Sonia Killik's Blog, page 6

Oxytocin and Childbirth

 

 

 

Guest post / Excerpt from Birth

By medicalizing birth, i.e. separating a woman from her own environment and surrounding her with strange people using strange machines to do strange things to her in an effort to assist her (and some of this may occasionally be necessary), the woman’s state of mind and body is so altered that her ways of carrying through this intimate act must also be altered and the state of the baby born must equally be altered. The result is that it’s no longer possible to know what births would have been like before these manipulations. Most health care providers no longer know what “non-medicalized” birth is. This is an overwhelmingly important issue.

World Health Organisation 1985

Oxytocin is a powerful hormone which is released in huge quantities by your body when you go into labour. It’s called the love hormone because it induces intense feelings of love and bonding (it’s also produced during orgasm). Pretty logical, considering that you are about to birth a human being who you will love beyond anything else for your entire life.

It is interesting to note that mammals which produce oxytocin nurse their young and raise them for months or years, depending on their species, while animals that do not produce oxytocin leave their young almost immediately after birth.

It is a very powerful hormone which not only assists you in birthing, but also in bonding and loving your child and nursing him as he grows. Oxytocin doesn’t only influence and manage your labour, but your emotions and thoughts as well.

In a normal birth environment, oxytocin is released in varying amounts by the posterior pituitary according to the stages of labour and how well mother and baby are doing emotionally. It’s governed by an intelligence far greater than our own.

It’s the infinite wisdom of nature and life at work.

This hormone is so intelligent that it will stop producing itself, and slow or stop labour altogether, if the mother feels she is in danger. This function dates back to prehistoric times when the threat of being attacked while birthing was very great. Every labouring female from the dawn of time has tried to birth her young in a protected environment, free from predators and protected from the elements. If her safety is compromised then oxytocin slows down labour, giving her time to find safety again.

The intelligence of oxytocin also extends to communication – it is in constant feedback mode with your baby. As your cervix ripens and dilates, and your baby twists and moves down your birth canal, your levels of oxytocin either increase or decrease according to your wellbeing and your baby’s.

Oxytocin’s best friend is another hormone called prolactin, which is also a vital birth, breastfeeding and bonding hormone. Prolactin has two functions – influencing our bodies physiologically (stimulating breastmilk production) and psychologically (making you one bad-ass protective mother).

Without the two birth hormones working together and unimpeded, we unleash a shit storm of trouble during birth, breastfeeding and parenting.

Oxytocin is THE MOST IMPORTANT physiological factor of birth, and the one thing that is damaged the most by a medicalised birth.

All interventions affect oxytocin, which means that ANY intervention hinders the process.

Any time our body produces flight-or-fight hormones, the production of oxytocin will slow or stop altogether, which translates to a prolonged or stop/start labour. Stresses that may cause the depletion of oxytocin are:

⁃    the “nil per mouth” policy for labouring mothers in most hospitals, leaving you hungry and thirsty;

⁃    the rotation of nursing staff and general lack of privacy in most hospitals;

⁃    the impatience of most doctors, who want to intervene in some way to speed it up;

⁃    the arrogance of doctors who don’t trust your judgement or respect your wishes, but want to take control of the process themselves;

⁃    the cold, bright and impersonal hospital environment – the exact opposite of the warm, dimly lit room which you want and need;

⁃    interventions of any kind.

Your mental state is vital to your baby’s wellbeing and your own. In a hospital, mental state is managed with synthetic drugs and anaesthetics, even though your body comes pre-equipped with the best medications of all.

If your pregnancy is healthy, allow nature to gently guide the unfolding of your birth, as it will with the awakening of your motherhood.

To my Daughter – who Taught me How to Love

 

 

As published on Elephant Journal

 

I have put off writing about my daughter, because the depth of both the love and the fear I have for her is so tremendous, sometimes I don’t think I can contain it.

