Unexpected

As a mother of 3, a communications business owner and a qualified doula, you come to expect the unexpected in life.  You know that kids will get sick when you have a weekend away planned; pipes burst and bathrooms flood when you are about to host Christmas lunch; clients invent a sudden and urgent deadline on the same morning as your  annual gynae checkup and babies choose to arrive 2 weeks early at 1am before a major presentation.

But few of us think we’ll wake up one day and realise that our marriage is over.  So it is that I am now living in a temporary home, albeit a beautiful one, with my three precious children being shunted between this home and what was previously our family home.  My husband is staying there until the house has sold.  I am looking after a dear friend’s home on a small holding for 6 months.

I became a mother at 18.  After 8 hours of labour with my mother as my support, I gave birth to a gorgeous baby girl (she’ll be 15 tomorrow) and as I latched my little one to my breast, a giant pause button was handed to me.  I stopped learning about my individual likes and dislikes.  I ran my life in a slightly apologetic manner with my sweet daughter’s needs the great priority and the need to prove myself the overriding objective.  I developed a hard edge, a cynicism.  I built walls.   I had given up university despite my affluent and loving family’s plans to see me graduate.  I had no need for a passport, student visas or digs accommodation.  I studied part-time at a small campus near to my parents’ home, and kept a small number of friends who weren’t completely appalled by the idea of me breastfeeding a wriggly baby.  I went on to pursue a career in PR and promotions; my first paycheck a monumental relief, particularly as my daughter and I were now on our own medical aid.  I moved cities when she was 4, and although I had the opportunity to hit the night life with wild abandon from time to time, I was always a mother and every choice I made came down to what was right or wrong for my child.  I loved her with an overwhelming sence of protection and gratitude.  I still do.  The end result was that at 25 I found a great man, settled down and had two more children long before I took time out to figure out what I really wanted.

Our home was not dysfunctional.  We muddled through baby sleep patterns, his mother’s illness, potty training, house hunting, kitchen rennovations, pet adoptions, school applications, teenage moodswings and the terrible two’s.  He adopted my daughter. We supported hockey matches, rugby tournaments and school concerts.  I cooked and served at least two different meals every night to accommodate everyone’s tastes.  We ate dinner together, all 5 of us.  We camped.  We divided holidays between my family and his.  We ran our businesses, divided the school lifts and shared a bottle of wine when the juggling act became too much.  But we did not live in truth, because I hadn’t figured mine out yet.  And in February this year, my third child turned three, and I realised that our individual needs were lost in a sea of family oriented obligations and criticism; some spoken and some not.  We were not in love, and I needed to get out.  I knew I would miss him, I was right.  I do.  But I wasn’t wrong to leave.

I can’t practice as a doula now that I’m a single parent.  I can’t leave my babies in the middle of the night.  I hope that one day I’ll resume my doula services, nothing has ever made me feel quite so fulfilled.  For now, I’m trying to find the ideal way to co-parent in a murky puddle of guilt, judgement and pain.  There is hope, I believe I will find my truth and give myself honestly the next time the opportunity arises.  I hope that he will too.  We both deserve that.

 

I Did it My Way

“Your body, your baby, your way” is what I send to a friend recently. 

She was recovering from the birth of her precious baby boy, battling a little with early breastfeeding, and had just experienced the harsh treatment of one of the hospital nurses.  There is nothing quite like having your tender, swollen breast squashed, pulled or prodded by a perfect stranger to put you off!  The right lactation consultant can make all the difference by gently encouraging a good latch, enabling a calm approach to your feeding routine and empowering a new mother to allow her body to do its work.  Yesterday, I came across the following quote posted by the Panorama Breastfeeding Clinic.  It succinctly embodies my thoughts around breastfeeding:

