Sweatband

Lest you think Whit is the only aesthete around here, please note Grace’s chosen sleeping attire last night.

Shocking

I read about the case of New Jersey Division of Youth and Family Services v. V.M. and B.G. with horror. The story of a laboring woman refusing a cesarean section and, as a direct result, having her newborn daughter (healthy after a vaginal delivery) removed from her custody shocks me. She was declared to have abused her unborn daughter and was described as having been uncooperative and belligerent in labor.

I am not a lawyer and am sure there are nuances to this case that I do not understand. But at the most basic level this case privileges the medical establishment and judgment of a doctor over the rights and instincts of a woman in a way that I find tremendously alarming. I utterly reject the logic that says that for challenging the medical establishment’s assumptions, V.M. is a mother so unfit as to deserve having her daughter permanently removed from her custody. How is this different from a parent deciding to spare a child with cancer a painful and low-odds chemotherapy treatment? In that case, the parent is deemed humane. Here, V.M. was deemed unfit and reckless.

My understanding is that informed consent is a part of all medical procedures, particularly those involving major surgery. Clearly there is a fine line here to be walked; in some small percentage of cases, cesarean sections unquestionably save lives. That said, the US averages about 33% of deliveries by c-section, whereas in western Europe it is about 5%. This discrepancy suggests, at least to me, that a great deal of US c-sections might be avoided. We know for a fact that there are many interventions in modern childbirth that are neither medically necessary nor, perhaps more alarmingly, completely understood by the laboring mother. I do not judge in the least how people choose to deliver their babies, but I think it is understandable that the laboring V.M. might have questioned the absolute need for a c-section in her case (and she was proven right).

By implying – in fact, asserting – that V.M. ought to have submitted without question to the medical authorities and procedures, the ruling sets a scary precedent that reminds me of the era of “twilight sleep” at the beginning of the 20th century, when women delivered their babies in a semi-conscious state and often had no memory of the experience. Do we really want to return to a world where a laboring mother is nothing other than a vessel, whose rights are forfeited in favor of the norms of the medical establishment?

This case seems to tread on both the tricky landscape of the abortion debate (where the rights of a woman intersect with those of her unborn child) and that of the neonatal ward (where questions of when and how much lifesaving effort should be applied to very very premature babies). I am no expert on either topic and I understand that there are deep moral complexities involved. I do believe, however, in the primacy of a woman’s right to her own body and, certainly in this case, where a healthy vaginal delivery ensued, find the removal of the baby from the mother’s care to be punitive in the extreme. It is one thing for a hospital staff to be disgruntled that a mother would not sign a blanket c-section waiver, but quite another to deem that mother as unfit after the child has been born and the c-section is proven to have been unnecessary.

Furthermore, to use V.M.’s “uncooperative” behavior during labor as evidence of her unfitness as a mother is ludicrous. I’ve delivered two babies and I was certainly neither placid nor quiet during either experience. There is no reason to extrapolate from a woman’s behavior in labor that she is not concerned above all with the health of her baby. While I absolutely acknowledge that there may be more to this case, both legally and medically, than I understand, the basic facts of it trouble me deeply. A woman who questions the assumptions of the modern hospital birth and chooses to follow her own intuition is not abusive, and she does not deserve to lose her maternal rights. In fact, I would go further and say that a woman who is educated, engaged, and aware enough to actively participate in her own labor and delivery deserves to be celebrated, not punished.

A day in the life

See this charming boy delivering flowers to his mother? Oh he was very dear this morning, for about an hour or two. Slept until 8 (after a 5:15 am wakeup crying that I had forgotten to put him to bed – so exhausted was he last night that apparently he blacked out during the extended prayers/ghosts-go-away-dance/repeated requests for water, etc, etc, etc that I did in fact perform).
As you can see by lunchtime things were going downhill precipitously. Whit and Grace played “dog” for a while, including putting Whit’s Halloween costume from 2006 on him (which still, alarmingly, fits). I was making lunch and I could hear her ordering him around upstairs, and I asked, “Gracie? Are you playing dog?” And she answered cheerfully, “Yes! Whit likes this game!” Okay. I had some flashbacks of similar bossing around I did of Hilary – Hils, I’m sorry!
During “quiet time” I just wanted to read my excellent book. The children kept on emerging from their rooms with requests and issues, each one smaller and more ridiculous than the last. I kept getting more and more annoyed. I was reminded of a woman my parents knew when we lived in Paris. Every afternoon she took to her bed to read for a while. During that time she kept a wet washcloth in a basin by her bed. If any of her children ventured into her room, interrupting her reading, she would smack them in the face with a cold, wet washcloth. I thought this was horrifying for a long time and now think it’s somewhat genius (in much the same way “you must be mistaking this for a democracy” has gone from statement that makes me cry to rallying cry)

After quiet time, while Matt played tennis, I took both kids out on their bikes. They wanted to go to the “dog park” which has a big paved circle to ride around. They quickly ditched their bikes in favor of climbing the tree. Whit began to scream randomly at Grace every few seconds. I told him if he yelled again we were leaving. He yelled again. We left. I walked down the street trailing a crying, screaming 4 year old, face red and wet with tears. It was awesome. I gave him one more chance at another playground nearby, which he promptly forfeited by screaming/whining/crying (who knew such a fantastic hybrid existed? oh believe me, it does). I then dragged him by the hand, pulling his bike with the other hand, down the street to the car.

I’d say he conservatively wailed “Mummy!” about 400 times in less than an hour. As I was getting dinner ready and he whined my name yet again I finally snapped on him. “Whit!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, “If you say my name one more time I am going to go absolutely apeshit on you!” He was visibly startled at my screaming (which makes it seem like more of a rarity than it sadly is). But then I could see the little wheels turning and he said, “Mummy?” He continued right through my blowing up, “Argggghhhhh!” asking, “What is apeshit?

He ate almost nothing at dinner and then screamed some more. Finally he fell into a spellbound stupor in front of Scooby Doo and was asleep in his bed by 7. He regained a little ground with me tonight by choosing “Goodnight Moon” as his bedtime story. Oh that book makes me ache with nostalgia and awareness of how fleeting it all is. Plus now he is sleeping which we all know is my absolute favorite state for children.

Still, not my finest day or his. Am hoping those catlike, land-on-all-fours-after-jumping-from-roof, Darwinesque reflexes kick in tomorrow. The ones where he throws me a bone when I think I can literally take no more. I imagine those of you reading this who are moms know what I mean. After four straight nights of hourly waking he’d suddenly sleep from 10 to 4. After days of screaming (like today), he’ll be an outright charmer for a day or two and make me forget the incessant whining. I chalk it up to sheer survival instinct.