Dear Jacquie...

Dear Jacquie,

We've not met, but I just wanted to thank you for my daughter's birth. I live in Edinburgh, although I'm from Victoria, B.C, and I stumbled across your blog about a year ago. My son (who's now 2) was born in hospital: my flat wasn't big enough to fit a birth pool and 2 midwives, and I hoped I could have a water birth in hospital instead. In the end, I was induced due to blood pressure and got a very controlled, restricted labour: I was on my back, monitored, for the whole thing.

When I became pregnant last spring, your blog was the final inspiration I needed to plan a home birth. You and Ina May were my encouragement through 4 days of slow contractions. In the end, though, my beautiful daughter came racing into the world, one hand over her head, into an empty bathtub. (The midwife had arrived 17 minutes before and let the water out of the bath to check me over...never happened! The birthing pool was filled and waiting in the next room but into the empty bathtub she came.) I had a wonderful, wonderful birth with no one monitoring, examining, or worrying me and the difference in my two birth stories still amazes me.

I'm attaching a photo of me and Rosa with my midwife team, an hour after the birth (the one in blue was the midwife, the one in white was a student on her first week - I was her first birth!, and the one behind was the second midwife who arrived 20 minutes too late).

I have loved reading your blog, and I really can't thank you enough for the inspiration you gave me.

All the best,

R (Edinburgh)

My Words

Wide open

Your face is soft

Your shoulders are heavy

You are safe

Your baby is safe

This is your power

You are strong

Feel your cervix melt like butter

Your muscles open

Your baby tucks chin on chest

You are wide open

Soft

Slow breathing

Your hands are soft

You are safe

You are with all the women in labour

The women are with you

You are doing this

Breathe in strength

Breathe out worry

Breathe in power

This is your power

Wide open

Wide open

Soft

Melting

Safe

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula - Slow Birth

"Around the World, Down the Prime Meridian..."

As you sleep, Finn, I stroke the world onto your forehead

cheeks

chin

Circling, drawing the lines of our planet with my fingers

Transferring the love of your great grandfather into your skin

Just as we did to your mother.

"Around the world

Down the Prime Meridian..."

You sleep, your eyes playing beneath their lids

Soaking in the words, the touch.

Are you dreaming of where you were three days ago?

You were hiding behind your brother Jack

Feet down

Ready to make a surprise entry

like a parachuter.

I can't even remember what it felt like to believe

that your mother was having only one baby.

It feels...

incomplete.

We waited that bright Saturday

waited for "the baby"

sitting outside in the sunshine

in the buffeting wind

at a cafe table

outside Capers

where your parents met

We waited

watching two men play UpWords

the same game your grandad and I played

when I was in labour.

Every movement on 4th was a sign

The woman pushing a bicycle

humming

The pregnant women heading

to Semperviva

yoga mats tucked under their arms

Heading to the noon class

where your mother was supposed to be...

...where you would have been

Child's pose

Listening to the music chosen by your mother.

But you weren't at that class

You were with your mum and dad

at home

in the tub

hidden behind Jack

waiting to be born...

...waiting to surprise everyone!

"Across the Equator

Tropic of Cancer

Tropic of Capricorn

North Pole

South Pole

Mount Everest

Mariana Trench..."

You have always been with us

and we never knew it

You have always been part of our bodies

our planet

You have always been...

"Tundra..."

...Blue Pacific"

Tomorrow I will stroke

the cartography of love

into your brother's face...

(Finn, the hidden water fairy, was only discovered five minutes after his older brother, Jack, was joyfully born into his mother and father's arms, at home, on Saturday afternoon. Finn then declared his presence, kicking the midwife's hand... "Jack was not alone! I'm here!" Then, over an hour later, Finn, already master of the great entrance, responded to his mum's pushes and came, splash, feet first, before a large audience in hospital...

Bright surprises can still happen in this world!)

Jacquie Munro - Gamma to Jack and Finn, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth

Silence, s'il vous plait...

No words

as we open ourselves to birth

Close your eyes

breathe

and feel the whispers of women

past

present

future

No words

Jacquie Munro - Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth

Slow Food in labour

Remember my very first client in the 1980's? Vaginal breech? Well, you might remember that I wrote about her stopping off to pick up a hamburger on the way to the hospital. Yes, her doctor was in the car with her, encouraging her to eat. All was well...and boy, was that birth smooth! During my early years as a doula, though, I discovered that the hamburger-eating client was not the norm. Eating in labour was discouraged. "The digestive system shuts down in labour..." "If you eat and then have general anesthetic, you might vomit and then aspirate the contents..."

Way back in 1993, one of the (apparently radical) studies presented at the International Congress of Midwives in Vancouver encouraged women to eat and drink as needed in labour, and argued that it was probably detrimental to the flow of labour to starve a woman during the process. The audience applauded. We thought this would start a movement to allow all low risk women to eat in labour. But, the protocol at most hospitals in our area remained the same. Women were allowed clear fluids only...water...ice chips.

In the 1990's, despite the general recommendation of "clear fluids only" in many hospitals, older nurses (most of them midwives from overseas) would still bring in lunch trays for women in labour at St. Paul's Hospital. I remember one nurse at Lion's Gate Hospital running the bathtub, helping the labouring woman into it, then passing her a big fat sandwich. "Oh, honestly, you need to eat!" she said, hands on hips.

Then, as the years passed, more family doctors would encourage my clients to eat as much as possible before they left home. One client took her doctor's recommendation to heart, and ate 6 scones in the car while heading into the hospital (she gave birth soon after). Another client made sure her husband and I (and her) cleared our plates of roast beef, yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes and loads of gravy, before dashing off to Richmond Hospital. She'd huff and puff and then eat some meat...huff and puff and eat a potato. She also gave birth soon after arrival at hospital.

But, the majority of women in hospital found it very challenging to get any food to eat during labour. One woman became so distressed when she wasn't allowed to eat during her induction. She started crying...couldn't stop...and her contractions disappeared. "I just want peanut butter on toast!" We eventually got an official "go ahead" from her obstetrician. The toast came...she ate...labour started again...and she had progressed from 2-10cm in about 15 minutes. Now, I'm sure not every woman is going to have such remarkable results after eating one piece of toast, but the emotional benefits of being able to eat and drink as needed in labour cannot be questioned.

At home births, women have always been able to freely eat and drink throughout labour. Homemade soup, papaya, omelettes, coconut water...even one client's beloved peanut butter chocolate chip muffins (eaten in the shower)...these are what sustain women. I would love to see a world where there is no difference between home and hospital (I hope I'm not a dreamer!)

So, it was heartening to see that a January 2010 Cochrane review identified no benefits or harms from restricting food and fluids during labour in women at low risk of needing anesthesia (Singata M et al. Cochrane Database Syst Rev. 2010;[1]:CD003930). The authors concluded, “Since the evidence shows no benefits or harms, there is no justification for the restriction of fluids and food in labour for women at low risk of complications. No studies looked specifically at women at increased risk of complications, hence there is no evidence to support restrictions in this group of women.”

Thank you. Now, let's go eat!

Jacquie Munro - Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth

Outside of time/The whisper of water unites us

Slow Birth lives outside of time. Women in labour are often supported by caring people who are unwittingly blocking the slow birth process by writing down the time, charting, calculating, commenting on the progress of labour.

We are all guilty of this. We turn our heads to the clock. We look at the numbers on the monitor. We whisper of our own need to eat lunch, dinner, breakfast. We are stuck in time. But a labouring woman needs our help to stay out of her left brain, her 21st century mind. If we help her to labour without time constraints, her autonomy is supported. There is no pressure. She is undisturbed.

