Why I Love Maps

Why do I love maps? 

Why would I never use GPS?

It’s all about the story.

For me, the journey tells a story – as important as the destination. GPS is just about the destination – its clinical precision can be both boring and utterly wrong. When you can read a map well, you are able to tease out the stories in the landscape. You can see how the new road follows an old riverbed, skirts an iron-age fort, or marches ramrod straight along a Roman road. You can see how a town lies on a raised beach, even though it is now 10 miles inland.

In my work as a doula, I see each woman as a having unique body map for each pregnancy. My job is to read the map of the woman and help her navigate the journey. How does her past inform her present body and its response in labour? I read the tightness here, the release there. I follow the path of the acceptance or the fight. The emotional wounds rise up like a raised beach. It is all visible and easily read unless a piece of the map is missing. I can search for months for that missing piece.  I read the journey of the body and the baby, the traveller.

Where did this love of maps, of the landscape and of the body, come from? It all started (as it always does) in childhood.

I was trained in map-reading by my dad. He was a cartographer and artist (with a love of geology), and I remember sitting beside him at his drafting board adding trees to the UBC map he was working on. He taught me how maps were created, how he would layer transparencies over the base. He taught me how to read the layers like a story, and how to make the two dimensional world turn into 3D in my mind. Whenever we went on road trips, he would put my brother and me in charge of the map and the AAA book, and we would act as navigators from the backseat. We could read contour lines, read the glacial effects on the landscape, call out igneous! and sedimentary!, then point out all the 3-star motels with swimming pools. In the winter, we would read Country Life magazines, and write longhand letters to faraway places to request information. We would write to consulates and visit the BCAA to collect maps, and study study study. I can still smell those new maps. I could visualize (and connect with) what a bird must see and feel flying over the British countryside. My dad’s descriptions and the map contours turned into real images in my head. Then, when we landed in the UK  in 1966 (after an emergency landing in sulfuric Iceland), I remember seeing the patchwork green fields and being amazed that it was exactly as my dad had described. “Look at the tiny cars!” he would say, as we were circling the airport. “They look like ants!” I was hooked on maps, hooked on changes in perception, hooked on travel.

My dad told stories of escaping grimy Manchester and cycling through Derbyshire with friends in the late 1930s, following metal signposts to places like Pott Shrigley (all signs point to Pott Shrigley – I know!), camping in farmer’s fields, then riding up to the Cat and Fiddle Pub on top of a peak and watching the smokey towns below. He would show me the map and tell me stories that brought the Peak District to life, from the plague village of Eyam, to the moveable landscape of Chatsworth House. My mother would add stories of the midwives (who taught prenatal yoga in the 1950s) riding their bikes from house to house in the village, and I would trace my finger over the lines on the map and imagine myself riding my bike along those lines. (Did my wish to attend births start then?)

Fast forward to 1982, when Bob and I took our first overseas trip together. By that time, we both felt like veteran European travelers  (8 trips between us, and he had lived there with his intrepid family in the 1960s). So we combined our passions and skills and headed off. We went to the places that we had loved as children – to “Squirrel’s Wood” in Elstead, where he had lived, to the Yorkshire Dales where his dad had been stationed during the Second World War, and to the Peak District, where my dad would ride, where my heart still lives. Bob mowed my gran’s lawn in Manchester, and ate chocolate eclairs on her path in the sunshine. We stayed on a farm in Somerset at lambing season (I’m never far from birthing mammals), and had a stand-off with a large cow on a bridge in Dorset. We took a ferry to France, stayed in high-ceilinged creaky hotels for 20 Francs and ate tureens of Potage de Legumes in Laon and the Loire (epic)! Our Renault (which we filled with diesel once – seriously) had been bought just for us by a small garage in Crawley, and after an epic repair, that little car took us thousands of miles across the roads of France and Switzerland. We ended the trip with Bob dreaming of owning a sheep farm in Scotland, and me dreaming of helping the sheep birth in the middle of the night.

