JULY 2002 NEWSLETTER
The Compleat Mother Magazine
http://www.compleatmother.com
//--Notes from your online editor--//
//-- Chapters from Breastfeeding Anyway and Birth Joy --//
- Cup feeding: an alternative method of infant feeding
- Breath of Life
- God's Fingers Massaged My Womb
//-- PERSECUTED MIDWIVES REPORT --//
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//--Notes from your online editor, Greg Cryns --//
Jody McLaughlin, our fearless U.S. editor and distributor of CM is under the
weather. Some wicked kind of flu. Please keep her in your prayers.
Also, please keep Rebecca Young in your prayers as well. She is healthy, but
probably feeling a bit swamped by now putting out the next great issue of
Compleat Mother.
Oh, way off topic, but here's a shameless plug for me! One of the ways I put
food on the family table is to help people create their own websites. I can put
you on the Web for a ridiculously low $125, including the domain name and
hosting. Please visit the three latest, all "our" type of sites, and drop the
owners an email telling them how much you enjoyed their sites. They would
certainly enjoy your comments.
http://www.childstoryhour.com
http://www.creativehypnosis.com
http://www.lonestarma.com
We're sticking to the pithy stuff in this issue, folks. Where I live, it is just
way too hot to think about anything else. Besides, there are gardens to enjoy!
//-- Chapters from Breastfeeding Anyway and Birth Joy --//
Cup feeding: an alternative method of infant feeding Lang, S., Lawrence, C.J.
and L'E Orme
The primary purpose of cup feeding is to provide a safe method of feeding low
birthweight and premature infants until the infant is strong and mature enough
to take the breast.
A second reason is to avoid the use of bottled and artificial nipples and to
prevent the increased mortality and morbidity associated with bottle feeding.
Thirdly a feeding method is needed that does not interfere with appropriate
sucking techniques. Cup feeding has been used successfully in developing
countries for many years and is not yet fully accepted by neonatal units in
industrialized countries.
The Royal Devon and Exeter Hospital in the UK gradually introduced cup feeding
in its neonatal unit and since 1989, 500 infants had received one or more cup
feeds. Six groups of infants were found to benefit:
1. Infants nearing discharge who had established breastfeeding and whose mothers
were not resident,
2. Breastfed preterm infants not mature enough to complete a breastfeed,
3. Infants with a cleft lip or palate,
4. Infants with an uncoordinated suck, swallow and breathing pattern,
5. Infants born by cesarean section, until mother able to breastfeed,
6. Term or preterm infants to tired to complete a full breastfeed
The authors suggest a strong association between cup feedings and successful
breastfeeding outcomes. This works
pretty good, but it made a terrible "mooing" sound each time it sucked. At home,
I set my alarm clock and got up once or twice in the night to pump. (Some
wonderful friends chipped in and rented us an electric pump, but it was mean and
really sucked my nipples hard. Within a few uses of it my nipples were cracked
and bleeding. I gave up on it and used a hand pump my sister gave me.)
Night pumping was most draining, emotionally. I pumped in the room we had fixed
up for Rachel, and often I watched a video of her we had taken. Although this
always brought tears to my eyes, my milk flowed quickly. Before long, I had
enough milk to feed the entire NICU. I was so proud of that!
By Rachel's eighth day she was breathing on her own. During the day I was
allowed to take her across the hall to the 'parenting room', a place exclusively
for parents whose babies were in the NICU. I was able to put her to the breast
twice a day, but at first she had to go back to NICU for feedings so she could
be monitored. She held her own and I was able to nurse her without monitors and
machines.
I had a terrible time keeping her awake for feedings at my breast: she would
mouth the nipple, lick it, and doze off to sleep. I tickled her feet and palms
to no avail. Her latch was terrible because she had no suction and didn't open
her mouth wide enough. I was virtually expressing milk into her. The nurses were
helpful. A midwife and lactation consultant checked on us and her positioning
was good. She was just too little and to weak to nurse well. The pediatrician
didn't want her at the breast for more than 20 minutes at a time for fear she
would spend more energy than she would gain. She was a pound less than her low
birthweight. At 4 lbs., 13 oz, it was a slow climb up.
After a week of barely noticeable improvement, I felt discouraged. Would I ever
get Rachel home? Her inability to nurse efficiently was keeping her tube-fed in
the hospital. Another mother told me bottle fed babies go home sooner than
breastfed babies...My husband strongly encouraged me not to give up. My dream of
a peaceful birth at the birthing center without bright lights or drugs had been
blown apart. I had to breastfeed.
Around day 22, Rachel started to stay awake for longer periods of time and
although still only mouthing my breasts, she did it more vigorously. By this
time I was putting her to my breast at least three times a day, more often
depending on what nurse was one. This was great; the more often she sucked, the
less I had to pump, and I was beginning to hate the pump.