I cannot grasp it, I cannot shape it, and I certainly can’t define it. Her entirety is so intertwined within mine, that sometimes I feel I am just a vessel for my love for her. That I never existed before her, and that I would cease to exist without her.

She grew within my body.

I knew her soul, before her body began.

My chest is too fragile to keep my love barricaded within me.

And the fear–-God, the fear.

For her to know harm, or suffering, or any of the myriad experiences that cause humans pain—I cannot even dwell on the surface of them.

I would protect my child with my life, but even that causes me fear. Because although I would suffer the greatest pain imaginable, so that she might live—for her to live without me also causes me anguish.

Who, but me, will love her properly and fully?

Who, but me, will teach her to know all of herself?

Who, but me, will spend endless hours planning for her to have the best life possible?

Who, but me, can hold her with every single fibre of my being and pour into her the deepest of sacred love.

The fear—I cannot imagine it

The love—before her, I could not imagine that either.

My magnificent daughter,

If I do nothing more with my life—you are enough.

You are, and always will be, my greatest accomplishment—my greatest pride.

You fill me with light—you are the source of my courage and the reason I will never give up.

I offer my life to you, with the deepest amount of joy.

I am your mother—and my goodness, but I love it!

My favourite illustrations from BIRTH: f*ck yeah!

There wasn’t one moment when writing Birth: f*ck yeah! that I didn’t have a cartoon strip running through my mind. Although the vision for how these supplementary images would work have changed many (many) times since I first put pen to paper, I am super happy with their final look.

Funnily enough my editor, illustrator (Jeremy) and myself all loved the rough sketches the most – the sketches that would be a base for the final designs. And so we threw all the previous work out the window and stuck with the hand-drawn versions that my immensely talented illustrator had done for me.

Below are some of my favourite ones – I hope you enjoy them.

Water birth – I love how Jeremy captured the peace and happiness of both mom and baby

Labour Positions – I wanted to show the absurdity of women being expected to labour on their back and how unnatural this position is. I think Jeremy did a pretty great job here. I wanted a whole farm yard of animals but sadly there wasn’t space for more.

The effect of birth on babies – sadly a baby’s true well-being is very rarely spoken of in mainstream literature or by doctors themselves. I think this is my all time favourite drawing.

Breastfeeding – I love this pic; as any mom who has been through the experience knows, leaking boobs can be pretty funny (and slightly embarrassing). I wanted to show the importance of having a sense of humour in these situations as well as encouraging the general population to chill the f*ck out! about the whole breastfeeding in public debacle.

The Doctor – also one of my favourite drawings. I have been pretty brutal in my criticism of traditional obstetricians and their impersonal and often callous treatment of labouring woman, not to mention their total lack of respect for the spiritual side of childbirth. Which ultimately is the entire essence of birth.

Don’t be a Dummy (pacifier) – I have to admit I was extremely proud of myself when writing this chapter, I had myself in stitches and when I told Jeremy what I wanted him to draw he replied with…’Ummmmmm’. Luckily he has as much of a wicked sense of humour as I do, I wish I had been around when he was drawing it. You’ll have to read the chapter to get the relevance of this picture

 

 

 

How to act crazy: Lesson #1

Last night Lulu slept at her dad, on these nights I manage to (usually) sleep early because I am relieved from kiddie duty for the evening. This means I can work for my allotted hours and finish at a reasonable time, rather than the midnight typing sessions I do the rest of the week.

At 8pm I got my ‘all is ok’ text from my ex-husband, which theoretically should have been it. But for some reason as I was getting into bed at 11pm I suddenly had a bad feeling. As all mothers know, these feelings and thoughts are common and I usually dismiss them. But last night they won the battle. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I knew Lulu was ok I texted my ex to check that everything was fine.

He didn’t respond.

I of course took this as a sign that my fears were genuine and there was indeed a catastrophic problem. I then called, he didn’t answer. Now you’re probably thinking – well it was very late he was most likely sleeping. For a normal person that might be true but my ex is a workaholic and has literally fused himself to his mobile, it is therefore very out of character for him not to answer.

