Live Well.Feel Well. Be Well.

From Park to Politics

2012-02-04T17:46:00.000-08:00

Who’s responsibility is it?

Lately I’ve been wondering why many parents of childrenbehave like their children are someone elses responsibility. Example: going tothe park and then not taking responsibility for any bad behaviors your childexhibits towards other children because YOU NEVER NOTICED IT in the firstplace. Why would parents go to the park and then ignore their children? Now, Iam all for the whole idea of kids working out minor problems before interveninglike, oh there are three shovels and two kids are fighting over the blue one…..somaybe wait and see if they can resolve that issue but also maybe suggest that YOUnoticed that there are three shovels and then see what the kids do. Most of thetime it will dawn on them that they are fighting over something unnecessarilyand be able to see another available shovel and stop fighting…… but not alwaysbecause um, THEY ARE CHILDREN. They are still learning social play and socialbehavior and that requires a parent to be observing the kids in those situationsand intervening when necessary (your kid kicks a load of sand into the face oftwo other kids or your kid chases a younger kid down on a bike for fun or yourkid yells at another kid that their toys are stupid or their clothes are stupidor their hair is ugly or whatever else young kids with very littleunderstanding of appropriate social behavior do). I will admit it right nowthat my kid (age 2.5) has been a child that throws sand into another kids face atthe park before. It was embarrassing for me but guess what? I saw it happen andI made him apologize to the other kid and then we asked for forgiveness andwaited patiently for the other kid to master his emotions enough to beforgiving. The other kid took a few moments to be ready –he was very upset—but thenhe did forgive my kid and all was right in the world again within a fewminutes. They even started to play together building a castle in mutualenjoyment. The reason that both an apology and the other side—forgiveness-- isnecessary in these situations is because no human being is going to make a goodchoice in every moment of life and adults who learned as children to BOTHForgive and Apologize are really awesome people. If I never made my child apologize for the sandthrowing incident, he may get the idea that it was acceptable behavior at thepark. Let’s say that I was so busy reading a book that I never even noticed himthrow the sand and by the time I looked up all I saw was the other kid throw atoy at my kid in angry retaliation---you can guess what conclusion I would drawbased on my lack of attention to my kid, right? I would think that the otherkid was being nasty and I would swoop up my kid in a protective manner andjudge that other parent/child duo for being awful at the park. But wait---thatwould not be an accurate interpretation of events. Here’s something to think aboutparents of young children: If your kids are under five (most kids at parks inthe morning hours are under five because they are not in school yet) then don’tgo to the park thinking that you get to ignore your kids for a few hours. Youdon’t have to constantly interact with them (that can be just as bad by theway) , we parents need a break sometimes, but you do need to BE PRESENT becauseespecially in social play situationskids need a lot of guidance to figure out how to be kind, gentle, share, apologize and forgive. I do not believe that thereare any children under five who are bad eggs that simply are nasty at theircore. Bad behavior in kids under five means something---it could mean a lot ofthings actually---but all I know is that those kids at the park that get awaywith bad behavior because their parents ignore them are kids who are not beingparented in that moment. I’m not even going to call those parents bad—maybe theyare overwhelmed in a society that gives mothers too much responsibility tohandle on their own, maybe they regret the decision to have children in thefirst place but they can’t ‘un-due’ it or maybe they are doing what their ownparents did to them and they don’t notice that it’s wrong. Whatever the reason,the best thing to do is to remember that young children need supervision insocial play situations in order to learn how to be socially acceptable humanbeings. It's called enculturation in anthropology and every society does it, that's why everyone in one culture understands the unspoken rules of behavior by the time they reach the age of ten. If you don’t want to teach it, then you need to place your hild somewhere,like preschool, where they will learn it from adults who desire to teach itbecause otherwise we are in big trouble as a society. Oh wait, Aren’t Americansdisliked by most of the world already? Hmmmm, let’s ponder that shall we?

My Second Birth Story: S's Birth

2012-01-28T18:41:00.000-08:00

My babies tend to cook longer, I told a mom at the park whenI was pregnant with S and trying to describe why I was not anticipating much about mydue date being a good indicator of when I would have my baby despite the fact that my due date was approaching the following week. I remembered having an expectationthat my baby would arrive very close to my due date with Jackson and feelingvery frustrated that it blew by me and I spent two weeks trying to ‘go intolabor’ with J’s end of pregnancy (I triedwalks, massage, blue and black chohosh herbal supplements-- under guidance bymy midwife-- prayed and journaled with positive intentions under the general idea that my mind could convince my body to go into labor soon and did prenatal yoga every single day) all to very little effect. J did not want to come and if you've read the previous blog post you know my perspective on why I never went into labor with J.

WithJ, I had scheduled an acupuncture induction apt for the Monday, twoweeks after my due date (and I ended up never going to the apt. because I hadto be induced with Pitocin in the hospital the Friday before the apt). Thistime, I was not going to wait to be ‘post-due’ to start my natural inductionmethods.

I had a good plan towait until my body started giving me clues that it was ready for labor. Since Iunderstood from my processing of J’s birth, that for me, my mental approach tobirth was highly significant, I had already been mentally preparing my body forbirth for eight months. I had already been doing Art Therapy in the style of Pam England regularly during pregnancy. I had a beautiful vision of my birth in my mind. I had meditatedon that vision with every HypnoBirthing CD session for weeks leading up tobirth and I had let go of my fear of being vulnerable and in pain during labor.

I approached S’s birth with some reservations though. I had partial placentaprevia and had, once again, risked out of the Tucson Birth Center in the secondtrimester (when I was diagnosed with full placenta previa by ultrasound). At the diagnostic ultrasound apt ithad been suggested by the nurse (or tech) doing the ultra sound that a c-sectionwould be inevitable. [CC only recently told me--she is currently a midwife at the TCB--- that if I had come back and explained what the tech had told me to her--she would have said that I did not need an OB and that I could easily be one of the women for whom placenta previa completely resolves by the time of birth. She would have asked me to consider allowing her to continue to care for me up to the final stages of the pregnancy and then she would have given me a professional opinion of whether I had risked out of the birth center based on the final weeks of my pregnancy along with regular ultra sound apt's. However, I did not know that at the time and I thought that the nurse (or tech) that the midwives had sent me to was giving me the perspective from the Birth Center--my mistake completely--which ended up changing my birth plans drastically. Still, I have no regrets with S's birth. As you will see if you continue to read.]

I have always been afiery personality (my husband calls me a firecracker in the middle of debatingsometimes because it always makes me laugh and reminds me that although this aspect of my personality drives him nuts sometimes it's also a large reason why he married me. It quite effectively dissipates tensions). When it comes to things that I ampassionate about—giving birth definitely qualifies under the title heading of “ThingsAmanda Gets Fired Up About.” That list is actually a bit long so I won’t gointo all the things that I am passionate about right now but the underlyingtheme that gets me pulling out my activist hat includes: treating people andanimals with respect and fairness.

So, I went through the second trimester of pregnancyenvisioning a vaginal birth but mentally preparing myself for the possibilityof a c-section. Now, just so that you don’t misunderstand my perspective—it wasnot that a c-section would be considered an invalid way to give birth in mymind at all---that was not how I felt about c-birth (and still isn't). Ibelieve that necessary c-births save baby's lives. The reason that I did notwant to have a c-section birth with S is because J was just turning two and hewas a very energetic and active child. I knew that if I had a c-section, out ofnecessity, that this would be quite fine with me but that the recovery periodwould be longer and more stressful for me and my entire family.

My husband wasworking full time and going to school full time when we decided to get pregnantwith S and conception happened rather quicker than we thought it was going to whichmade the estimated due date in April, right before final exams---not exactlythe ideal time for my husband to become a new father. However, because we wereso prepared for birth with our second child, the lead-up, birth and transitioninto a family of four flowed easily. It was so fantastic that I realized in anexperiential way just what a significant role a doula can play for families and how long they remain part of the new parenthood process. Doulas will be available for drop in assistance foran entire year or two: during the pregnancy, the birth event itself of course and the postpartum period are all under the realm of care that a doula can giving nurturing care and advice to a new family. That two year time period of conception through weaning isan enormously significant time period in a new mother’s life. If you tap intothe skills and knowledge of local doulas with full gusto, which I did, theprocess of becoming a mother (whether it's your first time of fifth time) unfolds quite easily.

I hired two very experienced doulas: TJ March (of Mama’sLatte) and Laura Broderick (she used to work for Desert Doulas and now lives inHawaii) as my co-doula team. TJ and Laura had different skill sets and so theymade a perfect team as they worked together in a co-doula fashion. I was luckyto get a ‘two for one’ deal price wise that I didn’t expect but fully appreciated. Iwanted TJ mainly to help me at the birth and to be on call to help me withnursing. Leading up to S’s birth the area that caused me most nervousness was,of course, the cesarean section possibility but also I was spending a lot of energy questioning whether I would be able to nurse S for 12 months after having so many issues with J that caused me a lot of postpartum stress afew years earlier. TJ, was so similar to my own mother in temperment that Iimmediately knew she was who I wanted at the birth. Then I met Laura and shewas an instant kindred spirit. I started to wonder if I had made a good choicein hiring TJ over Laura. TJ didn’t know much about massage and Laura did. TJdidn’t know much about victims of sexual assault and Laura did. TJ was justlearning about HypnoBirthing while Laura was already a pro. It was my understanding that the only thing TJ had more experience with than Laura was having worked with a high amount of lactating mothers (past the initial first feed after birth which all birth doulas do and are trained for well). TJhad much more experience with lactating mothers because she drove to mothers' houses all over Tucson helping them problem solve breastfeedingissues under her business called Mama's Latte. TJ had two daughters that were absolutely phenomenal because theirmother dedicated her whole life to mothering them and she did it well. Iadmired her as a mother. I admired Laura for her strength of character andethical approach to birth as well. TJ was often late or forgot appointments, but I hada mother who did this all the time so it did not phase me, although it wasslightly annoying. Laura was always on time and showed up early—just like Iusually do with my meetings. So, when TJ flaked -out on an apt that both myhusband and I had rearranged our very busy lives for, Laura showed up instead on short-notice andtaught us a few important things about partner-communication during labor. Shetaught my husband how to give me light-touch massage, which was so wonderfulboth during pregnancy and during labor. That one skill made my husbandfantastic at S’s labor.

TJ felt bad about missing the appointment, she had losttrack of time with another client and forgot to check her watch, and so she eventually called to tell me that she was sorry to have missed the apt and that she wanted to give us a special nursing session for free to make up for it. I was thrilled. I was able to learn much more indepthly about what happens to milk during pregnancy, during birth, after birth,in the first six weeks, in the first six months, in the final 6-24 month periodand about self-led weaning.

Not only was I a pregnant mother but I was half wayinto my Doulas of North America training so I was not the average mom lookingto these doulas for help with my birth. Of course, my highest priority was tohave a positive birth experience with S but I am also a person who absorbsinformation with delight. So, I was a very good student and I learned a lotfrom both Laura and TJ. TJ even mentioned that I asked more questions asan individual than an entire room full of lactating moms usually did. TJ and I laughedoften and easily—she was amused by me and I enjoyed her perspective immensely.Laura and my interactions were more serious and intense. We talked aboutintense things and we resolved emotional barriers together. She was instrumentalin giving me the skill set to do HypnoBirthing with S even though I never tookan HB class. All I did was borrow the book from my friend Kathleen, listen tothe cd’s each night and practice the hand-outs that Laura had allowed me toborrow after I had hired her to be my doula and I had expressed an interest in wanting to learn more about HBphilosophy. TJ was the doula who arrived at my birth with S, but I have nodoubt that Laura would have been amazing at my birth too. I was so lucky tohave them both encouraging me with informational resources, experientialdiscussions and especially in how they both related to me their understandingsof how to have a natural birth in a hospital (if that was possible given myplacenta issue). Suffice it to say that I was so glad I had invested 600 dollars in my doula care for S's birth and that was even before I gave birth!

When my due date was two days away, I had been havingregular contractions leading up to the birth which fizzled out, just as theyhad with J’s pregnancy. Instead of walking up and down hills in myneighborhood, as I had done for two months straight with J, I closed myself inmy bedroom and sat on my birth ball meditating in peace and quiet. I connectedto the baby and I listened to my body. I encouraged my body to open, to feelsafe, to know that our (my husband and I) expectation of our baby’s birth wasfor it to be gentle and full of intimate love.

After two days of regular contractions that faded every timeI relaxed, TJ emailed me that I should have sex with my husband to get thingsmoving since semen has been shown to mix well with late pregnancy hormones andcan kick things into real labor. Obviously my husband and I thought this wasamusing but we were certainly up for trying something fun that could work. Iwent to my acupuncture induction on Friday morning (several days before myestimated due date) and I felt my body hum with energy. The needles did nothurt but they did feel stimulating. My acupuncture induction helped flood mybody with pain relieving hormones. My body responded by kicking up thecontractions. That night I stayed up all night thinking that I was in labor andwould soon need to call my OB to meet me at the hospital. The previous week,she had told me that I was already 2cm dilated and my ultrasound had shown thatmy placenta had moved up and away by five inches from my cervix which meantthat a vaginal birth was now (finally) a safe option for me. I was elated bythe news. My parents were in town and ready to be called at any moment to comeand watch Jackson when my husband and I needed to go to the hospital.

That night, my bodyworked hard to go into labor but again, when I fell asleep they fizzled intonothing. I started to get frustrated again but I remembered what my doula Laurahad told me about using positive thought and letting go of negative thoughts. Iread my HypnoBirthing book over again and I read Pam England’s book over again.I am a fast reader. I was able to do that in two days even though I had otherresponsibilities during that time. I went out on my porch on the morning of mydue date fully pregnant, waddling about with no contractions surging through meand sat with Jackson; our water colors and paper on the art table. The sun streamed throughthe wooden lattice and my green plants tumbled down from our porch roof while Ipainted my vision of birth and J painted his vision of the world as a two yearold views it.

J looked at my pictures and said, “Mama, baby comes soon?” and I said “Isure hope so darling.” J said, "is the baby going to like the milk?” and I said “Yes.All babies like to drink milk.” And J said “yes, I remember, it’s good.” And thenI said “I love you baby, you won’t be the baby anymore soon. Is that ok?” andhe said “I’m a big brother. I will like to have a friend to play with.” And Isaid “Yeah, the best part about having a brother is that you will always have afriend to play with and J said “Yep.”

The conversation was simple but ever- so-sweet.

Then we went back to painting in the sunshine. When we werefinished, we hung our paintings in J’s bedroom. I went to drink some tea andrespond to some emails from my students and then rested on the couch while Jplayed with his trucks in front of me. My husband called asking for an updateand I told him there was nothing to report. Later in the afternoon I tookJackson to Green Things to see the new baby goats. When we walked into thegreen house a large contraction gripped me and I couldn’t breathe for a moment.I loaded J into the car and we went home. Things continued in a much milderform and I started to think that again, I had been fooled and it was only thelead up—not the real deal.

By evening the contractions were consistent but so mild thatI barely felt them. I easily went about all our daily evening routine with Jand told my husband to stay at the library if he needed to do schoolwork sinceall was calm at home. I put J to bed that night and went to lay down but Icould not find a comfortable position to rest in my bed. I got back up androcked on the birth ball. The contractions fizzled into nothing again. I sleptthrough the night and didn’t even wake when my husband arrived home. In themorning my mom arrived and we went for a walk. As usual the contractionsstarted again—stimulated by the walk. That morning they continued and startedto get closer together. I emailed TJ that I thought today was the birth day andI would send an update in the afternoon if things continued to progress. TJ didnot get my email in the morning and emailed me back asking if she should meetme somewhere…….had I gone to the hospital already she wondered? I reassured herthat she had not missed anything and that I was still at home. Things weregoing fine and there was nothing for her to do. Adam was watching J and I wasrocking on the birth ball meditating in my bedroom. I turned on Enya andchecked my birth bag supplies. I took a last look at the peace flags waving inthe wind on my porch and intended to get a chair to go take them down and putthem in my birth bag when I became distracted by a few strong and constantcontractions in quick succession. I started to get excited. This was it. I knewit instinctively and so I decided to take a nap. The nap was restful and when Iawoke the contractions were still happening.

I decided I should probably go to the Women’s Center at Northwest Hospital. I called my OB and saidwe were coming in. I called TJ and told her to meet us there. I called my momand she came to watch Jackson. I emailed my students in all of my classes that I would be out of reach for approximately 48 hours if they needed me, I would get back to them after the birth.

Adam looked at me and said “You’re so calm. Areyou sure it’s time?” and I said “I think so. I can’t imagine that they wouldn’tadmit me when I’m likely at six cm by now.” So, we got into the car and droveto the hospital. Upon arrival we did the paperwork and the intake staff said “Areyou sure you’re in labor?” and I said “Yes, I’ve done this before. I am.” And thenbecause she still seemed doubtful, I said “I’ve studied HypnoBirthing . I willbe acting very calm.” She nodded and we were admitted. TJ arrived while we wereon the monitors to be sure I was contracting in labor. I was and they moved meinto the delivery room within about twenty minutes. I did more paperwork—so muchpaperwork—and asked for a nurse that “enjoyed helping at natural births” and mynurse brought a new nurse into the room who said “I read your birth plan.” And Isaid “Yes, it’s very specific.” And she said “There is no doubt about it—you knowwhat you want!” TJ introduced herself and the nurse and she chatted for a fewminutes while I got comfortable on the bed. The nurse wanted to get a goodstrip of the heart rate for her charting. I complied but cautioned that I hadbeen in labor for quite awhile at home so I would likely want to stay movingand did not want to remain in the bed for very long now that I was getting closer to the end. The nurse looked at me with a puzzledexpression and said “ I doubt you are very far along since we are have havingsuch a good conversation.” I said “I’msure you will doubt me a lot but you’ll have to see Hypnobirthing to beconvinced of it. I don’t mind being the first woman you’ve seen use thismethod. I know it won’t be the last.” She smiled and said “ I see on your birthplan that you want the squat bar so you can be verticle at the pushing phase?”I said, “Yes and started to describe why but then very suddenly, a really hard contraction (surge in HB lingo) hit and Ilooked at my husband and TJ and said “OK, here we go…..” I went intomeditation and blocked the room completely out. I rocked and moved in naturalways letting my body lead my mind into the correct positions. TJ talked methrough each surge as it tightened and released while Adam used light touchmassage to keep me calm and connected to him. I remember very little of S’sbirth except that I did not pay attention to anything except my body, my babyand my stress levels. Each time a panicky feeling emerged, I working it out andpassed it through my body into the floor. I acknowledge it and rejected itequally. I felt no pain as each wave of contraction came into my body and left.TJ said, “Your body is working well.” Adam said “You know what to do.” I letthose words reach deep into my heart and I prayed for peace from my God. I feltutter peace and contentment. This went on for several hours. It was the leastdramatic birth anyone in the room had ever been at! It would have made terribletelevision because there was no drama at all. My OB came in and asked if shecould break my water to get things moving along. I said “No thanks. I don’tneed it . I am far along already.” She asked if she could check my cervix and Isaid “No thanks, TJ will let you know when it’s time to catch the baby.” TJsaid to Dr. Mudge, “I think she might be close to the pushing phase.” My OB said, “Hmmm, she’snot behaving like women usually do when they are very close to the pushing phase. I’m going to go home andthe nurses will call me when she’s closer.” I paid no attention to thisdecision but it made me wonder why OB’s always thought that they knew somethingmore than birthing mothers about birth.” I said to Adam, “ I know I’m close butI don’t know how close. This is so different than J’s birth.” He smiled at meand said “Yeah, because we know what to expect this time!” TJ said, "You are working really well as a team Adam and Amanda. It's so nice to see."

Quite quickly,I felt bile rise into my throat and I began to shake. I was realizing that my body was giving the signs of moving into the pushing phase. I gave an enormously deep intake of breath and then threw up all the apple juice I had drank in the early stages of labor (during triage when I was on the monitors) and TJ caught it all deftly in the puke bucket she had been hiding behind her back as she watched me fight down the bile in my throat. Adam said, "Hey, none of it landed on the bed TJ--impressive." We all laughed, even me and even though I was starting to shake and feel stronger surges which ended in little digs of pain around my lower back. I was on my hands and knees in the bed at this point and focusing on one singular cord that led to the monitors as I moved rhythmically arching my back, yoga style with each surge and using yoga breathing techniques to guide the oxygen to my muscles which were working really hard to birth my baby.

Then TJ asked me if I wanted any mint gum to refresh my breath after the puking episode. First I said, yesand then I changed my mind, no. I suddenly felt a very strong urge to stand up. Isaid “Adam I need to stand right now!” He said “Ok, I’ll hold you while we sway/dancenear the bed---that worked well earlier.” I nodded and TJ said “Now, thiscontraction seems stronger but remember your body is showing you the way.” Isnapped at her “TJ, this one REALLY hurts.” I can’t relax. I can’t do this, I said.” Shecalmly said “You already are doing it. You are doing it.” And I said “Ok, butthis is really starting to hurt and then I started to push and TJ said “Are youpushing, Amanda?????” and I said “Yeah. Get the OB before she leaves.” TJ raninto the hall and caught my OB just in time. Adam said, “I’m here, he’s nearlyhere Amanda—we are near the end!” His voice was excited. I was grunting withthe effort to push but I was holding my legs tightly together at the same timeas I waited for my OB to come back. Dr. Mudge ran into the room and slid into akneeling position as she registered the look on my face—I was most definitely pushinga baby out right away. Adam moved aside and Dr. Mudge was kneeling in a gush ofwaters which had recently broken all over the floor. Dr. Mudge said, “Ok, umm,could you put your right leg up on the bed so I can see if he’s crowning?” Idid that and she said “Yeah, wow, he’s already crowning Amanda!” I gave anotherpush, gently this time to avoid any tearing near my perineum and S dropped intoDr. Mudge’s hands. Once his head was out, the rest of him slid right out withno pushing from me---because I was standing up, gravity helped me birth him.Dr. Mudge placed S onto the bed, in between my legs and I looked into the eyesof my second born son. He was here! Adam said “Amanda, he’s amazing. You’reamazing. Look at him!” I smiled and thought how this gentle soul arrived withso little fuss.

