Baby Stories

My first story begins with me. Unfortunately I don’t remember any of it. Which brings me to my first question: why doesn’t anyone ever remember anything about when they were born? This also brings me to my first interview. It occurred to me on the beach one day that my mother would be a perfect candidate to interview. For one thing, she is super easy to talk to. On top of that, she has multiple experiences, one of which being me. So without warning I drove right into the conversation asking what it was like having a baby? After 17 years my mom embraces my tendencies for randomness. "It was not fun" My mother replied. I appreciated her humor. She looked at me for further instructions. And that was when I explained the unit and explained my wandering thought process of questions. It was fairly easy talking to her about birth. It was fairly easy talking to her about anything. Although I still did what I could to steer the conversation away from the one of "Where babies come from?" Because that’s always an awkward conversation that mother try and jump into.

Skipping how and proceeding right to the after math, I learned more about me. (Ill did my best to find the truth in the story my mother gave me and in the story my father gave me.) I was told about a year after my parents were married they began to think about having a child. With no solid decision made, it just happened. My mothers began to feel different, her body ached and certain areas grew. This transformation lead to my discovery. I heard it was a good thing, perhaps unplanned but most defiantly celebrated. My parents read books together, attended class, changed both their diets. See my dad was the type to go along with the process, as ridiculous as it may seem for an outsiders view. My mother guessed that "he was trying to prepare himself, cope with the changes that were going to happen in his life." or maybe "he was just trying to comfort me in the changes I was dealing with." After some time they learned it/ me was in fact a girl. They had to real choice about to be happy with the gender. However over my 17 years I have learned about some people wishing I were a boy. Some offense taken. Then again I have brothers now, who seem to fill that disappointed by being the ones to carry out the family name. It was when the gender was revealed that my parents began to brainstorm possible names. I was a potential Amanda, Ashley. They liked “A” names for reasons unknown. Later being inspired by Shakespeare my parents ruled out Amanda, made my middle name Ashley and decided on Arden. The Arden that represents the magical forest of Arden, in the play "As you like it."

My due was date was April 22nd. But those are only ever estimations. The day it actually happened started April 10th. It started when the water broke just before going to bed. Clueless my mom called the doctor. Who advised her to sleep best she could, not eat anything and come to the hospital in the morning. So my parents full of only book knowledge grabbed the bag, the bag that was readily packed and listened to the doctor’s instructions.

At the hospital, my mother was put in a room shared with another women. Clean cut, uniformed look a-like doctors surrounded her. Was it weird having stranger after stranger in and out of the room? I asked my mother. I was curious if women get self-conscious being so exposed to so many different random people. " I thought I would be. But with the pain of the contractions, and the heavy doses of drugs that’s the last thing on your mind." What was on your mind? My mother, I would imagine like most women was afraid that something would go wrong, either with the baby or themselves. “You begin to doubt your body’s ability.” 24 hours after the water breaking, the doctor decided a sea section would be best. This is when I arrived: warm, small and silent. 24 hours late, 4 hours short of my grandma birthday, April 12^th. The doctor slapping me violently erupted the silence and I took my very important, first breaths of air.

What are the most important steps/procedures done by doctors during a birth?

Fairly shortly after my mother got pregnant again. Which brings me to my second story of a birth. A year and a half apart, I’m talking about my sister. Now at this time my family lived in France. Although so much in common currently our birth stories are also entirely different.

A sea section was scheduled for November 16^th. With preparations made prior to the date, and a past experience my mother “felt much more prepared.” Together my parents took the bus to the hospital. Where my mother was in her own room. The doctor unlike the one in my case was a woman who “wore purple velvet shoes” she was “humorous.” So when asked which one is preferred my mother answered without hesitation that France was a more accommodating place to give birth, “My preference without a doubt.”

How does the process of birth differ in other countries?

What are the pros and cons?