I then called the landline, which he didn’t answer either. I was then faced with 2 choices: I could either take a deep breathe and assure myself that my mommy instincts were in overdrive and attempt to sleep, or I could take more drastic measures.

I called the reception at his apartment building and told them to go bang on his door. The night porter told me he had both rang the bell and knocked and still there was no response.

It was now midnight. And I was in a panic.

So I did the only logical action left to me – I drove to his flat.

My ex lives in a secure apartment building, let’s nickname it.. oh I don’t know, something colloquial like Fort F*cking Knox. Basically if you have not been specifically invited and given the nod by the Grand Duke himself you ain’t getting in. This did not deter me.

I arrived outside the locked down structure at 12:13am. After calmly and (very) nicely explaining my dilemma to the night guards, I waited patiently for them to contact the powers-that-be to grant me access. Unfortunately the said powers were unreachable. I then tried the ‘but you know me’ tactic. It did not help.

I then told them it was ok, they could deny my car access but they could not deny my person. Oh yes.. just watch me in full mommy mode. I switched my car off and left it smack bang in front of the gate, got out my car and marched myself right up to the front door. Unfortunately the front door was quite a distance away, more than enough time for the guards to radio reception and warn them I was on my way.

I arrived in time to see them lock the front door. Ha! They had underestimated both my resolve and athleticism. I marched straight past the front door and proceeded around the back of the building to the private gardens. The entire time congratulating myself on my tenacity and problem-solving skills.

I had to pause in my self-congratulatory whispers while I worked out which apartment it was that I was aiming for. I finally spotted what I hoped was his and approached. Although my ex lives on the ground floor from the front entrance point of view, the ground drops significantly around the back and so from my viewpoint it was a good few meters above the ground.

No problem. I kicked off my flip-flops, slung my bag over my shoulder and headed for the closest hedge. A small prayer, a large smirk at my climbing prowess and I was in! I knocked on his door (ok fine I banged). He still did not respond. This of course reinforced my doomsday thoughts. It was with this justification that I tried the handle (which yielded) and I let myself in.

The room was dark so I called my ex’s name, to which he sat bolt upright and replied ‘arrrrrgh?’

I then noticed a lump in his bed and without thinking said, “who is that next to you?” He answered with his girlfriend’s name, the very same one whom he had broken up with a few weeks earlier. She was most likely pondering about the source of my confusion while she feigned sleep.

Well I had finally gained entry and so I left the slightly awkward threesome and went to check on Lulu. I found her happily snoring.

Not one to waste an evening, I then spent the next 30 min clearly explaining to my ex that he needs to keep his phone on in future. To drive my point home I warned that I would repeat the same little exercise every night to come if he deviated from my rules. I then raided his fridge, stole an anti-anxiety tablet and gracefully made my way out his front door and past reception.

When I reached my car it was to find that security had been called and my ex had to give the go-ahead to release me.

I am slightly tired today, but I think it was a fruitful experience. My ex has learned to never ever ever ever not answer my phone calls, his girlfriend has discovered that although I am an ex I am still very much around (at the foot of the bed kind of close), and the manager at the apartment block has learned that his building is easily breached and some measures should be taken.

Now that I think about it, I helped out a lot of people last night.

Upside down Change

I am the frequent recipient of friend’s woes. I don’t complain about this because I truly love supporting and helping people wherever and however I can.

But I must be honest; refusing to create change irritates me. It takes more energy complaining about something than it does to actually change it. I was thinking last night how duality plays a role in every single tiny facet of our lives. In some areas of our lives we embrace change and seek it out, yet in others we dig in our heels and hold onto the doorframe for dear life.

Changing our hairstyle or buying a new car is welcomed and fun.

Changing a bad habit or thought pattern is steeped in fear and avoided at all costs.

So I was thinking, what if we turned it all upside down? What if we resisted material change and pursued meaningful change? How would the world look?

