Homebirth on the Rise!

105 years ago, 5% of women delivered their babies in a hospital. The rest delivered in their homes under the supervision of apprenticeship-trained midwives. In the time between then and now, we have seen those percentages completely reversed. There are many fascinating reasons why this shift occurred, many of which had to do with “progressive medicine” under the influence of a very prominent doctor who wrote the first textbook for male medical students that purported that the field of maternity/obstetrics was pathological. I’ll save you the history lesson, but Midwifery Today has a very well laid-out timeline, should you want to get the broad overview of obstetrics in the US.

A student recently sent me an article picked up by the Sacramento Bee on the significant rise of home birth in California. We decided to look into it more thoroughly and found that Lassen County has one of the highest percentages of home birth in California! When we looked at the numbers, we discovered that Lassen County has also underreported the home birth numbers by about 2/3, so if the actual number of home births that occurred were added into the central analysis, then it looks like Lassen would have the highest percentage of home birth in California at around 7% of total births occurring at home. How exciting!

The largest planned out-of-hospital birth study was published by MANA and took into account 17,000 women who chose to birth at home. The study showed a 5.2% Cesarean rate for full-term out-of-hospital births vs the 31% Cesarean rate in planned hospital deliveries. Babies also fared very well in the study. Ninety-seven percent of babies were carried to full-term, they weighed an average of eight pounds at birth, and nearly 98% were being breastfed at the six-week postpartum visit with their midwife. Only 1% of babies required transfer to the hospital after birth, most for non-urgent conditions.

Of course, the studies are helpful for providing more data on the safety of having a midwife-attended out-of-hospital birth - but you could also ask any number of women who have experienced the nurturing and nourishing care of a midwife in the comfort of their own home. If you have had a home birth, share your story!

A breast cancer survivor after her home birth.

Suffering as a Community

I mentioned in my last post that so many of the struggles and hardships that effect us are on a finite level, often just an individual struggle or a nuclear hardship involving those in our close circle.

When the smoke from the Dixie Fire first started infiltrating our clear mountain air and posing a threat, I remember looking at the map of the fire that was then around 100k acres and feeling concerned that it was coming straight towards the south side of our precious Lake Almanor. In a moment where I would usually pray for winds to shift, I found myself at a loss for words - if I prayed that this shifted in any other direction, then the homes and lives of so many I love could be devastated. There was simply no good way for it to go.

As my family increasingly felt the negative health ramifications of the heavy smoke and ash in the air, again there was this sense of communal suffering. What were our neighbors doing? Were they staying or going? Should we keep life going as much as normal, or make another plan? Do we still have the Farmers Market or cancel it? Are there elderly people who need help getting out or finding a place to stay? In a small rural community where everyone knows everyone’s business (for better and worse!), there has been an incredible sense of camaraderie through this ordeal - from the power outage at the beginning through the now weeks of evacuation. I find a certain amount of comfort knowing that we are going through this together. Which means a heavy burden can be spread across many shoulders.

I have been touched by the amount of people near and far giving to those in need - the donations, gift cards, GoFundMe accounts - all of us have benefited from the kindness of friend and stranger through this. What an incredible gift to witness humans pulling together in a time of grief! The fire chief and Sherriff, who stayed behind in our town, continued feeding our chickens and ducks as well as countless others in town until the fire got nearer and then they moved them to a safer home of some sort. Let me tell you, we have no small number of chickens……bless them for taking the time to do what we couldn’t on our way out of town!

I am filled with gratitude at the opportunity to watch human charity pour out over those of us who are displaced. We are not together as a community enjoying a warm summer evening at the Farmers Market, but we are creating a stronger community by reaching out to one another across the miles or into the evacuation camps and offering whatever service we can render or donation we can spare. It is a good reminder that there are always those in need amongst us and I hope that we can remember and hold on to the power of generous kindness when this all passes.

And we pray it passes soon.

What it feels like to be evacuated

Waiting. Waiting. 

Watching the news, looking at maps, reaching out to neighbors, keeping a pulse on the communal experience of being evacuated… 

Typically, when the course of life brings difficulty and suffering, it is fairly limited in experience – an internal struggle moving outwards or a finite external struggle moving inwards. Something that you talk with your close friend about, seek guidance or counsel about as you learn, grow, integrate – hopefully towards health. We all know that life, like the ocean, ebbs and flows. There are joyous “easy” times on the mountaintops where the soul soars and there are times in the valleys where darkness does not allow you to see the journey and joy is a chore. It is in these latter times that our inner self is exposed. The valleys are when we come to the end of ourselves and reach for the Divine.

Every morning at 7am, we watch the morning CalFire briefing, ears pricking at mention of the areas that are as dear and familiar to us as the back of our hands. Then we move on into this temporary routine we have created in a 21′ trailer on my brother’s property. With our 5 children and one on the way, we seek to create normalcy in a strange place. We attempt to be the stability that children need to feel secure while being honest with them about the fear and grief and sadness that we are constantly feeling. They have their own griefs – a favorite toy left behind, a book from their aunt, wishing they could sleep in their own beds, desiring to climb into their tree fort and daydream in the “old way”. My 10-year-old just wants to bake in our own kitchen.

I am not, by default, a very emotional person. I think before I feel. But in this time of evacuation, I find that emotions are taking me by surprise in any quiet moment. I think of our backpacking trips to Homer Lake and tears of joy and sadness leap into my eyes as I remember the crawdads jumping out of the water to the great delight of my children, who quickly popped ’em into the boiling water for supper. I think of our regular trips to Lassen Park, where my kids have logged over 100 miles of hiking. I think of the babies that I have delivered all over – from Mill Creek to Greenville to Indian Falls to Susanville and everything in between. Homes that were made sacred by bringing new life into them are now burning or gone or under threat. These flames bring waves of disbelief, grief, sadness, and a deep sense of irreplaceable loss.

When we were preparing for evacuation, I looked at my beloved home and there was so little that I wanted to take. But I think of the mountains that I grew up in behind Clear Creek and the woods where my kids create their pretend worlds and I am shattered. Helplessly, I wait to hear whether they will stand or be burned. Waiting, still waiting. How much more will be lost, will my home stand, will my 19 acres of old growth wilderness burn…..? And here, in this valley, I hear ancient words chanting through my soul to be at peace, to trust without knowing the future, to BE. So, I take a lot of deep breaths. I attend to my children with their own sorrows and joys. I raise a song of gratitude that a new life is growing inside of me in the midst of the chaos, not despite it. I have attended around 600 women in childbirth and gone through natural labor myself 5 times now, and I can resolutely say that joy comes in the morning, made all the sweeter by the struggle of the night. I try to hold on to the courage I have learned from childbearing.

So, in the struggle which is real and near and difficult, I pray for our communities. I pray for those who have lost everything and those who are living in fear of losing everything. I pray for peace and growth in the midst of the valley. And I pray for the storm to be calmed.