When I do my client visits, I draw from their stories of their travels to India, Italy, or Guatemala. Each physical journey that they have taken teaches them something about their own bodies, their responses, their patience, their strength. They climb mountains one step at a time. They cry, “I don’t think I can do this!”on the West Coast Trail, but they do it!  I add each of their stories to my own map of their body for later reference. My own daughter says she was kelp in her birth pool in labour. I add the new word “kelp” onto my map of her  - connecting her labour to the water of Boundary Bay, the beach at Point Roberts, her cousin Graham dragging giant strands of kelp up to the cabin, then her sons Jack, then Finn, diving into the world head first and feet first.

So when I stand with Bob on a path in the Luberon, listening to the sound of the cicadas, I look down at the map in my hands and see all the possible routes before us.  I see the traced path, and below that, I see a layer of the red soil, and, below that, the geological history of the land. But, I also see the layered stories and histories of all those who have stood on the path, see their labours and births, see children running ahead to that cave over there, see our son and daughter-in-law climbing to Fort Buoux, see my parents driving the road to Apt, see my brother and his wife cycling towards Bedoin in the distance, and see all the lines that each person has traced on this particular spot.

There’s no need for GPS.

It is the journey that tells the story, in life and in birth. Maps are drawn on our bodies layer upon layer… and are held within us.

- Jacquie Munro  www.slowbirth.com

A note from Teddy's mama

Lyndsay's birth was an emotional triumph. It had been a challenging pregnancy, but she faced it one day at a time.  She gathered together her team - family, friends, doula, doctor. On the sunny birthing day, my memory is of so many women (including her sister, as well as her dear friend who had also been my client) - our hands, our quiet voices, and our hearts, helping Lyndsay through the waves. I say waves because most of her time at the hospital was spent in the bath. Low toning, the splash of the water...our words...you are safe...you are safe... Those are my memories of the day.  I don't think her eyes ever opened until her son was born into her arms, and then...what joy! Her birth was open, raw, supported, undisturbed. It was a day that I will never forget!

Here are Lyndsay's words describing how I helped her on that day...and how we are still connected now:

Jacquie is an incredible woman. Her strength, knowledge, compassion, empathy, understanding, calm, wisdom and experience carried me through my nine months of pregnancy. I had a particularly rough one, emotionally, as at the time I was on my own. Jacquie was never judgemental, always empathetic to the diversity and complexity of humans. She always, always had words that were so wise and thoughtful, words which would would allow me to feel supported and just a little bit stronger. I called her many times in tears, unsure if I could do it, overwhelmed by the uncertainty of my situation and the unknown world of pregnancy and childbirth. 

The day of my son's birth arrived and Jacquie led me through every contraction, movement, sound, emotion, sensation. It was her words that calmed me and allowed me to realize that my body was just doing its thing. "Feels crazy but it's safe." She would tell me I was safe, that my body was doing what it was meant to be doing, that even though it felt like I was trying to pass a bowling ball out of my vagina that this feeling, this immense and unbelievable physical pressure, was normal. I felt no fear - I closed my eyes, gave in to these unknown sensations and knew I was in a safe place. Just had to move through. I must have crushed Jacquie's hand about 50 times through the labour. 

After it was all over Jacquie told me she knew from the moment she met me that my birth would be as it was: powerful, strong, no complications. I apparently birthed like a champ. I needed to feel that - I needed that insane strength, to feel that power of being a woman warrior, to overcome my emotional and personal sadness and to embrace labour and birth. I thank Jacquie for this. Jacquie will forever remain a huge part of my memory of my pregnancy and birth experience! She was also so helpful in postpartum -nursing issues and ongoing personal issues - and I truly felt cared for by her. I can't recommend Jacquie enough!

Go to DoulaMatch to read a few more "testimonials" from my many amazing clients!

- Jacquie Munro, Vancouver Doula, Slow Birth

Photo Credit: Jonetsu Photography

What does it take to have an intervention-free birth?

(Laughing at 5cm)

According to a Perinatal Services BC report, in the first quarter of 2013 almost 1 in 3 (31.7%) women in BC gave birth by cesarean section, and 1 in 5 women (20.1%) were induced. These are the highest rates of cesarean and induced deliveries ever recorded in BC and it forces me to reflect on how things have changed over the past 26 years.

