The Left Doesn't Get It

Here's my first political post. I wrote a letter to my local paper, The Charlotte Observer, in Charlotte, NC last Saturday, and they published an extremely edited version of it on Thursday. I was so incensed over the insults and accusations from the liberal left after the presidential election, that I high-lighted all the adjectives in just the Friday paper, and included them, plus the "dumb" headline in The Daily Mirror, London, in my letter. This letter is not directed to my more liberal friends, who have always treated me with respect. Rather, it is addressed to the sore losers who equate insult with political debate, and in the process, turn off even more voters. First I will present my unedited letter from my e-mail program, and then a section from the Observer Forum. I included the letter printed before mine, because this writer included even more adjectives than me, and was probably the reason for the hack-job on mine.


Original E-mail
To: Charlotte Observer Sent: 11/6/2004 3:27 PM
Re: letter to the editor

When will the left get it? Instead of examining the failure of their message, they insult the right and center of this country, hardly an effective strategy. We who voted for Bush are not "dumb," "willfully ignorant," "manipulated," "exploited," "bigoted and prejudiced," or "hoodwinked." Do they actually think 58 million people went to the polls and blindly voted for Bush without considering the issues and the potential impact of their votes on themselves or their fellow man? On the contrary, we examined the issues and voted our conscience. Why don’t you spend your immense intellectual prowess on understanding why we think the way we do and find you so deficient?

Selection from the Charlotte Observer Forum

Posted on Thu, Nov. 11, 2004
Observer Forum: Letters to the Editor

We Bush voters know what you think of us

Enough whining and threats. We understand clearly now: Those of us who voted for the president are illiterate, inferior, bigoted, greedy, deceitful, redneck, stupid, bullying, uninformed, criminal, overly religious, moralistic, Neanderthal, violent, hysterical, hate-filled and myopic -- and we probably have bad breath because of the raw meat we eat in our catacombs.Are we really the ones who just don't get it?

Thomas F. Cochran Sr.
Charlotte

Study, don't criticize, those who backed Bush

Will those on the left ever get it? Instead of examining the failure of their message, they insult the right and center. Why don't they spend some of their immense intellectual prowess on understanding why we in the 59 million think the way we do and find them so deficient?

Mary Joan J. Vaccarella
Hickory

Elwing's Halloween Pictures

Following are 6 pictures of our fellow Ponyite Elwing dressed as Hobbit and Gandalf for Halloween. They look great, dontcha' think? Elwing, you have perfect Hobbit hair! (I'm assuming the wizard hair is a wig.)

Elwing's pictures were moved offline on 12/02/04 at her request.

Getting Joseph's Walking Papers

If you have read about Joseph's home birth, then you know my sister, Sandra, attended the birth. She stayed with me for several days, and five days after the birth, she accompanied me to the health department to get a birth certificate. Try to imagine the DMV with needles. Anyway, she was inspired to write the following humor piece. As with all humor, it's mostly true with just a little exaggeration. My doctor's office was not really in a burned-out filling station, but in a converted bank building. Raleigh is the capital of North Carolina. All the dialogue with the health department is near verbatim.



Do You Know Raleigh’s Last Name?


My dear sister, finding herself in the family way, decided to buck society in her own southern genteel way. “I believe I shall have my baby at home” she said. And so began her tangle with beauracracy that would rival a tank movement across the sands of Iraq.

She would have preferred prenatal care prior to her home birth. Yet physician after physician looked upon her in horror as she described her plan. No doctor at birth!! How can it be done? “No thank you” they said as they ran back to their accountants screeching epitaphs towards the audacity of any woman giving birth without paying them first to help.

She ended up finding a lab that agreed to conduct prenatal testing. That is, they agreed as long as she wore a Led Zeppelin tee-shirt, dark sunglasses and pretended not to speak English.

The glorious day arrived and as does generally occur, everything came out just fine. Joseph William entered the world in his mama’s bedroom, amidst the pre July 4th crackle of fireworks with family and friends gathered in his circle of love.

And then we had to prove it...in order to get his government walking papers. These are otherwise known as a birth certificate and social security number. One never knows these days…Junior might go out and get a job at six months of age and NEED these documents to guarantee his payment of taxes or contribution to social security.

So…she calls the Department of Public Health. In her educated, grammatically correct voice, she requested information on newborn metabolic testing and birth certificate application. “Newborn metabolic testing?” says the voice on the other end of the phone. “I don’t think we do that here.” My sister explains to “the voice” that the baby’s family doctor (who by the way agreed to see the newborn baby as a patient WITHOUT first visiting him in the hospital nursery because his office is in a burned out filling station and he doesn’t give a hoot) told her that they did in fact do this testing at the health department. With all of her 65 points of I.Q. “the voice” said, “We will have to check on this and call you back” as she hung up the phone. That return call would have been a lot easier had she taken our phone number…the significance of this we would soon learn.