I started to cry with gratitude at this beautiful gift andeasy labor. Dr. Mudge looked at me and said “You are really good at givingbirth—you should do this again for sure!” TJ said, “Amanda, if you get into bedI can help you get snuggled with your baby while you birth the placenta.” Iclimbed into bed and the nurse said “I bet you tore a lot because that babycame so fast.” I said “I don’t think so. It feels much better than when I hadan episiotomy with my first son’s birth so I bet it’s not a big tear.” Shelooked at me with doubt but made no reply. I rested in bed marveling at S andwrapped in Adam’s arms as we looked at all the tiny features of our newly bornson. TJ asked if we had a name and Adam looked at me and said “After that,Amanda gets to decide the name.” I named him Skyeler. We planned to call him Skyeafter the island of Skye in Scotland because his blue eyes were the exact shadeof that stormy sea. I had spent a lovely day reading myths about kelpies and otherScottish lore on the Isle of Skye when I had studied abroad at StirlingUniversity when I was 19 years old. That day had been as peaceful as S’s birth.It seemed quite fitting.

The nurse started to get impatient that I was not focusingon birthing the placenta. She started to tell me that she was going to give me Pitocinto get the placenta out. I said “No, you’re not. It has not been that long yetand I will push it out.” The nurse said, “But the baby is born, the drugs won’tinfluence your baby now.” I said “I know you are right and that statement is true but I've had experience with Pit and I don’t need Pit. Justgive me a chance.” I looked at Dr. Mudge and I said “Tell, her I can wait abit.” Dr. Mudge said, “Yes, it’s alright, don't be alarmed. She can choose to avoid Pit without anyrisk.” The nurse said, “But we always give Pit to get the placenta out fast.”Dr. Mudge said “It’s ok. She can do it on her own.” Then I smiled at Dr. Mudgewith gratitude for her opinions—which were evidence based rather than hospitalprotocol based.

I handed S over to hisdaddy and I turned my attention to pushing out the placenta. I pushed once andit slid out. Dr. Mudge watched and directed the nurse on how to care for awoman who never had Pitocin at any stage of labor. This was new to the nurse.Dr. Mudge explained the warning signs of a placenta that looked like a bit ofit had stayed inside the woman and then she said that the placenta looked heathyand whole and it seemed funny that this had been such a huge topic of conversation through out my entire pregnancy while it innocently provided for my baby just as my body had intended for it to provide sustenance. She said “I can tell you ate well during pregnancy.” I said “Thank you.” I said “This placenta looks muchnicer than the one with my first born son when I was post-due.” Dr. Mudge said,“Well, you changed my ideas about how women always behave near the pushingphase. That was fun!” I laughed and said “I told you that I was studyingHypnoBirthing.” Then TJ said, “Yeah, Hypnobirthing seems like the way to givebirth. That was fantastic Amanda!” Adam said “Do you want me to call your momyet?” I said “Yeah, tell her to bring Jackson in the morning so he can meet hisbrother.” Then I asked TJ if she would help me get S latched on and she helpedme do that. It was not easy but he did latch and he stayed latched for a long time;suckling and snoozing, snoozing and sucking but never opening his mouth to letgo. I told TJ she could go and she left soon after the first nursing session. Ithink she was feeling quite proud that I had the skills to nurse S because ofher good prenatal education with me and my interest in learning more than theaverage person about nursing infants. She took a picture of our newest memberof the Horne family in my arms and my husband giving me a huge kiss. I cherish that photo very much and I was glad that TJ had thought of taking it for us. She told methat we would meet for the postnatal soon. I thanked her for her time,continuous support and her guiding voice during my birth. { I am sure shecalled Laura shortly later to tell her about the “Great HypnoBirth”} she just attended as a doula but she may have needed to catch up on some sleep first.

Adam and I were leftto snuggle our newborn and the nurse said to me “Your water broke all over thefloor. This room is a mess.” I said, “I’m sorry. If you had brought the squatbar in time, that would not have been what happened.” She said “Well no oneknew you were anywhere close to giving birth.” Then I said “That’s not true. Iknew.” I said this with a light tone of voice, hoping not to offend her while I also wanted to clearly re-stated the truth as it was at my birth. She looked at me and walked out without a word. I think I did offend her because I never saw her again. Shortly after this, myhusband helped me into the bathroom to get cleaned up and an old woman came inwith a mop. I said to her “Oh, I’m so sorry you have to clean that all up. It’sa mess.” She said in broken English “No. You have baby. It’s just fine. Youhave baby.” She smiled kindly at Adam and I, then nodded to S, who was asleep inthe bassinet near my birthing bed. I looked at her and thought to myself Yes! Whyshould I feel guilty for making a mess during birth? She was right. I just hada baby—given birth to new life--- and that process is a little messy for everymother. I shook my head at how women in America are treated like they aredisgusting and that they should never have body fluids visible without being reprimandedfor how nasty and disgusting and unladylike that is--- as if we should riseabove being human. I suspect that the cleaning lady was from Mexico based on her language skills. I thought briefly of asking her if she was a mother....I started to go into anthropologist mode and my husband could see the look on my face. He gently said, "Another time, Amanda and my ethnographic interview died in my mind.. He was right, I was bleeding all over the floor on the way to the bathroom. Now was not the time! Adam said “That nurse was a little clueless wasn't she? It was the nurse who should have listened to you,not you who should have stopped having a baby Amanda.” I agreed. What a lovelybirth! I felt so free of pain, even after the birth.

My recovery was so smoothand nice. I was walking my dog within two days after giving birth, back to myusual routine, albeit with two beautiful boys instead of only one. Blessing number two had arrived in a gentle fashion.

A Complicated, yet Positive Birth Story

2012-01-19T06:19:00.001-08:00

This birth story is going to be unique. Not because I’mpersonally special (although my belief is that we all are) but simply because Ihad a very normal pregnancy that ended in a dramatic, unplanned birth in ahospital. I had chosen to birth with midwives at the Tucson Birth Center (thiswas before El Rio took over the Birth Center) and wanted the midwifery model ofcare for my birth and pregnancy. I went through Centering childbirth education classes and I was very prepared for natural birth by the time mybody started the warm-up contractions, about one month before the birth event.These contractions were confusing to me as a first time mom: When should I goto the birth center? Why did the surges of contractions keep ending just when I started gettingexcited and anxious that the baby was coming soon? Why did my body keep tryingto go into labor and then closing down and stopping the contractions? I wonder all of this as I walked up and down hills in my neighborhood to get things moving (sometimes exercise can kick your body into labor so if you are post-due this is a good way to keep things moving in a good direction). I askedmy husband what he thought about the confusing nature of my "braxton hicks" contractions. He said, “Well the midwives say it’s normal and not to worry.” This didn't really stop me from worrying but I was glad that at least one parent was not worried about the birth of our baby.

I knew it was not normal that I was so scared to give birth—instinctively--- but no onelistened to my instincts—not even me. Who was I, a first time mom who had neverdone this before, after all? I listened to all the better educated midwives (Ihad been seen by them all by the time I was ready to give birth) who had seenbirth more often than I had. I was raised in America. We Americans like tohide birth as if it is dirty and unclean and not for the eyes of young children.I had never seen a birth in America before. I had seen many births in othercultures both in my travels in South America and in the many documentary films that I was drawn to about giving birth in other cultures (this was a research interest as well as a pregnant woman's interest). Having seen so many live births was one reasonwhy I was able to trust the process of birth and my body and it was why I chosemidwives over OB’s to care for me when I became pregnant.

My husband had also seen birth in other cultures. We knewthat women were designed for it. We trusted my body. What we forgot to factorin was this really important detail: I had a history of being the victim of sexual assault in mypast. At the time I did not even know this could be influencing whether I was “allowing”myself to go into labor. However, after much soul searching and healing I cansee, five years later, that I mentally prevented myself from going into labor.Every time I started feeling vulnerable and scared about being in a room on ‘display’with strangers near my private areas---I freaked out and closed down. Idisconnected from my body—very unconsciously—I went away, very far away in my mind. Since I had not shared this rape event with my midwives (I didnot want that incident to influence how they looked at me—with pity) themidwives did not have all the information to guide me in my lead-up to birth.They assumed that my body was going to go into the real deal when it was ready---butI was never going to be ready—because I had not dealt with my emotional issuessurrounding being vulnerable during birth.

My husband did not even know the full extent of what was ‘holdingme back’ although he said many times that I just needed to ‘let go’ and ‘givein’ and ‘relax’ once I started feeling the contractions start up. He did notknow why I was so tense, being a naturally easy going and confident woman whotrusted the process of birth. He was confused, concerned and supportive. He wasthe one that told me that he would be by my side no matter where we birthed. He told methat we had a good plan but if it needed to be changed, that was just fine withhim. He wanted a positive birth experience for us as parents and a healthy baby—thatcould happen in any form of giving birth as long as we were together during thebirth, he reasoned very logically with my irrational fears. He whispered these types of encouraging words when I expressed my fear and uncertainty and he held me close when I had no words and all I did was cry. Iwanted a drug free birth—for the baby’s sake—I was going to meet the challengeof birth without medications—at least that was my plan.

So, I tried to release the tensions. I tried to take baths,.I tried to pray to God. I tried to cry out the horrible pain from the rape. Itried all these things in private—in isolating turmoil while I was very angrythat once again—this event was able to cast a shadow over my happiness. I wasso angry and so scared. That was not a good recipe for going into labor but atthe time, I had no idea that this was likely why I did not go into labor atall.

In fact after two weeks of on-again off-again contractions,my body started to give-out on me. I started to have protein in my urine. Myplacenta began to age and die. My baby needed to be born in a hospital with Pitocin.Fran told me one evening, after our routine check-in, that she was going toschedule a stress test and that I would need to stay overnight at TucsonMedical Center and then we could find out what was the issue causing my bodystress. She said, “We need to find out what is going on.” I had risked out of the birth center once Istarted needing special attention because of the proteins in my urine (that isa test they can do at the b.c). This was only a week before I actually gavebirth. At that point I almost blurted out the truth about the date rapeincident. I was so frustrated with myself and the entire situation. I was notgoing to get to have the Birth Center birth that I had been planning. I was devastatedand blamed myself. That’s typical of victims of sexual assault, they take atleast part of the blame for what has happened to them and they take all the blamefor how they deal with it later in life.

You see, I did not know that the rape was not my fault at all.I did not know that this happened (never going into labor out of extreme fear) toa lot of other women with a history of sexual assault in childhood or teen oradult years. I wish I had met some of those women while I was on my pregnancyjourney but since I had decided long ago to hide what happened to me, I nevermet those strong survivors and I didn’t count myself among anything that wasstrong.

I knew that my mindwould never betray me but I feared that my body would. I knew that the bestlaid plans can turn into a nightmare in seconds, with a last minute decisionthat someone could make for me and my body and without my consent. I knew thatsomething beautiful could turn into something ugly within a few hours. I knewwhat it felt like to be treated like nothing, to be used and abused-- supposedlyfor my own good. Worst of all, I knew that anyone touching my vagina was going totrigger flashbacks whether it was with a person I trusted or not. I did nottrust anyone to behave as they said that they would. I can see all of this fearand anxiety and irrational thought processes with the clarity of wisdom and ageright now, but when I was first pregnant, I was young, idealistic and veryrecently wounded. I had found love in my husband and healing in his arms in ourgentle care for one another physically and emotionally. I thought that this wasall I needed to put the rape behind me. I did not know that it was going toshadow my birth plans and take them from me. Although it did take from me myright to a Birth Center birth—it did not take from me my right to refuse painmedications ( ie drugs).

Even though I had to be induced with Pitocin (syntheticoxytocin) by sheer force of will and determination I resolved to stick to onepart of my birth plan—my baby would not be drugged with pain meds so that hestruggled to nurse or cry at birth. The the extreme pain of Pitocincontractions (much stronger and faster than natural birthing contractions) madethat plan very challenging for me. I was among the very few women in the worldwho get induced with Pitocin and don’t have an epidural adminstered a few hours after the Pit kicks in (although I was very tempted and may have even told Fran that I was needing the drugs at least one time). This was when J was moving down my into my pelvis and the labor back pains were crippling my resolve. Fran said, well you said you didn't want the drugs and I have some ideas to help the pain. I said, "ok, well let's do them then--what should I do." Fran said flip over on your hands and knees and rock over this birth ball (she handed me an oval, not round shaped ball, that fit on the bed) and I began to rock through the pain. It lifted slightly and I had enough relief in that position that the nurse was hard pressed to suggest anything else for quite awhile. I did not care about her stupid monitors not getting a "good enough read" or anything else she said to me. I rocked my baby down with each wave and fought the urge to throw up. Even though onenurse and one other person in my birthing room (who had invited herself to thebirth) offered to get someone who could give me those drugs--- temptingly whileI was in extreme pain—I never caved in to the temptation. They asked out of care and concern, not out of nastiness. I think they wanted me to get the drugs so that I became managable and stopped behaving so extremely while in labor and also, probably because it made them feel uncomfortable to see mestruggle. None of this was done because I could not handle the pain though. I could handle it and I did handle it without the pain drugs even though I wondered myself if it was worth taking this strong naturalbirthing stance in the moment that a contraction peaked and slammed into me. Ihave always been able to see the far ranging consequences of my actions andothers actions though and so I just focused my attention on getting through thenext awful contraction so that my baby would not be drugged. Time seemed to beliminal. I was somewhere else but I did not know where (maybe God was with meand that’s how I got through those painful contractions?) I tend to thinkthis is utter truth myself because that is my worldview.

My baby was very stressed out by the hard contractionsthough. My baby was very weak from having been inside my body with an agedplacenta for at least a week. My baby had low amniotic fluid available to himwhen the birth began. My baby was so stressed that during the pushing phase, mymidwife Fran, called the neonatal team in case the baby needed to beresuscitated at birth. During one of the most intensely painful moments of mylife—the room began to spin and I passed out cold. The nurse freaked out—screamingat my mom and my husband to ‘help me breathe’ while Fran calmly looked at herand said “Get the oxygen mask--- it’s over there.” [This is something that Ihave no personal memory of—I asked Fran what happened later and she told me thespecifics]. The nurse put the oxygen mask over my mouth and I could finallyfill my lungs with lovely, fresh, clean air. The Pit contractions slammed intomy body one wave after another in such quick succession that I could not catchmy breath. I was barely remaining conscious and Fran decided that I needed to consider anepisiotomy as a viable option for the infant's sake—to get the baby out and assess the risk of the baby being able tobreathe too. She knew that if the mama was having a hard time getting oxygen, thenthe baby was too. Fran decided to try helping me manually first. She reached up into my pelvis and manually and gently helpedJ get into a better position to move down the birth canal. Then, she allowed meto push two more times with all the strength left in my bones. I pushed with somuch strength that I did not even recognize myself and he moved down closer. Hewas not born yet though and I was exhausted.

I was emotionally and physicallyin a full fledged panic wondering if the baby would be dead, wondering if mylife with this child was going to be stolen from me, wondering awful fears thatall mothers have when they feel stressed out and panicked with the pain. Fran couldsee the fear in my eyes and my husband was holding me in bed giving meencouragement but his hands were shaking—I knew that he was worried about ourbaby too. My mom was wiping my brow with a cool cloth (she was a doula to me)while the nurse stared at the monitors with intense emotion. My mom looked atme and said “Nearly there, hang on, it’s almost over.” I believed her and Ibelieved that I could do it for a little bit longer.

The nurse asked me if I was a marathon runner—“What?” Isaid, “No, that’s an idiotic question,” I said. My mom said "No it’s not. You’vealways been an amazing athlete and that is why your blood pressure is low eventhough you are under extreme stress.” The nurse seemed satisfied that I wasjust one of those women who was in extremely good physical shape—that is whythe monitors where telling her something different than what she had beenexpecting. I looked at Fran and I pleaded with her as another peak of pain hitme “Just get this baby out of me!!!!!” I screamed. Fran said,” You told me thatyou did not want to be cut.” I said, “ If the baby is in trouble, I don’t care.” She said “Okay, let’s give one more pushand if he’s not born by then---I will get him out.” I gave another primal pushthat left me shaking from head to toe. He still had not been born. Fran askedfor the scissors and the nurse handed them over with great relief in the featureson her face.

Fran gave me anextensive episiotomy, which allowed J’s head to plop into her hands without mehaving to push at all. There was a hush in the room and then eight-ten (not sure of the exact number but it was a crowd) medical specialists swooped incloser to my bed to assess if the baby needed help breathing. My first bornbeautiful boy looked up at me and let out a very angry wail! Everyone wasrelieved and my husband began to cry with relief. I was crying with relief too.My mom was crying with emotion---I’m not sure exactly what she was thinking butshe never doubted that both me and my baby would be just fine. Fran looked atmy son and said “Well, you made things interesting, didn’t you little man?” Myson nuzzled into my arms and gave me a look which clearly went along the linesof: What in the world just happened to me? I felt exactly the same. We bondedinstantly and much too soon the nurses wanted to take him away for APGARassessments. I never appreciated (until much later) that Fran had handed thebaby to me first—instead of what an OB would have done—handed him to thespecialists. Fran had ruled that hospital room with calm and experiencedmidwifery skills. They had all bowed down to her in their own panicky states. Everyoneknew who should be and who was in Charge. I have no doubt that if Fran had notbeen attending my birth that I would have had an unnecessary cesarean becauseno OB would have weighed what I had wanted and desired as more important thanmalpractice insurance. Fran is a heroine to me. I told her that shortly after the birth but she was right, when I saidthose words, to deflect the credit and placeit back onto me.

She said “You are nowamong the very few women who can claim a natural birth, after pit induction, ina hospital with a midwife attending.” Everyone in the room laughed and thenurse said under her breath “Only birth center women who risk- out and comehere do that. Crazy!” Her tone was half exasperated and half in awe. I lookedat her and I said “Why were you asking me about marathons—that was adistracting question!?” She said “Becauseyour blood pressure should have been high but it was low—I’ve never seen that before.”And I said “Well, maybe it was God.” And she said “Yeah, maybe and then walkedaway.” Then my mom said "Yes, it was and smiled at me." Then Fran told me that the placenta had arrived without my needing topush much (in light of my happiness that the birth was finally over and my baby was safe, I hadcompleted forgotten about the final stage of birth i.e.delivering the placenta!)Fran asked if I wanted to see my placenta. I said “Yes, I want to see if thatPit was necessary---let me see the aged placenta, please.”

So, Fran and the nurse described to me what a placenta thatwas healthy looked like and then they showed me the areas of my placenta thatlooked aged. It had white calcifications over half of it and the other halflooked healthy-normal. My husband leaned in closer and said “Oh, yeah, thatlooks different from the ones I’ve seen in Peru” and I said “Yeah, it does andmany of those women were malnourished during pregnancy—my placenta looks ugly.”My husband said philosophically, "Not ugly, just done supporting a baby." There was no doubt thatmy placenta did not look like a healthy placenta though. The Pit Induction hadbeen absolutely necessary and likely I had been induced just in time to avoid abad outcome with my baby. After looking over my placenta I began to feel the remaining strength leave my power again. The hospital room began to tilt out of focus and my whole body began to shake uncontrollably. I was so cold. I was sotired. I was so happy and invigorated and exhausted and feeling a surge ofvitality that was completely new as a feeling. I wanted to nurse my baby so I gathered my breath, did some yoga deep breathing techniques and the room came back into focus. Thenurse brought a warmed blanket and put it over me to still the shaking of mylimbs. Fran said that she would stay and help me nurse J but then she wouldneed to leave to attend another birth. I looked at her and was amazed that shestill had more babies to catch that night. Whata job!? I expressed to Fran (what acool job, I thought to myself privately).

The nurses brought J overto me and I pulled down my white birthing gown (I had refused to wear ahospital gown because I hated how they flapped about in the behind area) and Inursed my beautiful, tiny, first born son. The level of love between my husbandand I moved into a deeper place as he watched me nurse our son. He looked intomy eyes and he said “I always knew you were amazing and now you just proved itto everyone else in this room!” I laughed at him modestly but I also glowed insidewith his compliment. I had done it. I had given birth and I had chosen theexact correct model of care for my baby. He needed nothing except me making the final choices after all. What abig responsibility that was! This baby did not even know that he needed hisdaddy yet. He just wanted to be close to his mother and discover what being ‘onthe outside’ was like. I almost pitied him. I felt it would be much harder tonourish and protect him now that he was an individual in the world. But hadn’tI just proved to myself that I was more than capable of mothering this childeffectively? I sat back and thought about how I had never once thought of therape during labor. It had not cast its nasty shadow over this beautiful andsacred event. It had stayed in the corner where I ordered it when we arrivedinto the delivery room. It never even prowled the edges of my mind because Irefused to let it influence the birth of my son. Whoever says that birth isless about a mental state and more about a physical state---does not know onetiny thing about giving birth.

Birth is both a physical and a mental challenge. It isintense. It is painful but not beyond the range of being able to cope with theintense pain. It is a challenge that I met—with a lot of reservations—andconquered. I conquered my fears. I birthed my baby naturally with a midwife. Ibirthed my baby in the circle of my husband’s arms just as I had wanted to. Ibirthed my baby with my mom at my side—just as I had asked for her to be withme through it all. I held my head higher after that birth and I began my journeyto process and understand why my birth was more complicated than other womens’births even though physically I was very fit. Mentally I was still ill from therape. I had not faced and recovered from the rape by the time I had gone intolabor with J but giving birth to J (and my induction into the natural birthingcommunity through the Birth Center) meant that I met and became friends withfive amazing women from my centering childbirth education class. Thosefriendships carried me through the first year of parenting. Those ladies’ senseof humor, listening ears, group emails about vomit and breast milk at 4am and resourcesfor dealing with breast lumps and crying jags and our discussions of unconditionalparenting meant that I got through the first year of intense care nearly singlehandedly. My husband worked out of town four days each week leaving meto care for our infant alone and far away from my family members.