I just re-read the Statistics Canada paper (1996) "Declining Cesarean Rates: A Continuing Trend?" and felt a twinge of nostalgia. Take a look at the study. The cesarean rate in BC during my first year as a doula (1987) was 21.9%, and a few years later in 1992 and 1993 the rate was declining! At that time, there was hope that the overall cesarean rate would continue to drop, with the goal of reaching the World Health Organization's recommended "medically warranted" cesarean rate of 10-15%. One local study (Janssen, Klein and Soolsma, 2001) found that Burnaby Hospital had a cesarean rate of 10.3% in 1995, which was appreciably less than the BC Women's Hospital rate of 22.9% (less than half an hour's drive away). They concluded that "Differences in use of epidural analgesia may contribute to differences in institutional rates of cesarean delivery. Use of epidural analgesia may be related to use of ambulation, consistency of caregiver during labor, availability of epidural, and suggestion for its use by caregivers." What does this mean for birthing women? It means, as more recent studies suggest, that inductions and epidurals – technology that have become more and more common throughout my years of doula practice – are influencing the rising cesarean rate.

But why are inductions and epidurals more common now than two decades ago? What has shifted in the past 26 years in the general population? I'm currently working on compiling and analyzing the statistics for my first 1000 clients and it looks as though their intervention rates have been consistent over time. Just to give you a snapshot of recent births, of my 18 clients in the first quarter of 2013, the cesarean rate was 5.5% (1), the induction rate was 11.1% (2), and the rate of epidural use was 22% (4). Here’s what happened:

• The lone client who gave birth by cesarean was over 40 and had been induced at 40 weeks. (Have you heard of the 40 at 40 trend? What are your thoughts?)
• The second induced client had prolonged ruptured membranes and gave birth without any other interventions - almost birthing her baby in the bathroom!
• Two of the four epidurals were planned in advance, due to non-pregnancy-related medical conditions.
• Among other clients who used analgesia, one woman was given a shot of morphine and gravol (and gave birth without complications or any other medications) and two women used nitrous oxide gas after reaching 8cm dilation (and while remaining mobile).

Without an induction or epidural, how did 78% (14/18) of my clients manage the power of their labour? Are my stats low because my clients are highly motivated to avoid interventions? Do they all deliver at home or with midwifery care? Do they avoid cultural messages that describe birth as risky and dangerous?

Maybe the women in 2013 are totally different than in the 1980s. Twenty-six years ago, the average age of birthing women was much lower than today. So are the high cesarean, epidural, and induction rates in BC related to the increase in older first-time mothers? That could be true. But, the majority of my clients are well over age 30, with 22% over age 40. So that idea doesn't explain the low intervention rates among my clients (though I’m going to explore the influence of age and other potential sociodemographic confounders in my case series analysis).

And, yes, my clients would all love to avoid a cesarean. But, those who are planning a home birth are the first to acknowledge that they don't know what their body or their baby will need on the "birth day." My client can be motivated and keep calm, but if her baby is in face presentation or if her placenta is lying over the cervix, there’s no choice in the matter. Her only option is a cesarean. The baby and body like to play the wild card.

And while many of my clients plan a home delivery with midwives, I work equally as often with clients cared for by physicians. We can try to make the hospital environment as homelike and undisturbed as possible, but when there is only one available birthing room and 5 women in the assessment room, and all the nitrous oxide tanks in the hospital are empty... you will be disturbed, your labour will be disturbed, and your probability of having a cesarean will increase! (Yes, that scene was played out the other day at BC Women's.)  Each statistic has a real woman's story within it. 

All my clients hear friends and family say, "Get an epidural!" at some point during pregnancy.  They have all heard other women recount horror stories (why must we do that???). And many have daily phone calls from those near and dear to them who inadvertently undermine their confidence. "Why would you think YOU could birth without drugs? I didn't.  Just book your cesarean!" Women’s motivation can be severely impacted by the daily onslaught of negative images.

But in trying to understand why my clients’ intervention rates are so low, there's one piece of the statistical puzzle that really compels me.  The average dilation upon admittance at hospital for the epidural and no-epidural groups. The two women who had unplanned epidurals arrived at hospital at an average of 3.5cm.  Those 14 who didn't have epidurals comprised of 7 successful homebirths (71% were having their first baby), and 7 hospital births (average arrival dilation upon arrival was 7cm). Does arriving at the hospital later in labour make a difference?