So we came up with plan B. With the father boasting a “Big Johnson” running suit, and us in Led Zeppelin tee-shirts, (Hey! It worked before!!) we approached the Health Department receptionist with baby in tow. “Yes mam” sister said, “Young Joe Bill here was borned at home and we thank he needin’ shots.” More than likely, feeling quite superior after our presentation, the receptionist i.e. “the voice” was able to figure out what to do. We were passed along to the nurses who, after scratching their heads and whispering something about ignorant people, performed all the tests they could think of on the new baby.

We were then escorted to public records. Of course the baby was crying after being poked and prodded by the nurses and wanted to nurse to relieve his angst. After taking a seat, my sister began to nurse. “Mrs. Einstein” began her routine questioning. “Where was the baby born?” “At home” sister said. “Who delivered the baby?” “We did” sister said. “Where do you live?” Sister gave the address of her residence. “We need proof that you live there…either a power bill or a phone bill will do” said Mrs. Einstein. “How about my driver’s license?” sister said. “No, I need a power bill or a phone bill” “Well, my husband has his drivers license; it verifies mine…will that do?” “No” said Mrs. Einstein, “I need a power bill or a phone bill to verify your address.” “Well…my checkbook also has our home address that verifies both of our license’s address…how about that?” “No, really” Mrs. Einstein says, “I need a power bill or a phone bill.” My sister, starting to get frustrated says, “Here are the documents from the lab that did my prenatal testing. It lists my address as the same that is listed on my driver’s license, my husband’s driver’s license, and my check book…is that not enough?” And once again, Mrs. Einstein says “What I really need is a power bill or a phone bill...hmmmm…let me call Raleigh.” Which she does and is quickly told that with two driver’s licenses, a checkbook, and a lab bill all having the same address, we are pretty much sure to live at the address listed.

“OK” says Mrs. Einstein, “I need a notarized statement from someone in the community who saw you pregnant.” “Well” says I, the aunt who has kept her mouth shut so far, “I actually saw the baby born. Will my statement suffice?” Of course, Mrs. E’s response was “No, I need a statement from someone in the community who saw her pregnant.” Husband pipes up and says “I cut the cord, will that, along with the aunt who saw her give birth, be enough to satisfy your statement?” “No” says Mrs. E., “I need a statement from someone in the community who saw her pregnant.” Unable to stand it any more, I finally declare “ The last time I looked, both the father and I were part of the community…I mean, we ARE listed in the phone book you know…the phone company seems to be fairly important to you all.” Looking puzzled, Mrs. E finally says “Let me call Raleigh…I have to make sure the baby is yours.”

So her end of the conversation goes like this. “Yes, I see the baby…Yes it is obviously a baby…I see it with my own eyes…her sister, the aunt, claims to have seen her have it and the husband says he cut the cord…No, really, I SEE the baby…actually I see the baby breastfeeding…yes, the mother says it is hers…well, she had to have a baby sometime because she is obviously breastfeeding…OK…well, If you are sure” Blah, Blah, Blah.

So…by the end of the day we had a birth certificate and, believe it or not, a social security card. And more than that, we had some important knowledge here to for unknown to us. First, the power and phone company are the final word on where one actually lives as well as one’s standing in the community. However, I wouldn’t recommend handing a phone bill to any police officer who stops you for speeding…you might get arrested for improper I.D. Second, the fact that one is carrying around 45 extra pounds from pregnancy, that one’s milk has come in, that one is obviously post natal in condition is NOT proof that one has had a baby. The only proof of pregnancy is if Raleigh SAYS it happened. Finally, we decided if sister was ever going to have another baby at home, we might ought to call Raleigh first. If it is a boy, we might even name him Raleigh because Raleigh is apparently quite intelligent. If we could just figure out Raleigh’s last name…cause he is probably listed in the phone book…and that makes him pretty darned important…don’t ya think!

The Birth of Joseph William

File this under "childbirth." This may be considered graphic by some, with words like "perineum," but this story is meant to encourage, not scare. BTW, that's me and Joseph in the picture titles "black&white" in this same journal.


The Birth of Joseph William

I woke up Thursday morning, July 3rd 2003, at 5:48 a.m. experiencing my third contraction. I dozed through the first two, thinking I needed to get up and go to the bathroom, when I suddenly realized, these were the long-awaited labor pains. The last few weeks of our pregnancy had been difficult, and I became convinced you would come early. I was certainly big enough. But your due dates came and went with no signs of pre-labor. I was off work for the week of July 4th, and I began to mentally prepare myself for returning to work on Monday, still pregnant. I started joking, I wasn’t really pregnant, just very, very fat.

Starting about week 34, I began suffering from sciatic nerve pain in my right hip, and I could hardly walk. I started getting weekly massages, and they made me feel a little better. Week 37, I went to confession on Saturday, to mass on Sunday, and got the annointing of the sick on Sunday afternoon. We even got a bottle of holy water to sprinkle on the bed for good measure. By week 38, the nerve pain was gone (a miracle?), but my joints and leg muscles ached from your weight and the weeks of inactivity. Finally by Thursday of week 40, I felt my strength returning. Then on Friday, I fell at work and severely bruised my tailbone. I couldn’t sit, and began to worry that the tail bone would cause me excruciating pain in labor. I began to appreciate that you were a little late. It would give me some time to recover.