“When we trust the makers of baby formula more than we do our own ability to nourish our babies, we lose a chance to claim an aspect of our power as women. Thinking that baby formula is as good as breast milk is believing that thirty years of technology is superior to three million years of nature’s evolution. Countless women have regained trust in their bodies through nursing their children, even if they weren’t sure at first that they could do it. It is an act of female power, and I think of it as feminism in its purest form.” ~Christine Northrup

 

Charlotte Mary’s Birth

I received a call from expectant mother, Claire, less than 2 weeks ago.  She was 4 days away from due date.  Her cousin, Stella (mother of Scott, one of my April babies!) had referred her to me months ago.  At the time, she was keen to pursue her plan of a natural delivery with hypno-birthing techniques, and didn’t feel that she needed a doula.  But with a few days to go, Claire became anxious that her natural birth ideal would be compromised by medical interference if the pregnancy did not run smoothly, and felt that having a doula might give her birth plan a better chance.  Indeed, a doula’s support can reduce the chance of having a caesarean by 50%.  Their gynae was in full support of their birth plan, and had agreed that she would not recommend a caesar unless it became absolutely necessary.

I met with Claire and her husband Dean just 3 days before their due date.  They knew they were having a little girl, their first baby, and had enjoyed a trouble-free pregnancy.  Their easy connection and happy home made me so happy; their little girl would be so loved.  Thier nursery, decorated by a friend of Claire’s with personal touches such as Claire’s old Winnie the Pooh books, was just too beautiful. I couldn’t help the tears when Claire explained that she’d lost her mother a few years ago, and had included an amazing illustration of her mom holding her as a baby in pride of place in their nursery.  I had no doubt that Claire’s mom was smiling down, proud as can be of her strong daughter.

Their gynae had already indicated that their baby was bigger than average (the computer indicated 4kg+) and she hadn’t engaged or dropped.  This is quite common for a first pregnancy, and the baby generally engages in early labour.  But reference to a possible caesar had them worried, it was the opposite of their planned birthing experience.  I explained to Claire and Dean that cephalopelvic disproportion (CPD) is when a baby’s head or body is too large to fit through the mother’s pelvis. It is believed that true CPD is rare, but many cases of “failure to progress” during labor are given a diagnosis of CPD, and sometimes doctors use the term prior to labour to encourage a caesar. When an accurate diagnosis of CPD has been made, the safest type of delivery for mother and baby is a cesarean delivery.  That said, the only way to be absolutely sure of CPD is trial of labour, because no one can honestly say what a mother’s pelvis will allow once labour has begun – and many a tiny woman has successfully birthed a large baby!

Claire, Dean and I signed a contract and I was officially on call!  We chatted using BBM (loving that easy communication!) and email, and I sent lots of information on birth preparation.  Two days later, Claire had an appointment with their gynae, and they were devastated when she indicated that she had serious concerns at the 41 week stage (the baby had not dropped, was OP and a relatively large size and Claire had begun latent labour on the Thursday morning). She recommended delivery via caesarean, preferably the following day. She allowed Claire and Dean to take the night and consider her recommendation, with a follow up appointment the next day. I went to see them that evening, to discuss their feelings and offer some emotional support.  As I say to so many expectant mothers, your birth may be the first of many personal compromises made to accommodate what is best for your child.  But they wanted more time, their was no danger to their baby, and after the Friday morning appointment, their gynae gave them the weekend.  Their baby’s heartrate was to be checked twice daily, so that we were all sure that their little girl was absolutely safe. 

Of course they were in active labour within 24 hours!  I was called to their home just before midnight on Friday.  Claire was strong and managing her surges beautifully.  Dean was timing contractions and the rests between, producing graphs to map her progress, massaging Claire when needed, making tea for us all, and generally staying ahead of his nerves!  By 5:30am Claire had noticed a few changes, and we made the collective decision to transfer to hospital.  The fact that it was the coldest night in Cape Town in living memory, and there was ice on my windshield, only added to the air of adventure and excitement!

