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We seem to have regressed
mightily from the mid-nineteenth
century, when the anesthetic use of
chloroform was discovered and
endorsed by Queen Victoria, who
had nine children, despite the clergy's
protestation that women needed
to suffer in childbirth to atone
for Eve's sin. As Jessica Mitford
describes in her wonderful book
The American Way of Birth, for the
next 80 years, the fashion in childbirth—for
those who could afford
it—became avoidance of pain
through anesthetics. Then, in the
1930's Grantly Dick-Read, the
author of Childbirth Without Fear,
and later Frederick Lamaze,
attempted to steer women away
from the use of much coveted
anesthetics. Dick-Read believed that women's anxiety creates
the pain of childbirth. Lamaze acknowledged that the
process was painful, but insisted that women themselves
could control the degree to which they felt that pain. Both
men advocated the "conditioning" of women through
breathing based on Pavlov's experiments with dogs. Once
again, women were held to ridiculous standards of perfection
while simultaneously viewed as victims of their own
imagination and fears. Today, those who most ardently advocate
natural childbirth have merely politicized women's suffering
for a new purpose: the health of the baby. In doing so,
they have embraced the age-old image that true femininity
requires martyrdom.
With my first son, my doctor assumed that my husband
and I were in sync with the times; it was understood that I
would attempt natural childbirth and then breast-feed our
baby for the acceptable six months to one year period. We
listened to the rhetoric, felt guilty for any doubts we harbored,
and signed up for Lamaze. In the class, the nurse
chided women who planned, in advance, to have epidurals.
She cheerfully reassured us that we could "push our way to
victory," since we were ''made for having babies." Having
secretly hoped for a loophole that would require my using
painkillers, I suddenly questioned whether or not my cowardice
pointed to a maternal deficit in me.
Then came the endless stories of successful drug-free
births from friends and acquaintances. Alice allowed her
older child into the birthing room until the final hour, then,
valiantly, gave birth in a shower! Jane rocked on all fours in
the final stages of labor. Two of my neighbors popped out
sons en route to maternity centers, then bragged about the
births as if they were stellar achievements rather than lucky
accidents of nature.
Along with my admiration for these audacious sisters, I
couldn't help but wonder: What's next in this "Can you top
this" atmosphere Giving birth in the workplace While
jumping out of a plane Birthing theaters (selling tickets and
ON THE ISSUES WINTER 1995
Woodcut on vellum, Frankfurt, c. 1580
having people attend "improvised"
productions) Despite our courageous
performances, our choices do not
always reflect what's best for mother
and child. One woman I know romanticized
the idea of a home birth, free
of medical intervention. An emergency
complication—coupled with the distance
to the hospital—turned her
experience into a nightmare. Sadly, she
is now unable to have more children.
Women who grow nostalgic about the
less intrusive, less technological environment
of yesteryear seem to forget
how often their foremothers died
"naturally" in childbirth.
y own reservations notwithstanding,
I finally
succumbed to the dictum
that labor was a crucial
test of my maternity. Unfortunately,
my first son's
birth turned out to be
unnaturally brutal. During the pushing stage, he lodged
himself on my spine, refused to budge, and caused me
unbearable distress. Treating my labor like a difficult sporting
event, my obstetrician shrugged and exited "to get a Snickers
bar" when—after three hours of pushing—I received an
epidural. As I was leaving the hospital, I spoke to a top
administrator who shook her head at my story. "It was much
more civilized in my day," she said. "They put you out, and,
when you woke up, you had your baby."
This second time around, I've already informed my new
doctor that I harbor no fantasies of winning the delivery
room medal of honor. Since women's childbirth experiences
range from exhilarating to agonizing, we should be encouraged
and supported to understand both our options and
their limits in what is, finally, a dive into unknown waters.
Each of us should balance the needs of our infants with our
own mental and physical health. Planning and daydreaming
should center on the baby, not the birthing event.
I've flatly rejected all rhetoric that exalts the advantages of
breathing like a hyena. I'm ignoring the cheerleading tactics
of those in the medical and motherhood community who
make women, like me, feel inadequate because of discomfort
and "natural" fear about childbirth. I believe that it's time for
the childbirth industry to stop making women feel guilty for
not blindly embracing the latest childbirth craze. The pain of
childbirth needs to be depoliticized and viewed exclusively
for what it is: suffering. Finally the myth of the perfect versus
the malicious mother must come to rest, beginning in the
labor room. After all, our ultimate aim is to be mothers, not
heroes or symbols. What could be more natural than that •
Nicole Bokat has a doctorate in English and teaches at the New
School for Social Research in NewYork City.