary.
A Sick Mom is a Sick Mom
The second declaration of my manifesta: the phrase “Sick mom, healthy baby” shall forever be banned. Anyone found guilty of repeating this phrase will have their shoes vomited upon, violently. It’s not helpful—and, I’m sorry to say, there is often anecdotal evidence to the contrary.
The fact is, a few months is a long time to suffer through illness. This is especially true when one is expected to continue working and earning, possibly even striving harder to save up, because paid maternity leave is largely fantasy in the US, and health care and childcare costs are astronomical. Yet research into nausea and vomiting of pregnancy is minimal—while millions, perhaps billions, of dollars have been devoted to researching why men can’t get boners. (I am not linking to stats on this because I am pregnant for the second time and I’m tired, okay? But I did the research once upon a time, and it’s true. Trust me.)
Medicines are available if the nausea becomes too much—often the same drugs prescribed to cancer patients dealing with the nausea that accompanies chemotherapy: Kytril, Zofran. But if a parent-to-be goes this route, they should be prepared to potentially face a heavy dose of guilt. A doctor can’t and won’t guarantee that these drugs are completely “safe” for the fetus. Despite the fact that many pregnant people have taken them and gone on to deliver healthy babies—apparently it has never been worth the time or money to actually document these cases, and give medical professionals a clear picture of the risks, which they can then objectively share with patients.
There are reasons why “research” isn’t conducted on pregnant women—liability, mostly—and if you are looking for more fact-based discussion of this subject, follow Emily Oster on social media or get her books, including Expecting Better.
Above, three books that impacted my thinking around birth and pregnancy. Or rather, two books and one piece of kindling. I mentioned Birth Matters and Expecting Better above; The Expectant Father, at least the edition my husband was gifted, seriously suggested that a woman swallow semen to help with her nausea. BURN IT! BURN IT ALL AND F— THE PATRIARCHY!
I never took the drugs with pregnancy #1, but I did this second time, after losing approximately 9 lbs / 4 kg and becoming essentially homebound due to illness. To her credit, my Japanese OBGYN did not lay on the guilt, but my pharmacist expressed her concerns after seeing me a few weeks in a row to pick up the pills (which cost about $25 to $30 each dose/day). “Do you really need these?” She would fret, and I assured her I did, at least a few weeks into my second trimester, when I was able to wean myself off.
Image via UnSplash
To me, my pregnancy mattered because it provided a very pointed view of how my health—and my very existence—was viewed by American society. This time around, I am getting a glimpse of how pregnancy is handled in Japan. I can’t offer much insight at this time because I still need to give birth—as well as have time to process the full experience. Not to mention I’ll need to take into account the complicating factor of an ongoing pandemic.
But I’ve had five years to digest what happened that first time, and can assert that the health of my fetus (and then baby) was always prioritized over mine in the US—which nearly resulted in fatal consequences for me.
And that is a story for another post.