"I thought I just had to poop" I’ve heard of women being unaware of their pregnancy before. Apparently there is a whole show about it, for all those non-believers. And I have always wondered why/how that could happen? It may seem more plausible and unnoticeable in a heavier person, but that’s not always the case. I held my third interview out for this particular person. Ill respects her request to not use her name so I will call her M. A 19 year old, standing at 5' 6" and an average weight of 130 pounds who happens to be one of those cases. M had been sexually active for about three years and "started using birth control pills since 17." She described no dramatic changes with her body, "with my busy schedule I didn't think much of the little changes." M started out one of those non-believers, it didn't happened, and couldn’t happen to her. Turns out that those women who didn't know they were pregnant until labor described her perfectly. The signs were mostly all the same as she described to me, "My periods were already irregular, I just didn't think about it much." There were not any out of the ordinary food cravings seen in other pregnancies. Then of course there is the baby's growth, normally noticeable. With no drastic changes M justified her weight gain to "stress, lack of sleep." Cramps always came with her period, and once again were never thought of as anything more than just cramps. When that day came, "I thought I had to poop." M did what any human would do and went to work out her "busy." But was surprised when a baby started to come. Out of shock and disbelief she called desperately for her boyfriend. Who in panic ran to the downstairs apartment of a nurse? Together they managed to get the baby and cut the umbilical cord. M and her baby went to the hospital and were both fine.

And this is where I come in. Unprepared, M at this point had no idea what to do with the baby. She was currently enrolled in college, and "hadn’t even considered life with a baby." So her called my step mom who works with an adoption agency. It was my step mom’s job lay out all of her options. The baby: a healthy unnamed newborn was in the care of the agency. "I couldn’t commit to adoption" and unable to care for the baby then. A plan was devised for M to before more parent equipped and then claim her baby.

How do our bodies change/adapt to being pregnant?

Other people on Birth (-or+ 5 years)

With no prior knowledge of the stances of the people I interviewed I approached the conversation very causally. I have found that a more conversation-based word exchange is better than just shooting out questions. When talking about controversial issues I try to avoid “attacking” or offending the person at all costs. Therefore I started saying what their beliefs were on birth. Simply that so there was no wrong answer and I would have more of a foundation of their thoughts to work with. I respect the request to kept names unsaid, and so I apologize for using mostly he/she’s.

Marriage=babies?

I was pleased to find that one of the first people I started talking to about birth was comfortable talking to me (practically a stranger) about it. I felt that the frame of her plan was very similar to the dominant one of our society. Initially we discussed the factor of age. What age is too early to be thinking about having children? Personally she thought it all depended on age, “It is a matter of maturity, 17 or 27.” We continued our talk, making it more personally. She talked about how she “wasn’t ready to have a child now” nor did she want one right now, but when she finds the right person that’s when she would consider children. I think its strange how people go on a search for the right one and only then do they consider children. It seems like an important step in our society of the American dream. This was a common thought with the second person I interviewed. He thought it was better to have children when two people were married, “its better for the child physiologically to have parents that are closer together.” Theoretically he thinks that a marriage makes parents look “established” and stronger. This justifies why marriage is better for the child. While the parents are in a bond hard to get out of it forces the family together. But above all “Parenting together would just makes everything easier.”

Celebration

If you did not already hear the term baby shower what would you have thought? Person number 3 described an experience going to a baby shower, “It was all her girl friend celebrating her baby.” A baby shower is simply a way to welcome the baby and congratulate the mom to be. Who came up with that? We discussed the topic further, although she didn’t seem very interested. She did not see what I personally found so strange with the process of a baby shower. Although I have no first hand experience, I’m not one to judge. She discussed with me what she knew. That baby showers are usually only held for the first child. But gave no reasoning, if its purpose is to congratulate the mom to be then a baby shower for your first born signifies your role forever as a mother?

BIRTH.

My initial thought process was sparked by memories. I began to recall the times I have experienced events related to birth. I remember a family member getting pregnant with her boyfriend. That hadn't been together for that long, which was why it came as a shock when they announced their engagement. They said they were getting married because they loved each other. Sure they, no one doubted that. But everyone seemed to question other factors that might have pushed them to the decision. The pregnancy was kept a secret. Only till after the wedding was it made more public for celebration. Why is it frowned upon to have a baby with someone and not be married? Its a situation more common than just within my family. It seems as though magazines and support groups are focused on the couple. There is an entirely new magazine or group for women without a partner. So Maybe for some it has to do with religion, or family tradition.