Industries would not be consumption based as people would reject changing their material possessions. It would be awesome, it would impact our value systems, society and the environment.

We would see an entire population dedicated to personal growth rather than personal showmanship. Evolution would speed up and each generation would jump our race forward in leaps and bounds, rather than waiting every 100 years for significant mind-set changes to take place.

Imagine the implications: equality between the genders would truly exist, religious disparities would disappear, abuse of both the self-inflicted and other-inflicted kind would be a thing of the past. Every human being would be spending their time actively healing and growing.

Except… in order to change into a better version of ourselves we first must have the desire to do so, even if we don’t know how to make that happen.

I have to keep reminding myself that the ability to positively and consciously change is a learned skill, that the belief that we can change our circumstances and be awesome humans in any areas of our lives is not something we are born with.

I would LOVE it if we all had this little seed within us, I believe we are getting there. In the meantime I would also love it if less focus was given to latest fashion trends and more was given to how we can treat each other and our world better.

So I guess I am saying – unless you are willing to actually put in the damn effort – don’t complain about it. And also don’t speak to me about fashion. Please.

A single mom on dating

For some reason in my post divorce life, I seem to be surrounded by a lot of male friends. During various (and annoyingly frequent) discussions around my dating status, the fact that I am a single mother seems to be the central focus of conversation.

I have often been told that it is a pity I have a child because this vastly reduces my dating pool to a tiny percentage of saintly men willing to take on this ‘responsibility’ and ‘hassle’. I find this whole outlook completely laughable… and here’s why:

I am complete without you

Sorry to pop your rose coloured soap bubble boys but I am not a beggar on the streets, desperate to nab myself a man at any costs. I am in fact perfectly and genuinely happy without a romantic partner and much like icing on a cake, any future romance would be a little extra flavouring on the top of my full diet.

I am already in love

I have the magnificent privilege of being a mother. What this means is that I am totally, deeply and irrevocably in love with my child and nothing on this earth nor floating around it will change that fact. If you want me to fall in love with you it had better be for a damn good reason.

You are being interviewed sir, not I

Men have this strange idea that us single mom’s will accept any man willing to have us because it is just so darn hard to find a man when you’re in the single parenting naughty corner. Allow me to please state the actual facts. I am not only interviewing you as a possible mate for myself, but also a person who will be a role model and influence on my child’s life – believe me I do not take that lightly.

Your character and morals are being just as acutely scanned as your ab muscles. I’m older now, I’ve been through the trials of a long term relationship, I’ve lived with someone, grown a human being, gone through divorce and have relied on me, myself and I to look after and raise my child. I don’t need your bullshit sir – I’ve seen it and heard it all before.

You are already off my list just by being you

The very fact that you (even in jest) referred to my baby girl as a piece of luggage has immediately and forever more removed you from my list of ‘someone to respect’. And without respect there is no chance of anything other than a friendly chat over coffee.

Children are sacred, awesome and should be cherished. I am not saying it is always easy to raise children, they are mini humans with absolutely no filter and that can be tiring. But no less than having to suffer through ignorant statements from over grown child-men who are not evolved enough to honour a child.

 

Walk a mile in my boobs

Just last night as I was trying in vain to sleep on my stomach and failing, it dawned on me what a 360 degree turn I had done concerning plastic surgery.

My entire life I had vehemently stood against the idea and frowned upon people who relied on it for their self worth. My viewpoint was based on the idea that our inner worth should not be based on our outer appearance, and if we feel that by looking better we will be better – there was a lot of inner healing that needed to take place.

And then I had plastic surgery. Oops.

I used to love my pre-surgery boobs, they weren’t big but they were an awesome shape and nicely pert. I then breastfed for 2.5 years and sadly destroyed their size, shape and happiness.

Having been previously happy with my body I found it a new experience to feel uncomfortable when looking in the mirror. I would breastfeed again in a heartbeat and if my choice was between nursing my daughter or having awesome boobs I would choose boob milk without a thought.