What happens to a woman who is hampered from entering her labour trance? What happens when she becomes fixated on time? The more we note the passage of time, the more she might start to calculate..."Okay...1cm per hour...and I'm at 5cm now...that could be five more hours...I can't do five hours!" She may become so anxious that her labour may stall...

But, give her a quiet, cave-like space, the sound of water, and the rhythm of swaying hips - all that will help her to labour outside of time. Add a calm, quiet voice if she likes it... "How about trying the shower again...listen to the sound of the water...listen to the sound of your breath...in...out...live with your breath...you are safe...your baby is safe..."

She steps into the shower. "Oh, this is lovely!" and she has finally left time behind. An hour later, and she is deep in a trance and her birth sounds are becoming deeper. She is progressing. Her eyes are closed. A man sits silently on the edge of the tub. Then the bathroom door opens, and someone leans into the dimly lit space. "It looks like you're doing fine right now. I'll be back in four hours," says a voice, and then it's gone.

"Four hours? Was that the doctor?" cries the woman. "I can't do four hours! That's a lifetime! Does she think I'm so early on that she has four hours to do other things?" The spell has been broken. It takes a long time to help her to regain her trance.

Hours later, a new voice whispers into the darkened shower room, "Oh, what a lovely calm space you have made here. How are you?" "Good...you stay..." It's the doctor, and she stays, silent, sitting cross-legged on the floor, totally trusting the woman. The shower sounds like a waterfall. We are all living outside of time now.

Outside of time/

The whisper of water unites us

And then she's suddenly pushing, standing, aware and present, and, as flawed humans, we are once again guilty of turning our heads to the clock. "It's now minutes, not hours! You are doing this!" And the baby tumbles out into her arms.

"8:12!!!" someone cries.

Will we ever be able to escape time? Perhaps not. We are humans, bound by time. Perhaps we should just laugh at our imperfect attempts to support women in labour, and keep trying to do our best...by turning the clocks around, keeping our words quiet and few, keeping our fears and impatience at bay, and trusting each woman to birth in her own way. Always reaching for a slow birth, outside of time...

Jacquie Munro - Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth

Slow Birth Preparation

There's so much expectation surrounding the preparation for birth in our culture. Strangers will ask, "Have you signed up for your prenatal classes? Have you prepared your baby's room?" Friends and family can press all the wrong buttons, too. "You shouldn't even think of labouring without taking the Inner Barracuda Course"...or whatever the prenatal class of the day is called.

I've had three phone calls in the past 36 hours from women whose hearts tell them that they shouldn't take any classes for this pregnancy. "I didn't need to read books before I made love for the first time, did I?" These clients are well-informed women who have chosen great teams for their birth. They are insightful, intuitive, and deeply trust their own bodies. They understand that birth is a triumph of the reptile brain over the analytical brain. And because of that, they are concerned that prenatal classes might hinder their reptile brain from being in charge on birth day. They've thought long and hard, and, for them, prenatal classes aren't the best option.

And I completely support them in their decisions.

A recent client laboured without any preparation for vaginal birth. She had chosen a cesarean for her first baby - a glorious breech baby girl. She had been anticipating a repeat cesarean for her second baby...until she decided that she would cancel her surgery, and just see what happened. After a slight panic over her lack of "vaginal birth training" ("Shouldn't I read some books?!" "Shouldn't I study up on birth?") she went into labour all on her own the next day. It was beautiful watching her labour without expectations, without the clutter of book knowledge. I talked her through each contraction, reminding her that this was something that she already knew on a deep level. She drew on her inner wisdom and breathed through each contraction. It was like watching a preschooler dive into a challenge without fear. She was strong, intuitive, capable.

When her baby was born into her arms (yes, it was a vaginal birth!) she looked awestruck by what she'd achieved. I don't think she'll ever question her own abilities ever again. And she'd done it all without studying.

We're given 9 months to prepare for our baby's birth. In that time, we have to process so much. We have to consider our changing selves, our changing relationships with our partners and families and friends. We have to draw on our past life experiences, both physically and emotionally, to gain the strength and will-power required for the transition to motherhood. We have to examine our family boundaries, understanding that the birth of a child will turn us from being a daughter...into a mother. We will weather the changing emotions of pregnancy, and watch our single girlfriends draw away from us. We will worry about our ability to maintain our core self, to maintain a loving intimate relationship with our partner... We may become overwhelmed by how we are now connected to all living things...to the entire world.

Too much.

And add to that working a five-day week, organizing finances, perhaps moving, perhaps buying a new car, attending exercise classes, yoga classes, buying baby supplies, strollers, carseats, painting, and weekly prenatal classes...

Too much!

I call on you, each of my clients, to slow down, take time to do nothing, take time to empty your brain. Walk on the beach. Sit on a log and meditate. Breathe in the wind. Connect with your baby. Connect with your partner.

If you need to do yoga, go when it pleases you. Or do it at home. Turn on music, sit still, and let it enter you and calm you.

Consider delegating jobs to your family and friends. Give them lists of things to do for you. Ask for help. Many families buy nothing until the baby is born, then have family members make all the purchases and organize the house. Think about how that could give you the joy of release - could you do that?

Read books that speak to you. Poetry, novels, essays. And, yes, it's wonderful if you read inspiring writing by Ina May (and those on my recommended list). Call me for talks on subjects close to your heart. But, don't forget to look at the big picture... watch a TED talk each day (best start with Sir Ken Robinson...then Jamie Oliver) and enjoy discussing it with your partner as you walk on the beach after dinner.

Throw away all lists. Follow your heart. Leave work as early in your pregnancy as you can. Allow your pregnancy to draw you into the reptile world, as it must do.

Rather than following the crowd and doing what everyone else tells you what you should do, think about what really matters to you, to you and your partner, then decide what you need and what you want. What is essential for your new family? Remember, "do nothing" is an option.

Be slow,

Be conscious and conscientious,

Meditatively knit a baby blanket,

Breathe,

Then see if you still need prenatal classes.

Jacquie Munro - Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth

Slow Rainbow

I've been on a journey of slowness during the past few months. Reflection, recovery, rebirth. Every free moment has been filled with cycling, running, long walks. I needed to be incredibly fit to face the births this winter. I was fit and well, but I just couldn't write.

I needed to be totally private this winter, in order to grieve for my dad, help my mum, support my family, and have the strength to help other families walk through their searing life struggles or challenging pregnancies and labours.

We're told that life never gives us more than we can bear. After 23 years of being a doula, and recently dealing with loss at a personal level, I think the gods thought I finally had enough experience to support a large number of clients dancing with great challenges - a client whose husband has been battling inoperable cancer, another whose baby is still in NICU, another whose mum has recently died, and so many clients whose pregnancies ended far too early.

I just couldn't write. These women's stories were too fragile to write about immediately.

Don't think that it's only been a winter of unusual loss. We've just seen a slow rainbow of birth experiences. In between the losses, there have been groups, or should I call them "clumps", of babies speeding through the gate like downhill skiiers. I've expected some of these babies to pump their fists into the air and scream, "Yeahhhhhh!" One was born so quickly into her mothers arms, born at home 25 minutes after her mum called me to say, "I think the baby might come today." Born with mum kneeling alone in her bathtub, husband careening around the corner - "A baby!" When I arrived, mum was nestling her baby in her arms in bed, laughing.