Now, I can't conclude that arrival at hospital at 7cm will never result in the need for an epidural or a cesarean.  But, it certainly increases your chances of having a smooth, intervention free birth if you arrive at hospital in active labour. Every client and their partner who birthed without an epidural or cesarean said that, if I hadn't been with them at home, they would have driven to the hospital hours and hours earlier.  Many women said their advanced dilation gave them incredible confidence - "I couldn't believe I was 9cm when I arrived! When I heard that number, I knew I could do it!"

So, my thought is that, taken together, these approaches account for my low epidural, induction, and cesarean rates: a positive attitude, low stress, low disturbance levels, late arrival at the hospital (as long as the woman is in contact with her caregiver, who is supportive of the plan), great support, as well as many other low-tech options – movement (walking, dancing, swaying, spiraling, lunging), position changes, water (shower, tub), sound (singing, toning, talking, music) as well as continuous physical and emotional support (from me and their partner and team). All of my clients who used those tools went on to have spontaneous "slow and simple" vaginal births. 

- Jacquie Munro

Conversations with babies

I was at a home birth many years ago. The new mother had nursed the baby, and was just drying off after showering (and chatting to her husband about what had just happened!), while I was quietly tidying the bedroom. As the parents came out of the bathroom, shining and clean, the midwife approached the baby, who was lying in a moses basket. With the parents' permission, the midwife was going to do the newborn exam. She leaned close to the baby, and said something like..."Hello - I'm Patti. I'd like to pick you up and weigh you and measure you." She waited a moment, then gently picked up the baby. Each movement during the newborn exam was preceded by an explanation of what she was doing. She moved slowly. She held the baby respectfully. "Babies are not fragile, but they are vulnerable," she explained to the new dad, as she moved her finger along the baby's spine. The baby was engaged, focused on Patti's words. The baby was content to be weighed and measured by these calm hands, washed by calm words.

I had always spoken to my own babies and clients' babies as people, as equals, but what Patti was doing took it to another level. "I'm going to put a diaper on you now (pause)..." She provided ample time for the baby to take in her request and respond. She was asking the baby to be a partner in a conversation, right from birth. She was also modeling a wonderful slow parenting method which the parents then continued with their baby as he grew.

When Jack and Finn were newborns, I didn't want to interrupt their time with their mum and dad by holding them too much (unless a parent had been "touched out" and needed a quiet moment in the bathroom!). Before picking one up, I would tell him what I was going to do and pause for a (then silent) response. I still go through a day with the boys, telling them what will happen next, what we've just done, and how our day will flow. The rhythm helps them to make sense of their world, and shows that we respect their need to understand the world. They are active, and now very vocal, participants in the conversation. "We'll go to grandmama's house, and then she will give us scones!" How we parent our babies at birth flows through the toddler, then preschool, then school years. Everything is connected.

Montessori teachers have practiced this for a long time. Michael Olaf says, "Gentle handling from birth on also builds trust in the world. Talk to the child gently, explaining what you are doing as you dress and change him. Provide soft clothing, peace, and soft lights, in the first days as the child is getting used to the world outside the womb. We can learn to listen to the sounds a baby makes, to watch quietly, observe, see what the child is trying to tell us, and to get to know this unique human, giving the message that the child is cherished and the world is a safe place." 

Rudolf Steiner stated that a newborn is a "sense-organ" (she is a sponge for touch and sound and movement and taste). Parents should pay close attention to the sensual input surrounding their newborn, limiting their time outside in loud traffic or having noisy toys in the first years. Babies take some time to "come into their body", so our words and movements and their environment should be respectful and calm. I especially love Rahima Baldwin's book, "You are Your Child's First Teacher", which points to practical ways to bring this gentle Waldorf approach into your home.  It was only after about two years that Jack and Finn were able to process the overwhelming sensory input of a crowded space. Slow and quiet outdoor green spaces were more their style, and we respected and honoured their needs by keeping the pace slow for a few years. 

Magda Gerber, one of the founders of RIE, the new "hot" (and slow parenting) approach, said “We not only respect babies, we demonstrate our respect every time we interact with them. Respecting a child means treating even the youngest infant as a unique human being, not as an object.”   Talking to our babies about what will happen next helps them to feel safe in the world, and helps parents develop a sense of rhythm.  Describing what you will do next, calmly and slowly, will also ensure that you remain connected with your baby, and reminds you to slow down. You don't need swings or bouncers or extra props. With the RIE approach, a lot of pressure is taken off the parent.  You can let the baby lie on the floor watching a sunbeam or the geometric line of a table leg. You can slow down and see the world from your baby's perspective. This is the start of child-led learning. For more info on the basics of RIE, take a look at Janet Lansbury's blog and see if her posts resonate with you. 