In the right circumstances the process of pregnancy is celebrated. However I disagree with everyone who thinks that Birth is a beautiful thing. Its not. Its only the idea of birth that flatters people. Its only the whole idea of one human bringing another one into the world that is beautiful. Is that why we congrat people on being pregnant? What exactly are are we congratulating them on? Taking on the long process and painful finish of birth?

A Developed Stranger

We can think it, dream it or say it but the experience above all else makes it real. We can think he is fine. We can dream of a miracle to make him better. We can say it will all be OK. But the experience tells us all differently.

I went to visit a man who did not know who I was. Correction: he used to know who I was but does not any more. A person begins to forget when diagnosed with Alzheimer's. Slowly but surely they begin to forget any memories they have, which only progresses into forgetting how to drink out of a cup. And somewhere in between he forgot about me.

Grandpa Sitting

The three-hour train ride to Albany was fairly easy. I did my best to describe the situation to Omar. But once again words cannot always substitute for the feelings that come into play. When we arrived my grandma was already waiting. Even though it hasn't been that long i was excited to her. When she asked me I told her I was good. Omar said the same. When I asked her how she was I was not given the same standard response. In all her honesty she was not good, and that's what she said to me. But this wasn't a conversation that could be held in the car and so we talked of ordinary things.

We arrived at the house, covered in snow but looking the same. Together we walked in. My grandpa greeting us and gave my grandma a kiss. I approached him and introduced Omar. They shook hands and became acquaintances. Then my grandpa expected me to do the same. "HI....." he said waiting for me to fill in the blank. Arden? I responded with high hopes that I would ring some kind of bell with my name. All I received in response was blank spare. Ouch. Not wanting to dwell on the matter I made my way into the other room. My two brothers both asleep, explained the silence. But what’s the explanation for the strange lady sitting in the living room? My grandma stepped in and introduced her neighbor, Rose. And what exactly was she doing in the house at this hour of the night? My grandma went on to explain that Rose was over to facilitate. No one trusted my grandpa alone, nor should they, and therefore my grandma asked Rose to come over.

A lost Identitiy

The next day we all woke up, at our own time with pancakes cooking in the kitchen. Grandpa was shoving snow. My brothers were watching cartoons. My sister was reading. I sat in the kitchen helping my grandma make breakfast. Initially we talked about my college endeavor. We went on to discuss the other things I find myself struggling with. My grandma spoke, relating both my story and hers. She told me that there are "Something’s we can only control up to a certain point. After that we can chose have to feel about it, and how to deal with it." I dared myself to ask her about grandpa. In the long silence that followed I thought I said something wrong. She held back her tears and will hesitation began to describe her situation. The experience my grandma is going through is far more than she could have ever prepared for.

Last week she forced herself to take away my grandpa wallet. After losing it and all it contained twice she couldn’t afford to have it happen again. My grandpa naturally frustrated started yelling and screaming at her. Only later to forget the entire incident. My grandpa deprived of any power he had feels frustrated. My grandma is doing the best she can to cope with what’s happening, but "he forgets, but I don’t. I’m still upset and he doesn’t know why."

3....2....1...

Later that day, we witnessed the freak out she had pervious described. One thing about my grandpa is that he always loves to be doing something. Making improvements on the house, or cleaning up, or reorganizing that’s what he does. Today, while going through some papers he found a family picture. He wanted to see his sons and daughters. He missed them. And so he went a desperate search for the car keys. His mind was set on driving to see them. What he failed to remember was that he couldn’t drive. There was no use in trying to find the purposely hidden car keys. My grandma did her best to explain to him that he was incapable of driving. He could not have the keys, he could go anywhere. She explained it calmly to him, and at the same time explained it to herself. Saying it, hearing it all out load forced her to accept the fact. My grandpa unable to comprehend gripped the picture in his hands. The tighter he gripped the harder he tried to accept what was happening. He began to cry. With each of his tears more process was made.