And then there were the amazingly triumphant VBACs. Three women this winter whose first babies had been born by cesarean. The emotional challenges in the last few days were hard to bear for one woman - "Oh, they say that you have an 80% chance of it working, but it's really only 30%." (Booking clerk) "Decide whether you're having your cesarean within 5 minutes." But with strong support, all women successfully pushed out their second babies "the old-fashioned way" (OB quote). What joy! These births will truly change lives.

And there have been so many women who have accepted the unexpected with such grace. They have been so calm. The woman who had to take an ambulance ride at 10cm when her baby pooped in the water...the woman who had to move down from the sweet Cedar rooms to the higher risk area at hospital when her baby's heartrate demanded action...the woman who had to make a decision to have a cesarean because her baby's knees were in the pelvis. These women listened to their babies and made their decisions with slow grace.

I've been able to live in the moment with these women and those they love, helping them to honour their bodies, honour their babies, and cross over to being parents...no matter what. The joys have been so great. Isn't it always the way when you are walking beside sorrow.

Just as one client vowed to "smash" cancer, these clients have all been strong, powerful, determined, and amazing.

And now maybe I'm ready to tell you more about them...Spring is here!

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth

Pauline's Words

We had a beautiful nurse for the birth yesterday.

Pauline, originally from Togo, is a mother of five, and a grandmother of two. Her last child was born on her own bed, birthed into her own hands. She birthed this baby on her own, with joy.

Our time with Pauline was magical. She spoke to us like she was taking us on a spiritual journey. She spoke low and slow, rolling her R's. Her words were like poetry...or a prayer...

As she was speaking, I copied her words onto paper...hear her...

The woman's body is so unique

It is well made.

Birth

the body knows this story

I don't write this story

That's how it is.

I will hold you in my heart all the time

I speak to your baby in my tongue

Your baby speaks my language

That's how it is.

Baby Zoe came into this world with grace, full of life. That's how it is.

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth

Slowly...While Waiting for Baby...

My daughter just asked me why I haven't been posting to my blog for some time. Well, like my mum, who just can't seem to read an entire book since dad died, I seem to be having trouble writing. Oh, I could write and write about all the amazing encounters that I've had with my father's spirit, especially in France (that time in Shakespeare and Company in Paris was extraordinary!)... But, write about birth? There's been a block...

So, I thought that I'd best just sit down and start writing while I'm waiting for another baby to come - a baby girl. Her mum and dad were supposed to be moving today, and were feeling quite stressed about it...so baby girl decided she would make things easy for them. She's coming early and now mum and dad get to cancel the movers! Babies can make magic happen!

I was at another birth this morning. A shiny birth... "Oh, this is fast!" "Good baby," says mum. "Great vocabulary!" says dad. "Can you say vocabulary?" "Vocabulary!" says mum after arriving at the hospital at 7cm, already feeling the first signs of wanting to push... Marcello came quickly, so that his mum wouldn't have to miss a meal. "Good baby!"

Then there were the other first babies this week... Two were both born on the same day (no overlaps!) How does this happen? First babies...under 12 hours? Yes, it happens. Marvelous denial of prelabour, I think! One woman called me to say she was already 2-3cm at her weekly checkup, but was still planning to complete her day's errands. She knew she could trust her body to tell her when it was serious about labour. But, things quickly changed, and I drove over to her house soon afterwards. Ten hours later...after dancing and lunging in the unlimited hot shower...out spun her over-eight-pound beauty!

Soon after, another baby decided to come at 37 weeks. Mum worked hard to deny the early contractions - "It must be pre-pre-labour!" She made it almost through the night, lying on her side, really not enjoying this at all! But she did it! And I did back circles, whispered calm words, while dad ran about, gathering everything possible. "Nuts!" I heard him cry. I thought it was an exclamation. But, he'd been toasting nuts for snacking... So great! We managed to make it through rush hour traffic - construction traffic - back-lane detours - phew! "Smooth and slow. Smooth and slow." I chanted. Fully dilated on arrival. "He's an angel!" said the mum over and over and over again when baby arrived. Dad stayed awake to watch him sleep all day...

And last weekend...a 2-3 day epic birth made me lose my ability to think in complete sentences. This birth taught us so much about surrendering to baby's cues, always trusting mum's instincts. This birth was so joyful...not that the others weren't joyful. But, there was ample time during this long birth for mum to contemplate the utter joy of labouring slowly. She truly had the time to think deeply about what she needed to learn in order to be the best mother for her baby. She decided to decide - and her baby came beautifully into the world by cesarean. What a triumph in so many ways!

You might think that only the long birth was a Slow Birth. But, I consider all these births to be "Slow Births." Don't be confused by the word "slow." It doesn't have much to do with time. It has more to do with giving each birth the time and attention that it deserves. It means not rushing through the experience. It might naturally be fast. It might naturally be slow. But it just needs to be what your body and the baby intend for it to be. And while it is happening...we are all listening to the body's lessons. We become connected.

Slow Birth is not hurried, not forced. It is calm, intuitive, patient, receptive. Slow Birth is about seeing the big picture and trusting each body's own rhythm. Fast or slow...

Now...I'm off to another Slow Birth...

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth

Slow return from madonnas, pilgrims, sunshine, walking...

Six weeks in England, Scotland, and France...walking miles to ruined castles, riding bikes through Paris, climbing Munros, hiking through hidden valleys, reading good books, exploring pilgrim's paths and spiral staircases, swimming in the sparkling Mediterranean...then returning to our own cottage to create wonderful thoughtful meals (and eat those French pastries!)...now that was slow travel at its best!

The families in France gave us such joy. New fathers with babies in buddha wraps, toddler in hand...laughing. Families standing by the trunk of the car, then pulling out (Mary Poppins style) tables, chairs, cookers, and setting up a full dining space in a field. Two hours later, seeing the same family, children still sitting with their parents at the table in the field, chattering together, laughing, eating, sharing...

Seeing madonnas, mothers, babies everywhere - sculptures, watercolours, Renaissance oils, tapestries, Iron Age figurines...

I am home, but I will be sifting through all these experiences for a long time...you'll be hearing about it in coming posts...

Now... I'm recharged, and ready for babies and mums and birthing...

Call me!

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth

Slow Travel to the Goyt Valley, Schiehallion, Dordogne, Mediterranean, Mont Ventoux, Paris...

On Friday, we're off for six weeks of slow travel in England, Scotland, and France...and I won't be back attending births until mid-September (try calling me on September 14th!)

I'm leaving all current clients in the capable hands of my brilliant backup doulas, who will be providing expert chats and doula support while I'm away.

For any potential clients looking to hire me while I'm away, I will still answer your email requests...but very slooowwly. We're staying in remote places - a hillside cottage, a farm, a former monastery, a restored convent, and a former weaver's stone cottage...very few of which have wifi! This is my only chance to be "off-call" during the year, so thanks for understanding my need to cherish my privacy during this time. So, please just send me an email to vancouverdoula@gmail.com and be very, very patient. I think the majority of my former clients would say it will be worth the wait!

Just so you know...I am fully booked for September, October, and November. I have one or two remaining spots for December and January...and am open to new clients for February and March and beyond!

Cheers!

Jacquie - Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth

Slow Birth...Slow Medicine

It's been a long time since I wrote a new post...but so much has happened. The greatest joys and the greatest sorrows.

I took this photo while sitting and crying in a bathroom stall at the hospital, while my dad was in Emergency with a subdural hematoma caused by Acute Myeloid Leukemia, just ten days before his death. So much to take in...so little time. The positive graffiti really helped me.