Explore the ideas in the Waldorf, Attachment Parenting, Montessori, RIE and Slow parenting approaches and see what makes sense to you and your family.  Each will offer you some great parenting tools...and, to quote one client, "There are some ideas that I just want to throw a book at!"  Take what you like and throw a book at the rest.

Through these conversations with your baby, you will start to develop your own family philosophy, "the big picture", that will lead you through all the years of parenting. Our own slow family philosophy includes a lot of "Cs". I see us as caring for our children, with conversation, connection, consideration and consistency. Our children do not belong to us, they belong to themselves, but we're in this together.  What's your family's philosophy? Or are you still pregnant and waiting to hear what your baby says?

Respect for our child's autonomy starts with our first conversation. "Here's my breast. This side is the appetizer. The next side is the entree. I think you're going to like it!" Wait...listen with your heart...and your baby will answer.

The Lumineers playing...

A woman spiraling
a partner drawing
a woman in the shower
a cat watching
a doula holding
a fan blowing
a strong woman
a boy crying
a midwife whispering
a bird singing
a grandma helping
a boy in the rain
a lost cat
a push
a pant
a baby at home!

(Photo courtesy of dad Chad Smith. Extra love always to mum Carie. Love to midwives Gillian and Carolyn and Patti. Hugs to grandma Smith and big brother Bruce, the boy in the rain...and the cats. And kisses to bonny Alice.)

The Garden and the Family

When I joined my husband's family, I found that I had to learn a new language...latin! All his sisters seemed to be avid gardeners and would chatter about moving the pieris japonica, or the joys of alchemilla mollis (I love showing children how the rain drops glisten on this plant, also known as Lady's Mantle). Three of us were pregnant at the same time, and we would dig and plant flowers and vegetables at the family cabin as our bellies grew, after our babies were born, and as our extended family expanded. Pregnancy strengthened our need to nurture the gardens.

As my love of birth grew, so did my bookshelves fill with gardening books that linked women's bodies and plants, from Herbal Healing for Women to Susun Weed's Wise Woman's Herbal, The Complete Book of Herbs, Plants of Coastal British Columbia (great on car trips!) and Michael Pollan's books, the first of which was my favourite, Second Nature.  I discovered that the Lady's Mantle that I loved has been used since medieval times as a medicinal herb, and rainwater collected in the leaves was used for its alleged magical powers. I never tested its use as a tea to reduce excessive period bleeding, but I like knowing that women in the past had used this plant for that purpose.

Crawling on hands and knees, digging and dividing in the perennial garden, helped me to turn my son from posterior to anterior.  Squatting and weeding between the vegetable rows helped prepare me for my daughter's birth. There's no sitting still when you have a growing garden! Sheila Kitzinger's daughter laboured in her garden and held trees as she pushed. My own clients have laboured on hillsides in the dark, in Queen Elizabeth Park by the flowers, leaning on trees, and squatting on the grass. Many birthing centres in warm climates encourage women to labour in gardens specifically landscaped for labour and birth. This "Birth in Nature" video shows a woman whose labour is entirely outdoors.

One Master Gardener, Donna Guillemin, opened my eyes to the "art" of gardening, and the world of Plant Spirit Medicine. While I would work in my garden, raising my children and attending births, she would (seemingly magically) help clients of mine to conceive, or cure their PUPPS, or relieve their anxiety. She would send them (or me) to Finlandia Pharmacy or Gaia Garden for tinctures and teas, if her own tinctures and teas weren't quite what was needed.

Fast forward to today - and we have two more helpers, Jack and Finn, in the garden. They have changed the soundscape of my mother's garden - windchimes, stellar's jays and shrieks of laughter are now heard over the sound of the sprinkler. They are also learning to ask if they're pulling out a weed or a plant, or if the berry they hold in their hands is a "bird berry" or a "people berry". We pull and squat and crawl in the dirt and work hard and play hard together. From age 3 to 89, our family work together in the garden, connecting to the earth and each other.