But I did have a choice to re-inflate my little darlings and so I did. Last month I broke my nose during an adventure race and although the break isn’t baaaaaaaad per say, I have decided to fix my nose as well.

So I am officially a hypocrite.

While I can easily admit to this, there is another aspect to my story I wanted to write about.

Personal experience…

It is so very hard to judge another or stay rigidly in an unchanging belief about something until you yourself have personally had experience with the topic. Every one of us are guilty of judging other people’s actions or beliefs, we do it with the little things (what is she wearing!) and we do it with the big things (I would never have done that!).

It’s a complex idea though, that we should allow every individual their own choices without judgement. Because there are some basic moral and ethical commonalities that we hope to live by ourselves and get pissed off when others don’t as well.

If there was a handbook called ‘the approved list for frowning’ life would be easier. We could quickly reference the glossary and go on to judge the colour of our friends new car without shame, but bite our tongue when wanting to judge how someone parents (that would require a cross reference check in the glossary with acceptable ethics and treatment of children).

But getting back to topic… our world is so beautifully dual. We applaud and celebrate our physicality through fashion, sports and beauty and then at the exact same time shout shame and reproach.

It is ok to work hard at gym to achieve a lovely body if you are an athlete, however if you are a porn star we will snigger at your vanity.

It is ok to have plastic surgery if you were previously sporting some kind of deformity, we will send you flowers and express how happy we are that you will soon have a better life. However if you are already attractive and have plastic surgery to become more attractive, we will throw old potato skins at you and label you shallow.

We both drown and elevate every aspect of our humanity. I think it is a constant ebb and flow of accepting our animalistic selves and seeking to ignore its urgings. Nature celebrates beauty; every animal mates with the most attractive and strongest partner they can find. Whole species have evolved to accommodate this – with spectacular plumage and endearing mating dances. Animals aren’t at all ashamed of being the best and most beautiful they can be.

But we are.

Anyway – those were my 1am thoughts last night. The jury is out on this one.

Supergirl sucks

This week I became the supremely happy owner of fast internet. In order to celebrate this long awaited event, I spent the evening watching upcoming movie trailers (the closest I get to actually watching a movie).

Just after watching Superman vs Batman (which looks too damn good), I was prompted to watch the upcoming trailer for Supergirl.

Well. I was horrified.

I’m sorry but in what galaxy is it ok to portray such a cool superhero as a ditsy girl who can’t decide on her costume? Why is it that Superman was directed and acted to such levels of awesomeness, and Supergirl to such levels of patheticness?

If they went all the way and made it a teenage movie it would have passed (a travesty nonetheless), but it is clearly targeted to an adult audience.

The only great female superhero I’ve seen portrayed on screen is the Black Widow from Avengers. Yes she is still sexy, women are and there’s nothing wrong with that, but she is first and foremost shown as an assassin and bad ass character, she just happens to be female.

Every other female superhero, from Catwoman to Batgirl, rely on their feminine wiles rather than skill and personality. It irritates me to no end.

That is not my role model and I definitely wouldn’t want her for my daughter. I find discussions on fashion one of the most tediously painful ordeals to live through – and they put in a bloody wardrobe choosing scene in Supergirl. Supergirl!! It’s not 105 dresses (or whatever it was called).

Big sigh.

It’s bad enough I have to speed read in advance and edit-as-I-go when reading fairytales to my daughter. When I reach the part that reads ‘…a handsome prince came to save her and fell instantly in love with her because she was so beautiful’, and worse: ‘… he asked her to marry him and she said yes’ (this after knowing each other for 5 minutes).

Needless to say I edit such ridiculousness to a more realistic and desired outcome… one where the princess saves herself and the prince is just a normal guy who can be her friend but would have to earn further affection.

There is absolutely no point in burning bras and fighting for equal pay and all that when women willingly support characters and celebrities that are, to put it plainly, stupid.

Enough said