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Athens and America Explore Homebirth and Midwifery
B race yourself. The Moment has finally arrived. You
know the one—that inevitable choice point in
human history when the human race will either
decide to stand upright and save itself through moral
and ethical deeds, or else bear witness to the quickening of
its own demise. Never before have the decks been stacked so
evenly. Never before has complacency been so lethal. I realize
this is pretty heavy-handed stuff, but I have a daughter now,
so there's not much room in my psyche for evasion of the facts
of existence these days.
What facts? How about the fact that, in the modern era,
humanity has set the world on fire with greed, fear, war, and
massive ecological destruction? Or the fact that super-viruses,
low-grade plastics and dirty lettuce can kill you in your own
home? Or that nobody I know can afford adequate health care?
And here's one that sends a chill down my spine—in the state
of Georgia, should you wish to have a baby at home, it is ille
gal for a midwife to assist you—a fact which effectively makes
a homebirth nearly impossible for Georgian mothers.
B efore I go any further, I suppose I should back up and
say that my daughter was born at home one fine night
this past June. I suppose, too, I should tell you that
I'm a 33-year-old Southern gentleman who, prior to having my
own child, didn't know a thing about birthing babies in the
Peach State. I learned quick, though. And when I
researched the stats, I learned that homebirthing
remains a safe, traditional practice quite common
around the world (about 75 percent of Western
European births alone are attended by midwives,
primarily) and that only fairly recently did it cease
to be the dominant method of delivery in the U.S.
The hows and whys of this are fascinating, com
plex and debatable. But the end result remains:
birth was medicalized (i.e., co-opted and made
part of the jurisdiction of medical authorities)
around the middle of the last century. Around that
same time, the millennia-old practice of midwifery
started to become stigmatized and seen as an
antiquated, folksy and just-shy-of-barbaric anach
ronism. Most state legislatures, however, still
continued to allow midwives to practice their art.
Georgia, it turns out, would not be one of them.
Exactly how this came to pass is also a little
complicated. In order to explain, it helps to know
that, in the U.S., there are two basic kinds of
midwives: nurse midwives and direct-entry mid
wives. A nurse midwife is trained in nursing, primarily, with an
emphasis in midwifery. They work for medical doctors, and most
often, in hospital labor and delivery units. A direct-entry mid
wife, however, is the modern analog to the midwives who have
supported mothers throughout human history. This is because
her certification does not require her to be a nurse or work for
a doctor, which thus enables her to be free of the profiteer
ing and bureaucratic strongholds that bedevil our troubled
managed healthcare system. She has been well-trained, has
attended legions of births, and makes her living by overseeing,
facilitating and supporting women not only in the physical
act of birthing, but in the psychological, social and spiritual
aspects of pre- and post-natal life as well.
The Georgia Department of Human Resources stopped cer
tifying direct-entry midwives back in the 1960s, and hasn't
certified one since. Numerous attempts, in the forms of activ
ism, lobbying and petitioning, have been made by supporters
of Georgia's direct-entry midwives to try and revive their cre
dentials. Governmental red tape, the stigma and bias against
midwifery, and the medical establishments relative dominion
over birthing in this state has, however, led to the exclusion of
homebirthing as an option for Georgia's mothers and fathers.
At present, it is a misdemeanor for a direct-entry midwife to
attend and facilitate a homebirth.
N ow, as I said, this is a choice point in human history.
The world is on fire and it's on us to make do. That
said, whenever I hear about somebody taking a stand
for what's right in the Time of Millennial Malaise and Torpor,
I get excited and hopeful about the human race. It's plain to
see the inner workings of the Department of Human Resources
are the antiquated and folksy things in this picture—not
midwifery. And since a lot of Georgian women and men want
to have their babies at home (and thus far from pitocin,
spinal blocks, sedatives, forceps, vacuums and unnecessary
C-sections), many direct-entry midwives practice a form of civil
disobedience that would've pleased both Harriet Tubman and
Martin Luther King, Jr.—they quietly practice their art in spite
of the law, hoping that eventually, the law will be refitted to
meet the needs of Georgia's mothers and fathers.
My wife and I are both psychotherapists. Our daughter's
name is Eleanor. When she came into the world, I was forced
into a unique position. It was/is no longer enough to support
the causes of feminism, womanism, human rights and egali
tarianism. I now owe it to my daughter to speak up and act
out when I see women getting the short end of the stick—not
just because it's the right thing to do, but because I'm the
father of a baby girl. She needs her mama and me to help make
the world better for her, if we can. The 19 hours that my wife
labored with Eleanor were a wild ride. My wife and I forged a
bond beyond description as we navigated a rite of passage as
old as humanity itself. Our home was dimly lit. Our midwife
and doula tended to us gently, minimally and expertly. Eleanor
showed up about the time the fireflies were coming out. When
she did, time stopped.