We sprung my dad from the hospital after a few days, with the support of his doctors - he really wanted to be home in his artist's studio. With 24/7 nursing care from the Palliative Home Service (angels all, those who practice Slow Medicine!) we helped dad make the transition to whatever plane of existence is on the other side.

I say "plane of existence" because that's a quote that my son made when he was about four years old. He sat in the back seat of our car, and chattered on about life and death. "Why do people get so sad when others die? They just go to another plane of existence. It's the same place that I was before I was born. And you didn't cry about me before I came, did you?"

So, my dad sailed away on a journey to another world...the world where babies come from...

And since dad died, I've mostly attended home births...Slow Births. Interesting. Dad's home death was peaceful, sad, happy, tearful, full of laughter, mystery, questions. It felt like I was at a long home birth. How fitting that the majority of births that I've attended in the past six weeks have been pretty much the same. All the babies came into the world as they should, with grace.

We help them come in...slowly...

We help them go out...slowly...

With dignity, with love and light.

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth

How NOT to tear...

Just make a sign like this (the red crepe paper heart will take a long time to make!) and put it up above the head of the bed in the birthing room...and everyone will make darn sure that you don't tear!!!

Then, the nurses will put it up in their staff room to make sure that they never forget and pass it on to all the other wonderful women who pass through their doors...

Thanks to Lisa for her strength, determination, and love of glue-stick and crepe paper! (more on her amazing birth later...)

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth, Slow Planet

My dysfunctional love of statistics

I loved statistics so much in university. Honestly! I'm still such a geek, that I love to look at my client's stats...not at regular times of the year (like December 31st), mind you. I like to do it when the spirit moves me (the happy convergence of left and right brain.) Or might it be tax-procrastination time?

So, here's this past 12 month's basic statistics...

Of 62 clients, 43 (69%) had spontaneous vaginal births without any major pain medications (epidural or narcotics), 10 (16%) had spontaneous vaginal births WITH an epidural, 2 (3%) clients had assisted births (1 vacuum, 1 forceps), and 7 (11%) clients had cesareans (2 breech, 1 face presentation, 3 dystocia, 1 fetal distress). Take some time to think about that. Only 5 clients (8%) had unplanned cesareans. What's the average in BC?

The majority of hospital births were at BC Women's (46, 74%), followed by St. Pauls (9, 14.5%), Lion's Gate (2, 3%) and Royal Columbian (1, 2%). Five clients planned for a home birth. Of those, 4 were successful (one had to transfer to hospital for meconium at 10cm, but happily birthed then went back home). There was also 1 unplanned home birth (luckily, she had fast-moving midwives!) So, only 6.5% of births were at home. Okay...I need more home births!

As for who was caring for my clients, family doctors top the list with 37 (61%), followed by midwives at 16 (25%), and OBs (9, 14%). The BC Women's FPMS birth docs cared for a whopping 37% of my clients. Thanks to all who did such a great job of making slow births happen!

A lot of people think my clients stats must be so good because they are having second or third babies. Well, almost three-quarters (46, 74%) of my clients were having their first baby. Only 16 (26%) clients were having their second or third baby, and 12 (19%) of those were returning clients. Of the four new clients who were "multips," one had a home VBAC, one had a home water birth, another had a home birth after a traumatic first birth experience in another country, and one was over age 50!

You might also say that my clients have great births because they must all be very young and highly motivated. But, most are over age 35, many are over age 40, and most would have been fine with an epidural or cesarean if it was medically necessary.

But, after many months of working together, these women were all motivated to have a slow birth...to listen to and trust their bodies...to allow for the natural rhythm of birth. And, with good support, and a great team (who can sometimes collaborate silently, with only eyes and hands to communicate)...it just worked!

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth, Slow Planet

In which a push mower acts as sweet music...

On Saturday afternoon, I was dropped off at a client's Co-op on the Downtown East Side. As I walked to their door, a nurse from the local InSite walked by and smiled at me, a man with a grocery cart full of his belongings rattled down the lane, and a siren began to wail.

Once I was inside the door, though, another series of sounds took over...the cry of a woman in labour with her first baby, the shouting and shrieking of children as they played in the Co-op playground out back, the unexpected rhythmic whirr of a push mower acting as sweet green music. I had entered a hidden oasis only a block from Hastings and Main. It was cool, calm and wonderful.

She laughed and asked if I could hear her from outside...

We added the sound of the fan to the mix, and helped her to move, rock, sway, stomp, go on tip-toes, shower. She became calm when I talked her through contractions. She was kind and gracious in labour, only snapping once as her husband came into the bedroom to ask if I'd like some lunch, while holding said food in his hand... "Out!" Yes, labour increases a woman's sense of smell!

With the sounds of children and the lawnmower and the woman and the fan blending together, all sense of time disappeared. We were outside of time. As the contractions became stronger, she became more and more calm, toning low and soft. She melted open.

One last time into the shower with the fan blowing steam out of the bathroom and cooling the air. Water spilled onto the floor. We heard her growling. We smiled. Her husband put his head down for one last moment of quiet.

Then we headed through the streets in my car, as she dozed in the back seat, head leaning on a homemade quilt which covered the birth ball. One contraction, two contractions. That's all she had in twenty minutes. She was in that quiet slow space before pushing...

Then, a hint of a sound like she wanted to push as we arrived at the hospital. 9+ centimetres!

And she rode upstairs and pushed and pushed and moved and worked, and never gave up, and then...more than 3 hours later...beautiful pink Josephine (named after her grandfather) arrived, head askew, looking up at her mum...born completely posterior!!! She called out in her sweet voice and cried to let everyone know that she had arrived.

What a day of sweet music!

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth, Slow Planet

Slow Birth call to action

My goodness!

Dr. Lauren A. Plante, a US obstetrician, has written a wonderful article (a MUST read!) in response to the increasing industrialization of childbirth (wasn't Canada's own Dr. Andrew Kotaska one of the first to argue against "industrial birth"?) Dr. Plante asserts that on-demand cesareans do not represent the height of women's autonomy, but are, in fact, the opposite. She calls for true autonomy for women - the right to choose from a spectrum of choices.

At the end of the article, she links the Slow Movement to childbirth, and almost challenges women to start a grassroots birth revolution. This is the first academic article that I've found that mentions Slow Childbirth. Wahoo!

The Slow Birth movement is organically growing! Read the excerpt below, then click the link for the full article...think about how you can be part of the transformation...

Come on - bring forth the change!

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth, Slow Planet


Plante, L.A. Mommy, What Did You Do in the Industrial Revolution? Meditations on the Rising Cesarean Rate. The International Journal of Feminist Approaches to Bioethics. Spring 2009;2(1):140-147.

Excerpt:
"As a reaction to industrial agriculture and food marketing, the Slow Food and locavore movements have recently been born. If de-escalation of our food production practices is healthier or more humane, why is intensification of our child production practices better than sustainable childbirth? I’m waiting for the birth of the revolution, or at least, the revolution of birth. Will women who are interested in Slow Food or cage-free eggs find their way to a Slow Childbirth movement? Imagine: educated upper-middle-class women who buy songbird-certified organic coffee and worry about their carbon footprint, just saying no to the quick-fix cesarean culture. If they’re not part of the problem, maybe they can be part of the solution. But the impetus must come from women themselves. Do we really believe that industrial obstetrics is the best model for ourselves and our children? We must clearly understand that real autonomy does not mean cesarean on request, but instead a spectrum of birth options that honor women’s authentic choices. Real autonomy also means, to borrow a sentiment from Gandhi, that women should bring forth the change they wish to see in the world."