We checked in at Kingsburg hospital’s maternity wing, where it was notably warmer, but my reception was anything but.  Unfortunately Kingsbury is not terribly pro-doulas, because there have been a few in the past who did little for our reputation!  Claire was plugged in to the CTG machine to monitor baby’s heartrate.  The midwife on duty asked their gynae to come in straight away; the baby’s heartrate was ok but there was slight cause for concern.  On arrival, and as expected by this stage, their gynae explained that their baby hadn’t dropped at all, her heartrate wasn’t ideal, and that a caesarean had to happen immediately.  By then we’d chatted through the process of a caesar and both Claire and Dean were well prepared, if a little disappointed.  When there are numerous medical indicators that a caesar is the safest route, it is much easier for a mother to adjust her birth expectations.  I wasn’t expecting to be allowed in to theatre, as is Kingsbury’s stance on doulas.

However, once Claire and Dean had been wheeled through, they asked their doctor to allow me in, and she agreed after consulting with the team in theatre.  I changed into the delightful green scrubs, and joined the team.  Claire was shaky and nervous, and Dean had decided not to watch the opp, but was holding her hand and encouraging her beautifully.  I watched their little girl pulled (forcibly) out as she was really awkwardly positioned. 

Finally, Claire and Dean saw their gorgeous little dark-haired baby.  She was born with sweet little chubby cheeks, and even a few fat rolls on her thighs!  She showed us her beautiful long fingers, a strong pair of lungs and very alert eyes for one so new.  Baby weighed 3,7kg. Claire was given a few minutes with her, but there was sign of infection, so she was taken to the neonatal ICU. Dean went with her, as we’d discussed prior, and I stayed with Claire while she was stitched up.  I remained with Claire in recovery for another two hours, while Dean sent us sms’s confirming that their daughter, who was yet to be named, was doing ok.  They had to administer an antibiotic intravenously. 

After what must have felt like eons to Claire, her daughter was brought through and the family of three was reunited.  I went downstairs to get something to eat and to give them some time to bond.  It was around 9am, and the adrenalin that had kept me going was rapidly waning!  When I returned, I was informed that “Squishy” (as she’d been known for 9 months) was to be named Charlotte Mary, using Claire’s mother’s second name.  I was thrilled – what a perfect name for such a beautiful dark-haired princess!

I returned to Kingsbury this morning, to check on their feeding.  I enjoyed two wonderful cuddle moments with Charlotte, which had my ovaries hopping again!  Claire and Dean have accepted and celebrated their change in birth plan.  And they are happily adjusting to the role of parenting.  As always, I am so honoured to be part of new life, raw emotion, and happy endings.

The beautiful baby Charlotte Mary

Every child should have an “Oupi”

As a doula, we always ask about the post-birth support a mother will have.  It is so important to know that her circle of friends, family, church group or similar will offer her guidance, encouragement - or a break – during the first few weeks of motherhood.  They say that a child is raised by a community, and I truly believe that they should be.  As parents, we are often too swamped by life, work and stress to dwell on the beautiful details of raising our babies.  To wander around the garden with them, forget the laundry, the bills or the work deadlines, and just marvel at the innocence of our growing miracles.  When a grandparent is involved, a child may enjoy a completely different “parenting” approach.  An older, wiser influence.  As is the case with my friend’s father, her daughter’s Oupi.  He wrote the following letter to his granddaughter, and gave me permission to share it with you, in an effort to emphasise the importance of parenting through extended family.   *Tissues ready*

FROM OUPI

To My very special Daniella

I was there the day you were born.  We got out of the lift at Vincent Palotti Hospital in Pinelands and saw your Dad putting you on the weighing scale.  I looked through the glass door, staring at this little miracle from heaven.  I was as proud as your Dad!

I visited you the next day and there you were lying face down on your mommy’s tummy (in your birthday suit).  You were bonding beautifully. 