That first year was really hard butI can now celebrate the fifth year of being a mother with ease. As J’s fifthbirthday approaches ( in a few days we will be having a party for him) all thememories of his birth flood back into my mind. I feel proud of myself and ofthe family that my husband and I created together (J has a younger brother).Our family is healthy, loving, protected and safe from harm at the moment. Wehave had many challenges, both big and small but we have weathered them withour faith and our love and our philosophy that unconditional love can heal anyhurt. I know this is true. Because although I am still wounded and always willbe from the rape event, I have battle scars just like any soldier yet I am mostly healed. I camethrough the awful events in my life and I've turned them from fear intocompassion. God has helped me do that. For me personally ( although othersmight find other ways towards healing) only God could heal me fully and God ispowerful. The God that I believe in does not belong to any religion—he or sheor it---belongs to those who express love. My belief is that wherever you findlove, there will be God on earth.

Let me relate something interesting aboutmy perspective on the sacred nature of birth: To date I have been in the roomat over 20 births. Those experiences have shown me that the room in which aninfant arrives is a very sacred place. Birth should be given deep reverence. Amother should always feel safe and a father should always feel included in theprocess (if he wants to be included). That’s what I’ve learned about birth. Iam sharing my story in the hopes that it will help another survivor of rape get closerto understanding how her life experiences may be influencing her ideas about givingbirth and that there are many ways to release the fear naturally without dullingthe pain physically. I recommend HypnoBirthing as a tactic for anyone who has a strong fear of birth. Release that fear before you start feeling contractions and you will be in a much healthier mental state as you approach the birth event. I also want to pass along some very simple advice:

You are strong, newmother. Do not doubt yourself! Surround yourself with love at birth. Surroundyourself with wise and knowing and trusting birth attendants/advocates. Youwill never regret your birth if you do this, no matter what unexpected physicalchanges happen during birth, your strength of will and strength of mind willcarry you through. You were born to give birth—you are a woman---trust BIRTH.Also, good luck and I hope your first birth is much easier and gentler thanmine was. I think it’s highly likely that it will be!

Love, A

Shades of Gray

2012-01-08T19:00:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking a lot about how I often exist in the gray areas in the middle of two fiercely opposing views on any given subject. I meet so few people who occupy this place with me that when I find someone who does---I immediately mark them as a kindred spirit--someone else who just 'gets' it. It's strange though, when a childbirth attendant (doula) becomes pregnant. My other two children I was simply a mom trying to learn what my culture never shared with my about pregnancy and birth. When I was pregnant with my first child I worked full time. When I was pregnant with my second child I had already figured out how to adjust my work down to part-time so that I could be home with my elder child and start thinking about getting pregnant with our second child. When I became pregnant with S, I had a two year old (J) to chase after, I worked at PCC as an adjunct faculty member and I was attempting to complete Doulas of North America Training in my spare time (very little spare time meant that it took me much longer to do the requirements for DONA).

Now, I am a successful business owner of a company who provides both birth doula-ing services and lactaction consultations. Due to both personal choices and professional experiences I have deep roots in the natural birthing community in Tucson but I have had 'non traditional' pregnancies and births due to my placentas acting differently than other women's placentas. I had both of my children in a hospital naturally i.e. pain-medication free. I am among the minority of women who relied on stamina and strong will to get me through a pitocin induction and not ask for an epidural despite the increase in swift and fast contractions that Pitocin brings to a birthing mother. In my second trimester with my second son, I was told by most care providers (nurses and OB's and even at least one midwife) that a cesarean section was inevitable/highly likely because I had been "diagnosed" with placenta previa. I did my research and disagreed with the assessment, fired the people telling me that a c-section was inevitable and hired an OB who was not an idiot--in other words--- she practiced "let's wait and see and not make any rash choices or decisions until we know for SURE." She was amazing. All she did was leave me alone until my doula came to get her to catch the baby. She also supported my choice, when a nurse was giving me a hard time, to avoid pit to get the placenta out after I had already given birth naturally to S. I knew it had not been very long after the birth and I was resting and catching my breath before I decided to 'push' again and birth the placenta and the nurse was just being impatient. My OB knew that the nurse was also imply being impatient when she was pressuring me about getting the Pit (her reasoning was, this is what we always do). My OB, thankfully, backed me up and the nurse was forced to wait for me to birth the placenta when I was 'good and ready' and not when the nure felt like moving on to another patient. Dr. Mudge told the nurse that I could choose to avoid pit with no complications. I wanted Dr. Mudge for this pregnancy/birth too. However, Dr. Mudge moved to Fairbanks, Alaska last summer. While I am happy for her (seems like a great place to live!) I am sad for this void in my life now. I am not usually an indecisive person so it's difficult to make this choice now. It's almost as if I have too much information (is that even possible?) about birth and maternity care in the US and I have examples of differences in care in Peru to draw from as well. I know that a lot of things are done in the US for cultural reasons or hospital policy regulations or malpractice insurance risks rather than educated, well-researched positions of maternal and infant care.

I just am not quite sure what I should do this time. This baby may make some choices no longer an option-- I could just wait and see what the baby decides. However, I like to plan ahead. It makes me feel good to know that those attending me at my birth will be people I've developed a relationship of trust with and in order to have that by the time this baby is ready to arrive, I need to start early in establishing those connections. Here is what I am wondering though: Should I do hospital birth with a 'good' OB and go natural among the beeps and blips and ridiculous pokes and prods from the nurses? Or should I hope to hit the minimal target of being only four days over due and try for a Birth Center Birth yet AGAIN?

I basically begin my pregnancies at the birth center and then at some point, I risk out. I'm told that I don't get to have the midwifery style of care at the birth center because I am "high risk" for whatever reason. At the BC they get funding from the government so even though a woman can be naturally 'post due' with no medical indication of high risk, you don't get to give birth there if you are past the cut off. Nice, eh?
Anyway, everyone makes assumptions about what kind of choices I am going to make based on what they thought that I thought about this or that thing about pregnancy and giving birth. It's strange existing in this gray place with so little company.

It feels a little isolating sometimes and I am quite thankful for my best friend in Tucson, KK, who just simply gets me and gets it and gets is all---even if she doesn't right away, her mind is always turning perspectives over and her very intelligent mind usually comes up with a very interesting perspective---which I usually agree with--but sometimes don't. Those are the really cool conversations that we have; the ones where we sort of disagree but we can see the other person's point of view and then we get to "argue" our points in a respectful manner and both leave feeling satisfied that we both learned something new about the other person. Do you have a friend like this in your life? If so, go give them a hug RIGHT NOW! If not, keep being you and you will bump into one eventually--to your utter surprise and delight!

But back to the metaphor. I live in a gray world. My worldview does not allow for black or white thinking. It's what attracting me to anthropology, it's what made cultural anthropology enormously simple for me and it's why I can take an American culture class with a bunch of other really bright anthropology grad students and ace it (while I still fight for an A in a history or sociology course) because quite simply, I think in relativity very naturally. It's not a huge effort for me to put myself in someone's shoes for a day or an hour or a second and understand why they said, did or chose something. I might not agree with it. I might not like it. I will still respect it.

Here's why---everyone deserves respect in this world when they are born into it. Babies should be respected, mothers should be respected, fathers should be respected. Children should be respected. Adults need to behave in honorable ways in order to continue to earn respect. That's how I view the world. That's why I chose the Waldorf style of education for my children and that's why some of my students leave my classes holding their heads much higher than they did when they plopped down into their seats and glared at me for daring to charge them so much for a textbook (note to students--I don't get to decide that!!).

It's January and I am still fighting to carry this baby around everywhere with me, I am still torn between natural hospital birth (so that I have access to technology if the baby needs it right after birth) and the Birth Center, run by El Rio (which gives me very little time to be post-due before I risk out of those rooms) . Everyone I meet already assumes that I am birthing here---or there---depending on how they know me. It's weird. How to go through all of the vast amounts of information from maternal and infant health that exists in my head, describe my experiences attending births in Peru and my experiences attending birth in the United States, in about five minutes or less? I can't. So, I just try to simplify: "still deciding, I say" OR "we will see what the baby decides" I say. "It's not entirely a choice *I* get to make," I say.....puzzled expressions follow...... I provide the necessary clarification: This baby is my husband's too, you know?

Oh yes, but it's your decision they say and then they think a lot of things that they probably don't say as they stare in amazement at me.....I drop the topic or change the topic.....they've already given themselves away.....they can't see my shades of gray.

How strange is it to be a doula and pregnant? Pretty much like what midwives probably felt the first time they were pregnant themselves rather than caring for pregnant ladies. It's very different. It's very real both bodily and emotionally......it's just plain real. This is my third pregnancy but it's the first I've gone through while many people around my expect---something from me about it---so my choices hold more weight for some reason. It's strange. I guess I could just keep my choices to myself but if any of you know me well who are reading this, you know how unlikely that task is for me! What I am learning is not only is each baby--mother combo unique in each family, but so is each pregnancy in the family/work/extended family dynamic. We don't live in a vaccuum and our babies are certainly are not born into a world that's going to give them a leg -up immediately unless they have mama's and papa's who advocate for that every step of the way from conception, pregnancy, birth and the first year of life. Actually, now that I'm taking along view, advocating for your child never ends. It's a life-long responsibility that we should never turn over to "experts" or "writers of child development theory" or "our school system" or "extended family views on any given subject" because guess what? That's beauty of parenting YOU get to decide how to advocate for your family in the world, YOU get to make tons of choices big and small about the development, nutrition, exercise, enrichment opportunities, literacy of your children. If you want your birth to be natural--educate yourself and do the work during pregnancy to meet the challenge of birth with skills in your toolbox and a doula (or husband or mother or other support person) at your birth. If you want your child to enjoy reading--read them books every night and let them watch you reading/enjoying books in your free time. If you want your child to have a zest for learning and an unquenchable spirit toward education---do your research and find a school that fits your child's personality/temperment--not all education is equal! Waldorf was absolutely the right choice for J, hands down, that child thrives among Waldorf teaching philosophies. I'm not sure about S yet--he's a different kid--but he seems to be responding in different ways to Waldorf teaching in the play group we go to--but also with a lot of enthusiasm and enjoyment for the style of learning that Waldorf embodies. We'll see what happens......I wonder what this baby will be......so many exciting discoveries ahead for our new addition.......

Much love to those who've read and appreciated these words. ~A

GBBFS Sky Bar Doula Club is Moving Date:Time:Locations

2011-12-29T19:26:00.000-08:00

So, this group of revolving women that I meet with at Sky Bar are really cool women. I love each of them. We all come from various parts of the city and have found that Sky Bar seems like a good meeting place, or at least a good middle ground, but as this club has evolved, it's starting to draw more from Northwest and West Tucson locations. A few east siders and a few barrio-downtowners make occasional appearance at my weekly doula club. Now, it's time for a change in location and day of the week though. Since I organize it, adjust my work and family life for it and generally go out of my way to make it EVERY week, I decided that it's going to have to be a location closer to my northwest neighborhood to be regularly enjoyable for me. Then, if everyone cancels unexpectedly, I don't make a 20 minute there and back trip to Sky Bar for no reason. I get that all of these lovely women have work, most have children and all are involved in multiple clubs, work groups, classwork etc. Also a few of them just got pregnant, (I am including myself in that subgroup). So, The Gentle Beginnings Birth and Family Services Club is moving to Friday Night, at Starbucks on Oracle, just north of Rudasille from 7-8pm. For those ladies wanting to stay later, they can walk across the parking lot to the Mexican restaurant for drinks and keep the conversation flowing over wine or beer and food. For those pregnant ladies, yours truly, we can go for a quick discussion and a quick reconnect with our good friends and then head out for any early bedtime. My bedtime has been creeping up to 8pm now that I am constantly tired, constantly hungry, constantly working and constantly caring for a 2 and 4 year old. This mama is gett'n tired ya'll. See you next Friday, at Starbuck's at 7pm (I might be late if husband is not home from work promptly due to surgeries). I hope that as I take a little bit of a step back from this group, someone else will stand up and take charge.......not sure who has it in them.....but a budding leader could be in this group of amazing women!

with love,
A

Bacon Bits

2011-12-23T09:16:00.000-08:00

This baby craves meat. I am guessing that I cannot be vegan during this pregnancy because this baby needs protein LARGE quantities. My husband tells me all about this guy Harris, a paleo diet advocator (I think?) and explains that we, as humans, need to eat meat because we are part of a food chain that is more complex than people with tiny brains can comprehend. Apparently, we need to eat animals, according to this guy (and my hubbie) because we can't digest certain enzymes from plants very well---unless the go through an animal's digestion first. I am writing from a very unsure place right now. Don't hold me accountable for mistakes since I have not read the literature myself yet. My husband loves meat. He feels better when he eats it and I don't doubt that his genetic make-up and biology could never be healthy on a vegan diet. My biology is different though. However, I am realizing that as I attempt to be a vegetarian once again (decided against vegan--for a very simple reason--convenience). I don't like a lot of red meat though. I could eat free-range chicken and wild caught salmon as my protien sources and be perfectly content never eating red meat again. Except that about once a year I crave a steak or a hamburger or a fatty piece of bacon. Now that I am pregnant those once a year urges have turned into daily urges. Ugh. This baby is telling me that I cannot be a vegan pregnant mom. Ok, that's fine, I hear you baby. I will wait. I will try again in two years. It's going to be biologically imperative for me to eat meat during pregnancy, I guess. Whatever, it's my body right? Nope. It's ours. That's the truth, isn't it? Yes, it's being shared, so this partnership, as all partnerships need, has to include some compromises. I am willing. I am am able. I guess I'm going to eat bacon. :)

Winter Solstice Promises [To My Youngest Babe]

2011-12-21T13:13:00.000-08:00

I think you are a girl. I think you are a boy. I think you are healthy. I know you are already loved unconditionally.I think you will arrive right on time. I will be patient if you don't. I think you will enjoy a birth center birth. I will go to the hospital if that is what you and I need. We are one--right now--mutually dependent. We are the ultimate partnership in closeness. You are in me. I am hungry and tired because of you. I am happy and satisfied imagining you. We are sacred. We are loved. We are blessed. We await you in delight!! Love Mama --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------post-script- your brothers love you already too. You were your daddy's idea first and he is thrilled to know you soon. You will be born into love, peace and a beautiful family.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Still Conflicted But Very Happy About Something Else Entirely

2011-12-18T03:11:00.000-08:00

Thanks to all who responded to my question on my Gentle Beginnings Birth and Family Services facebook page. I was terribly impressed with my friends, co-workers and family members' wealth of knowledge on eating vegan, vegetarian, paleo, humanely ominivore, etc. I love my network of opinionated, intelligent people. On GBBFS, I have mothers of multiples, mothers who help other mothers, feminist women who eat consciously, single mothers who rock my world with their super parenting and mutltitasking, male friends who eat consciously, doulas, midwives (no Ob's yet), Jewish and Christian and Aethist and Agnostic and Spirtual and Anthropolosophical friends. With that simple question, [go check out my page for the question and answer responses if you are curious--it's a public page-- if you have a facebook act. all you need to do is type in my biz name and you will find it] I was given a storm of opinions from all my various social networks.

I realized something much more important while reading such diverse answers and opinions. Gentle Beginnings, my business baby, is already achieving one very LARGE goal of mine: Having a diverse following. That is so cool to me--you don't even know how fulfilled that makes me ladies and gentleman! Diversity on our planet (a major reason I would like to eat vegan---the argument for use of land and space to raise animals making less space available for sharing our world---is pretty persuasive). Diversity in human culture is what I teach every day. Unbiased interactions with expectant parents is what I strive for personally. Non-judmental behavior is what I am generally very good at in life, it's what makes me an excellent anthropologist and it's what allows me to have such diverse friendships that enrich my life beyond measure. Thank you all. Have a blessed and beautiful day. I am off to listen to Diane Rhem podcasts while grading the last few finals before my beautiful bouncing, energetic boys awake.
peace and love,
~A

Whole Foods, Organic, Vegan, Vegetarian, Paleo

2011-12-17T13:58:00.000-08:00

So, what's a pregnant lady to do? I know that I have been eating a Whole Foods, Mostly Organic Diet for many years. I've got that down--no processed foods except on holidays (or when I am invited to celebrate events with divere eaters--I don't like to be socially rude). Gluten does not bother me or my son J but it does bother my husband and my son S. My main hypothesis for why the Paleo style of eating {which includes lots of whole foods, tons of vegetables, a good amount of protein in animal form and a few complex sugars from fruit, no bread, some nuts} works for both my husband and for my son S is because it eliminates gluten and makes them feel great with less bloating.

----I was going to write my youngest son---- but now that I'm pregnant I'll have to mentally make that change with S and call him my middle child! That's pretty fun to think about. I will have a middle child. I was the third born so I know all about middle children---I know that they are not the most vocal (older or younger usually) and are easily passed over (older sibs take care of what mom usually does) by parents--especially mothers who are busy.

In an effort to really give S as much attention as I gave to J (I realize it's not entirely possible but still I still think it's a good goal); I am trying to figure out how I can still give S a gluten free diet in the paleo style of eating while I opt out of that myself. I want to mesh all of our "best diets" into one family of diverse eaters. I do not have very many role models out there. I do have a lot friends who eat consciously. I have good friends who have been following a vegan diet for many years and are very healthy. I have friends who have just been turned on by the paleo diet and seem to be excited about this being a lifestyle change for good. I don't know friends. I just do not know. My heart hurts for the animals used and abused in food production. However, I love farmers. I grew up surrounded by Fruit Farmers in rural Michigan. I think good farmers are wonderful, nurturing people who love their animals and take a practical view of their animals' lives. I've met so many cool people at Farmer's Market's in Tucson. It seems to me that I need to make a choice though. I've been sitting on the fence for ever- so- long. Could eating vegan be for me?

Here's my dilemma: I know that we are ominivores from an evolutionary biology perspective. I know that humans have made use of incredibally diverse environmental subsistence opportunities so I don't believe that ONE WAY is the ONLY way for everyone. Call it the anthropologist inside me but you are never going to convince me that one style of eating is best for everyone. I know too much about cultures around the globe. I know too much about the ACTUAL paleolithic hunter-gatherers. Not the pick- whatever- you- want- to- support- your- paleo- dieting- philosophy that I often read on nearly all the paleo blogs that I follow (and many of them still have excellent recipes by the way). I am also a person who is guided very strongly by my own intuition.

So, I am going to do a vegan experiment (yes paleo husband I am) even though I am pregnant. I will make exceptions when invited to eat with friends and family. I will try this experiment in a personal way so as to have very little impact on anyone else in my life. Why? Because I want to leave less pain in the world than I otherwise would if I ate animals. Because I respect other people's choices and I am not the type to tell you what to do (I happen to hate it when people tell me what to do). I've successfully been a vegetarian in my twenties for five years. Then I started reading about how to prepare your body for pregnancy. I started eating not only wild caught fish (mercury free!) but also chicken. Then my husband and mother in law (a health nut) swayed me towards the paleo diet. I did that for about six or seven months. It had way too much meat in it for my personal palette. I am a foodie-- I admit it. I'm sorry if that makes you think I'm a snob but let me explain my foodie tendencies: it's more about wanting to eat Clean Food and less about wanting to throw around my knowledge of wine and speciality foods. I'm a foodie, but not the obnoxious kind, I hope.

I try to eat what satisfies my hunger, thirst and above all I desire to combine the correct nutrients for my personal biology. My personal biology is different than yours. For a lot of reasons I have to be careful to get a lot of omega three's in my diet. Carlson's Fish Oil--tested and cleaned out for mercury content--has been a staple in my diet since 2001. I used to buy it at Sawall's in Kzoo, Whole Foods in Chicago and now I buy it at Whole Foods in Tucson. I eat a lot of fresh spinach and organic strawberries. I eat a lot oranges and bananas. I eat a lot of carrots, hummus and cucumbers. I don't think a vegan diet would be that far off from what I've been doing with a Whole Foods diet already. I know one thing: I will have to be careful to eat the correct combinations of foods to maximize the capacity of my body to transfer those nutrients into what my cells need. I will come clean also tell you that I love to bake, I love bakeries, I love baked goods and making cupcakes, cookies, breads, pastries etc. I am probably more addicted to sugar than the average paleo lifestyle eating person and MUCH LESS than the average American eating the SAD way (think about what's served in a public school cafeteria and you get the idea).

I hope not to horrify you with this attempt because I am only five weeks along in my pregnancy. I will be taking prenatals. I will be taking mercury free fish oil. I will be eating spinach and clementines in winter and strawberries and spinach in summer. I will be careful to get enough calcium and vitamin D. I will be careful to get enough iron and vitamin C. I need to do some more research on how to get enough Complex B's. Wish me luck! Please leave supportive ideas, vegan recipes that you are in lovew with and fun comments below. Please do not leave snarky or mean comments about my personal choices for myself and my children. Peace and Love to you all.

~A

Gratitude Entry

2011-12-15T07:45:00.000-08:00

Do you keep a gratitude journal? I've done this for years and it helps me to focus on the good in life. I sometimes get very distracted at all the heart ache and injustice in the world. I have two choices, get angry and motivated (been doing that a lot lately) or redirect my energies into goodness and positive thoughts (changing gears towards this now).