Do we garden safely? Pregnant or not, we try to remember to wear our gloves (or at least have a good soap and water wash at the end of a gardening session), and take precautions to avoid toxoplasmosis or chemicals, and avoid strains or sprains. But any potential risks of gardening during pregnancy (or postpartum or otherwise) are far outweighed by the positive emotional, physical and spiritual benefits (check out the Canadian Horticultural Therapy Association for more). 

Our gardens in Point Roberts, Tsawwassen, and Vancouver have nurtured four generations of our family. They have helped our babies turn into the perfect position, strengthened our legs for labour, watched us nurse our babies on the grass, calmed our minds when we've been anxious, and cleared our heads when the 21st century has been going too fast. Sure, we buy our vegetables most years (yes, we must connect more with the Urban Farmer)...but we try to buy local and ride our bikes or walk to the local farmers markets. This year's markets open this weekend!

So, if you're starting to grow a baby, try adding a garden to your family.  There you will find joy for a lifetime (and you might just be able to avoid a posterior labour, too!)

Doula Myths...and the Reality

Oh, those urban doula myths...they just keep circulating...

Myth #1: 
I'm always fully booked. 
The reality: I usually have openings! Many clients call as soon as they're pregnant, but, it's never too early nor too late to call. Sometimes, clients birth early (or move away), making room for a last-minute client. So, please email or phone me and we can have a good chat!

Myth #2:
I work with 7-10 clients per month. 
The reality: Eek! I'm a busy doula, but not because I work with that many clients.  I actually book an average of 4 clients per month (to a maximum 50 births a year). That way, I am able to attend 98% of my client's births each year, and rarely need a back-up doula. (In fact, my last missed birth was in September 2011, when I was in Europe.)


Why the myths might have started:
Myth #1: Yes, I am often fully booked within a month or two of a due date, so please call early.
Myth #2: Yes, there are some rare months when I might attend six births. Earlier this year, one baby was born at 32 weeks, one at 38, one at 40, and another at 42 weeks - all in a 6 day period. Then two more babies came the very next week. Nature has a wry sense of humour. My "4 births a month" can be theoretical at times.

Deeper into the reality:
So, with just four booked clients a month, I often do short "tea visits" before a client books me. Then I make two prenatal visits with each family in their home...and I might squeeze in an extra visit if a client would benefit from the extra care in the final anxious weeks.  I also allow lots of time for postpartum visits, and any extra breastfeeding help that might be needed. Yes, I often have to reschedule some visits so I can attend a birth, but that's the way birth works. It's random. It's unexpected. It's also amazing.

Going slow:
Because I walk, cycle, or car2go to client visits in a small catchment area, there's a natural slow pace to each day. Today, my first prenatal visit was at 9am, but I was able to chat with another postpartum client on the phone as I walked over.  Then I walked to Matchstick to warm up before my second "repeat client" visit, while answering new client emails. Later, I talked with some postpartum clients before popping over to see another family for their first prenatal visit. All told, I had three client visits today, and connected with another 11 clients.

Yours forever:
11 client chats in a day? That's right. I always tell my clients that "I'm yours forever", so I do spend time each day connecting with former clients, answering their questions, brainstorming, and talking about breastfeeding, parenting, sleep!, growth spurts, baby-led weaning, and more sleep! It keeps me current, connected. And I hope each client comes away feeling uplifted, confident that she can trust her instincts and her baby.

Slow and Simple Parenting:
I keep current with "the boys," my twin grandsons. I'm with them on Wednesdays...and as much as I can between client visits.

So, please don't hesitate - give me a call. If I don't pick up right away, I might just be slowly riding my bike to a client visit. Or I might be bike riding to Jericho Beach with the boys. Yes, I'm a busy doula. But be assured, I'll call you as soon as I pull over!