I saw you for 4 days and then we had to come back to Onrus River to our house.  I could not wait for weekends to see you.  While asleep in your beautiful pink room I could sit there for hours just watching you sleep. 

So the months went by and on your 1^st Birthday I saw you opening all your presents and birthday cards.  You blew out your first candle with a huff and a puff.  You were the most beautiful one year old in the world!  You came to visit me often at Onrus River.  I made you a swing and for hours, we splashed in the pool together.  Such happy days! 

Your 2^nd Birthday came far too soon, but now I could talk to you and you could understand me telling you about Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf.  I thought I had forgotten all I ever knew about babies, but my arms remembered. A small part of me wants to call out “dont grow up too fast”.  But the more there is of you, the more there is to love. You have a special place in my heart, you will always be part of me and I will be part of you.

I will always have time to listen, time to tell you stories and time to go into the garden and see what you have discovered.  Hold my hand and I will take you to places where I took your Mom and Aunties when they were small.  You are unique – one in a million, million and do you know that I love you as though you were the only person in the world. 

Take with you, into the future all my love. 

Thank you for all the joy that you have given me – the little perfect hands, your beautiful smile and your first step into the safety of my arms. 

OUPI

XXXXXXXX

My mom - known to my three babies as "Gaggi"

Running a Half Marathon

As a doula, we use the marathon / labour analogy all the time.  Both require physical strength, sufficient hydration, encouragement, strength of mind and determination.  The outcome of either is improved by the kind of support at hand, and the guidance leading up to the event.  And both end in great reward.  

On Saturday 9 July 2011, I entered a brave new world.  I became a (half) marathon runner… and oh boy am I hooked!  The training was hard, but the physical and emotional changes in myself were quickly noticeable, and so encouraging.  The support and guidance from fellow runners was fantastic.  The camaraderie on race day was wonderful.  The race itself was such a learning experience.  And the endorphin-induced high that I experienced as I caught sight of my family at the finish line… came a pretty close second to the rush that I felt after each of my three babies were born.

Fellow running doula, Melinda, was struck down by a sore throat and head cold just days before the race.  At 6am, as I made my (chilly) way to the crowd of runners waiting for taxis to take us up into the Knysna forest, I thought I was the only running doula taking part!  Mel had decided to run, but I only found out after she’d finished.  I found a wonderful group of Cape Town runners in the queue; they knew all about the Running Doulas and one of the ladies in the group asked for sponsorship for our project in lieu of a birthday present - bless her! 

We hopped into the waiting taxi, music blaring (literally vibrating the seats of the minibus) and joined the other runners  for the last-minute preparations in the forest.  For those of you not in the know, this includes the application of vaseline in specific areas, the consuming of “Gu” and other energy aids, pinning on of race numbers, last-minute ablutions and lots of nervous chatter (that was me).  Sadly there were transport issues so many of the runners were delayed, and we waited for the gun to go off for nearly an hour after we were scheduled to start.  I spotted some of the frozen runners hitting a bottle of Old Brown Sherry to keep the cold at bay!

Then we were off.  Heart racing, I tackled the 2km uphill soon after the start.  A swift reminder that running is not for sissies, and that pacing yourself is key.  Most runners start with a blanket or old top to keep warm.  These garments are tossed to local residents who line the sides of the road with black bags, scooping up their loot as they cheer the mad athletes on.

My start was slow but steady.  I spotted a few obligatory Elvis impersonators, a couple of Super Hero’s and three pink bunny girls.  The route through the forest is undulating and easy, and I found it really beautiful.  Distracting enough for me to miss a few of the distance markers.  Before I knew it, I was at the 10km mark and well placed for a 2h30min finish.  I found the runner with the 2h30min flag, and stuck with him for another 7km.  It was a good pace, and I was genuinely surprised that I held on for so long.  I stopped talking to my legs, and just looked up and around.  What a beautiful place to be.