So, here's my entry from yesterday:
I am grateful for:
fertility
birth workers that respect mothers and babies
childbirth options in Tucson
The beauty in the New Birth Center, now run as El Rio Women's Healthcare
The Integrative medicine GYN I met the other day
The lovely support of artists on Etsy
The ability to talk to my sister Tricia at 7a.m. before our kids wake up
The ability to have friends who love me deeply and are loyal to a fault--thank you!
The intellectual stimulation that I receive from co-workers at Pima Community College
The ability to be a teacher that students who are hurting come to for help--and I take get them help through Pima's excellent advising and counseling department
The little hugs that S gave me this morning at 3am when we both woke up unexpectedly
The creative force that is my son J and the excitement he has for the holiday season
The stead-fast nature of my husband in spite of my distracting energic planning/painting/writing that I am experiencing this month
The fact that he looks forward to taking our boys to the zoo at his first opportunity
The way he puts my boys' coats on with gentle and special care to be sure they are warm outside (even though he sometimes forgets to put their shoes on!! It is winter husband).
My best friend in Tucson, Kathleen. She is beautiful inside and out. Her spirit is rare.
S coming to me this morning and telling me that "his feelings are hurting him" and me rocking him back to sleep. (He just started going part-time to preschool a few times every other week and he is a sensitive lad).
My far-flung sister-friends who called to congratulate me on # 3
My friend Sarah, in Athens for being close at heart no matter how far the distance
My friend Amy, for always making an effort to stay in touch even though she is crazy busy with her own life
My friend Megan, for making two words feel like one thousand in an email.
My friend Dawn, for her intellect and sense of humor-- it's so good to know I will get to see her this weekend.
My life. I am here. I am going to do something good with it for as long as I am able to.

A Letter to Santa from J, age 4

2011-12-14T05:16:00.000-08:00

My oldest son is sitting on my lap as I type out this blog. I didn't get as much done this morning as usual and this week has been very full of big happenings. Some great and some tragic. It's the world we live in, I guess. My son would like for me to post up his letter to Santa. I think some of you might enjoy it and I think Santa does know how to access the internet although he prefers the home-made letter version being so far up in the North Pole that sometimes internet connections are sketchy (how do you like my rationalizations for my four year old?)

Dear SANTA,
I would like a leopard and guess what else I want? A jellyfish. Also, I want a knight costume with a sword and and a shield. And a helmet, of course. If you could also bring me a pet Kangaroo I would like that very much. The baby kangaroo in the pouch could play with me in my garden if you bring me a mama Kangaroo. I would like that VERY much.
Love, J------

P.S. Guess what else I want? A toy pumpkin. This is something you already know but please remember. I love you. J-----

I can't help but carry around this list and look at it every time I need to smile all week long. Enjoy these precious moments parents.As my mother in law is fond of saying "They are worth more than GOLD."

Meeting a Retired Midwife In the Andes of Peru

2011-12-08T04:29:00.001-08:00

We rocketed around the steep curve, narrowly missing a pick-up truck with several people, dogs , food and chickens in the bed and I just had time to stare in alarm at the cliff dropping down below into the valley that spread out before me when the bus jostled a mother with her baby into me and I was knocked off my feet into the aisle, landing hard on my bum. “Disculpeme!” The woman exclaimed (Excuse me!) Rearranging her baby on her back, she leaned down towards me and tried to help me to my feet. Marisol had also been thrown by the curve but, being Ayacuchan, she had simply rested her weight on the man next to her and they leaned together into another passenger to avoid being thrown backward, with the ease of people who have no personal space cultural issues that prevent them from leaning on perfect strangers. I was still unaccustomed to the wickedly dangerous car/bus/taxi travel that native Ayacuchans considered normal travel. I was constantly amazed at how Ayacuchans assumed a bland and calm attitude towards locomotive machines and even carelessly hopped aboard moving busses with babies on their backs, bags in their hands and tiny black sandals skidding on the the railings. The poplular black sandals worn by indigenous women all over the Andes did not look like they were good for running but they did the trick just fine for most of the women that I knew.

For me, traveling in Ayacucho was something like going on a rollercoaster ride (which I enjoy) but without the knowledge the everyone would be safe at the end (which I did not enjoy).The previous week, the papers had detailed a horrific accident of a bus colliding with a truck, on the very road we were traveling on. Both vehicles had plummeted over the (unrailed) cliff---killing, maiming and traumatizing the passengers. I closed my eyes and jumped back up from the aisle, dusting off my jeans with my hands and looking out toward the beauty of an Andean mountain range.

Marisol leaned in, and said “Not too much longer and we will be there.”

I said, “We should stay all day, maybe we could get lunch there and come back in the late afternoon so that we don’t have to be on this road in a heavy traffic time.”

I was keen to avoid high traffic times on the road since the main form of letting another car know that you were coming around a steep and blind curve in the mountain road was to blare your horn when you started the curve and hope for the best.

She nodded, “Ok, I know two artists we could visit in the village and a little shop for getting food for a picnic.”

I smiled and returned my attention to staying upright as we curved again around the next hair pin in the road. We barreled forth, weaving in s curves towards a village outside of Ayacucho. We were climbing higher into the Andes where I hoped to meet a midwife and interview her about practicing midwifery among the indigenous populations near her home village.

Once we arrived in ____ (I am keeping the location obscure for ethical purposes) Marisol and I jumped off the bus and started walking toward a clinic where Marisol knew of two nurses who we planned to talk to about birth. We also wanted to ask, casually, where we could find the retired midwife that I hoped to interview.

When we arrived in the village, I felt much calmer walking along the dirt paths and through the adobe homes scattered around the road. Significantly calmer than I had been feeling back in the bus! As we walked along with puffs of dust kicking up under our shoes, I observed the structure of the village and the homes (this is an anthropological method to determine use of space, population guesses and what is of high importance to the community--whatever is of high importance to the group is usually near the central square or the school house). Each home had a little ceramic painted house topped with a cross on it decorating the roof. It was as if everyone wanted a miniature church on top of their home and I understood that the houses were used in blessings of new buildings. I found the sincretization of Christian and traditional Incan religious philosophies extremely fascinating. I began to question Marisol about how the ceremony for constructing and blessing a new home took place. I asked her if I could attend a blessing ceremony some time if she ever heard that there would be one during my time living in Peru. She nodded and explained the various thoughts behind a home needing a blessing. We walked along in this happy manner for several more minutes and then the conversation turned serious as she described her own experiences during the war, which happened when she was in grade school.

We passed two young girls (perhaps their image reminded Marisol of her innocent days) who were holding hands and swinging their arms back and forth in harmony as they enjoyed the close contact of a friendship. Sisters, best friends and cousins--female mostly--were very physically affectionate with each other. Men and boys were also more physically affecionate with family members and friends than I was accustomed to in the US.

I always noticed this because I have two sisters and one brother myself and although we are all emotionally close, we only embrace at times of greeting or parting. We never walk around (like couples in the US do) with such obvious affection . Seeing these young girls giggling and laughing as they went to school or the market around the Andes always made me homesick for my sister Tricia, who was closest in age to me when we were growing up and my best sister-friend in life.

It’s very odd that when you do ethnographic fieldwork you are always noticing cultural differences in both small and large ways. Many times what I noticed made me homesick, at the same time that I never wanted to leave Peru. I loved Peruvian culture for so many reasons. I loved the way they used humor in daily life--from their teasing manner of interacting with friends to their outward affection with the relationships of import in their lives. I loved the extended community within the city that supported and encouraged children to feel safe growing up in Ayaucho. I loved all of the foods, especially the multitude of potato varieties and the delicious soups that everyone knew how to make. Peru felt like home to me within weeks-- so fast that it surprised me. Why had I felt so at home in Ayacucho? I think it was for all the same reasons that I frequently felt like an outcast in America.

Within my true-inner nature I was a black sheep in America. I was assertive but not aggressive. I was emotional but not insane. I was sensitive and never harsh with people I cared for deeply. Ayacuchans understood all of this about me and accepted it without diagnosing me with an illness or suggesting that I seek professional counseling. [A future blog post will details the rich ethnographic writings that anthropologists have gathered on cultural reasons for mental illness. It is a truly enlightening topic and if you can't wait for my blog post go read Making it Crazy, an ethnography of mental illness that I read in graduate school which details how mental illnesses are treated in American culture]. In America, I physically fit very well within the dominant social class and I never experienced any subjugation based on my race (white) or class (upper middle class growing up and working class in college). It was a flip of sorts in Peru, because I stood out physically but I connected culturally. My small frame of 5'4'' was the average for men and a little taller for women and my skin tone immediately outed me as likely wealthy and foreign. However, my inner way of thinking and behaving clicked seamlessly with the normative ways of behaving and relating to one another in the Andes.

I remember feeling a strange emotion one night after writing up my fieldnotes from the days work of participant-observation. It took me awhile to recognize it but eventually I realized that the emotion was jealousy. I was envious of the poor women and sisters who sat around swapping stories all day long and helping each other nurture their infants. [I will discuss the traditional practice of lying-in that indigenous women in the Andes participated in at a later time. Probably in January I will post it up on the blog-- it is so interestingly different from the American postpartum phase of life.]

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Part Two:

………..My mood expanded as the fresh air floated down from the high altiplano and swept my hair back. I began to enjoy the walk; stretching out my legs with long strides. I hitched my packpack up into a more comfortable position and prepared for a little hike through the village. My backpack held a tape recorder, a video camera, a fieldwork notebook, an apple, a chunk of stale bread and my hardy water bottle. This was a water bottle that I had bought at an expensive hiking store in Tucson, Arizona shortly before my husband and I were married. It had cost 10 US dollars and I had lost it at a pharmacy pick-up last week with great concern. I had explained to Daria, my co-worker at the pharmacy at Santa Elena Centre de Salud, how I really needed to get the water bottle back as it was important to me for traveling. I could not drink the water in Ayacucho without getting sick so I would carry about two litres of water around with me everywhere that I went in the city. Natives in the city did not have the same problems as I did drinking the water--their bodies had adapted to it already--but mine was a very different constitution. I had been very ill at one point in my studies (this happens to nearly all anthropologists at some point during fieldwork) and after that horrible episode of helplessness and vomiting, I became a little obssessive about keeping my clean water close at all times!

Daria, several clinic nurses, and one of the doctors that worked at the clinic liked to hang around the pharmacy mainly to talk and tease me. In between seeing patients, I was the interesting foreigner that everyone wanted to chat up and practice English words (and teach me Quechua or Spanish words) and they had been brutally teasing me for many hours after they discovered how much American Money I had shelled out for a container to carry water.

My husband, also working at the clinic in an EMT role, tried to defend me by explaining how strong the water bottle was;

“You see, it is expensive because it is so strong,” he said. "You could throw it under a bus and it would not break. “

This knowledge effectively stopped the teasing, which I was grateful for (why had I spent so much on a stupid water bottle?) but turned the conversation towards an experiment to throw my water bottle under a bus and see if it did, in fact, remain in tact! I wasn’t very thrilled about seeing if my botalla de agua--muy fuerte (very strong water bottle) would crack under a bus tire at all!

My husband was called away to triage and he was no longer at the pharmacy in order to distract my teasers but luckily, just as bus schedules started to be discussed, a pregnant woman arrived in labor and I was able to leave the farmacia.

Daria and one of the doctors were comparing bus traveling schedules and arguing over when a bus was likely to come by the clinic as I smiled and raised my eyebrows on my way out of the pharmacy and into the delivery area. I was able to lift my bottle off the counter and stash it into my bag as I rushed out of the pharmacy. My aim was two-fold, to observe a birthing mother and to keep my water bottle intact for future travel. I was giggling as Daria called after me that I had made a narrow escape.....

I loved the good-natured ribbing that the clinic staff gave me each day and I especially liked to hear Daria say, with her beautiful cheerful voice, each morning “Buenos Dias, Ahhhmaaaandaaa! I have work for my smart American. Come in and I will show you what needs to be done!”

Daria was a natural nurturer and I felt pleasantly mothered by her each day. She was not married and had no children (very unusual) and spent her life excelling in her career and mothering anyone younger or more vulnerable than herself. I hope very much to see her again at some future date. We both cried on the day that I left the clinic for we suspected that it would be many years (if ever) before we were able to hug again. Every time I hear the song Dust in the Wind, I think of her because she loved the lyrics and would alway sing along when it played on the radio in the pharmacy.

When I left Peru, I was traveling to Ecuador to have a mini vacation with my husband and to meet a UCSF faculty member that he knew (who had helped him travel to Ecuador in college). After decompressing in Quito, Ecuador, we planned to travel back to Mighigan for a large Rose family reunion. Then we would be traveling back to Flagstaff where I would begin teaching my first ever anthropology course at NAU (thanks for choosing me Dr. Trotter!) and would work to complete my Master's degree. My husband and I had fallen deeply in love within the first month of meeting one another and one of the bonds that solidified our desire to spend our lives together was that we both loved international travel and wanted to explore, have adventures and possibly never have children while we globe-trotted. I think it's amusing to remember how on our second or third date (we had been friends for two months before beginning to date) we had two major plans for our future together. They both included traveling to South America. However, one included adopting unwanted children (five seemed like a good number to us) and the other included never have children at all and just enjoying each other and the open road. I like to think that we have found a happy medium at this point in our lives.

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Marisol sometimes accompanied me at the Santa Elena clinic when I needed her for translating interviews and the clinic staff knew her well by the end of my research stint in the field. They all loved to hear her speak English---the clinic staff often remarked how beautiful her language skills were-- and they enjoyed her caring and activist personality too. Marisol was friendly with Santa Elena staff, but had never worked there before my arrival. I had come with my research goals and hired her to work with me and the clinic embraced her as my co-worker on my research study giving her free access any time she wanted to drop in to see me or any time I had scheduled an interview with her as a translator.

Marisol became even more friendy with some of the staff members after she and I had attended a woman giving birth who had nearly died in labor. The woman had survived after an emergency surgery at the Hospital. Adam, I, Marisol, one nurse and one Obstetrician were present at the birth and there were not enough people to help at all. I ended up going well past a doula role into a nursing assistant role while the nurse ran into the triage area to call the ambulance for pick up to take the laboring mother to the hospital (it was only about five minutes away from the clinic so this was an extreme emergency). I was holding the infant while the obstetrician/midwife was trying to staunch the blood and Marisol was calmly stroking the mother's hair repeating this phrase "Tranquila, Tranquila mama." (Tranquility, Tranquility, mother) and Adam was racing around handing whatever the obstetrician needed supply-wise before she could even ask him for it. I also poured water on the opening so that the obstetrician could see what was happening--I have no idea what this actually did--except I think it washed some of the heavy blood away so that the obsetrician/midwife could see more effectively.

It was an intense experience for all of us and Marisol liked to be able to came back to the clinic in order to check up on the particular mother that we had helped get to the hospital--which saved her life. The woman named her baby after me (I think it was at least partly because I told her that Amanda meant beloved in English). Everyone liked to see the mother and baby come to the clinic for check-ups. We all fussed over her and doted on the baby. After sharing in such an intense experience together, we all had a very special bond.

Her labor and birth will be forever burned into my brain. It is the sole reason that I feel terrified about ever moving into midwifery and out of doula work. The responsibility of catching babies that the young obstetrician/midwife at the clinic seemed unphased by—even after she nearly lost this particular mother---has always been beyond my comprehension. I felt that we had been very lucky and that fate had been mostly responsible for the good outcome.

Actually, Marisol like to check-in with all the mothers and babies that she knew from the surrounding neighborhood whenever she was with me at the clinic. Partly because she was a friendly and caring person and partly because she closely followed my research goals, helping me to get a good amount of data to use for my thesis writing. She truly was an amazing person for me to work with and should be given at least 50 percent of the credit for the quality and amount of good data that we gathered together. Marisol and I returned to the topic of the births in Andean clinics at regular intervals when we were together walking and talking. This is where our conversation was leading while we were hiking to the village clinic in_____.

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We began to slow down as Marisol recognized the village clinic where she hoped to talk with the nurses that she knew through mutual aquaintances.

Marisol, asked me: “How many births have you observed now?”

I said, “Well from start to finish-- I’ve seen five at Santa Elena so far but it would be great to see one at this clinic (in the tiny village) so that I could compare the clinical care between this smaller clinic and Santa Elena.

She nodded and said, “I’m sure they would allow it. We will ask when we get there.”

A few more minutes of walking in silence, we had made it to the section of the village that held the clinic. An ambulance was parked outside the small building. This impressed me because Santa Elena did not own an ambulance. It was something they really needed to transport emergency births to the Hospital, but the clinic did not have the money to buy one, maintain it and pay for gas, according to the head doctor at Santa Elena. How in the world did this village-clinic, much smaller than Santa Elena, have the resources to buy an ambulance, I wondered?(I found out much later this little village clinic had been given a large grant as a test-clinic by a European NGO to see if technological access improved birth outcomes. The increase in maternal and infant health due to this clinic's new european technology was minimal. Basically the NGO had to admit that access to technology was not the main barrier to health for mothers and babies at this little clinic. It was another failed development project in the Andes, because it was not culturally sensitive in its design).

Marisol walked up to the front desk of the clinic and asked to speak to one of the nurses that she knew. The nurse at the desk asked, “Who is she?” when she glanced at me (I was waiting close to the entrance).

Marisol explained my goals and my research, ending with my credentials, as usual. The nurse asked, “Is she studying to become a midwife?”

Marisol said,

“No.” She is studying to become a teacher---a teacher of different cultures.”

The nurse looked suspiciously at me, as if I clearly had an alterior motive for being there beyond wanting to study culture. Marisol, then explained that I volunteered through CCS, the NGO in Ayaucho that she was certain the nurse was familiar with, Marisol was hoping that my association with CCS might make a good impression on the nurse, CCS had a good reputation in the community (CCS's partner, the large NGO--CARE-- did not and Marisol did not mention CARE very obviously). The nurse’s demeanor changed upon hearing this and she said,

“Aha, I know another volunteer from there. She works at the Orphanage with the children and plays the music…do you know, J?”

As it happened, I did know J, in fact J was my closest friend in Ayacucho, besides Marisol, and I had talked with her a lot about her work with the orphaned children.

I said, “Yes!” enthusiastically and we began discussing the newborn triplets who had just been adopted by a Swedish couple. We both wondered how they would like their new home, being so far from their place of birth. The conversation flowed freely then and Marisol, the nurse and I talked about Ayacucho and the village and all the tragedies that created orphaned children in the Andes.

Soon, we were all comfortably out of mutual friends and topics of interest to discuss and the nurse asked If I wanted to observe a birth at her clinic.

“Of course,” I said,” Is there a woman in labor now?”

“No, not right now but I expect one tomorrow or the next day--she is definitely getting close.”

“ I would love to come back when you have a woman in labor here,” I said.

We exchanged phone numbers and I explained how long it would take me to get to the village clinic from the ccs home-base. [I did try to make it back for that birth but because of travel problems en route which delayed me, I never made it to observe the village birth at that clinic--I was bummed out for weeks about that!]
Then Marisol decided it would be best to come out with our major reason for making the trip out to the village clinic. She described the midwife we were trying to locate. The nurse knew immediately where she lived and offered to have a clinic staff member drive us to the house in the ambulance. I was hesitant, what if the clinic needed the ambulance? The nurse was not concerned. She said that if they needed the ambulance someone would run to the midwife’s house to get it—no problem. Ayauchans were so funny about this type of thing. Can you imagine being offered by a clinic nurse to be driven to a local house in an ambulance in the US?! In hind-sight, I think the clinic staff believed that the ambulance was a waste of resources so, they used it for practical purposes on a daily basis. They only kept it parked near the clinic if they had a woman in labor. Perhaps they even used the ambulance for other things unless their was a woman in labor at the clinic who looked like her birth would be complicated.

So, Marisol, a clinic staff member who was available to be our driver and I got into the ambulance. The driver took us to the midwife’s home.

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When Marisol and I got out, the midwife came through her gate with a very angry expression on her face. She spoke in Quechua, which I did not understand, but her body language was pretty dang clear. She wanted nothing to do with us. Marisol, who spoke fluent Quechua, spoke calmly and carefully.

I stood behind Marisol, trying to assume an expression of interest without seeming eager, while Marisol started the negotiations. The midwife began throwing her arms up with sharp punctuation marks after each sentence.

Marisol, spoke again.

I pulled on Marisol’s arm and said:

"Marisol, if she wants us to leave, we should. Don’t try to convince her. It’s her choice.”

Marisol, explained in Quechua, what I had just said to the midwife. The midwife looked back at me appraisingly, still suspicious and wary, but less angry.

Marisol, said a few more things and then turned away from the midwife. She began walking to the ambulance. I fell into step beside her and just as we reached the ambulance the midwife called to us.

“What’s in it for me Gringa?” she cackled delightedly.

Marisol smiled at me and turned back toward the midwife. The midwife had decided to give me the interview. In return she wanted payment in groceries. She would not allow me to record or video tape the interview but she consented to allowing me to take notes in my journal. She led us into the courtyard and towards a small walled-in garden and many birds with bird feeders all over the yard.

I sat down where the midwife indicated that I should and she sat down opposite of me, with Marisol in between us, so that we formed a triangle. I was a little nervous about how to start.

This was the first key-informant that I had interviewed who had shown reluctance upon meeting me. I said,

‘I will ask some questions about your trade of midwifery and you can tell me if you don’t want to answer a specific question or at any time that you want to stop the interview, just tell me and I will stop.”

She nodded and I began to direct Marisol in how to translate my consent forms into Quechua, the midwife seemed bored and it was obvious to me that in her mind we had already made a reciprocal agreement—the consent forms were a waste of time but she humored us.

I began with the usual first question “How long have you been a midwife?”

She explained that she was retired. She did not help women have babies anymore but that she had practiced since around the time she first had her own babies--she did not know how old she was--- but her sons were full grown men at this point.

I asked why she no longer practiced her calling.

She said that after a mother died, due to hemmorrage, when she was attending the birth the police had come to her home and forced her into prison. She said that ever since then, her sons would not allow her to practice midwifery because they worried about her going against the law.

I asked a few questions about the unique nature of the birthing woman who had died and asked if the baby had lived.

Oh, yes, she lives down the road from here. She comes to visit me all the time. I am like her grandmother. She knows I was the last person to be with her mother and she likes to hear me talk about her mother’s character and strength. Her mother might have had what you call cancer in her uterus, I do not know, but what looked like large cysts came out of her after the placenta discharged and I could not stop the bleeding. I had no time to get her to the clinic but I was concerned, very concerned about the baby. I cared for the baby and then tried to bring the mother to the clinic for help but they became angry with me when the realized that the mother had passed on. She was no longer.