The Green Generation

It's Earth Day today! And it's Isola's and Milo's birthdays, too! They are just two of my client's babies who are part of the "Green Generation." My hope is that they will grow up with the smallest carbon footprints possible. I think they're pretty special one year olds, so they might be able to do it and be worthy of the title.

Now is the time.

So, am I, as a doula, "green?" I try to work with clients who live within a small area. I can walk home from both birthing hospitals. In labour, I help clients in their own homes, usually arriving on foot or on a bike. I help clients stay out of the hospital system for as long as possible, while remaining connected to their caregivers by phone. My clients rarely need IVs, epidurals, drugs, or any major assistance. My clients often go home as soon as possible (or birth at home with midwives). The majority of my clients are able to breastfeed successfully, and don't need to buy bottles or formula. Most of my clients use cloth diapers (well...at least during the daytime!) They also need less future counseling as a result of their positive experiences.

Think of the cost savings, the environmental savings! That's what I call a "green birth!"

We might wash some of those savings down the drain with the amount of hot water that my clients use in labour...(but SHHH don't tell anyone!)

That's probably a small price to pay for the long-term joy that an amazing birth brings to a family.

And I discovered today that there's a residual "green" impact. Today, Isola's mum called me up on her daughter's birthday, and we both started to cry as she thanked me for all the help that I gave her during her pregnancy and birth. Think of the long-term ramifications of a "green birth" on her and her daughter, and her family!

This mother will always tell her daughter stories of her joyful undisturbed birth, and this little girl will probably have a "green birth" in her future. She's truly part of the "Green Generation."

So, Happy Earth Day! Wear some green!

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth, Slow Planet

Bike the Blossoms

"Abandon your fast life for another day of s l o w ..."

Whether you're pregnant or not (hey, I rode my bike until I was 8 months pregnant!) come and join other Slow Vancouverites at the Bike the Blossoms 23k ride sponsored by Slow Food Vancouver this Saturday, April 18th. It's only $10 each, and you'll be supporting the s l o w movement.

This self-guided tour is fun for the whole family! Enjoy a leisurely ride along boulevards of spring cherry blossoms, traveling through a diversity of neighbourhoods from the eastside to the westside, stopping at local community centres to meet local farmers, to sample local foods and refuel at slow food designated eateries, restaurants and cafes along the way.

Slow Birth will be there! Come join us!

(Apr. 19 - Well, that was fun! I saw lots of families with babies in various carriers riding through the city streets, but didn't spy any noticeably pregnant riders. And the weather stayed sunny and warm! The next day, at the Sun Run, I saw a LOT of pregnant participants - yahoo!)

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth, Slow Planet

Slow Stories

I started to take notes during each birth after November 1, 1993. I know that because Kieran was born on that day. Kieran was a warrior baby. In fact, he was born face first. He never gave up with that chin-up attitude (and probably still hasn't to this day!)

The midwife did one final vaginal exam just before he was born. "Is that a bum?" she asked, just a little confused for a moment. "No, it couldn't be...you're hearing the heartbeat in the right place. It must be a mouth," I said. "It's the baby's lips!" she called out. So, Kieran was born, after a crazy challenging labour, with his mum on her high bed, holding up her silk dress (dad had grabbed a dress for her to wear, and I think it was one that she'd recently worn to a wedding).

Days later, when we tried to have "tea and debrief", Keiran's mum, my doula partner and friend, cried, as she tried to piece together our collective memories of what happened at the birth. Her first labour had been so smooth that we had expected a quick second labour. This days-long hard labour had been so relentless, with intense back pain, that we had all lost track of time.

She told me that she had keenly felt the loss when I had left her head and gone to help the midwife during those critical moments when we didn't know whether the baby was head down or breech. A woman needs another woman at her ear, whispering, "You are safe." I wasn't there for her as a doula in the end. I had become the second attendant.

We had no birth notes from those days of long hard labour - no framework from which to hang the memory. She was lost.

She asked me if I could write notes for all the women who would come in the future, so that no woman would ever have to wonder "What happened?"

So, now, I write as honest and true a story as I can write. I can only write what I observe, being on the outside of each woman's experience. I try to make sure that my handwriting is slow and calm. I watch my writing become larger and messier as the baby's birth moment approaches. Water drops on the page. A drop of blood smears. This is the external story of a birth.

I ask that each woman and her partner take some time to record their own experience, before I give them my birth notes as a gift. Each written account is part of the memory of the birth day. But, it's the woman's internal story which is paramount. Who cares that my notes say that she was in the bath for 5 hours. She believes that she laboured in the water through the night. She believes she was surrounded by candles (when candles are not allowed in the hospital) and peacock fans (when it was really a cardboard tray). She believes that she was rowing for a gold medal, not panting for hours. Her reality is the truth of the birth.

But my notes do provide something that she may never remember - her first words as her baby emerges. And now, most women don't cry because of a lost story, they cry with joy, when they read the words that they said to their newborn:

"I'm so glad to meet you!"

"That might have been the best thing I've done in my life!"

"You are so beautiful!"

"She sounds like a sheep!"

"Holy cow! It's a baby! Look! It's a baby!"

"You're sure a lot louder than I thought you'd be!"

Kieran's mum is moving back to the west coast very soon, so we'll have another "tea and debrief" very soon. And she'll probably tell me that my memory is faulty after all these years, that she actually wore her silk dress when her baby Zoe was born. And I'll tell her that, at the very least, my memory is clear about her strength in labour. The sound memories are clear, too. The garbage truck, the children outside. And I'll say I'm sorry that I left her head during Kieran's birth, and that I think of her every time I whisper, "You are safe," to each woman as she gives birth...

And then, we'll tell more slow stories of our lives...

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth, Slow Planet

Life Cycle

Something as simple as a bike can save lives!

It only costs about $70 to purchase an International Planned Parenthood Federation Good Gift Bicycle for a midwife in a developing country.

If a midwife in a developing country owns a bike, she's able to visit more villages. Unfortunately, too many midwives lack cycle mobility, so, considering the local current price of a bicycle and its life-improving qualities for far-flung villagers, you couldn't deliver a better gift.

For us, riding a bike to visits is truly a luxury. But to midwives and other health care workers around the world, it's a necessity. Please think about making a donation!

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth, Slow Planet

Slow Bike "Rounds"

I fulfilled a childhood dream yesterday. As a child, I always wanted to be one of those women who rides her bike to visit mums and babies.

I must have heard about it from my mum and her friends, talking about their pregnancies in the north of England in the 1950's and early 1960's. The image of the local village midwife, riding to visits on her bike, just stuck with me. It seemed slow, perfect, just the way someone should visit you when you have a new baby.

That (and reducing our carbon footprint) was why we moved back into town. But, it's only since I've had my shiny new yellow road racer that I've felt brave enough to do my client visits by bike.

So, when I realized that my son had my car, and I had to do a few visits in Yaletown, I bit the bullet, and headed out over the windy bridge. There's nothing more satisfying than going to visits in the busy downtown core and not having to worry about traffic, red lights, or parking. I even managed a whirl on the False Creek bikeway. Between visits, I stopped at a little French bistro, sat in the sun at a cafe table, and ate my lunch while answering the inevitable (but fun!) phone calls from two postpartum mums.

Thanks to my clients who didn't mind seeing me dressed just a little less professionally...what? my blue dragonfly jersey isn't totally business-like? Thanks also to my clients who didn't laugh at my helmet-head.