The disease is slowly taking over my grandpa. It hard for him and its hard for us. It’s a challenge for anyone to watch a loved one more progressive ill. It’s the hardest for My grandma who hasn’t lost hope yet, but has no way to prepare for what’s ahead "I dread the day he forgets about me." I wonder, but have never asked what’s going to happen afterwards. His mind becoming less knowledgeable, less capably kept in the body of an old man. Reminds me of the curious case of Benjamin button, a man who grows to be younger. The character goes from walking, to crawling. Soon he knows nothing. My grandpa plays the real life role.

Normal is weird. Our dominant social practice are so normal to us, but in actuality they are so weird. People are oblivious, just going along with what they are told, never usually questioning any of it. This unit of illness and dying thats left me questioning. I feel enlightened from this unit of illness and dying. It has opened up a new found knowledge. Although I have learned so much I now feel like there is more I dont know.

What happens after we die? why are we so afraid of talking about the one commonality we all share? What changes in a person after seeing death? Can improvements be made to make the process of dying more comfortable? Is there such thing as a fair, functional healthcare system?

There is never a simple answer. With countless attempts to solve/ answer the problems getting sick and dying it seems is allot more complicated than it seems. A survey conducted in class resulted in everyone knowing someone who is sick or has died. The topic surrounds us yet we fail to see the strangeness of it. It was only until after this unit, of exploring movies, reading articles and conducts experiments that I opened my eyes. The ill, the dying process is one of alienation. The sick are isolated, cared for, and charged. The American healthcare system motivated by cash, denies millions access to healthcare. For most, with or without healthcare it is to expensive to get sick. After watching Sicko, along with further information in Ben's and Omar's projects the solution would be to prevent. Lets change the focus of our attention from trying to heal those who are sick to trying to prevent people from getting sick in the first place.

But, sickness and dying is a part of everyones life at some point. These people become alienated. Death and illness are isolated into areas with other deaths and illness. Its one big anxiety attack for all of us. The ill hooked up to machines, kept in rooms, labeled as a number, ingesting constant medication. While the healthy ones around them are remind of our immortally and vulnerability. People keep a good amount of distance between them and the overall topic of illness and dying.

Comments

Dear Johnny,
I was left with a similar impression of Sicko, The United States has a dysfunctional healthcare system compared to many other parts of the world. My favorite line describing the treatment of patients searching for care, " This is clearly a violation of everyone being treated the same while being saught medical attention. This makes me very mad however this is just the tip of the iceberg because this must happen to alot of patients without health insurance." Throughout the piece I think you did a good job summarizing up your major arguments and using information from a variety of sources.

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Dear Sharif,

I would first like to thank you for the comment you left me. THANK YOU.

I really enjoyed listening to your elevator speech as well as reading your post. I liked how you chose a topic and used so many sources, and perspectives to back it up. Your most beautiful line in my opinion was when you mentioned how a terminal ill patient copes with acceptance their circumstance , "detachment will allow those in denial to process what they are going through and eventually move past it so that having a terminal illness is only a part of their lives, a part that is managed and controlled as if it were a diet." It takes time for most people to acknowledge their current situation, it is something thats challenging, but something that can only be done by themselves.

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Elevator speeches

Sarah,

I enjoyed your elevator speech. I thought your choice of topic was interesting and unlike most other projects. Im exploring your blog for those reasons. The reasons I found this most interesting was the personal experience you chose to incorporate. It was capturing how you compared the doctors relationships to patients with the midwifes relationship. from your post it seems the mid wife was significantly closer with the patient, but Im curious to know what their relationship is like after the fact of giving birth?

My favorite line was the last one when you wrote, "By using both allopathic/conventional care and homeopathic care, one is able to get the maximum treatment needed to make their illness least painful and/or time consuming." Most people's initial choices are treatments that entail pain killer medication. The methods of homeopathic care are often over looked and can be more beneficial in some cases.

well done.

Devin,

I enjoyed what you had to say in your elevator speech, which has lead me to further explore your blog. I thought the topic you chose was very interesting, I learned alot just based on of your post. my favorite line/question was "If you were terminally ill, in pain or great discomfort, but fully conscious with all your mental faculties, and you lived in a state that has legalized physician-assisted suicide would you want your doctor to give you a lethal pill? What would be the main reason?" People are commonly uncomfortable talking about death. So often times people do not even think about until they have to. By asking this question it forces people to think a little beyond their normal boundaries. This is a situation that asks people to put themselves in that position. GOOD JOB!