On day 24 the nurse suggested I stay overnight and feed her for all the
feedings. I was excited! After the midnight nursing she gained 65 grams!
Incredibly, she no longer needed to be supplemented by tube. I stayed a second
night and she gained weight again. Twenty six days after her birth, we finally
took our 5 lbs. 2 oz. baby home.
At home we had to wake every four hours. A couple of days later she was waking
on her own every two hours. She still only mouthed my nipples. There really was
no feeling of suction. If I didn't hold my breast in her mouth, it would fall
out. She usually nursed an hour, then was wide awake for an hour. I tried to
nurse her lying down, but since she couldn't hold the nipple at all, it didn't
work. I wasn't worried about her weight-gain since there were lots of wet
diapers.
A couple of weeks after we got home a friend encouraged me to attend a La Leche
League meeting. It was our first outing and I was happy to get out, but once I
got there I felt horrible. All the moms and babies seemed to be nursing so
effortlessly, and they could have a cup of tea with their free arm. I broke down
and cried. The leader and some moms reassured me it would get better.
Two days before Rachel's official birth date, seven weeks after her birth, when
I sat down to nurse, I felt a tug at my nipple. She was actually sucking! Over
the next few days the pull increased and I could actually have one free hand
too. When she was 11 weeks old she finally managed to nurse lying down and we
started getting some sleep at night.
She cried often, and when she cried I always offered her a breast, but it wasn't
always the answer. I wore her in a sling, danced with her, (she still like
Stevie Ray Vaughn) slept with her, changed my diet for her, but I guess she just
needed to cry. Maybe it was our cruel early separation. She had breastmilk only
until seven months. At that time she was already 24 pounds.
Now Rachel is 17 months and nurses like a pro. She sleeps in our bed and nurses
every two hours, which drives me crazy but I believe will stop eventually. She's
pretty clever.
I still get made when I read about wonderful birthing stories. Establishing a
good breastfeeding relationship was the most challenging thing I've ever done,
and the best thing I've ever done.
If you have a premature baby, my advice to you is this:
If your baby is hospitalized, make sure the nurses know you want to do as much
as possible. You can change diapers, bathe baby, give your milk through the
tube, touch your baby as much as possible. Be sure the pumped milk your baby is
receiving is given in chronological order.
Surround yourself with people who believe breast is best. Find La Leche League.
They can help. Know you will be able to nurse this child. It will be worth it.
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Breath of Life
Birth is sacred and marvelous and private.
I felt warm and content, and had an instinctive trust in my body which had
blossomed from 115 pounds to a whopping 160. We smiled and kissed, and realized
there was no going back now. Each contraction got strong and stronger. Part of
me wasn't sure I could cope with this huge powerful thing, labour. I lost all
sense of time.
One sweet moment I remember well was when the midwife gently suggested I reach
inside my birth passage, to touch for the first time, the head of my new son. I
felt his damp, long hair and was renewed in energy to bring him out.
The grand head was born, then the shoulders, and our wet purple-red boy came
into the world.
Blessed be. His warm, sweet body was in my arms. Axel was crying, although he
managed to remember the first words to our son were in Spanish. (Now he can't
remember what they were.)
The room was filled with a golden light as the afternoon sun filled our western
window. A feeling of awe and gratitude welcomed the safe landing of our ten
pound boy. We named him Abel, the name of his Guatemalan grandfather. It means
breath of life.
Emilie Smith-Ayala, Toronto, Ontario
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Massaged My Womb
I was strong, and except for the heartburn, enjoyed being pregnant. I had gained
at least fifty pounds with this pregnancy, and my belly stuck our magnificently.
Few clothes fit, and trying to find a way to sleep was a challenge I met with
half a dozen pillows propping my legs, tummy and arms.
My home was clean, though far from lovely. It was newly built by my man and I,
and my children adorned the bare drywall with their crayon creations. The floors
were plywood, but swept and a recently roughed-in bathroom was ready for my
birth needs.
My man was not rich, considerate, or, as I had come to understand, capable of
emotional intimacy, but he was witty, kind under duress, physically strong and
sexually faithful, technically. He was also a peeping tom. I knew I hadn't
picked the ideal life partner, but I also knew how to get what I wanted with
what I had.
I wanted a calm, country home for my children, and I wanted to be with them as
they developed to their full potential. The day after my due date my man and I
walked up and down the big hills of our neighbour's yard, to speed my labour
along. I drank a pot of raspberry leaf tea, weeded the strawberry patch on my
hands and knees, and went to bed after shushing my daughters out of the bathtub.