I said, that must have been very hard for her as a midwife, and she nodded. She was silent for a moment and then got up to feed the birds in the yard. She walked around her yard tidying up a little bit more and just when I thought the interview had ended, abruptly, she sat back down.

She said “I will tell you this because you are a student and I understand you want to learn. You want to learn about midwives so that you can help women in Peru, right? I said, "Yes, very much I hoped to help mothers and babies feel healthy and strong in Peru.”

She said, “When the people who look like you came to our village, they gathered all the midwives together. They told us that we were dirty and did not know anything about helping babies and mothers and that they would teach us the European way of caring for babies and mothers so that mothers would not die so much in the Andes. At first we were all interested in the new knowledge, but then, we understood that they did not want to share the knowledge with us….what they really wanted was for us to stop being midwives. If we refused to take the training they were offering, they said we could not be midwives. So, of course, we all took the training. If you don’t believe me, I can show you my certificate of completion.

I said that I believed her but if she wanted to show it to me I would be interested to see it.

She got up and walked into her house, shifting around things and looking for it.

Then two big men came into the courtyard and made a b-line for Marisol and I. They spoke in Spanish and Marisol stood up to explain what was going on. The men had their hands on their hips and were glaring at me. I stayed seated and tried to remain calm, I was sure Marisol would be able to communicate that we meant their mother no harm. Marisol, did communicate this.

The midwife came out of her house and greeted her sons. Her sons said that their mother was a fantastic midwife who was forced into retirement by ignorant men. The midwife smiled at her son’s praise and gave the closest one a pat on the cheek. They relaxed and sat down with us. The midwife told me that she did not know where she had placed the certificate, being of no real importance to her personally, but that she would keep looking for it and I could come back to see it another day.

She moved off into the house again and I turned my attention to the brother who had been most vocal initially—I asked him if he was concerned for his mother’s safety and he explained that he used to be, when she would take women who begged for her services, but now no one comes begging anymore because they know that she has to refuse them. She would still do it, if we did not ask her to stop. After the jailing incident, we decided it was not worth it for her to risk so much to help the women. We told her that we wanted her to retire and she did.

I asked how long she spent in jail.

The son said, three days, until they had raised enough money to get her out and until the clinic had determined that the death of the mother was an accident and not anything their mother, the midwife, did wrong at the birth. The mother may have had cancer which may have caused the cysts, which may have caused the hemmorage at birth.

I nodded and jotted down more notes.

The midwife reappreared in slightly cleaner clothing with a basket in her hand. She said, “ Now you will take me to the market and buy me some things to eat for myself and my family.”

I understood that the interview had ended and we all got up to walk towards the gate. When the midwife saw the ambulance, she said very firmly that she wanted to walk. She did not want to go in the ambulance. Marisol reassured her that we had been given permission to use it. The midwife, nervously joked with us, “Are you sure you are not taking me to jail, gringa?”she said.

I assured her that we had no authority to jail her and did not want to do anything to harm her at all.

Marisol explained how the clinic staff had protected her and refused to tell us the location of the house until they knew that we did not plan to harass her. She nodded, and we got in together.

When we arrived at the market/store the midwife chose many things that I noted were quite beyond the reach of poor people. She loaded up her basket with item after item and then opened a woven manta and collected more items in it. When she was finished, I paid the store owner 20 US dollars. We dropped her back home with her sons and she waved to us as we left, calling “Come back another day and I will show you my certificate.”

Marisol, leaned in to me and said “ I think you have made her very happy today and I know that she will eat well tonight.”

I felt a calmness of spirit as we traveled back to the village clinic and I thanked Marisol for all of her help. I told her that without her help, I would be lost, in a sea of uncertainty with my research outside of the clinic. She smiled and said “It’s my pleasure, Amanda. You are my friend now. We do not just work together. We have the same goal of helping people in Ayacucho and I know you are sincere in your work. The staff at Santa Elena love you and your husband, Adam. They say only good things about both of you. They say that of all the volunteers that CCS has sent to the clinic, the two of you have dedicated more time and energy and effort into helping the clinic on things that they want to improve.

Dr_____ said that you have changed his opinion of “How all Americans act.” He said that he was glad to know both of you and that Santa Elena was a good place for both of you to study and work.

I thanked her for the compliments. They meant a lot to me. I had hoped that the clinic would see my sincere efforts to improve certain areas of care for women and infants. I knew that Adam would be appreciated because he had practical skills to offer them. I was very happy to know that my less tangible skills were also appreciated at Santa Elena.

After we had returned the ambulance and had given our thanks for its use, we headed toward the center of the city where Marisol wanted to show me some historical landmarks. We planned to have our picnic on the mountain range. I looked down at my very expensive, dusty shoes as we continued to walk towards the village center. I think I had paid 80 dollars for them in the store before I left for Peru. All I could think about was how many more families I could have fed with the 10 dollars I had spent on a water bottle and the 80 dollars I had spent on new shoes. I resolved to be different with money when I returned to the US. I resolved to remember that American consumerism and wealth was at the expense of others’ nutritional needs and livlihoods. My experiences in Peru changed me so irrevocably that it’s hard, even now, to articulate the depth of change that happened in my mind and in my heart after Meeting A Midwife in Peru.

Interview with W. an indigenous student in Ayacucho, Peru

2011-12-06T04:19:00.001-08:00

The first portion of this blog will be content from my manuscript, titled "Cultural Anthropology, A Companion for Faculty and Students By: Amanda Rose-Horne, M.A. applied anthropology." The second portion will be another interview, written in memoir style as usual.

Ethnographic Research
Many students get the impression that the research style of anthropologists includes simply going into another culture and hanging out. To an extant this is true. It’s a valid research method called participant-observation which includes participating in daily life among the research study populations. However, studying a particular cultural group begins long before an anthropologist is ready for fieldwork. First they take general course on how to study culture, then they take specific classes related the region of interest and the topics of interest and finally they take rigorous classes in a graduate program on theory, methodology, writing and research styles as well as attempt to practice grant writing. Anthropologists attempt the actual 'doing' of research after a lot of education and after they have spent a considerable amount of time doing library research. We use many approaches to prepare for fieldwork but basically they can be distilled down to reading articles and books, watching ethnographic films and informally discussing the geography/culture/language with other people who have traveled to our chosen fieldwork location. We begin honing- in on the specifics of what we want to investigate in the culture ie what’s already been done so well that you should avoid those topics if you want to get funding/what gaping holes exist in the literature that you might be able to fill through publications and dissemination of your own research. All of this gives the anthropologist a knowledge base from which they can interpret symbols, social interaction, religious beliefs, medical approaches to healing, kinship networks and geographic influences on the culture--to name a few general areas of study. This is by no means an exhaustive list either. The field of anthropology's greatest strength, in my opinion, is its holistic nature. Nothing that human beings do, think or say is off-limits as an area of study within cultural anthropology. In my introductory anthropology courses, I always begin my first lecture with a map detailing the branches of anthropological study with the heading HUMAN NATURE at the top. Anthropology is that broad and has so many sub-fields that criss-cross between culture, biology, linguistics, physiology, archeology, animal behavior (primates especially) that its an incredibly dynamic field--that's what I love about it. What I don't love about having a degree in applied anthropology is that no one understands my skill set straight away. I have had people assume I was digging up dinosaur bones, that I have been recording archaic food behaviors, that I was looking at sea shells in the Incan ruins and determining trading patterns etc. etc. The list is LONG.....when I actually explain my past research (after kindly giving a lecture on the nature of anthropological study) people look at me with scrunched up eye-brows, and puzzled expressions. Well, isn't that what a public health degree is for, many of the bolder individuals say to me and I have to admit it's a very similar degree in terms of skill set--but quite different in approach and philosophy. Medical anthropology has an undercurrent of activism which anthropologist embrace. We are advocates ALWAYS. We are activists when necessary and we rarely turn our gaze on the powerful and elite in a culture (although luckily this has been changing over the past several years). Once you are prepared to enter into a fiedwork situation you have to consider what traveling and living abroad (our in a different neighborhood or subculture within your country) means for your real life--your family life, your part-time job etc. You have to figure out how to manage practical components in life and then you can buy your ticket or get your moving van.

Managing practical components
There is always the issue of money to consider. First, you figure out how much it will cost for you to leave your job for a significant amount of time--traditional ethnographic research includes at least a year spent in a culture in order to gain a complete understanding of the seasons, special holidays, rituals and rhythm of the cultural group. Then you start researching funding opportunites and writing grants for submission and competition. If you do grant writing well you will get funded because there are plenty of grants out there and a lot of people are curious about anthropological findings. If you do grant writing poorly, no one will support your research goals with money and you will have to pay for everything yourself. This is always a major stress for graduate students who really need the financial support and not a big concern for graduate students whose rich parents will give them the mony even if they write a poorly worded grant that does not get funded.[class structures in graduate school will be the topic of a future post]

Applied anthropology tends to be more specific in research goals, ie investigating a significant problem in the culture that could be addressed with ethnographic research methods and supported by knowledge of what is happening 'on the ground.' My thesis mentor, Dr. Robert Trotter, was a big proponent of grounded theory which basically states that waiting until you get into the field is important in applied research because only then can you discover what the most pressing issue is ---according to the people you are working with---and that is always a high priority of applied anthropology. It is best to have a flexible framework that can be modified during fieldwork for this type of applied research.

There is also a particularly useful methodolgy termed RARE which is frequently used in medical anthropological research. RARE stands for Rapid Assessment Response and Evaluation. In fact, Merrill Singer and Robert Trotter, are two leaders in the field of applied anthropology who have spent many years perfecting the last component of this type of research: evaluation.

This is the part of my thesis research that I did not spend long enough in the field to really incorporate into my findings. I always assumed that I would do the evaluation part during my PhD dissertation research but I didn’t get into any of my top choice programs when I applied in 2007. I was also pregnant with J at the time of applying to PhD programs. Not getting into my top choices ended up being a blessing in disguise. How I would have handled being a new mom and entering a PhD program at the same time is really scary to think about from my wiser and older perspective. I am glad that I never had to figure out how to do it! That does not mean that I wasn't very upset, when I discovered that I was not accepted into ANY of the PhD programs that I had hoped to get into. I was devestated.

After crying my heart out on my porch (while talking with my sister on the phone) about all the rejection letters that I had received in the mail while simultaneously feeling my baby move inside me with regular kicks, I decided that it must be STUPID FATE. I also thought about the look on my husband's face after I was rejected at Harvard, ASU, U of A and UCLA--- it was comical. His expression said" Didn't you know that Harvard was competitive!?" He is much more practical than I am--I am a big dreamer and I have a lot of confidence in my abilities--sometimes I have more confidence in myself than other people have in me and this comes as quite a surprise to me when they are not willing to take a chance on me for one reason or another! Being highly confident academically usually is an advantage but it can also get me in over my head. I often become over-committed and then have to slow down while trying to find out how I can finish my obligations while continuing to be everything to everyone in my life. Things don't always end pretty when this happens--to my great regret. However, I've accomplished a lot in my young life and I don't plan on stopping my big dreams any time soon. That's why I don't think you should stop yourself from dreaming big either!

So, when I saw that very empathetic look on my lovely husband's face--to his credit it only had a tinge of exasperation---I said: "Well , my dear husband, Yes, I did know that Harvard was very competitive but I also knew that I wanted to work with Dr. Paul Farmer more than any other anthropologist on earth and he was at Harvard. Also I wanted Dr. Kimberley Theidon to be on my dissertation committee and she was also at Harvard. It seemed like the logical place for me to do what I want to do in Peru. " That is why I applied to the most competitive graduate program in the country.

There was also something inside me that needed to try--I'm a 'try-er' Ya'll should know that about me by now! What did I have to lose? Failure, rejection-pshssh--that was nothing compared to life-long regret and wondering if I ever could have gotten into Harvard---- because I never would know for certain if I had never tried. That rejection letter was not very upsetting. I took it with a grain of salt and only minor disappointment.

The others were more upsetting. I was very angry that I was accepted into MSU master's program, (I already had a MA--what the heck?!) rather than their PhD program because I thought MSU was my safety--the program would have been a piece of cake and my old undergrad mentor wrote a kicking recommendation to a faculty member that she thought I would enjoy working with. My old undergrad mentor was actually more furious than I was--How dare they not take her letter seriously? How dare they think that she would recommend someone so highly who would not be able to cope with the rigors of a PhD program? I tend to think that because my best recommendation came from my undergraduate professor that MSU assumed I was coming straight from WMU undergrad--which only means that the people reviewing my application were not very bright. My WMU mentor encouraged me to question the decision. She was sure it was a glitch or mistake in the writing of the letter (maybe the admin assistant wrote You are accepted into our MA program instead of You are accepted into our PhD progam at MSU and it was all just a silly typo she wrote to me in an email). I was too annoyed to care. If they were so incompetant as to make such a major mistake then I didn't want to go into a program such as that anyway, I fumed!

I asked Dr. Jill Dubisch, who had been very inspiring in a Writing Cultures course I had taken at NAU, what she thought about this troubling perspective. She said that if I wasn't excited about MSU's program anyway, (she knew it was my safety school,) then I should wait and apply again to the programs that excited me as going through a PhD program should be the cap in your final educational goals and she believed that I would think it was annoying to take courses that I felt didn't challenge me personally or professionally. I chose to take her advice to heart.

I decided that perhaps now was not the right time to pursue a PhD. Impatience is my worst flaw and it gets me into trouble A LOT in my life. To be perfeclty honest, I was also imature. I had not lived enough of life to make my experiences very valuable in a professional capcity. I may have also complained at ASU to the faculty who rejected me based soley on my atrocious math GRE scores. I cited the research that indicates that GRE scores were not a good indicator of graduate school success and I used my considerable argumentation skills to try to sway them--all to no effect. It was FATE. I had to listen. Sometimes I can't see the big picture because I focus so intently on my immediate goals.
Anyway, I decided to wait a little while and re-apply again later in life after I had more work experience and had given birth to my own babies. Maybe I needed more personally and professional experiences in my life in order to properly study traditional Peruvian midwifery and traditional medicine in a medical anthropology PhD program. I wondered this aloud to my husband. He seemed relieved. He had been planning to be the stay at home daddy if I got in to any of the programs and I think he was both excited and petrified by that prospect! It was insightful of me to voice that thought-- even if my voice dripped with sarcastic frustration at the time.

I turned my focus away from academia and began preparing myself for the experience of being a mother myself. I truly wanted to enjoy being pregnant, give birth naturally, nurture an infant and experience the boundless love that I had observed in many mothers in the clinic in Santa Elena Centre de Salud. Now I could focus entirely on that. I decided to apply at Pima Community College in Tucson as an adjunct faculty member teaching online anthropology classes so that I could have an outlet for my passion for anthropology and a little extra money to pay off my loans. That is where I am currently still working, four years later and I do enjoy many of my students. I also find that a lot of my students challenge me and try my patience to near breaking-point. Teaching is the most challenging job I've ever had, besides being a mother. I find that I give, give, give to my students in much the same way that I do to my two year olds. Guidance, encouragement, patience, redirection, praise. It's the same skill set--really it is! Perhaps that's why I took to motherhood so quickly in general. When my son was born, it was a traumatic end to his birth--they did not believe that he was breathing and I was terrified that I would never get to interact with my first born son.....luckily my story ended happily, but emotionally I realized that I never wanted to "lose" time from my children. It has been a guiding principle in my career choices and it has allowed me to develop some of the most long-lasting and rewarding friendships with other mothers.
I need to digress for a moment at this point.............Going back in time several months now......to the period of my married life in which I began feeling ready to nurture an infant: My husband was planning to attend film school in Chicago around the time that I started feeling ready to have a child. We were in no economic position to embark on the journey of new parenthood. But I felt the clock ticking, having the understanding of what women who waited until their late thirties often had to go through with infertility treatments, I knew that late twenties was a far as I wanted to go in terms of waiting. It was now or never and my husband was in total agreement. He was also educated in evolutionary biology. We both knew that biologically speaking 16 was the best time for women to get pregnant. Culturally being a teen mom is not the best time to get pregnant but viewing the body from a purely scientific view--it's the most fertile and healthy time for women to have babies. Actually ages 16 to 25 is the age range of producing healthy babies with minimal stress on the mother's body (again, that does not factor into acount the maturity level of girls and I would never encourage teen pregnancy as a rule in the US). So, my age and our finances were the biggest pushes and pulls in our decision to get pregnant soon. Coming right out of my MA, we had student loan debt and credit card debt but my husband was accepted at film school in Chicago, so, we got a dog (total baby substitute) and moved across the country assuming that I would be able to get a job in my field (which did not happen) and went further into debt. It really was a combination of bad luck and impulsive decion-making on our part. Our baby plans were forced into a delay.

Why did I have so much debt after only two years of graduate school? I had a small stipend the first year of my Master’s Program but was given no where near enough financial support to live on as a full time student in the expensive mountain town where I was studying. I got a job at The Associated Students for Women's Issues on NAU's campus and wrote their biweekly Newsletter, which I titled Athena's Voice earning minimum wage. My husband worked full time during that time and supported me through two years of grad school. With help from my very generous parents to do my actual fieldwork (they paid for my flight and my husband's flight as well as the expensive NGO fee), I was able to get a combination of scholarships from my mentor (thank you Dr. Trotter!), and then of course, student loans by registering for independent studies in the summer of my fieldwork. We also enjoyed a trip to Las Vegas and I went with a friend to Australia for three weeks at the close of my MA program. We don't regret our travel experiences at all but it's the reason we currently do not own a house!

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Once I arrived in Ayacucho, I lived for three months easily on 500.00 American dollars. Contrary to what many anthropologists do during fieldwork, I did not attempt to stay in the neighborhood around the clinic. Although initially I wanted to, that became a sticking point with my parents. They were already nervous enough about me going to a country that spent most of the 90’s in the headlines for gross human rights violations, a very harsh guerilla warfare and government suppression of the civil war as well as the occasional kidnapping of rich white tourists.

They gave me many things to think about and although I was too idealistic to listen to most of it, I did not want to make them worry about me. I conceded to staying in the nicer part of downtown Ayacucho, at the house of a non-profit organization that provided (for a high price) safe and healthy food, European style lodging, television, a ping pong table, introductions to the elite in the city, health club memberships for cheap, access to free foreign language lessons and pretty much the nicest living conditions that I have ever experienced since living in my own natal home as a child.

I was shocked by how much the volunteers (me included) were pampered and annoyed that all the rich college students around me took it all for granted. How could they not see the irony, I wondered? Well, I made some really good friends in that house and many of them were highly conscientious of the irony but we all seemed to enjoy the comforts none-the-less.

Those of us who were givers, as I like to think of us, the people who were seeking cultural exchange and wanted to get to know the peoples lives and understand their world view had amazing experiences. The benefit I most enjoyed by having my own comforts completely attended to were that I was able to spend all day and night doing research if I wanted to. The only thing I had to worry about was doing my laundry every two weeks.

So, I wanted to go to a clinic in a poor neighborhood in Ayacucho and see how the patients there interacted with biomedical models of care. I wanted to find out if they still used traditional methods frequently and I wanted to study certain folk illnesses such as nervioso, susto and mal air. I also wanted to experience a culture vastly different from my own.

In the back of my mind I had a vision of taking a side trip up to Machu Picchu at some point since I’ve been drooling over national geographic pictures of Machu Picchu since Middle School. Well , I accomplished all of that and did some grounded research once I arrived.

What I discovered, from using grounded research was that the clinic was very interested in reducing maternal and infant mortality. Newborn babies who were born healthy often fell ill and died within ten days of birth for various reasons--all of them infections of some type.

I observed births and tried to figure out if the clinic was communicating basic hygiene practices well to new mothers. They were. The problem was not that the new mothers misunderstood the instructions, it was that they were poor and did not have access to clean water. They bathed their children in latrine infected water, basically waste water because this community of poverty grew up around the clinic during the years of war when farmers in the countryside were prey to The Shining Path Guerillas. The Shining Path Movement has many sympathetic goals, ones that I understood then and that I do even more now but their methods were awfully violent and awfully traumatizing.

The adobe shacks, little tents and soup kitchens that surrounded the clinic were all inhabited by what basically amounts to refugees. They were people fleeing from violent conflict and seeking safety among the populations of a city.

One of my key-informants was the son of such refugees. This adorable young man lived in an apartment by himself. His home was a cement slab and very cold. He went to University during the day and worked the entire night for an exploitive printing press--they paid him a pittance for his hours of work. When I asked him the obvious question: "When do you sleep and study?"

He smiled and said, "Whenever I can, of course."

He often teased me and we became good friends during the same time that I was conducting interviews. One day he said, "Amanda, I want you to interview me. I will allow you to be serious."

I set up my tape recorder and asked my translator if she could attend the interview so that she could translate Spanish words that I didn’t know and Quechua words that I was still struggling to understand. She was unavailable during the time that he was free but a mutual friend (and fellow volunteer at the non-profit) offered to do the Spanish translations.

Getting my tape recorder ready I said to my friend, " I am going to ask you a lot of questions about the war, Is that ok?" He said "Yes. I want to tell you honestly what it was like for us."

Then I said, "You can stop me at any time or refuse to answer and our friendship will not be influenced."

He looked at me a laughed. "Ahah, now I meet the serious Amanda," he teased. I felt very earnest about getting my point across about ethical research. Although I would be protecting his identy by giving him a psyedonym, his answers could go into my thesis and that would be made public upon my graduating from my MA program.

He signed the forms and our key-informant interview began. We spoke for two hours, with many little interuptions by the kitten he had adopted, and I was very glad that he offered to be interviewed. I appreciated so very much that he spent his precious hours of free time giving me a key-informant interview as it was rich in ethnographic detail. Significantly, it helped me to understand how the neighborhood around Santa Elena became populated.