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From Basement Person

From the More Intelligent One

Days with Granny

Similar to the inspiring book Tuesdays with Morrie I decided to do my own; Days with Granny. The stories of young, ignorant students in search of a deeper understanding through the visits with a terminal ill person.

What’s capable of taking many forms, poses a threat, and can appear at any moment? An ending you simply cannot escape, death is inevitable. We like to think we are immortal. However there are constant reminders that tell us otherwise. Sickness is a clear indication that our bodies are fragile. Most people avoid the uncomfortable thoughts of the unknown, and therefore avoid uncomfortable thoughts of being weak, sick, or dying. Which explains my reasoning for being nervous when requesting daily visits to my sick and dying grandmother. It’s a sensitive topic that people choice not to bring up. Since I have rarely ever brought it up with her, I was of sure how she was going to response. I hated to think that our conversation would offend her in some way. I did not want to be that unfriendly challenger of her immortality. This: A pure example of how I was afraid of the upcoming unknown. Thankfully my grandmother gladly agreed to be my interviewed expert. A creditable source and consider an expert because of her newly found lessons through the experience of dying.

The D word

Day one I was thinking about what I wanted to get out of this project. I was talking to an expert now; I wanted to take away as much as I could. But where to start? While making my way to her house I was followed by grey skies and clouds and I began to think how to start the day with her off. It was the type of scenery that matched the overall theme of my investigation. I began to back my thoughts all the way to the beginning, my thought process beginning. I began to think about where these ideas about death originate. As children we are mostly shielded away from death. No one ever brings it up; no one ever wants to talk about it. Movies are restricted for those under aged. That what age is it ok to know? Is there a right time for an explanation? I remember one of the first thoughts I had about dying. I thought of sleeping almost as being dead, I continued to think that really being dead simply meant you never woke up. I was drowned in the feeling of emptiness. For weeks I was afraid to sleep. Would it have been easier for me to cope if my mother had just explained it to me? Maybe. Then again how does one go about explaining something like death a subject they know very little about? I asked granny if her experience was any similar to mine. While my thoughts were generated just by brain storming, hers initial started with the death of a dog. Trixy was her name. She died of old age in her sleep on Sunday morning. My granny, 8 years old, was in shock, emotionless state of shock. Her mother’s views persuaded my granny to think their now dead dog was somewhere else in a better place.

“I’m going to die soon…it will not be to much longer until that me your talking about in the better place.” My granny turned and said to me. Not fully paying attention I was now. She failed to sugar code it at all. I couldn’t help myself but I snapped, Don’t Say That. She found my denial humorous. At 96 years old she explained, “allowing myself to die happened when I just couldn’t do the same things I used to.” I felt sorry for sorry for the both of us. In my defense though I was trying to practice a method I thought to be more positive. Like Beth tried. I did not like using words like dying, or death around her, simply because we know there is some truth behind those words. So not saying them makes it less likely. I think Morrie says it perfectly when he describes, “Everyone knows they’re going to die, but nobody believes it.” (p.81) It seems as though in the back of our minds we know we are going to die but we choose to ignore it. We comfort ourselves by pretending its not going to happen, least not for a while. That is exactly what I was attempting to do in this case, weather I was aware of it at the time or not.

Couch potato

I sat at her feet, watched her and listening as she told me her story. “I was sick for it was on quiet some time before I thought to really do anything about it.” Similar to Erik’s story, my grandmother went to the doctor only when her pain was unbearable. After the tests, the paperwork, hours of waiting, a doctor informed her and her family that she had cancer. No one needed to say anything else for them to know the end was closing in., “I accepting being able to die long ago, this was just a push over that edge.” Once just in for a check up and now a terminally ill patient. She looked down at me, widened her eyes to make her I comprehended her distinction, “I wasn’t sick, I was dying.” Getting sick and dying is packaged in with living, so what makes an ill patient, “terminal ill”? Mayo clinic has defined a terminally ill patient as one whose life expectancy is estimated to be six months or less. That is assuming the disease plays out the normal expected course. Which makes me wonder: how does one copes with knowing the time frame of their death? How do you, Granny cope with knowing your going to die? Faced with the same challenger of immortality, Morrie asks himself “Do I wither up and disappear, or do I make the best of my time left?” (p.10) He can let the disease slowly take over turning him into a vegetable or he can make a final accomplishment with the time he has left. Most of us believe we would try and make the best of our last months of living. However I also think that most of us wouldn’t. Do we have to be sick to appreciate being healthy? Do we have to experience some event with death to appreciate life? There was not much now my grandmother was capable of. At this point, her goal was to go out happy.