The “cartilage crushing” 3km downhill at 13km is no joke.  By the end of the steep downward stretch my toes were quite sore, and I was ready to start walking, but I carried on until 17km.  Then everything started hurting, and I was forced to slow to a crawl and concentrate all my energy on getting to the end.  I knew by then that I would make it in good time, and I stopped stressing about my 2h30min goal.  The last leg is incredibly long, boring and hard. 

It was with enormous excitement that I jogged into the grounds to finish the race.  I spotted my dad first, with his huge camera and an enormous grin.  An accomplished runner himself, he had casually mentioned the night before, that his personal best half marathon time was 89 minutes!  Soon after I’d seen my dad and punched a bit of Knysna air, I spotted my mom, sister, husband and my three children.  I shed a tired little tear, and then headed off to get my first medal.  I finished in 2h47min, which was good enough for me!

I was handed a bunch of flowers by my husband, which made me feel like I had won the whole thing!  And then had a photo moment with fellow Running Doula, Melinda, who finished shortly after me.  I was thrilled to hear that she had run after all.  We could not have been more proud.

Later that day, as I had my 4th…. or 5th… glass of champagne on the beach with friends, I considered the amazing journey that we’ve been on over the past few months.  It’s not over yet.  As soon as we have tallied the sponsorship money we’ll have some shopping and packing to do.  And then we can hand some of our joy over to the women who will receive maternity packs to aid their first few weeks of motherhood. 

That is the great reward a the end of this life-changing journey.

PS. Yes, I’ve already entered my next race…

 

We did it!

Nothing quite like that relief - something similar to giving birth after a long labour!

I promised myself a bottle of bubbles with a straw, and I kept my promise!

Melinda and I - the Running Doula's at the finish

The Ackerman Family Foundation Gives Us a Push

Melinda and I, now widely referred to as the “Running Doulas”, have so many people to thank for helping us to both reach and exceed our sponsorship target!!  On 9 July, we will join thousands of other runners in icy conditions for the Pick n Pay Cape Times Knysna Forest Half Marathon.  We’ve never run a half marathon before, we are little more than entry-level runners who have been training hard (in between being mothers and working), but we’re doing it because we are absolutely passionate about improving birth experiences, and supporting women in labour. 

I qualified through WOMBS as a doula late last year, and Melinda is about to write her final exam to become a qualified doula.  We have spent many hours in state hospitals and clinics, and witnessed first hand how poor and desperate many of the young mothers are.  Generally, these mothers labour alone, and then give birth with the “support” of indifferent, overworked medical staff.  They head home on public transport within about six hours of giving birth, with little or nothing for their newborns.  It is not terribly surprising that the heartbreaking occurance of newborns dumped soon after birth is on the rise in South Africa.

And so we are running to raise money for maternity packs for mothers in state clinics and hospitals in the Western Cape.  And to say that we have been overwhelmed by the outpouring of support would be an understatement second to none! 

And then the Ackerman Family Foundation blew us away.

Gareth (Chairman of Pick n Pay) and Mandy Ackerman have kindly donated R10,000 in Pick n Pay vouchers.  The Ackerman Family Foundation is constantly, and quietly, donating and supporting projects and NGO’s in their plight to uplift our communities. We believe that Mandy Ackerman has a passion for woman and children and Gareth and Mandy therefore support many, many projects of this nature, especially here in Cape Town. Thank you Gareth and Mandy, for your incredible generosity. We promise to ensure that your donation will go a long way towards touching the lives of young mothers and their newborns, from our poorest Cape Town communities.

Paul Robins and his team at Pick n Pay Plumstead Family Store, has undertaken to assist us in putting together all our goodies for our maternity packs. We are also extremely grateful to Paul for his help.

THANK YOU to The Ackerman Family Foundation for supporting our initiative.  And thank you to all our sponsors for making our humble dream a large-scale reality.  Now we really can make a difference!

The only question is, where to for the running doulas after Knysna?