My key-informant's parents were farmers who spoke Quechua, the native tongue of the Incas, who they were descended from. He knew Quechua and Spanish fluently and was learning a bit of English from the American and English tourists in the city.

----------------------------------------------end of part one--------------

Writing & Working

2011-12-02T11:10:00.001-08:00

I wrote another memoir story from my travels in Peru last night. Yesterday was an incredibly hectic day--the kind that makes me feel slightly overwhelmed for hours on end. The weather did not help my sour mood either. It was rainy and cold in Tucson; huge wind gusts splattered rain on my face and when I arrived home with the boys and parked the car, I went around the side door to take S out of his carseat and a drip from our carport roof slid down my back making me shiver with annoyance. I do not like cold rain unless I am sitting by a fire reading a book with a cup of tea. Then I enjoy it for what it is, soaking into the ground quenching our plants' thirst and the wetness looking pretty against my windows. Basically I can only appreciate wet, cold rain if I am observing it from some my place tucked inside my house, preferably next to a cozy hearth.

After taking a hot shower and spending an hour of alone time in my bedroom (thanks for making dinner for our family husband), I was ready to come share in the warm fire my husband made with our boys while I was turned inward relaxing in my bedroom. We had a family dinner that was perfectly suited to the winter weather: french onion soup with crusty bread and baked potatoes with cheese. Gathered together for our family meal, I said a prayer in gratitude for my life. It's a beautiful life and I always want to appreciate every second of it.

I was ready to write again after kissing my little ones goodnight. The story flowed so fast out of my head and into my computer that it will need some editing before it's ready for the blog. I sat with it for awhile and reflected, then forced myself to stop working. Slow down, I said to myself, go spend time with husband--right now! I'm proud of myself for actually doing that instead of editing the story immediately--which was my instinct. Even though my husband was fast asleep in bed when I arrived in my jammies and he had, once again, stolen my pillow, I smiled remembering when he worked overnights at the hospital and we spent days and nights completely separated. We were like ships passing in the night for two years. We saw each other rarely and the boys saw their daddy even less than I did because of schedule differences. It was very hard on our family life. My point is, it was so good just to see him lying there.

Check back in next week to see another post up about my travels in Peru! I will try to edit it over the weekend.

What are you doing this weekend? I am heading to the Tucson Waldorf School Farm and Craft Fair on River Road. I am hoping to see a puppet play with my boys and buy some high quality felt for making home-made stockings this year. I will be busy making some art this afternoon, which my friend L will put up at her booth at the Farm and Craft Fair. It's a great place to support local, unique artists and the raffle prizes this year are really good (a car, a dinner at Janos, vacations, lessons galore). If you are in Tucson and have nothing going on all afternoon, come check out the Farm and Craft Fair (River Bend Campus of TWS) and help the Waldorf school raise funds while you support local artists.

Happy Weekend everyone!

~A

Meeting a Traditional Healer

2011-11-29T21:04:00.001-08:00

Memoir, Meeting a Curandera: An example of key-informant interviewing during ethnographic fieldwork.

I said goodbye to our doorman Juan, and walked out into the dusty, busy sidwalk along the main street in the center of Ayacucho, heading towards the city square. I put my scarf up around my mouth to avoid breathing in the dust and picked up my pace--- my translator Marisol--would be waiting on the corner near the square with a mini taxi for us. Within a few minutes I saw her standing in front of a little cab, which reminded me of a slightly larger child’s play toy. The cabs in Ayacucho were nothing like the big yellow cabs in the United States that I was accustomed to in Kalamazoo, Chicago and Pheonix.

In Peru, the cabs were made in and bought from India. They were designed for use in high population areas. They fit two small people in the back but only if you crammed together in the seat with your knees touching. They maneuvered around the other traffic easily and recklessly (that was pretty much the same as my experience of cab drivers in the US). Marisol told me that these mini cabs were popular because they used very little gas and the drivers could make a profit while keeping their fees low. She paid for our cabs out of the money I paid her for translating interviews and since I generally had a driver from the non-profit I volunteered for or walked if I needed to go pick something up in the city, I never paid for cabs myself the entire time that I spent in Ayacucho. Among the tourists and volunteers at the CCS home base locations, these mini cabs were jokingly referred to as "death traps."

Marisol greeted me with a warm embrace and two “air” kisses on each of my cheeks. She had a calm energy about her that also gave me the impression of active intelligence. She was successfully improving her family’s circumstances with her language talents by working as a translator for researchers and journalists from the US and Europe. Marisol’s family was middle class and they enjoyed living together in one large home with an extended family. She was in a committed relationship with her boyfriend and they had one son together. Her son was extremely vivacious and already spoke English and Spanish by the age of five from his mothers' natural tutoring. Her boyfriend, nicknamed Teti from childhood, was an artist (wood carver) and very shy with a kind heart. They were excellent parents who were thoughtful about their son and encouraging of his every interest. They planned not to have any more children so that they could focus on giving him the best opportunities available in life. Teti's family was from New York while about half of Marisol's family lived in Ayacucho and other half lived in Lima, Peru. Marisol and I met the first day that I arrived in Ayacucho when she translated for the volunteer group I was with and we spent a lot of time together during the three months that I lived at CCS headquarters. We became work partners and very good friends over the course of my research in the Andes. She is a very dear friend to me still to this day. Besides being a gifted translator Marisol became a cultural broker who allowed me to conduct good research in the field under a short time-line.

Marisol said, “Hola, Amanda. Como estas?” (Hello, Amanda. How are you?)

I replied “Bien. Muy bien, gracious. Y tu? (I’m well, very well, thanks and you?).”

She opened the cab door and said “Entre me amiga!” (Enter, my friend) with a wide grin. She was looking forward to the interview as much as I was.

We began to speak in English at this point and she excitedly explained that she had found the retired midwife I had been searching for living near a small clinic in an even smaller village not far from Ayacucho. Marisol did not know yet if the retired midwife was willing to talk to me but she was feeling optimistic. Marisol said that she had a plan in mind to connect with nurses that she personally knew who caught babies at the little clinic near the retired midwife's home. Marisol was certain that the clinic staff would know where the retired midwife lived in the village. Marisol felt confident that if we approached the midwife with a respectful demeanor, the partera would consent to be interviewed by me. Marisol warned me that even if the midwife was willing to talk to me, following my ethical protocols might be difficult because signing consent forms would certainly be tricky. The partera could not read or write {not even in her first language of Quechua}.

Marisol said that we could let my work site Santa Elena Centre de Salud, know that I would be traveling outside Ayacucho in the morning for more research and that I would be back at the clinic the following day. She explained that we could take a bus/van to the village and try to get the interview by late afternoon if all went well. We would have to go visit the midwife at her home and beg her for an interview. She was known to be suspicious of Westerners (Europeans and Americans) because of her bad experiences with the World Health Organization Childbirth Attandant Trainers that came into her community and forced her to stop practicing midwifery. I was very pumped-up about this potential interview--it would be the BIG ONE in my thesis and I instinctively knew it. I really hoped that it would go well. I began to think about how I would feel if she rejected my attempts to interview her. I would of course, repect her wishes and leave her in peace, but I hoped that she would be able to see that I meant her no harm. It would depend on a lot of extraneous factors and I would just have to wait and see what happened. It was great news that Marisol had located her residence though--I was optimistic--so far I had encountered willing key-informants. I had even been been tracked down by two Ayacuchan anthropologists to find out if they could help me in my research. In other words, Ayacucho had embraced me and my research with open arms.

My intellect was speeding along in happy anticipation of grabbing another great key-informant interview tomorrow, I had been really wanting to talk with a midwife in the Andes who had experienced the Traditional Birth Attendant Trainings that Robbie Davis Floyd and Judith Jordan had written about so eloquently and whom I had read before entering the field. {A healer interview tonight and a midwife interview tomorrow, I thought to myself--good-- I was making good time with my research goals.}

Currently, our cab slowed to a near stop, blared its tiny horn and pushed its fragile frame around the big truck that was offending our progress as we continued along on our way to the curandera’s home. She lived in a poor neighborhood on the other side of the city from where I worked (Santa Elena Centre de Salud was a similar neighborhood, yet a different location in the city). Sidenote: [If you are new to this blog, you might need to know some background information in order to get caught up to speed on this post: I was volunteering and doing research for my master’s thesis degree in Anthropology at Santa Elena Centre de Salud through an non-governmental organization that placed Americans and Europeans into internship/volunteer positions around the city.] Marisol and I were on our way to visit a well-respected shaman/healer (curandera) so that I could learn more about pluralistic medicine in the Andes.

.....Our taxi cab swerved violently and picked up speed as we entered a neighborhood that my internship coordinator had tried to prevent me from entering. Shortly before I left to meet up with Marisol I had an uncomfortable discussion with my Preceptor, who I will refer to as 'R'. I had politely listened to his advice and fatherly attempts to pursuede me away from the interview. My Preceptor believed that staying at home at night safely tucked into my cozy bed and watched over by my husband was the proper way to insure my safety--he often prevented me from attending births at the clinic at night-- to my great annoyance. He subtly but effectively made his opinons about my night wanderings clear by failing to give me phone messages past 6pm. He felt personally responsible for delivering me back to my home in the United States with an experience of Ayacuchan living but no great interviews and the unlucky luxery of having never attended a woman in birth during the middle of the night. This made our relationship tension-filled. However, he never forbade me from doing anything that I had organized myself and I never fully explained why I felt he was a barrier to my research rather than the helpful coordinator I had hoped that he would be upon arrival.

He rambled on about kidnappings of western rich folk and the gang situation in the neighborhood where the Curandera lived. After thanking him for his concern for me, I then ignored everything he said. This was not out of disrespect but because I was there to get good data and I wasn’t afraid of being in a poor part of the city. I suspected that some of my preceptor’s fears were class-based. He was clearly among the upper class strata of Ayacuchans and seemed to have an unhealthy view of the character traits of poor people in general. After my consultation in the dining room with R, I walked up the stairs to my bedroom. Once there, I told me husband where I was going with Marisol and then said that if I wasn’t back by midnight he could begin to worry but to please make sure that R did not alarm anyone until that time since I didn’t know how long the interview would take.

The curandera saw patients in the evening. I would be waiting in line behind her customers and then given a regular appointment depending on if she did not have any serious cases to attend to before me.

Our cab began to climb a steep hill, nearly vertical in nature, and the cab shuttered, shook and otherwise made many objections to being forced to drive straight up a mountain. At this point Marisol, broke off her conversation with me, and asked the cab driver something in Spanish, most of which I did not understand. What I did gather was not something that I felt comfortable hearing: “no gas.”

I looked back down the hill and noticed that we were about half way up the vertical climb but still far away from the top of the hill/mountain peak. Suddenly, I realized that we were no longer moving forward. We were picking up our pace, gaining momentum with the force of gravity and going BACKWARD down the mountain road. The road was deserted, no cars were behind us on the hill, but the cross street below was quite busy with traffic. I gripped the door handle of our little cab and considered jumping out, if necessary, when the cab made up my mind for me and came to a screeching halt. The back of my head clunked against the window but it was not too bad of a bump. I had not realized that I was holding my breath until that moment. Marisol and I laughed nervously and the cab driver glanced back to be sure his passengers were alright. Then Marisol and I got out of the cab and stood on the sidwalk while we watched the cab driver take his little tank of gas from the front seat and pour more gas into the car. I realized that he had his own mobile gas station and I began to relax; clearly the cab driver knew what he was doing. We hopped back in shortly and drove to the peak of the road; then slowly made our decent on the other side.

Soon, we arrived at the curandera's home and the cab driver put the emergency break on in order to prevent the cab from careening down the hill while he waited for Marisol and I to get out. Curandera _____ used the front parlor of her home as her office and clinic. Two people were sitting on a bench in the foyer and one patient was being seen behind a screened wall with an open door by the healer.

Marisol and I sat down and smiled at the other patients. Being American, I was always wanting to multi-task and I began to question Marisol about our midwife interview plans for the morning. She shook her head and placed her finger over her lips to keep me quiet (just as I had seen her do with her son when he was rambunctious). I felt a little embarrassed---whoops, I should have known to wait and observe what others did in the foyer before loudly asking Marisol questions. I was forever making little faux paus like this in Ayacucho because I was still learning the norms of behavior in the culture. However, I instantly understood her cue and I let my voice die away. I was left to think my own thoughts in silence.

Now that I was less focused on my own goals, I could hear the conversation with the curandera and her patient coming through the open door in muffled Quechua. I had no hope of understanding the conversation in Quechua since my vocabulary consisted of a handful of words and no verb tenses--the sentence structure of Quechua is similar to Navajo language in the US. It is very different from the Romance Language origins of English, Spanish, French and Italian which meant that it was very difficult for me to learn. I whispered to Marisol,
"I’m going to take some notes."
She nodded back with a smile and I understood that this would be alright, and not considered rude. I took some quick notes about our trip to the curandera’s home (which is why the above paragraph has a satisfying amount of thick description, a la Clifford Geertz!)

When it was our turn to consult with the healer, Marisol introduced me. She frequently spoke highly of my character, mentioned the good work I was doing attending pregnant women at Santa Elena (by this time I was fully entrenched in a doula role at the clinic) and ended with my credentials---I was a graduate student from the United States, who wanted to learn about traditional healing and midwifery.

Marisol was so good at pressing my strong points during introductions with my interview subjects that they usually greeted me with respect and quiet attention when I began to speak (quite unexpectly unusual for someone of my status and especially because I was an outsider in the community). [As a brief but relevant aside, I felt a little uncomfortable with my status in Ayacucho because I understood that the key-informants all viewed me as part of the dominant social class in Ayacucho (which was true), and the dominant social class in my culture (which was not true!). I had no hope of getting across the fact that I was currently living in Flagstaff, Arizona and having a hard time affording the high cost of living in the college town. I had worked two jobs plus was in school full time the previous year and my husband mainly supported us with his full time work in Flagstaff. We also supplemented our income with student loan money and technically we were doing fine but financial pressure did exist in our discussions about money.] However, in Ayaucho, I was extremely rich in comparison to most of my informants and so I had abandoned my attempts to correct their impression of my status--it just made them think that I was being disengenuious. According to the head doctor at Santa Elena, who had pulled me aside one day to give me a lesson about class structures in a global world, I needed to stop trying to correct peoples' impression of my wealth.

"Why?" I had asked both baffled and alarmed. I was concerned that he was telling me to lie.

He said, "No, no you do not understand the point."

Again he said : "You need to stop telling people that you are not rich in your country, please. "

"Why?" I asked again. "It's true." I said.

He then gave me a stern look. We were the same height but he arched his back, threw back his shoulders and put on a serious face when he quizzed me thus: "Do you sleep in a comfortable bed, have running water, always have food and have a job with education opportunities?"

Well, I got the point after that! He was right. I was wealthy and I didn't even appreciate it. How ignorant of me. From most people's view in Ayacucho, I was extremely wealthy regardless of the fact that in my own country I occupied a lower-middle class status. I discussed positionality in great length when I wrote my thesis. It was the focus of several chapters and ended up being the main theme through out my thesis papr, which was 80 pages in length by the time I finished it. Don't worry-- I won't go into any more details here.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The room where the Curandera ran her practice was cold but painted a light-peeling blue that made me feel calm and secure. Soon, she called us forth into the screened-off room for our interview.

Curandera ____ looked at me and said “You come from a place of mountains.” { She said this in Quechua} I suspect (in hindsight) in order to find out if I knew her native language. This was a statement of fact.

I responded in English and Marisol translated into Spanish (apparently the healer knew Spanish and Quechua fluently but not English).

"Yes," I said, "I feel very at home here in Ayacucho because the mountains are the kind of geography that I love." I replied in Spanish/English, this was one of my first interviews and so my language skills had yet to make a great leap--basically I was speaking to her in what can only be described as Spanglish.

She smiled and said “Ahh, yes, we have a commonality already.”

I was relieved that she had understood me--not everyone did--and my face would burn with an embarrassed flush--which gave away my shy/sensitive nature immediatley to anyone I was speaking to--I hated that feeling so much! ( I really had to force myself to push past that horrible feeling).

I smiled too, relaxing into key-informant interview mode. We were off to a good start. I could see that the healer was not reluctant to speak with me and also that she might even be wanting to turn the tables and ask some questions about my life in the US. Her leathery-lined and wrinkled face harbored twinkling, soulful eyes that seemed to gaze straight into my heart. I estimated that she was in her 60's or 70's and had probably been in practice for most of her life. She gazed into my eyes with purpose--she had arranged our chairs to be placed directly in front of one another (Marisol's chair had been placed off to the side). I felt a shiver run up my arms and goose bumps erupted there. It was the feeling of someone looking so directly at you that you wanted to look away, but you could not because they "held" your gaze. After an uncomfortably long time (from my view) she laughed and clapped her hands. Then she said something to Marisol in Quechua (mainly so that they could share a private joke that I could not understand). It was her way of tipping the power dynamic during the interview and she was really good at it. I felt even more that my so-called powerful Western status had very little place in the room with Curandera ____. This woman was something to render; I was excited to learn more. Marisol laughed too and then looked at me empathetically and said “Don’t worry-- she only said you are younger than she expected.” I have a feeling that more was said in Quechua than this simple statement but Marisol had kindly translated the general jist of the comment.

Hmmmm, I thought, Yes I was young compared to this old grandmother but that did not mean that I didn't have skills to do my work well. I would prove to her that I was going to hold my own in the interview even if she was older, wiser and had lived through about a billion hardships that I would never encounter in my life.

I asked, “ How long has she been a healer?” Marisol translated my question into Quechua and our interview commenced. Marisol went back and forth between Quechua and Spanish during the interview depending on if she was probing for more understanding before she translated back into English. This is what made her such a valuable translator--her trilingual speaking abilities and her gut-instincts to always attempt to be clear in her translations.

“She says that she has been a healer since birth because in her family it is a family calling/profession among the girls--- but not the boys.”

I asked, “So, she knew herself that she wanted to heal as a child or her parents expected her to take up the profession out of obligation?”

Marisol explained : A little of both-- her parents noticed that she always wanted to hang around her grandmother helping in the healing room when the family received customers--- that she was not squimish around blood and that she was exceptionally bright. Her parents knew that she had the gift of healing because she had a calming effect on sick people and a compassionate nature. These were God-given talents that her parents noticed and encouraged while she grew up. When she was old enough to take over the healing practice, she was still quite young, but by then she had been very successfully healing and catching babies---everyone trusted her in the community then and they still did currently.

I asked if I could pay her for the interview.

The curandera brushed this question off with a sweep of her hands and said directly to me “ Can I pay you for my interview?” We exchanged smiles.

Then, I laughed and said that she was free to ask me questions too and we would have a conversation of mutual respect. She nodded seriously and began to think of what she wanted to ask me first.

She asked what kind of school I was studying in back in America and what classes I was taking for my education. She asked if I took biology and if she could ask me some questions about how the body worked.

I explained that I was more of a writer than a scientist in my country but that I had taken many biology classes and would tell her honestly if I did not know the answer to her question. I would try to give an accurate answer if I could.

She asked me if people in my country died from intestinal sickness. She pointed on her own body where the pain would be for gastrointestinal infections and I nodded.

"Yes, people died of that in my country too but doctors were also good at healing that problem-- if it was discovered early."

She asked me if I could look at the medical text book , which she had place prominantly on her book shelf in the healing room, among other tricks of her trade. She asked if I could tell her if the pictures of the body were accurate in my Western view of anatomy and physiology. We discussed biomedical perceptions of bodily function and she explained traditional knowledge of Indigenous populations' understanding of the body. I was giddy with intellectual interest!

I was also extremely impressed that she had a medical textbook (written in Spanish) that clearly came from a biomedical-based doctor program--- most likely in Lima, Peru. I looked over the textbook and answered a few basic anatomy questions and then she became quiet again. Unexpectedly her confident nature disappeared--She fidgeted with her skirt and moved around on her seat, then she spoke again.

She told me that a grateful patient of hers had given her the book. She explained that everyone in the neighborhood brought her books because she liked to learn from all the healing knowledge that was available in the world. My anthropological mind took note of ‘complementary medicine’ being practiced by the healer and the fact that she accepted gifts rather than money for her services.

I asked her how much formal education she had been given as a child and she waved her hands around, then dropped them down and looked at her lap. I gathered that she had not had any formal education and might be a little embarrassed about it so, I let that question drop.

I said, “Well, experience in healing is very important and if you were mentored by your grandmother, I am sure you know a lot about healing and traditional herbs.”

She looked up at me with her soulful eyes and her confident nature sparked back into life again. Making me feel slightly uncomfortable with this abrupt change in demeanor she said, “Yes, my family has great healing knowledge. People would not come to us for help if we did not alleviate their pain.”

I asked her what the most common ailment was in her practice. She looked at me with the ghost of a smile and said, “You know this--- that’s why you are here.” I understood that people had been talking about me and my research goals.....she probably new that I would come knocking on her door long before I ever entertained the thought myself!

I said that I did know that pregnant women saw her and often asked her to turn their babies shortly before birth {that was how I had discovered the healer existed, through the clinic and the pregnant women that I had helped support during birth.} One birthing mother;s had exclaimed, in the throws of a contraction, “GOD bless curandera_______ for she has helped my baby come in good time.” Later, I had asked Marisol to find the healer and see if she was willing to be interviewed by me.

I said, “Yes, you turn babies with great effect. I have seen your results at the clinic.”

She smiled at my flattery and said, “Yes I turn babies, in the past I used to do more but now that is illegal. I do not do births anymore because the government does not trust me (us midwives) to do it well.”

“In all my past, I have never lost a woman in labor. Never.” she re-iterated.

I believed her. She was obviously a self-taught and highly motivated learner. She spent her free time reading medical textbooks in order to improve her understanding of the body and was clearly seeking to understand as much as possible about how the body worked.

She said,”Now little girl, it’s my turn to ask.” I smiled encouragingly.