I rode home from my lovely visits with a parting gift of chocolates dangling from my handlebars, 30km/h (over the speed limit!) on the last bit of the bridge, past the Planetarium, under the bridge, past the Granville Island tourists, and up the hill to my home. Fabulous! Then the phone rang again. I put the kettle on and chatted some more. A pretty amazing realization of a childhood dream.

So, be forewarned...I'll probably be coming to see you on my bike very soon - glowing, shiny and smiling!

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth, Slow Planet

Warrior Birth

"Next time I'm just booking a cesarean."
"My first birth was so traumatic - I want drugs the moment I start labour."
"I can't walk through the door of a hospital again."
"I think we'd better adopt our second child."

To all the women who say these words...
Please know that it wasn't your fault.
It wasn't your faulty body.
It wasn't your faulty mind.
It wasn't that you lacked will power.
It just wasn't a normal labour.
No guilt or blame.
It just wasn't a normal labour.

If you were surrounded by loving, caring people.
If you did the best you could, but the birth still shook you to your core.
If it was long and hard and unfathomable and didn't feel right...
there is usually a simple explanation.
Something just wasn't quite right.
It didn't have to be something big.
It could have been a sweet pair of hands by the baby's face,
or a head tilted to one side,
or facing out a hip,
or looking upwards.
Just bad luck on a big day.

This is the baby who didn't get the memo
about optimal positioning for birth.

Picture the baby who will come out simply and easily.
She's tucking her head down on her chest,
facing mum's bum,
has her hands in her pockets,
and is going to win the Olympic gold medal for the skeleton competition in 2030.
She's aerodynamic, flexible, adaptable,
and able to negotiate all turns with the grace of a pro.

She's lucky
born in the bathtub,
with her mum laughing.

Don't be hard on those babies who didn't get the memo,
those babies whose mums made those scary comments after the first birth.
These babies will never follow the crowd.
They'll be fiery and challenging, but totally brilliant (that's my girl!)
They're the ones who create great architecture, great music.
They are born with these passions tucked deep inside.
(Or maybe that's just me trying to put a positive spin on a difficult labour.)

The posterior/transverse/deflexed/asynclitic/compound presentation baby
tries to negotiate the birth canal
like a pine tree on the edge of a wind-swept cliff edge.
Bent, twisted.
He faces the hip, or faces forward, chin up, whatever the consequence.
This is not a birth for the faint of heart.
This is a warrior's birth.

So, when a woman calls to tell me about her first birth,
that long, epic first birth,
the one that she never thought would end,
and says that she can't ever do it again...

I ask her to thank her first baby for all the work that he or she has done.
We must not worry him or blame her.
First births are unrelenting in their demands,
because that is what is needed for us to be the best mothers to our children.
I remind her of her strength, her courage, her power as a mother.

She must have been a warrior to make it through
and out the other side.
She needs to know that it can be different,
oh, so different the next time.
I, too, have made it through that kind of a birth
then danced in the shower with my second.

She is not alone.

And, like Katie, she may choose to have her next baby at home, with the fan on, in the summer.

And, like Jasmine, she may not actually believe she's in labour until it's almost too late for a car ride, and then pant and blow through the tunnel to the hospital, and have the baby quickly on the other side.

And, like Lisa, she may find herself doing the "buzzard lope" around the house, and only get on a bed for the last few minutes of a beautiful labour.

And, like Trish, she may choose to have a vaginal birth after cesarean on her living room floor, while the trees blow outside.

And, like Shelley, she may not believe that her second birth could actually be easy until the last minute, and give birth standing up in the hospital bath-tub, then order baby back ribs for dinner.

She is not alone.
She can do this,
no matter what happens

This is her story.

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth, Slow Planet

Food, glorious food!

Women often ask me if they can eat once they're in labour.

"The books say I shouldn't, but I'm such a hummingbird eater, that I'll keel over if I don't keep eating!"

"Oh, please listen to your body, and it will let you know what you should eat, and when you should eat," I answer.

Think of the fuel that your body needs to do this amazing work! It needs fuel and fluids to function properly. Can you imagine doing a marathon, triathlon, or long-distance bike race without any nourishment? You'd be the one saying, "I bonked so early, it was embarrassing!"

But hospitals are slow to change their policies. Some local hospitals provide lunch trays to women in labour, but others discourage food intake, "in case she needs general anesthetic." A client's husband (an anesthesiologist) recently reminded everyone that he provides general anesthesia to accident victims who've probably just eaten their dinner, and everything is fine. And, he asked, just how many times do labouring women require general anesthetic in labour? Probably not enough to make it necessary to starve all the other women.

I remember being at a midwifery conference 19 long years ago. A young British midwife had dared to study food intake in labour. She found that there were far more complications among women who didn't eat in labour. She also found that most women naturally throw up at around 5-6cm., and that it's better to throw up something than nothing - way less acidic! All the midwives stood and gave her a round of applause, and declared that this would put an end to giving women only ice chips in labour.

But, 19 years later, that paper, and all the subsequent research, hasn't totally filtered down to the community level. And, "don't eat in labour" is still in so many of the childbirth books!

The hundreds of stories that I could tell about eating in labour...

But, here's just four memorable ones...

The British woman who made me sit there while she finished making a full roast beef and yorkshire pudding dinner. When it was ready, she sat down, took a mouthful, took a break to huff and puff, then ate another mouthful, took a break to pant... She kept going until her plate was empty. Then, and only then, were we allowed to take her to the hospital.

The woman who lived on the top floor of an old house behind the Park Theatre. She grabbed a tupperware container full of scones, to eat in the car on the way to the hospital. The container was empty by the time we arrived at the hospital. Her water broke as she walked through the doorway. She was deaf, so she would laughingly ignore anyone who tried to tell her what she could or could not eat.

The woman in Yaletown who asked her husband to cook her "an omelette." Well, he made a 3 egg omelette thick with peppers, mushrooms, onions, and sausages. Unbelievable! She walloped it off! (Sorry, to translate - "walloped it off" means "ate it really fast!")

The Burnaby woman with a black belt in Tae Kwon Do who had her husband run to the market to buy her papayas. She ate two. (Little did she know that her natural urge had led her to eat a fruit which can increase the power of uterine contractions.)

These women all arrived at the hospital late in labour, and had their babies in short order.

Food, glorious food!

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth, Slow Planet

An adagio hits a day of speed at full force

I've noticed that I can manage most things as long as I move slowly through the day.

Within a few weeks, my children and parents will all be living within an easy bike ride.

I can walk or ride my bike to visit most of my clients. (Yes, you can expect helmet head when the weather is good!)

I can walk home from both BC Women's and St Paul's after births (there's nothing like breathing in the crisp early morning air as I walk over the Burrard Street bridge at 6am.)

The huge physical and emotional effort required to be intensely focused on a labouring woman and her family for hours and hours (sometimes days) is only possible when I live slowly, with intention, and gain strength by moving through the world using only the power of my legs.

Last week, I was reminded of how I used to live with the continual drain of moving at high speed. (How did I spend 17 years doing the 60km daily return commute from Tsawwassen?) So, there I was, driving along the highway to visit my best friend in Crescent Beach (I can only manage this 90km drive about once a month, now that we live a Slow Life). My iPhone alerted me to three email messages, two clients called to talk about miscarriage (on speaker), another called to let me know that she was in early labour, my mum called to say that my dad's blood test showed that his leukemia was gaining an upper hand and a blood transfusion would be needed soon, and a postpartum mum called to talk about her baby's latch.