The Business of Being Bom
expedited fashion, homebirthing will likely never again be the
dominant mode of child birth in this country. That's a sad fact,
too, because I've met a lot of midwives in the past year or so,
and they'd all really like to be given the opportunity to help
bring your baby into the world. Also, I am certain that if more
of Georgia's parents were aware of the birthing experience their
babies are being denied by governmental bureaucracy and pro
fessional bias, there would be outrage.
It is crucial that Georgia's mothers and fathers are at least
given the legal option to have midwife-assisted homebirths.
Until that option becomes a reality, we must acknowledge that
the only people making Georgian homebirths possible at pres
ent are a handful of midwives—and their supporters—who
actively stand opposed to the dominant politics of birthing in
this country. If you'd like to get more informed about those
politics, you can start by dropping by Cine on May 5 for a
screening and panel discussion of The Business of Being Born
[see sidebar]. Also, visit www.gamidwifery.org for more infor
mation on homebirthing.
Jonathan Railey
You might wonder why on earth anybody would want to
have a baby outside of a hospital. The only response I can give
is to say, at the risk of sounding fatuous, that I can't imagine
why a healthy mother would want to have a baby in a hospi
tal setting—other than the fact that over the past 100 years
we've all been generally conditioned to think that hospitals are
where babies should be born.
The midwife who attended Eleanor's birth began meeting
with my wife and me long before Eleanor was born. We met
twice a month, on average, for over an hour each time. Our
midwife made herself available between meetings by giving
us her cell phone number. "Call me any time," she told us. We
did. I'd get curious about some aspect of birthing and my wife
would say, "Call the midwife." Over the prenatal period, my wife
and baby's progress and health were closely monitored. I asked
a million questions and was met with intelligent answers, good
humor and total support. Before long, my wife and I felt a
close connection and kinship with her. This meant that, during
Eleanor's birth, having our midwife in our home was easy and
natural. By then, she knew us well—our moods, temperaments
and style of communication—and vice versa. The care she gave
us and our new baby was rooted in a personal relationship that
took months to build, and it showed. In short, it was the oppo
site of the average American's birthing experience.
I n the U.S., less than 6 percent of births are homebirths.
The vast majority are institutional, hospital births. Because
the U.S. uniquely tends to view birth not as a natural bio
logical event with deeply significant psycho-spiritual implica
tions, but rather a medical procedure to be carried out in an
THE BUSINESS OF BEING BORN
The documentary film The Business of Being Bom
focuses on children being born at home, but the impetus
to screen it in Athens on International Midwives Day—
and to put on a panel discussion about midwifery—is
much broader than simply increasing awareness of home
birth, says Alexa Shea, who's organizing the event.
Tm not just interested in promoting homebirth,"
Shea says. "That's not the point, because homebirth is a
very small minority. I want to support midwifery." That's
why, with the sponsorship of the group Athens Conscious
Parents, she's assembled a panel of local (or near-local)
women reflecting the diversity of current trends in what,
she says, can generally be termed "mother-friendly care."
The panel includes Susan Fisher, a Certified Nurse
Midwife and creator of the website www.alternativebirth.
org; Melanie Garland, a lactation professional at Athens
Regional Medical Center ("One of the reasons that we
wanted to have a breastfeeding person on the panel is
because there's clear evidence that birth impacts breast
feeding," Shea says); Sarahn Henderson, an experienced
midwife who serves Atlanta's African-American commu
nity; Susan Hodges, who actually appears in the film; and
Madrona Wienges, a doula and homebirth mother herself.
The matter of having a midwife—no matter where the
birth takes place—is important, Shea says, and both the
vocation and the demand for it are growing as of late.
She commends the nurse midwives at Athens Regional in
particular, and says they've been getting more and more
patients lately who don't fit the traditional stereotypes—
the stereotypical patients being low-income expecting
mothers whose healthcare is covered by state indigent-
care funds, or simply those already "in the know" regard
ing midwifery. "There's a lot of change happening in
Athens right now, which is exciting." Shea says.".
In other words, she says, the trend is becoming more
mainstream. Enter Ricki Lake, the former daytime TV
legend who has had one baby at a hospital, had one at
home, and has served as executive producer of the docu
mentary The Business of Being Bom, which outside of New
York, Los Angeles and San Francisco has been shown via
grassroots screenings since its releasewn January.
"She took it on as her passion," Shea says of Lake
and the film. "She did an amazing job documenting birth
reform in America."
The film screens on Monday, May 5 at Cine, with
showtimes at 4 p.m., 7 p.m. and 9:30 p.m. The first and
last screenings cost $7. The 7 p.m. screening costs $10,
and is followed by a panel discussion that Shea will mod
erate. [Ben Emanuel]
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