I woke at midnight. My man snored beside me; I felt a pop and sat a long time on
the toilet before I realized I must be dripping amniotic sac water.
The bathtub was filled with grey, soapy water and a dozen plastic toys. I got
down on hands and knees and scrubbed it clean before filling it for myself.
Trips to the toilet, with labour diarrhea, were frequent. I was amazed at the
emptying, and at my body's competence.
The tub felt fine. We were alone, my soon-born child and I, for the first time.
I enjoyed thoughts of what our life would be like, how we would deal with
misfortunes, no doubt ahead and also the pleasures.
Aaaah, the pleasures. God's fingers massaged my womb and I enjoyed the caress.
Snores in the background, girls making sleep sounds down the hall, me splashing
out of the tub to empty my bowels again, oooooh it's strong out there, back in
the tub and God's fingers did not quit.
Oh, all alone I was free to open my mouth the size of a grape, and Oh again, the
size of a plum.
I called for my man to wake up and turn out the light. It was only 40 watts and
around the corner, but far too bright for my labouring self. He made it pitch
black, except for a sliver of moonlight.
Oh, my mouth could fit a peach and, Oh, an orange! How wonderful no-one was
there to stare, and put it on a chart. Oh, my mouth was as big as a grapefruit
and dowwwwwwwwnnnnnnnnnn falls America into the ocean, surely.
I called to my man to call Linda Lou the nurse, and Dr. Peter who both hurried,
and I thought it would be nice if he showered for the baby, but ten seconds
later I ordered him out of there, I wanted back in the nice, warm, safe, clean,
pain free bathtub and in I got. He woke the little girls and Linda Lou was
there, cheeks glowing.
"Check me Linda Lou. Is my cervix fully dilated?" (It couldn't possibly be, yet,
there's been no pain!)
"Check you Catherine? Your baby's head is crowning dear. The cervix is fully
dilated and baby is out of the womb, waiting to be pushed into the world."
Out of the lovely tub that had been such a pleasure to labour in, and over the
big queen size bed. My man had hung a rope from the rafter, for me to hold for a
squatting birth, but it was uncomfortable as hell, and besides, it seemed baby
would push out my bum, so I sealed off the back passage by sitting my cheeks on
the edge of the bed.
Linda Lou is a large-economy-size woman and she gave me her abundant shoulder to
drape my arm over. My girls were bright-eyed and smiling in their nighties,
sitting on a stuffed rocker by the bedside. My man knelt in front of me and I
pushed my baby's head forth.
Knock on the door. Linda Lou wasn't getting it; my man stayed put. My big girl,
almost five, encouraged by a beseeching look from her labouring mother, braved
the night terrors and went downstairs to let in Dr. Peter. Bless him, he
returned with a black bag and parked it and him in the shadows.
Another push into Linda Lou's big shoulder and the head is all out and staring
at the floor. "Can I kiss the head?" asks the three year old, but her sister
insists, "I will wait till it's cleaned off first," and out came the shoulders,
legs, and my arms are receiving my third child from my man who may not be
perfect but makes a perfectly good Accoucher at the time.
The baby has cried and latched on to my great nipple, is covered in soft,
flannelette receiving blankets and is surrounded by sisters. Linda Lou asks if
it wouldn't be too much of an intrusion to have the light on to see the baby's
colour and I laugh and the baby is a nice pink and has wondrous red balls and I
laugh again.
My son weighed 10 pounds, 11 ounces and my labour was one hour and forty eight
minutes of pleasure. I had no tear and am proud of myself as a woman who gave
wonderful birth, and enjoyed herself immensely in spite of adverse
circumstances.
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PERSECUTED MIDWIVES REPORT
Midwife, Yvonne Cryns, is still being hounded by the State of Illinois. She's
been put out of business and humiliated in public trial. Now they want their
pond of proverbial flesh. They want to put her in jail.
The Supreme Court of Illinois AGREED to hear the civil case of IDPR (Illinois
Department of Professional Regulations) vs Yvonne Cryns. This is significant for
many reasons, not the least of which is that the Supreme Court takes on very few
cases. The Court will review and rule on a very recent Appellate Court decision
that the IDPR can control independent (unlicensed) midwifery.
The essence of this case is whether or not IDPR has the right to regulate
unlicensed professions. The implications of this Supreme Court decision could be
significant for midwives and the Illinois community at large. This case is not
directly involved with Ms. Cryns criminal case which is now in the Appellate
court.
You can read many articles about this perplexing case here:
http://www.mchenryonline.com/midwife/articles.htm
and for information about other midwives go here:
http://www.mchenryonline.com/midwife/midwifetrials.htm
Yvonne is not the only midwife under fire, of course. In almost every state of
the U.S. there are horror stories to tell about how traditional midwives |