She said, “I have many people who come to me sick in the gut (intestines). I do a healing for them and some get better and others do not.” Here is what I do and you tell me what your US doctors would do differently.

{OH MY GOD, I THOUGHT TO MYSELF< THIS IS THE BEST INTERVIEW I'VE CONDUCTED YET. THIS IS SO COOL. STAY CALM AND FOCUS AMANDA. THIS COULD BE A VERY IMPORTANT PART OF THE INTERVIEW. I LOOKED DOWN AT MY TAPE RECODER WITH SOME RELIEF; I HAD BEEN DISTRACTED BY MY OWN THOUGHTS BUT THE TAPE RECORDER WAS WHIRRLING ALONG AND I COULD GO BACK AND LISTEN TO THE INTERVIEW LATER THAT NIGH T TO MAKE SURE I DIDN’T MISS ANYTHING IMPORTANT.}

She explained that she prescribed herbs, did a blessing and then told patients what to do in their own home to get better. Then she warned them that it was in God’s hands, not hers, whether they got better or not.

I mentally tucked away the name of the herb she had told me that she prescribed and began planning a trip to the market to get it on the weekend.

I said, "Well, I am not a doctor in the US-- I will tell you what would happen if I personally was suffering in the (gut) and I went to see my doctor for help.

She nodded, and said "Good."

If I was feeling sick in my gut I would call my doctor on the telephone and make an appointment for the next day---she interrupted---you would not go to his house right away?

I said, No, that doctors kept business hours for small problems and that a gut issue would initially be viewed as a small problem in a healthy, young individual.

She nodded.

Then I would go to the office, not the home, of my doctor and wait until it was the correct time to be seen by the doctor. A nurse would come and get me and put me in a cold, white room and then take my blood pressure and ask me questions about my diet and sleep and the last time I had needed medical attention.

She nodded, "Nurses are the doctor's assistants." She correctly stated.

Then the doctor would come in and barely greet me and begin looking at my chart for information. Then I said, "He or She would not look into my eyes for information as she (Curandera____), had just done a few moments ago."

She laughed, and clapped her hands at my acknowledment of what she had done with her penetrating gaze upon my arrival.

Then I said, after I told the doctor my symptoms, the doctor would prescribe a medication for me, most likely, and then give me instructions on how to take it. Then the doctor would tell me to come back again if I still had symptoms.

She asked, What medication?

I said, I am not a doctor so I don’t know what he would give me. It would depend on what he diagnosed from my chart and our short interview.

She said, he told you to take a medication and you did not know what it was?
I said, "OH no, Let me be more clear--- this is all hypothetical, an imaginary situation. I have never had a gut issue. {this can be a common problem with using a translator, sometimes things get lost in translation} Then I again stated, I was simply describing the process of going to the doctor in the US.

She laughed again and touched my knee to convey her comprehension.

She said, "I am glad you have always been well."

I laughed too, this time my laugh was out of nerves, not enjoyment. I mentioned that, in fact, I had been very sick recently and spent two years seeing professional doctors in order to get the illness managed. I had met my husband during the process of that sickness and falling in love with him was one of the reasons I fought so hard to get my illness under control. It had been a brutal two or three years of my life that changed me personally, professionally and spiritually.

Curandero _____ became serious and professional:

What had I suffered from and why? How long did the symptoms persist and what did I take and why and for how long did I take various medications? This conversation went on for awhile and is not necessarily something I would like to share in a public forum on a blog. ;)

Marisol finally interrupted us and said very quietly “Amanda, I am sorry you had to go through that. I am glad you are here with me now and that you understand us better because you have also had pain in your life.”

I began to tear-up with emotion and the curandera made a shooshing noise, then placed her hands on my forehead (the way your grandmother or mother used to find out if you had a fever when you were a child).

Then she said, "You are here to learn. I also enjoy learning. I must see to other patients now but please come back and visit any time."

Then she turned to Marisol and spoke in Spanish, so that I could understand, saying “Your attempt to interview midwife______ is not going to go well. I want to warn you that her family are very protective and they will be suspicious of this little girl because of where she comes from. If you want Little Amanda to get good information the best thing to do is to let midwife____ see that the girl is no threat to us. Let her midwife_____ see Amanda's earnest desire to learn and let midwife____ make a few demands right away in the interview, if she consents, so that she can feel that she has the power (the upper hand). Marisol and I thanked Curandera____ and we left.

I was feeling shaken. Where had my interview skills flown away to…..dang…I thought….I will have to come back another day and act more professionally.

Marisol was quietly thinking on the way home in the cab (our driver had waited patiently for us to finish the interview) and I was lost in my own storm of emotions which were hard to articulate in English, let alone in Spanish. When we reached the CCS home base I opened the door and Marisol said to me “Amanda, you may not sleep well tonight but do not worry. It will all be ok. I know you want to go back to see curandera _____ to complete the interview for your research but what happened tonight was necessary. What needed to happen, happened.

Then she smiled and said "Buenas Noches!" (Good Night!). I got out of the cab. I slowly walked to the front door focusing on using yoga techniques to calmed down my breathing. I started to put up the façade of a happy volunteer when I saw the CCS home base front door. I put in place my jovial smile for Juan’s sake but he looked at my sadly---he could read my face and he knew I was only faking.

He put his arm around me and gave me a sqeeze, like a fatherly hug and said: "She’s pretty good no?" All the intense feelings I had been trying to control rushed out as I busted out laughing and said, "Yes. A little too good, I think I was caught off guard by her." We joked into the hallway and I sat down to eat a cold dinner that Juan had thoughtfully, set aside for me.

After eating my meal (Ayauchans do not eat dinner since they eat a big lunch--dinner is a small affair if it happens at all). I started to get cold and feel dazed again as painful flash-backs erupted in my brain. I didn’t know what to think about what had just happened but I guessed that instead of interviewing a curandera/midwife, I had been seen by a healer for my own problems. It felt very strange and very disconcerting to have had an experience such as meeting Curandera _____but not negative--very positive--but unlike anything I had ever experienced in life.

I began to anticipate the partera interview in the morning and felt a little better. I went further into the house to find my husband who was waiting up for me, playing guitar with some of the other volunteers. I did not share the contents of my interview, because, everyone already knew my high standards of ethics and they no longer asked direct questions about my research. My husband took one look at me and got up, ushered me into our private room, and we began to talk. There were so many times that I did not fall prey to culture shock and depression while conducting fieldwork in Peru because my husband was always there to offer a sense of home and a clear place of where I belonged in the world. What I knew with utter certainty was that where I belonged, could be anywhere in the world, but most definitely was by his side.

~A

Rejecting Consumer Spending Weekend

2011-11-26T10:38:00.001-08:00

I am savoring this weather today. November is the best month to live in Tucson; cool mornings, warm afternoons and crisp breezes are the norm. I love desert-mountain living. I especially enjoy walking my dog in my neighborhood as the Catalina Mountain range looms in the distance. Natural beauty is good for my soul! J & S are getting so good at scooter and bike riding that I've dispensed with the double stroller. Our morning walks feel light and refreshing.

I spent the mid-morning preparing our home to have company arrive. Top on the agenda was to tackle cleaning out two closets in search of my bound thesis copy and transferring our fireplace mantel from a nature display of fall seasons to a nature display of winter warmth. One closet was searched without successfully discovering my thesis. I feel confident that I didn't throw it in the garbage. I'll find it soon enough. I discovered a Peruvian woven blanket (used to carry babies in the Andes) that I had forgotten about. It was a nice surprise and triggered a very pleasant memory of sitting around with women and babies learning Quechua words and laughing at my terrible pronunciation, dipping purple potatoes into a cheesy sauce and feeling at peace with the world. Ayacuchans were so good- natured and patient with me.

As I puttered about cleaning, organizing and placing things in the give-away pile, the boys entertained themselves in the Waldorf way. J created a play in the living room with little pumpkins, baskets and various toys while S colored pictures in the art corner. It was quiet as we each pursued our activities in harmony. I was missing the boisterous extended family gatherings of my childhood. This weekend I was painfully aware that all of my family members were together celebrating a relaxing weekend and enjoying games, movies, spirits and good food Rose Style. Even though *my* home was a peaceful place this morning it also felt a little strange for the weekend to be so low-key. Looking out my window below the ravine, I could see Oracle road busy with bustling cars off to go shopping. Outside our home-haven, cars zoomed down the roads in search of the best deals of the day. People wait in lines to get ipads and other gadgets, cars cut-each other off in pursuit of a faster route to the Mall and the holiday season is upon us. Rejecting American consumerism is not an easy task; I was bombarded with emails in my inbox telling me of fantastic deals at all my favorite stores. One by one, I deleted them. I looked at them all carefully and did not feel any urge to splurge because I've already planned to opt-out and make home-made gifts this year. I don't care about Black Friday or Cyber Monday. I am focused inward on family, hearth and home. Luckily, I do have company to look forward to sharing meals with us soon. Uncle S will be arriving on our porch some time in the coming days for his desert stop-over as he travels on his way to take a job in LA. Happy packing Uncle S and safe travels.

Wishing all of you a place of peace and tranquility as the holiday season rolls forth and American consumer culture tries to snag as many bucks out of you as possible. Wishing you all a very blessed weekend of rest and connection.

Ciao
~A

Jane Gets Another Award!

2011-11-26T10:34:00.001-08:00

http://www.aarp.org/politics-society/advocacy/info-11-2011/jane-goodall.html

Meeting a Partera in the Andes

2011-11-25T09:06:00.001-08:00

I'm working on finding my thesis so that I can share my experiences of travel in Peru and the key-informant interview that many of my Gentle Beginnings fans are requesting a blog post about. Where did I pack away my thesis? I guess I did not keep track of that little piece of hard work! You would think I would have it in a place of honor or something after all the sleepless nights of writing and research, editing and agonizing over what to include and what not to include from my interview notes. Anyway, once I find it, I will be posting some excerpts from a chapter in which I detail the best ethnographic interview I have ever had the pleasure of conducting. This midwife was the real deal ladies and gentleman. She had seen much of life (being in her late 90's at the time of our interview), knew more than I'll ever know about Quechua midwifery practice in the Andes and had survived a jailing at one point in her life for the death of a mother (who's baby she saved) when the mother died due to suspected hemmorage (or uterine cancer, no one can be sure). Coming soon.....

Art Projects

2011-11-25T05:59:00.001-08:00

I am working on an exciting doula-related concept right now as part of Gentle Beginnings Birth and Family Services. I am a little shocked that I am getting positive feedback from actual artists---the ones who do art for a living and make money at it! It has been suggested that I could sell my Birth Art. I'm not sure what to think about it since I do this as a hobby and do not consider myself to be a professional artist in any shape or form. But, since this concept is meant to help heal traumatic experiences that women have during birth, I am open to any new ways of sharing and connecting over Birth Art.

Here is what I'm thinking: if I create one piece of art (painting, pastel or watercolor) for the next sixth months, I will have enough Birth Art to invite friends, past clients, family and Gentle Beginnings Birth and Family Services fans to an art show. I am a huge supporter of Pam England's Birth Art Childbirth Education Series. If you are too, then you know what kind of transformative power art has among women suffering from birth trauma or sexual assault trauma. This movement which caught fire among birth advocates, educators and doulas has its roots in Art Therapy and addresses the private pain that many women in American culture suffer from in isolation.

Birth Art Therapy helps women prepare for the challenge of birth with confidence and encourages happy expectations by helping them work through strong feelings of fear and anxiety of the unknown. It's helpful for all women facing the challenge of giving birth but has been particularly amazing in helping women with childhood trauma or a specific traumatic event in highscool or college. When a woman faces the idea that she will be vulnerable, exposed and a little out of control during birth, these feelings trigger past associations where they were (for one reason or another) unable to feel that they had control over what happened to their bodies.

Birth Art allows a place for women to keep the event-trigger private and express and work through the emotions and feelings. I have personally experienced how much relief and comfort comes from using Birth Art during pregnancy. I have also produced some of my best pieces while pregnant--many cultures believe that pregnant women are especially creative and close to intutitive forces.

As a birth doula, what I want to promote is that this process does work. If you are a woman with a lot of fear and anxiety about the birth event, it's ok to acknowledge those feelings. Once you begin to share it with other mothers and your doula/midwife/obstetrician, you will be surprised to hear how normal and natural those feelings are. Working through painful associations well before your due date is best for your birth to unfold with less pain and fear.

If you are a woman who never had any worries over your birth and only felt happy anticipation, that's wonderful and there are many women who have those feelings as the birth approaches too. However, it's the rare pregnant woman who doesn't entertain some anxiety over going into labor. In a very simple way, Birth Art takes away the fear of childbirth. As I am fond of paraphrasing to my doula clients, Laura Stavoe-Harm once remarked that: "Women in my culture do not think of birth as painful, instead we view women as strong." I have seen many strong women and many tender fathers at births in my work. I love that traditional gender roles fly out the window when a baby is being born.

In American culture there is a movement to speak positvely about birth events, for women to take back our right of passage as the sex that has the gift to bring forth new life. I am always researching new ways for my clients to relieve stress during their pregnancy and during birth the birth event. Massage, warm baths, reflexology, aromatherpy and birth art are all powerful ways for expectant mothers to calm down, rest and prepare. Creating rituals around pregnancy is something birth doulas naturally do with their clients because that is one of the elements of doula care; to bring reverence to the process.

Rituals surrounding birth and postpartum phases existed in America at one time. Our communities valued the special circumstances of pregnancy and newborn care but these rituals have fallen by the wayside to birthing women's great detriment in the United States. No other culture on earth thinks it's appropriate to expect women to go back to work full time six weeks after giving birth (when many women are still healing and bleeding) and absolutely no culture expects new mothers to figure out newborn care on their own, away from family and friends with no grandmothers around to hold the baby. New mothers in America, simply accept that they won't be able to eat, sleep or take a shower during the first week of caring for an infant and some even think that this is a normal expectation of themselves to be unable to meet basic needs for the first six months of caring for an infant. My opinion is that it is harming our familes, marriages, newborns and is directly responsible for the amount of women in the United States that suffer from post-partum depression. American culture has a maladaptive response to birth. Doula's may not have been necessary in our historical past because women lived among extended family networks but in modern America, every woman deserves doula care and many women really need doula care!

So, try out some Birth Art Projects and don't worry about labeling yourself good at art or bad at art. This is for you and your eyes only. No one will ever see it unless you are moved to share it. Many women, after giving birth, plan to share their birth art with their children when they are old enough to be interested in it. I put the birth art that I created for both of my pregnancies into my children's baby books. My four year old loves to see it and loves to hear me tell about how "he did not want to come out" as I describe the fact that he was two weeks late and I had to be induced due to an aged placent. I tell him that he was ever so comfy inside me and didn't even want to be born when the placenta was no longer providing him with nutrients (the poor kid knows more about birth and female anatomy than most kids his age because of his mama). It is a very special time for me as his mother when he asks to "hear about how I came to be with you--- outside of you. When I was born." I drop whatever I am doing and instantly get into story telling mode. My other son is only two and a half. He appreciates the birth art in his baby book though and he smiles wide when I tell his birth story. He has never asked to hear it (yet). He loves the part of his birth story when I act out how the OB raced into the room and his mama was already birthing the baby (him) into daddy's loving arms. He usually say, Mama I love you after hearing the story. Birth is such an important event and in American culture we repress our desires to tell our birth story out of fear of judgment or fear of 'over-sharing' or fear of living it over in our minds again--depending on how a mother feesl about her own birth experince. I love talking about birth and my children know it!

I believe that everyone has the ability to creatively express themselves through art. I've taken two art classes in my entire life. Although at some point in my life I would enjoy spending more time learning techniques from art teachers, so far I have been busy focusing my attentions elsewhere. I took one art class in highschool because it looked fun and one in college in order to fulfill an aesthetic/art requirement for my undergraduate degree in Anthropology. I have always appreciated the process though and I have always enjoyed viewing art in museums, galleries and more recently on Etsy. It's one of the many reasons that I married my husband; he is strongly creative in his own hobbies and he has always been highly supportive of my secret pleasures (writing poetry, writing fiction and memoir, drawing & painting).

Today I'm going public with my birth art in order to encourage other people (especially pregnant women or women who have recently given birth) to work through powerful feelings both positive and negative that become hard to articulate with words. I often discuss a woman's birth at a postpartum visit for up to two hours. That sounds like a long time but it goes by fast for both me and the new parents. Key-informant interviews in ethnographic research frequently last around two hours so, it's not long from my perspective. Anyway, women are in such a different place during childbirth, mostly turned inward, that they only remember impressions of what happened. When I am there with them at postpartum visits, they want to know every detail of their birth. Questions I frequently get asked at a postpartum check-in are:

"When I was ready to push and you said, _____ and the doctor said____ and I did_____ was that at 11pm or 3am?"

"I remember the nurse said ____ and you took my husband aside and said____ and then he came back and put his arms around me and said_____, do you remember what stage of labor that was?"

I love talking about birth as much as the next professional doula. I enjoy helping my clients fill -in the details of their birth story and tend to combine medical details with their sense memories of the event in my written birth stories. If my clients desire one, I give them a copy at the first postnatal check-in. I let my clients ask me as many questions as they want to during the postpartum visit because I know that their births will be one of the most important experiences in their entire life. For women, I know that when they are 90 and suffering from dimensia, they will still remember how it felt to birth their babies into the world. For men, I know that they will always cherish the first time holding their baby. It's really an event that looms large in both men and women's lives. Fathers ask a lot of technical questions at postpartum visits as well. Many times before I leave, fathers tell me privately that hiring me was more than worth the price as it allowed them to be helpful with less anxiety during the birth and made their wives think that they were awesome at childbirth support. I love hearing that! There is no greater reward for my doula work than to see a new family at a postpartum visit who are thrilled to have had an amazing birth experience.

Please enjoy these photos and let me know if you would be interested in seeing a live showing of Birth Art in the Tucson area some time next summer or fall. Also, if you know where I could put up a show and advertise for it for FREE (I'm thinking a peaceful yoga studio?) please let me know. I'm not sure if anything will be for sale since right now because this is all about encouraging expression rather than making money but it would be flattering if anyone wanted to pay me for something I do for fun! Ideas are still flowing....

Below are a few photographs to get you thinking about what you might like to make in your very own art studio (a kitchen table works for me). Don't forget that if you do not enjoy painting or drawing, photography might be your approach to making Birth Art.

A few of these photographs show different stages in the process of creation (both on my own and with my children). The colorful oil painting featured here in various stages of my creative process was an oil on canvas that I made last week on a whim after spending a year playing around with this concept in pastels. I also used some organic materials from my yard because I tend to enjoy art that incorporates natural elements. It will be the background on my new flyers and business cards.

Some are photos of the art my children made recently after they watched me use oil paints. I think it's important to encourage children to play around with different mediums. Yes, I did let me four year old and my two year old paint with OIL and real CANVAS and with expensive brushes. They did great, somehow knowing that this was special, they set to work with intention.They were so proud of their creations sitting next to mama's on the porch to dry that it was worth the extra effort I spent cleaning afterwards. J learned many things during the oil painting session about mixing colors. He looked up with dawning comprehension when he mixed white into all the colors on his palette and they became lighter versions of color. It was pretty sweet to watch. At bedtime that evening he told me that painting with me was his favorite part of our day.

Another photo is a family portrait that my four year old drew earlier this fall and I discovered it lying on the floor in his bedroom while he was at preschool one morning. You will note that my hair looks really crazy (i love that part) and I am holding our dog on a leash in the front yard of our home as our entire family heads out on a walk together (cacti featured in the background) and our best friends are knocking on our door, ready to play with us when we return from our walk (in the background as well).

I also like to encourage getting messy during art time in our home because I have come to understand something vital about working on art with children; if children are worried about getting the carpet dirty or their clothes or hands dirty because they have been chastized for accidentally doing this by adults in their lives, it takes away the joy of creating. I appreciate that Waldorf's early childhood philosophy taught me how to step-back and avoid interrupting my children during their play. It has been rewarding to observe how my boys explore without inhibitions during art project time and they come up with ideas that astound me regularly.

Lastly, one is a photograph that moves me deeply because it was taken by S when he was 9 month old at the park last year. It surpised me with its depth of beauty. Way to go S! Showing mama what I miss when life gets so hectic that I didn't even notice my busy toddler taking photos on my android phone at the park! Way to go J-- when I picked up your drawing of our family portrait and noticed how we were all holding hands happily, tears flowed freely. You make life beautiful my blessings!

2011-11-24T06:15:00.001-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving! Wishing everyone a wonderful day of love, family time, healthy food and connection to what is most important in your lives. We do not take enough time to slow down in American culture; but when we do, such as during Thanksgiving break, it feels so good. My students and I really need to take a deep breath at this time of year. I find myself dreaming of carving out time for yoga. Yes, this is the time of year that my mood gets influenced by the amount of papers I need to finish grading, the emails that pile up crammed in my in-box. This is also the time of year that my ambitious husband is so busy with work/studying/writing papers that I get an unhappy view of single motherhood. My husband is a super daddy who we all miss when work/school prevents us from having our usual family time together. Our family life feels frazzled every year when November hits like a mack truck going 100 miles per hour. (In Breath-Out-Breath, Warrior Pose). Ok, now I can get into the topic of this blog.

This blog post is going to have a teaching theme with two areas of focus: 1) Describing the research method of participant-observation 2) Advice and Tips on how to begin researching graduate programs in anthropology and preparing your application for successful admission into your programs of choice.

Our first topic, participant-observation, is the traditional hallmark of ethnographic research in the discipline of anthropology. It has been a challenge to accurately portray participant-observation in my introductory anthropology classes because of its unique nature. Somehow, whenever we discuss this research method online or in my live classes (I taught seminar style cult. anth courses and biological anth. lab classes at Coconino Community College in Flagstaff during graduate school), my students get the impression that participant-observation is really cool ("like a hippie vacation") and that all the anthropologist does is hang-out and live rustically.

