This statement is more true to me now that I am a mother. I am more aware of it's truth and the fragility of life.
Each time I am carrying Ella, whether in my arms or her carrier, and am about to walk down steps, I pause and brace myself against falling. I think it through. Literally. I stop and think about falling down the stairs, imagining the sounds we would make, the hurt it would inflict. In that brief moment while the scene acts out in my mind, I cringe. Blinking the thoughts away, I grab the railing and take one step at a time, slowly and deliberately.
I read a post about home birth today that painted it in a horribly dangerous light that it actually made me stop and think. Do I really want to become the national home birth activist that I know I could be? Am I ready to take on the weight of knowing the risks of childbirth and ultimately standing for this cause with my chest held high and strong? These are heavy questions to ask.
As I "dug deep" into finding the answers to these questions, an interesting analogy crept into my consciousness. I tried posting about it just after the thought but never did it justice. I'll try to do so now.
One of my ideas of the perfect setting to raise my children (at least part of the year - if you know us, you will know we're planning on being mobile...) would be on a ranch on a large amount of property far from any big city; closer to nature and a small corner store. We would have a hen house, dogs, cats, a cow, a goat and two horses, an organic garden, tree swing and a near by river or pond.
I wondered if I would still choose to birth at home if I lived in my dream log cabin out in the middle of Montana or Colorado if there wasn't a hospital within 4 hours.
My answer was yes.
My answer was yes with a touch of hesitation. Should I sacrifice my idea of the ideal lifestyle in order to be 100% "safe" by traveling into town and birthing at a hospital (or birthing center within a hospital)? One of the reasons why I, and other home birth women I've spoken with, felt a level of comfort in knowing a hospital was only a short drive away. Hmm...yup, still yes.
I then thought about it this way - say we have a fireplace or wood burning stove. What if one of our children burns them self? What if one of us chops off a finger cutting firewood? What if a little one falls under the ice of the pond? What would we do then without a hospital in sight?
Well, we'd do whatever is necessary and within our power to do and hope for the best. If that meant driving like hell or a helicopter air-lifting...well that's what we'd do, I guess.
This is my point...every day there are what ifs, and plenty of them. What if I fall down the stairs with Ella in this carrier? What if...
I can't live in fear. It's just not a way to be.
What I will do is pause, think, and move ahead with caution.
I do this too - but I think horrible things when I lay down at night and have nothing much else to think about. It's dreadful; I didn't think one could worry as much as I do as a mom now. But you're right - "love is letting go of fear" is something my mom always told me and she made a good point, there.
ReplyDeleteI too, have contemplated the "risk of living," as you put it. We could drive ourselves mad with the "what if's."
ReplyDeleteI choose to trust life just as I trust birth.
I live in Saskatchewan--perhaps comparable to your Colorado or Montana analogy where it's a long drive to a hospital. After a lot of research I chose a homebirth. Would I have taken some comfort in knowing there was a hospital closer by--yes. Homebirth isn’t for everyone, but all things considered, homebirth was still the best option for me. It is an incredible false sense of security in thinking that to birth in a hospital is 100% safe.
I advocate for birthing choices. For those who choose homebirth, I hope that by sharing our experiences we can aid in offsetting some of the fear mongering, misinformation and just plain prejudice in the general public and in our medical/hospital system surrounding childbirth in general, but homebirth in particular!