It was on Day two I met Cinda. She is responsible for making my grandmothers life as easy and comfortable as possible. Through her coverage of Medicare Granny was provided with routine home care. I did not fully understand my Granny’s situation until further research. Hospices were said to have originated in the 11th century, around year 1065. The terminally ill were put into designated placed for treatment by the Crusaders. Cinda was hired shortly after the diagnoses. She comes by everyday and is sent home when my grandmother lets her. My grandmother admitted openly that she liked having that sense of control in her life. We laughed as I picked up an unflattering picture of our whole family. I could have turned in any direction and would have seen a picture of someone in our family. They were everywhere. I rephrased my question a million times in my head before asking it. I wanted to know why Cinda? Why was this stranger here everyday as suppose to one of the many people in our family? It seemed like my grandmother had anticipated my question. She turned to me and smiled, “a bad day in home health, is still better than a good day in the hospital.” She knew her family members lives did not stop for her sickness. Refusing to be poked at in a hospital my grandmother wanted to be at home. A recent study conducted by the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute found that patients with cancer who died in ICUs or hospitals were ones who experienced more physical and emotional distress at the end of life than those who were treated at home. (Krasny) With as much experience as me babysitting Cinda is here everyday taking care of my grandmother until she dies. “But don’t worry that included the connecting machinery, plastic food, and smelly sheets you wear.” My grandma joked.

The line up

Day three, I found my grandmother in the same place as the last time. She said in the chair by the window, her frail body barely making a dent in the brown colored couch. I was pleased to see her happy with me there. “Its amazing what a little young positive energy can do” she says to me. Which make me think why it happens so rarely. One hour of my time makes this woman happy for days. A dose of young healthy energy lightens the burden of dying. And yet, in our society the sick are isolated with the sick and more sick. That really can’t help the already present situation.

I walked over to find my grandmother holding a picture. An old black and white one of a young, beautiful lady in a dress, “This is me.” she exclaimed. I took in gently, afraid it mind crumble to pieces with to much force, and examined the faded edges. She uncovered this picture to tell her next story. Fully aware of my illness and dying unit, Granny racked her brain so she could share any bit of helpful information. Mostly working off of personally experience she talked to me about her mother, a health care system, and a funeral.

Speaking slowly and with pauses in between my grandmother told me about my great great grandmother who had died. She died of old age at 60. My grandmother went to the funeral and say her last name craved neatly on the top, “it was unreal, seeing my name written on the tomb stone…I knew I was next.” I had chills as she recaptured her breath from all the talking we were doing. She continued, “I fought my way out of getting old.” Only to realize it’s a guarantee, fighting about the things that are inevitable is not worth it. Death is such a foreign and distance concept to us. We do not know when it happens or how it happens, and not knowing is the scariest part. We together fill that emptiness feeling with thoughts that are comforting. Ideas that suggest there is a better place we are sent to. People have so many different theories. Granny believes in one I have never thought of. Like most she believes in heaven, and hell. The only difference is that she believes hell is right here; it is the world we reside in today. Theoretically we come to earth to learn the lessons we need to, then we die and are sent back to heaven. It’s all apart of a cycle, that people do over and over. I was assured that I would be seeing more of granny, not only in this life time but in many more.

STEWART, BARBARA . "Final Days, at Home." New York Times (1997): n. pag. Web. 17 Jan 2011.

Krasny, Ros. "Costs spike when terminally ill leave hospice: study." CFA institution (2010): n. pag. Web. 17 Jan 2011.