And behind all of that, like a sound of a cellist playing Albinoni's Adagio in the background - pulsing, throbbing - was the vision of a client's beautiful 8-month-old daughter who had just lost her battle with an unknown lung disease. She is the first child ever lost to a client in 21 years.

The sad music of her mother's face.

I could have handled it all, if I'd been riding my bike, drawing on the strength of my body, the pumping of my heart, feeling connected with the world. But, somehow, it just all seemed too much, driving at 110km/h. 120 km/h. The adagio had hit this day of speed at full force.

I needed to be slow. I needed physical and emotional nourishment. I needed to be home. I needed to sleep long and deep. I needed to help a new mum and her baby that afternoon. I needed to visit a joyful pregnant woman. I needed to cry. I needed to hug. I needed to dig in the garden with my dad. I needed to help a baby come into the world. I needed to ride down a hill and breathe.

And, once I was back home, I was able to do all that, and more. I regained my footing, and I was able to be there, focused and strong, for everyone, and for myself. Slowly.

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth, Slow Planet

"The light is round like a ring and we move within its movement."

Inside the light
your soul circles
winding down until it dies out,
growing like the ringing of a bell.

And between dying and being born again
there is so little room, nor is the frontier
so harsh.

The light is round like a ring
and we move within its movement.

from Not Everything is Now by Pablo Neruda


How do I write about the hidden realities of pregnancy? How do I write about the "opposite of birth"? How do I write about that unknown space between life and death?

In this blog I focus on the joy of working with pregnant women, attending their amazing Slow Births, and helping them through their postpartum journeys. But there are other journeys that some must travel. I hear their stories. Now, it's time to start telling some of these stories.

Because so many clients stay in touch with me after their first birth, I'm often one of the first people to hear about the second pregnancy: "I'm signing you up right away this time!" I've even had some phone calls from the bathroom! "Guess what?!"

But, since it's estimated that up to 20% (or more?) of all pregnancies may actually result in miscarriage, I also receive a number of phone calls each month from those same women - as they experience early pregnancy loss. They call me from bathrooms, from cars, from bedrooms.

"I started spotting this afternoon. What does it mean?"
"I just felt such a strong sense of dread that I went to the ultrasound knowing that something was wrong."
"I thought I was 14 weeks, but it stopped growing at 8 weeks."
"They say it was an empty sac, an anembryonic pregnancy. They say it was never a baby."
"I wasn't feeling sick any more, and I just knew."
"I think I'm having a Slow Miscarriage."
"I took the misoprostol and NOTHING HAPPENED. Can't believe it."
"Tennis ball sized things (blood clots) were coming out. I collapsed."
"I'm really struggling."
"It all happened the way it was supposed to. It was sad and awful. But it was even more empowering and incredible than those more negative things."
"I don't really know how to move beyond this sadness."
"We will try again, soon, I hope."


Eight clients have traveled this journey of loss in the past month. One woman is going through her second loss since last October, when she lost twins. Some have gone for a D&C instantly. Some have waited for weeks for everything to happen naturally. One travelled to Ontario and miscarried in her mother's home. No one had a miscarriage that was what she expected. Each story is completely different.

Sometimes, a woman and her partner must travel this journey alone, because the pregnancy loss can happen so early that she's not even seen her doctor or midwife. She doesn't know where to go, what to do. The Early Pregnancy Loss Clinic at BC Women's Hospital offers medical care, support and guidance, and Family Physicians and Counselors can help with the changing emotions that follow miscarriage. But, often, my clients call me because they know I've been through this experience personally, and have gained wisdom from the stories gathered from other women. Each woman knows that I will focus on her alone and listen as she tells her story, listen when she gets angry, and listen when words just won't work any more.

We hold our stories up to the light. We tell our stories to each other. We won't forget.

To start, this is my story. I never had a hard time physically with miscarriage. Both times, everything came away quickly, deeply, with me sitting in a red bath at home. Thankfully, I never bled too much nor too long. The physical aspect did not scare me. It felt right, complete, connected. I healed gently.

But, the first time I miscarried, in March 1986, all I could think was - Where did the lost spirit go? What was the spirit's purpose? Would it ever come back again? Was this its only time here as a physical being? I couldn't get the image of the lost spirit out of my head. I needed some meaning. And I was lost.

My husband couldn't help me. He wanted to help, but his loss was different, more theoretical. I needed stories told by women. I asked women for their stories of pregnancy loss, and heard nothing. It was still a time of whispers - "I hear she lost her baby, poor thing." Only my mother told me her stories of loss, why there were five empty years between my brother and me, and why I had a mental snapshot of her being carried out of our bathroom by large men (another pregnancy loss after a car accident when I was two). Only after I'd heard all her stories was I able to integrate my experience and find understanding.

When I miscarried a second time, in March 1988, while I was still breastfeeding my second baby, I was relieved. Yes, relieved. I admit it. I was so thankful that I wouldn't have to give up precious time with my son, precious time with my daughter. Did this lost spirit come and go just to help me decide that I only wanted two children? I really didn't feel any sense of loss. I looked at guilt and chose not to let it in. The miscarriage felt necessary, right, complete, connected.

Those losses eventually merged with the intense joy of being alive, being able to look up at the sun shining through the trees, knowing that everything is connected. We are all connected.

Now, all these years later, in March 2009, eight women called to tell me their stories of loss. Just like all the women who have come before them, they continue to tell me their stories, so we don't forget. We hold each other up to the light with our stories.

Each telling and retelling makes life feel more real, more exquisitely beautiful for its fragility.

The light is round like a ring
and we move within its movement.

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth, Slow Planet

Moleskine (or remedies for Slow Pregnancy)

It's interesting what the body does to us in the last weeks of pregnancy. Even the most active woman feels the slow pull in her mind and body, urging her to wind things down. Slow Pregnancy has struck!

Sure, you still feel motivated to go for long walks (more slowly) and swim (more leisurely paced) or even join a group on a Thursday evening (and do yoga), but your mind and body are slowly, slowly pulling inward, demanding attention.

In the past week, women have called to ask if they're losing their minds, asking what just happened to their memories, their attention span, their drive?

"Remind me what week you're at?" And the answer is always somewhere in the 30's.

The body does a wonderful job of making you focus on the internal work of pregnancy, whether you like it or not, in the third trimester. At 20 weeks, the thought of working right through to the end of pregnancy seems like a great idea. The pragmatic approach will save precious sick days or maternity leave time. But as week 32 approaches, the mind starts to turn its attention away from work projects, away from deadlines, away from stress and pressure, and there's a sneaking suspicion that, just perhaps, work isn't quite so important any more...

That's when I get the phone call. "My boss is on my back about the deadline, but I just can't be bothered. I can't even remember what I'm supposed to do next! There's this pile on my desk. And I'm the project manager! I'm looking at my calendar, and nothing makes sense. What's wrong with me? I just keep bursting into tears!" Nothing wrong here, it's just the last trimester, and big work is happening inside. It's time to listen to the body, and start slowing down.

It's quite amazing how the body manages to quietly work its magic. If there's too much stress in a woman's life, and the voluntary slow-down doesn't happen, eventually there will be a physical manifestation that will force her to slow down, leave work, or change to part-time or working at home. It could be a rise in blood pressure, or some body part "out of whack" requiring daily physiotherapy. The body has its ways of demanding attention. It always manages to get each of us to slow down. Slow down.