The Possible Effect of Yaletown Condo Living on Labour Length

Pssst. I think I have discovered a secret formula for birth. I know, I know, every labour is unique and distinct, and you just can't apply a formula to birth. But, this has worked so many times recently that it's blogworthy. Here's the secret:

1. Take one new condo with a view of the water (False Creek, especially).
2. Add one spacious and powerful shower.
3. Add one first-time labouring woman whose contractions have just dipped under the 5 minute mark.
4. Take one doula who says, "I will sit silently on the floor outside this door so you can labour undisturbed. I hope you will be able to stay in the shower for at least 45 minutes. I won't disturb you, but I will respond to you if you express a feeling or a need or ask me a question. But remember these words. Trust your body. Trust your baby. You are strong. You are spiraling your baby down, down and through. You are open, wide open."
5. Take one partner who says, "I will make sure everything is ready for you when you need to come out of the shower. I will put towels in the dryer for you, and place the clothes you will need on our bed. I will not disturb you. I will be here when you need me. I trust you, I trust our baby, and I trust your body."
6. Add filtered sunlight through a crack in the door.
7. Add liquids and food within easy reach.
8. Add the sounds of an iTunes playlist created by the woman, her partner, or loved ones.
9. Gradually, add the apparent dissolution of time and space.
10. Add one fast elevator and a short drive to the hospital (or the arrival of two midwives at home)...and the addition of a baby soon after with very little (okay...maybe a little) drama.

Okay...there's more to Step 10, but you get the idea.

I've just had such luck lately with condo labours, with unlimited showers, beautiful views of the water, no disturbance, a fast elevator ride, and a short drive to the hospital (if planned) with few stop lights. And, recently, one woman never made it out of the quiet dark space, and gave birth on her bathroom floor (yes, her midwife was there).

Am I just in the middle of a statistical blip that balances the challenging births, or am I onto something here?

I pulled the info from my database, and was truly surprised to discover the high percentage of women living in the tall condos around False Creek (think Yaletown, Crosstown, Fairview, Olympic Village, etc.) who have had relatively short labours requiring limited technology or assistance. Okay, I'm not just imagining things. But why are these labours going so well???

Perhaps, it's the women who live in condos in Vancouver? Okay...I'll give you that one.

Perhaps, it's the unlimited hot water.  I have had similar experiences with women who have laboured at home in tiny basement suites with flash hot water heaters. But, it's rare to have a flash heater in a single family dwelling in Vancouver.

Perhaps, it's the speedy elevators. One study linked a fast elevator ride with a reduction in cesareans (strangely, the working theory was the elevator ride to the OR somehow repositioned the baby, resulting in the cancellation of the surgery).

Perhaps, it's the ability of these women to remain undisturbed high up in a concrete condo. No one knocks unannounced if you live on the 23rd floor. There are no mail carriers tromping up your stairs. No garbage trucks barreling down the lane. No neighbours to worry about. We know that disturbance can slow down a labour (we've seen the effects of jackhammers in the hospital during renovations and a labour speeding up after the roofers go home for the day).

Perhaps, the answer is as simple as one word. Many women have said the word "spiraling" had a huge impact on their labour. "I saw myself as being calm, zen, quiet, in the middle of a storm, and the baby was spinning, spiraling down to earth. I released everything, and the baby starting pushing his way out!"  Aha! Ina May Gaskin's sphincter law in action.

Or it could be that one special song that her partner added to the playlist.

Or it could be his, "I trust you," that made all the difference.

So...I guess I have to retract my announcement of a secret formula. There are so many combinations of things that can add up to a smooth and short labour. Each labour takes as long as it needs. Each baby takes as long as it needs. Each woman takes as long as she needs. You aren't at a disadvantage if you don't live in a condo with unlimited hot water. There is a big world out there.  You can have lovely smooth labours in Dunbar and on The Drive, inside or outside, in birth pools or on dry land with slow dances and kisses and just one word. You can also have a challenging birth. That's just how it is sometimes.

I'm sorry that I took you on lighthearted ride to look at our universal need to make sense of birth.  I doubt there's a secret formula involving Vancouver condos. But, if you remove all the noise and chatter from the labour equation, you might just find one word, one concept, interwoven throughout...

That one secret word might just be...

undisturbed

(Although, in an alternate universe, I would dearly love to know the results of a randomized controlled trial on "The Effect of Living in Yaletown Condos on the Length of Labour in Primiparous Women".)

A Lesson from Nardia

With maturity there comes
an
awareness

that there is darkness at birth

Walk with it. Respect it. Never forget it.

But do not make your choices
out of fear
of the darkness

Trust birth

Trust

birth