This is only true on a very superficial level. Although, I have to admit that participant-observation is the most fun I have ever had doing research in anthropology. My American students often comment that the challenging part of doing ethnographic research in another country would be living rustically. Most of them can never imagine persuing fieldwork because they do not want to give up the modern pleasures they enjoy living in America. They find it impossible to imagine desiring to go somewhere that would make it hard to have every physical whim easily quenched. Such is the culture of modernity in the US. My immigrant students balance this perspective and talk about the things that they hate about living in American culture while getting nostalgic about their home countries. They talk about how in Africa, everyone cares for one another in the village but in America someone could be sick in their home for a week without anyone even checking in on them. They discuss how isolating, confusing and fast-paced our American way of living is and lament that we never slow down. They also talk about how grateful they are to have opportunities of education in our country. They talk about how they never knew someone would give you a loan to improve your education level and that you could pay it back (not right away) but instead, years later after you already had a good job. They talk about the technological advances in medicine that we take for granted and discuss how silly Americans are who go to the doctor for colds and other minor ailments that are easily handled by traditional healers in their own countries, mothers and grandmothers who know about herb lore and natural medicine which everyone has some knowledge of in their native countries. Needless to say, certain populations of my classes are really fun to watch as they engage with each other. They are little microcosms of our global world. Full of tension, laughter, miscommunication, connection, sharing and above all; respect for one another. These classes become fun for me to teach! In the next paragraph, I will share my lecture notes, the extended version, for those who are interested.

What is Participant-Observation?

Participant-observation is an incredibly wonderful method for relaxing into the rhythm of a culture and allowing your understanding of how the people work together as a community to build slowly over time.The anthropological fieldworker spends time participating in daily life and usually shares in the majority of culturally appropriate eating, dress, communication and story-telling. There is always story telling when an anthropologist comes into the field. We can't help it as human beings; we are curious and want to know what other people live like. We also want to make sure that people who come into our culture to study us, get it right and the best way to do that is by sharing myths, stories and histories with one another while the daily course of life goes on around us. The most useful components of P-O me thodology include:

P-O helps you manage culture-shock, find your bearings when you feel homesick or lost among the "other" and has the very important benefit of giving yourself time to observe who may become good key-informants for later investigative research.

P-O enables you to plan ahead with your casual interviewing skills as you mentally note who you should pursue a working relationship with so that when you begin doing interviews you will get high quality data.

For example, I wanted to work on relieving issues of maternal mortality in the poverty-stricken squatter communities surrounding Ayacucho, Peru as my main goal for my master's degree thesis research. This would be considered a proper applied anthropology research goal. My secondary goal was to discover how pluralistic medicine (also know as complementary medicine) works in a Peruvian Andean city. This would be considered a proper traditional anthropological research goal, with relevant import for theory-building within the discipline of medical anthropology. In order to do both of these types of research, in about 3 months of fieldwork, I knew that I would need to get myself into the best situation for conducting participant-observation in the field. I would need a location where I could both observe the culture of a clinic and participate when need arose while also making contact with traditional healers. I planned to keep a journal dedicated to determining how traditional methods of healing were employed by consumers of medical care (ie what choices the people living around the neighborhood made when they were sick or in need of professional help during birth). My notebook is full of details about which patients went to the clinic first, second or in combination with going to see traditional healers. The findings were never really addressed in my thesis (something to think about going back to look at I guess). Native Ayacuchans chose to visit biomedical staff vs. traditional healers (midwives and shamans, ie. parteras and curanderos in Spanish) based on the seriousness of the injury or problem, the cost of the services and what they had available to pay, the recommendations of friends and family members and their own intuition. It was fascinating research to conduct and I enjoyed every moment of it.

This is how I decided on the proper situation for fieldwork: I found a non-profit organization (through a contact in my graduate program who had gone to India the previous year with the same non-profit) who placed volunteers into areas of need around the city of Ayacucho, Peru. Ayacucho had the added benefit of being a city in the remote Andes (very exciting) and was well known for both archeologically important sites and a high population of indigenous natives who had decended from the Incas (among other cultures). My research site became Santa Elena Centre de Salud, located in the outer regions of the city of Ayaycucho, (also known as Huamanga in native Quechua language). Ayacucho Peru, is very high in elevation with sweeping mountain panoramas and gorgeous high desert flora and fauna. So, that's the geographic location I dreamed of traveling to for conducting ethnographic research. The next step in this process was to begin writing a consent form (this will be the topic of another blog which I will focus on some time in January 2012).

The neighborhoods around Santa Elena had sprung up quickly during the violent conflict that continued in the Andes (and spread to the cities) of Peru during the 1980's and 1990's. The Shining Path Movement (Sendero Luminoso) challenged the traditional framework of colonial, capitalist government and fought to improve the rights of indigenous people who had been exploited in the Andes by colonialism and neocolonialism ever since first contact with European explorers. Sendero revolutionaries had many ideas that were attractive (sharing wealth, empowering native populations, providing opportunities for women to participate in leadership roles) but their methods were terribly violent. China's Chairman Mao's famous quote about change only happening at the end of a gun barrel was a common reading at SL meetings. The SL ended up turning the indigenous farming populations against them after their livlihoods were disrupted by the violence caused by the rebellion. Although SL ranks swelled with young, male and female university students for many years, families were starting to put together rhondas campesinas which were usually a group of strapping males, all fathers, who were trying to protect their wives, children and crops. They had some success but generally ended up needing to leave for personal security reasons. They fled to the lower elevation cities in droves. This is a topic for another post as it gets quite complicted.

So, to return to my main point, farmers in the Andes fled their remote home villages when violent conflict erupted between the government police squads (who were deployed from the urban areas to the Andes by the leaders of government to suppress the rebellion) and the Sendero Luminoso Guerillas who used tactics similar to those that were successful during the Vietnam-US conflict. Ayacucho became both a haven for remote-rural populations that were seeking reassurance in the higher populated cities and yet, it was still a hot-bed of Luminoso supporters as well. The leader of the movement, Dr. A. Guzman, was actually a philosophy professor at the University in Ayacucho for many years. He held public debates with his students and detractors. He was deemed a very charasmatic man by both people who hated him and people who loved him. I met an Ayacuchan anthropologist who had an incredible knowledge base about this movement. He had been working with, as a key-informant, a highly successful Harvard Anthropology Professor (Dr. Kimberly Theidon). Dr. Theidon and I were doing research in Ayacucho at the same time, although our paths never crossed, except one time when I attended a public lecture that she gave on Susto (fear) and Nervioso (Nerves) and discussed Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrom (PTSD) among the populations of Ayaucho due to the decade of civil war everyone had lived through.

Basically, by the time I arrived in the summer of 2003, the people living in the neighborhood surrounding Santa Elena Centre de Salud, were second-generation refugees. Their parents and grandparents had lost their homes and livlihoods during the war. They gave up legal deeds and traditional farm lands when they fled the high mountain areas. They could no longer farm to support themselves independently and most of them spoke Quechua as their first language. Spanish was their second language. They were forced to assimilate into the capitalist-economy that relies on money rather than the Incan-inspired tradition of trade and mutual reciprocity for acquiring goods and services. This shocking integration into the World System (globalization) meant that these families occupied the bottom of society. They were very poor, had no access to education because they could not pay for it and had a limited skill set. Yet, they were intelligent and hard-working people. They were able to participant in the informal economy by setting up soup kitchens, small plots of farm land (mostly illegally cultivated), weaving mantas and other useful materias for sale, selling ice cream to tourists etc. They used many resourceful techniques in order to make ends meet. The people around the Santa Elena clinic lived in adobe shacks with no access to clean water and no latrines (ie plumbing/toilets) for sanitary use. Maternal and infant mortality was extremely high. The neighborhood relied on mutual care and connection for nearly every difficult situation as they attempted to forge a new lives in an urban city.

When I arrived at the clinic on my first day, my Preceptor (a fancy word for an internship coordinator) , introduced me to the two doctors who ran the clinic. One was the founder of the clinic and the other was doing the equivalent of a residency program and was not particularly attached to the community. I met all the nurses, student-nurses, the dentist, labor and delivery staff and ended up at the Pharmacy. The head doctor asked me where I wanted to volunteer. Since I could do participant-observation from anywhere in the clinic, it didn't really matter to me where I volunteered as long as I was on-site. The woman in charge of the pharmacy had an out-going, exuburant personality that I enjoyed immediately. The doctor said I could work in the pharmacy and that they would call me in so that I could observe births when women arrived in labor. The head doctor had plans for me (unknown to me at the time). He wanted me to help him analyze why healthy babies born in the neighborhood often succumbed to viral and bacterial infections within the first ten days of life. The afternoon of my first day he brought me to the files room and asked me to look at the statistics of live healthy births and the notes on dead newly born babies. He veiwed my expertise as one would a public health researcher in the US. Medical anthropology has a lot of over-lap with public health so he was accurately assessing my skill set and actively working to form my research into something useful for the clinic. This was a great set-up for my research goals. This is exactly why grounded theory is, in my opinion, the best theory to apply in short-term medical anthropology research.

Take away points:
1) participant-observation is not hanging out in another culture drinking and vacationing for fun-- it is a serious research method used to integrate yourself into the community in order to study culture

2) being part of a community is the first step to conducting ethnographic research and you must gain a positive reputation in the community before anyone will tell you anything worth knowing. *Unless you have people who will be bridges for you-- in which case you can pop-in, do good research and pop-out again. My thesis advisor, Dr. Robert Trotter, does this style of research excellently when he is called in all over the world to do consulting work.

3) When you travel to a different culture you need time to listen to and understand the language. Even if you studied it in a classroom before arrival, the regional dialect will be something to adjust to, the modes of communication and non-verbal communication will all be different from your own culture and you will make a lot of embarrasing mistakes before you can get down to focusing on an issue to study. I had pounding head-aches for the first three weeks of immersion from trying to think and speak in Spanish all day long. It literally made my brain hurt but it also improved my language skills immensely and much more quickly than I ever learned language in a classroom setting.

4) Participant-observation allows you to do the grounded research you need before you can collect good ethnographic data using key-informant interviews, mapping and many other research methods. I was so under-prepared linguistically for my research goals that I immediately decided to hire a translator. I had not known that the older populations, who I wanted to interview, could not speak to me in Spanish at all. They spoke Quechua. I had known that they spoke Quechua, of course, before going to the field but I assumed they also knew Spanish and that most people were bilingual. The younger populations were bilingual but the older populations, who I certainly wanted to interview for their life experiences, spoke only their native Quechua. I hired a brilliant linguist, who spoke Spanish, Quechua and English fluently. It's been nearly 9 years since I conducted my thesis fieldwork so by now she probably knows a few more languages. I know she had goals of learning more languages when we first met. She is very gifted in learning and speaking languages intuitively and she also acted as a cultural broker for me. To this day, I think of her as a joint-researcher on my team. *Anthything that ever become published with me as the primary author will need to have her name directly after because she was so valuable to my research. I think it is ethically important to give credit to native people who you work with in anthropological fieldwork and to be vocal about the amount of contribution they made during the research process. I also began taking Spanish language classes once a week at CCS (the non-profit home base), asked my co-workers to explain Quechua verb structure to me. I started putting together a list of useful Quechua words. Most of the words revolved around body parts for use at the clinic and explaining who I was and why I wanted to to talk to people for my interview research.

Which graduate programs should I apply to?
Ways to determine which programs you will like include:
1) Making a list of researchers and professors whose writing you enjoy and whose philosophical ideas you want to learn more about
2) If you have already completed original research in an undergraduate program--I did this through my Honors College at Western Michigan University and many other universities offer something similar if you seek it out. You will want to write up your research findings and use that as your sample of writing when applying to a grad. program. If you have not done original research in an undergraduate program, then choose a sample of writing that was given high marks in one of your classes. Edit it again before you use it for submission purposes.

3) Assess your own skill level! What are you lacking and what are your strengths? I was lacking Spanish language fluency but I did not let that stop me from following my dreams. I once heard Dr. Jane Goodall, my childhood heroine, say that she was never good at learning languages but that she was always good at analyzing animal behavior. In her later writings, she attributed a lot of her success in the field to a character trait she had in abundance; she was a patient person. She inspired me to own-up to my big weakness, my lack of fluency, and not allow it to hold me back from my goals. My graduate advisor, Dr. Trotter, also encouraged me to "Do whatever makes you come alive and whatever sparks your interest first. Then figure out the details later." Dr. Trotter shed a lot of light on my understanding of grounded theory during fieldwork.

My intermediate level of Spanish comprehension no longer seemed to be a major barrier to me after that conversation with my advisor. I walked out of his office with an air of lightness in my step. I cannot even describe to you the feeling of relief that swept through me after getting such excellent advice---it was a kindling feeling.

I began to imagine conducting research in Ayacucho. After all, Jane Goodall went to Africa and never became fluent in any human language, but managed to crack-open chimpanzee language/behavior and share it with the wider world to great affect. Imagine if she didn't go to Africa because she didn't know any African languages? Primatology as a field would not be the dynamic biological anthropology sub-field that it is today without Goodall's visionary research and writing.

Now on to strengths: What areas have you already proven to yourself and your professors that you excel in? Develop an outline for your plea for acceptance into the desired graduate program. Then, write your Letter of Intent in such a way so as to disguise your weaknesses (or talk about how you will improve them in the program or are currently improving them). Then, of course, highlight your strengths. I wrote about desiring to improve my Spanish language skills in my grad. application and described my interest in learning Portuguese (at that time I was taking Portuguese for fun at Pima Community College and ---not actually getting a great grade---). However, taking the Portuguese class read-well on my graduate application. It showed that I was serious about pursuing language fluency for travel/research to South America. I have to admit that I also took Portugues because I had a pen pal in grade school from Brazil. I had always wanted to visit her in Bahia, Brazil. The practical purpose for taking Portugues was that I wanted to do research with Dr. Trotter in Brazil (which I never did because by the time I entered into the program he was doing research on organizational development). The other reasons I was accepted into my program of choice for my MA was that I had already done research in the field of maternal and infant health in my undergraduate program and I had a GPA of 3.8 (or 3.9, I can't remember exactly but I almost failed calculus when I was a freshman). Most importantly, I had achieved a 4.0. in every anthropology class I took at Western Michigan University (from a really hard biological anthropology course to a really easy latin american cultures course). During my senior year I had been given an award for undergraduate work by the anthropology department. I was given this award, a great moment in my life, during my senior year of college for the volunteer time as well as my part-time job through the Academic Skills department which allowed me to tutor younger anthropology students. It was an honor that came complete with a plaque hanging on the wall in the anthropology building and I was given a little introduction by Dr. Miles that was very meaningful to me as she explained that she nominated me for the award. She explained that I was chosen among all the students in anthropogy to receive the award because professors saw great improvements among the students they recommended to me for tutoring. I basically lived and breathed and ate in the Anthropology building because I loved connecting with professors and students with my same interests. I enjoyed tutoring younger students who were taking classes that I had just been given A's in and it was this experience that endeared me to the entire department and also gave me the idea that I might like to teach some day. I had also spent the better part of my senior year of college drumming up support for the Anthropology Student Union and reinvigorating the student run club that had been dormant for several years. That experience was my first lesson on competetive leadership. I had been expecting to be voted in as President, given that I had done all of the work in getting the club going by giving short promo's in all of the anth classes, making and flyering all over the campus, talking with friends and people in the Lee Honors College in order to have the twenty-seven people at our first meeting. However, I was serious, intense, slightly annoying and people did not like me. They liked the idea of the club but not me as their leader. They chose the only person running against me, bascically he was a male version of me except that he was a very gifted comedian. He did two things to win. He padded our meeting with 8 friends that had no interest in the club but were interested in helping him win over me due to male loyalty. In his speech, he gave a very accurate and very embarrasing impression of me speaking in front of our student group. The whole room roared with laughter and I out-voted. I was given the Vice President Position instead since no one else had wanted it. I was pretty much furious. This competive male version of me, is currently at HARVARD right now. That also makes me think that in order to get into Harvard you have to be a jerk and do whatever it takes to Get on Top at the expense of others. You can see I am still holding a grudge about this event. I was never given an apology. Although, I think, that Dr. Miles knew what had happened and that is why she chose me over this other guy for the department award. He was a gifted archeology student who spoke fluent Spanish. He was also in the Lee Honors College and was being mentored by department faculty in his orginal research pursuits. I know that Dr. Miles liked both of us immensely and that she also mentored him and helped him get support to fly to Mexico for his original research. I was surpised when I was chosen by the entire department over him. That was a little sweeter than getting President of student club. Justice had been served. What I learned is that yes, competition is frustrating and I hated people low ethical standards of behavior but what I know (and my life experience since has only confirmed this) is that those people will get what they deserve--eventually.

Anyway, original undergraduate research is rare but not unheard of and if you ask your favorite professor to help you figure out how to conduct it, your professor will be excited to help you. I had written both a report (very necessary for applied anthropology programs) to give to my research clients and a thesis which I needed to complete as the benchmark of success in the Lee Honors College at Western Michigan University. I was also given guidance and support by the Lee Honors College scholarship fund for four years of university study and access to the most brilliant professors at WMU who taught special courses in the Honors College. The Honors college courses were designed and taught exactly the same as graduate school courses. In other words, every student in the room is academically ambitious, had proved in highschool to be interested and smart in multliple subject areas and as a general rule, we felt a lot performance pressure to succeed in college and beyond. At WMU, I was given so much opportunity that I never realized how fortunate I was until much later in my teaching career when I saw what other colleges offered for academically elite undergraduate students (not much).

My undergraduate Honors College thesis was conducted at two Infertility clinics in Kalamazoo, Michigan and Grand Rapids, Michigan. I designed the research myself with a lot of guidance from my mentor/professor Dr. Ann Miles who is among the great anthropology faculty (currently the Dean, I believe) at Western Michigan Univesity. I had experience interviewing clinical staff to highlight in my graduate application and I had a really good background knowledge of the big names in medical anthropology which I had been demonstrated in the Literature Review portion of my undergraduate thesis. I had all of this going for me at a young age (academically young) mainly because Dr. Miles was a professor who took me under her wing and encouraged every tiny interest that I showed in the field of medical anthropology. She remains the most inspiring Professor I have ever learned from and I appreciate her for many reasons. She was also the person to tell me that I would probably like more applied graduate programs. At that time I didn't even really know what applied anthropology meant but I did know that I wanted to contribute something useful to the population that I studied; I wanted to give as well as receive information. My professor recognized that I seemed to want to contribute 'something useful' rather than simply discussing theory/adding to a body of knowledge in all of my position paper writings. She told me I could do either traditional anthropological research or applied research depending on my personal desires since I showed promise in both these areas (in her opinion). She told me that I showed promise both in feminist anthropology and in medical anthropology. She told me that my weakness was language skills.

Those were my strengths and weaknesses at the cusp of applying to graduate school programs. My academically-minded and encouraging parents also helped me hone-in on what program would work for my shy personality by taking me on a cross-country trip to the universities I was thinking of applying to (San Franscisco, Tucson, Flagstaff and Los Angeles were visited in quick succession with my mom the summer before I began applying to graduate schools). I wanted to live out west and leave behind cold Michigan winters for good. I highly recommend visiting the campus of the graduate school you are applying to and walk around thinking about if you would fit in to the larger community. These issues become huge when you arrive, get into the master's program and then discover you hate everything else about living in that particular city and can't find any friends with your same interests. Many a grad student drops out for these reasons--- it's important to consider a sense of place as well as the specific program.

Take some time and be honest about your gifts and challenges. Then start working on your weaknesses and marketing your strengths. Look at the graduate programs' detailed outline of coursework and note those programs that have classes you would be extremely excited to take in a grad program. Begin to filter out the programs that do not seem to excite your intellect. Start dreaming and planning how you will make your goals a reality. Muster support from Professors, co-workers, parents (and friends of parents) who can network for you. More on this topic later.

A Step Towards Medical Anthropology Blogging

2011-11-23T11:37:00.001-08:00

Well, I've heard from friends and family mostly at this point. They want to hear about my experiences in Peru while I was conducting ethnographic research in the Andes for my Master's Degree thesis research. I graduated from Northern Arizona University's fantastic Applied Anthropology program. My professors/mentors (who I am forever grateful to for their unfailing guidance, teaching methods and research support) helped me have exactly the kind of traditional anthropological research experience that I had desired when I was dreaming of graduate school back in Michigan. I planned carefully for which programs I wanted to apply to so that I could do applied, medical anthropology well. I studied hard both before entering the field and upon entering the field and then spent the better part of a year writing up my findings before my Defense. A lot of people don't really know what ethnographic research in the field looks like. So, I'll start at the very beginning with my next blog post.

In my next post I'll tell you how to get into a great program, how to choose what is a great program for your personal goals and how to plan ahead so you are ready for the challenge of graduate school. I will walk you through the process of my path, as one example, of how to follow your dreams in anthropology. I had the most amazing, life-changing experiences in my summer of research in 2003. I truly need to go back soon. I miss all my lovely friends there and I want to check in on a special little lady who is eight years old now and who I met upon her entering the world. Her mother named her after *yours truly* (how flattering!) because I helped her give birth under extremely stressful conditions. I wonder where you are little Ayacuchan Amanda....I hope you are well! :)

What would you like to read about?

2011-11-19T08:29:00.001-08:00

My blog has been vacant for quite awhile. I can't seem to decide what I want to write about as a unifying theme. What would my friends, family, doula clients and students like to read about? So, leave a comment below with a vote. All of you who will actually do this (possibly no one!) will likely already know that I am an anthropology instructor, a child birth attendant (doula), mother of two beautiful boys and the wife of one super husband. My interests include: medical anthropology, primatology, writing, yoga, teaching tolerance in the classroom, reading novels, traveling and visiting other cultures, camping, painting, health foods, art projects and art museums, learning about early childhood development, simplicity parenting, Waldorf education and conducting maternal and infant health research. Any of those topics could be the focus of this blog! If you would like to weigh in, please leave a comment below and you can help me decide. Thanks!