One engineer, working in an otherwise all-male office, developed high blood pressure and memory loss that scared her in her last trimester. This normally "together" woman burst into tears at her midwife's office, unable to even call her boss to say that she was going to have to stop working. Her midwife offered to call her boss for her. The woman was so thankful, but felt so guilty and overwhelmed that she wasn't able to even make a phone call. "Stress, combined with low hemoglobin and high blood pressure? at 34 weeks?...it'll do it every time. Don't take on any guilt, you hear?" (In those days, Outlander was my prescription for her to read. Today, the equivalent would probably be Twilight. Trashy, easy to read, and great at lowering blood pressure if combined with your feet up on a good comfy sofa.)

And what about the memory loss? Studies have shown that, yes, you do lose some brain cells when you're pregnant. But, here's the amazing thing - mothering increases the neural pathways in our brains, making us unbelievably capable of doing a million things at a time. You just need to give it time. Let it happen slowly. Brains don't change overnight.

So, please be gentle on yourself, pack away the guilt, let the memory slide, slow down to Fiji time, allow the body and mind to complete the inner work of pregnancy. Be just a little bit less conscientious at work, a little less driven in the gym, a little more giving to yourself. Ask for support from those you love, from your friends, from your caregivers, or find professionals who can help you, physically or emotionally (your local hospital or health unit are ready and willing to help in whatever way possible, for free.) Read more junky novels, watch the clouds pass by, sit on a log and watch the waves...

Soon enough, you'll be able to multitask and work out, but AFTER the baby is born. There's plenty of time to be sucked into the rat-race of 21st century life, so please resist the urge to speed up for as long as possible once you have your gorgeous baby. Yes, please be slow and easy on yourselves. We are beautiful imperfect creatures who deserve hours of self-deprecating laughter each day.

P.S. I think I forgot to say something about those lost brain cells! Right...now I remember...you probably won't be able to remember a long list of things any more. But, that's okay. There's an easy way to overcome your memory loss. Just slip a little Moleskine lined journal into your purse so you can write down all your "notes to self", or ask for an iPhone with iCal as a group shower gift (I need BOTH because my brain is positively happy mush) and you'll be right back on track for the rest of your life. Right?

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth, Slow Planet

There's always room for more babies!

Please email me to see if I have any openings for April, May, June or July. It never hurts to ask! Some babies have come quite early (amazingly!), so I have some emerging space available. Right, lots of room on that comfy sofa!

We'll be off to slow travel through Europe, while eating slow food, from the beginning of August until the first week of September. While I'm away, my backup doula will be available to field any questions or concerns...and even attend any early births!

I'm fully available for new clients with due dates after September 8th. Please remember that I ALWAYS have room if it's your second (third or fourth!) baby, or if you're a returning client.

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth, Slow Planet

Dare to be different

Okay...this is starting to become a real pattern...

After each birth, the lovely nurse sighs and says to my client, "I haven't seen a birth like that in ages. Thank you!" Well, actually, yesterday's quote (by a British nurse) was, "I haven't seen a birth like that since I came here!"

Then, I ran into a nurse who had helped us at a birth last week, and she still was in shock that my client gave birth standing. "I tried to get her back onto the bed, I ASKED her to get on the bed, but she just didn't! I had to think, how am I going to do this, where's my stuff? I hadn't done anything like that before!"

"Oh, come on," I said. "You're creative! Wasn't it good to think outside the box at work for once?"

"No!" She was laughing while she said that, but she really had been outside her comfort zone at the birth. Why didn't she embrace something new and dare to be different? (Understand that she is otherwise a fabulous nurse, and really never let on that it was outside her comfort zone to my client...great diplomacy!)

I checked my client stats since October 2008 (26 births). There have been only three cesareans (11% - one breech, one face presentation, one true fetal distress). The rest have been water births, standing births, hypnobirths, squatting births, hands and knees, side-lying, etc. Some just had one vaginal assessment, some none at all. A few (18%, which includes the cesarean births) had epidurals (that had been their plan all along). The rest (82%) used water, movement, singing, TENS, dancing, and, for some, just a little bit of nitrous oxide gas, to help them through labour. Their ages ranged from 30 to 50 (yes, 50!)

Isn't the hospital epidural average well over 80%? (Must check recent stats...) Anyway, it's not 18%!

How do we do it? Well, I do have clients who are able to eat well, go for long walks, stay fit. But they're not really much physically different from most women. And...they all have their own anxiety, fears, and baggage. Some have battled emotional demons, and some have overcome physical and sexual abuse.

What I offer is the long, slow approach. I try to work with my clients over many months (slowly building trust), talking to my clients about the most recent research on mothering, birthing, parenting. I find out about their lives, what drives them, what challenges them. I ask them to call me whenever they are worried or scared, or whenever they just want to have a good chat. A phone call that starts with us talking about diapers, might end in her telling me that she was abused as a child, or has battled depression, or that she hasn't yet told her midwives that she's seeing a psychiatrist and is on medication. I help my clients to feel and know that they are safe. We trust each other.

One recent client went from "I really want an epidural" at our initial interview, to using hypno-birthing...and laughing and chatting as she entered the hospital at 8cm.

Another client went from having post-traumatic stress symptoms and battling depression and anxiety, to a home birth with joy.

And yesterday? Well, this woman had a lovely slow birth. She was another who dared to be different. After about 14 hours of deny-it cramping, she asked me to come just after 2am. We spent the next 9 hours with her on the ball, in the bath, in the shower, back on the ball, doing walkabouts, climbing the stairs, lunging, swaying, swirling. That's 9 hours. No, we didn't bolt to the hospital. She was confident in her and her baby's safety. She had a loving partner who stuck by her through it all (and who I could reassure throughout). I talked her through most contractions (except in the bath). "Soft...you are safe...your shoulders are loose...your muscles are melting...your bottom is loose...baby is wiggling down...your hands are soft...your face is soft...your legs are heavy and warm...soft..."

We waited until we had counted off at least 5 hours of good regular contractions under 5 minutes. We waited until she'd had significant bloody show (not mucous plug!) We waited until she'd had over 2 hours of self-described "8/10 power" contractions (up until then, her 3-minute apart contractions had been at 5-7/10). We waited until she was moving, almost dancing on her tip-toes during each contraction. We waited until she was deep in a trance of endorphins. We waited until she was just beginning to feel a hint of pressure in her bum from the bulging bag of waters (we didn't wait until it broke, but we could have waited, if she wanted.) We waited until she said she was ready to go to the hospital.

Then...she said the word, and we were ready to go. But then, we had to wait until all the shrieking children in the school-yard across the street had gone back into their classrooms after recess!

Okay...to the hospital. 7cm. That number scores us the good rooms upstairs. Into the bath, then walkabout, the birthing ball...and back into the routine that we had at home. "Soft, you are safe, your baby is safe." And infinite patience. And a partner by her side. Throw in a lovely British nurse who moves silently and gently. Add a young family doctor who intuitively respects a patient's need for autonomy. And then we stay by the woman in labour, and trust her, and trust her baby, and trust her body...and wait. One hour. Slow. One hour. Slow. One hour. Gentle. Slow. And, right on cue, she starts to feel the baby coming. An hour and seven minutes later, out emerges a beautiful pouty face...then oh! a little hand...then a smooth vernix-covered body. Hands reach down and baby Maggie is on her mum's chest!

And then it comes, the nurse shining and smiling, finally happy..."Thank you. I haven't see a birth like that since I came here!"

That was a first baby who dared to deny the hospital statistics. She had laughed at the almost 30% cesarean rate, the 90% epidural rate. She was undisturbed, unmedicated, and was given a slow and gentle birth.

We owe it to our children to dare to be different. This changes lives, and it IS worth the effort.

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth, Slow Planet