On Wednesday of week 41, I had my weekly appointment with the midwife. We discussed all the things we would do if you still weren’t here by week 42. Before the appointment, Sarah, my three-year-old, and I had spent a rousing hour dancing and playing instruments to Herb Albert’s Tijuana Brass. I don’t know if it was the music or the conversation, but apparently you decided it was time to come out, so I woke up Thursday morning in labor.

First I searched for a watch with a second hand, but I couldn’t find one. You’d think with months of preparation for your home birth, I would have taken care of this tiny detail. I finally woke up Frank, your Dad, to ask him to find his watch, which he did. We timed a couple of contractions and called the midwife, Karen. She had me call the second midwife, just to give her warning. I was instructed to eat something, keep in touch, and let her know when the contractions were five minutes apart, one minute in duration, and regular. Frank and I rushed around, getting me juice, making me soup, and preparing frozen orange juice chips. We called my sister, Sandra, first because she had an hour-and-a-half drive to get to us. Frank called my friend Julie in a panic, and told her to come right away, even though I told Frank that we didn’t need anyone to rush over just yet. I called Lisa, the massage therapist, and told her to clear her schedule, I was in labor.

Julie showed up first. I told her I was fine, so she left to get breakfast and a cup of coffee. Sandra showed up next, then Julie returned, then Lisa arrived. A period of female bonding ensued as we discussed ex-husbands, current husbands, birth experiences, kids, and home décor. Sandra was convinced she was pre-menopausal and having hot flashes, until I pointed out that she was sitting next to the crock pot with steaming water.

My contractions were strong and effective, but variable. If I sat up, they were four minutes apart. If I went to the bathroom, they came back-to-back, but then they were followed by a short mild one. If I laid down, they were 8 minutes apart. Sometimes they were 45 seconds, sometimes 90, so I didn’t know whether to call the midwife or not. She had told me she had an appointment at 2:30 and would come by afterwards, but around 12:45, I started feeling queasy, and suspected I was in transition. I called her and asked her to come check me before her appointment. She said she was getting in the shower and had to put on her makeup (she still thinks she’s going to make her appointment!). I said, “don’t worry about the makeup, no one’s got it on here!” In hindsight, I should have insisted she come earlier that morning, but I learn something from each birth. Besides we were having so much fun.

Karen showed up about 1:30, checked my dilation, and announced she wasn’t going anywhere, I was eight centimeters. (See, I knew it.) She put my helpers to work, calling the second midwife, heating blankets, setting up instruments, et cetera. I was having contractions, hot flashes, and a little nausea. Lisa massaged, Julie fanned, and Sandra wiped my brow with a wet cloth. I only felt my tailbone injury for a short time during transition as you descended, but it was just an achy, numb feeling, so I felt fortunate there. Soon I felt the urge to push, but you were in a poor position, facing the wrong way.

With my tailbone injury, I could not sit in a reclining position, so I tried pushing in a side-lying position. The midwife grabbed my top leg and sort of wrenched it back and forth, trying to get you to turn. We needed more gravity, so the midwife insisted I get up and told me that she was going to march me up and down the stairs. Well, I informed her that not only was I too nauseous to stand, but there was no way I was walking up and down stairs. (This is the labor talking.) She said not to worry, they were going to support me the whole time. She pulled me up and I struggled to stand, hunched over and nauseous.

Next began the “stair walk of torture”, and I am thinking, this midwife is nuts. Karen supported me on one side, and Lisa, the fortunately strong massage therapist, supported the other. Julie followed behind, holding a chub around my backside. Sandra walked behind, mopping up the mess. (Sandra was the one who thought she’d be too squeamish.) I have no idea where my husband was at this time, but I know he was there somewhere. Sarah, my three-year-old, was blithely watching television in the den. Four times they marched me up and down the stairs. Each time when I got to the landing, they had me squat and push with one leg one step higher than the other. This would be an unnatural position for anyone, but was darned near impossible for someone with 40 extra pounds on their belly. But Lisa and Karen held me up, and I marched, squatted, and pushed, protesting all the while. This trick of Karen’s seemed to work, and you turned around. Just shows you the advantage of having a midwife in a home birth setting. An OB nurse wouldn’t have taken me on such a walk, and an obstetrician would have cut me from stem to stern and yanked you out.

Karen led me back to the bedroom, and I decided I wanted to do the rest on the floor on all fours. They spread a comforter on the floor and covered it with waterproof pads. The rest is kind of a blur. My water broke fairly quickly. It was stained light green, causing me some concern. I pushed until I felt my perineum stretching. I followed the midwife’s guidance on when to push and when to blow. My arms and knees ached. It was hard, but I knew it would be over soon. As you crowned, I reached back and touched your head. Finally, with great relief, I pushed your head out. One more contraction and burning push, and your shoulders came out. The rest of you slithered out quickly, at 3:30 p.m. I turned my head to see the midwives working on you, alternately suctioning your mouth and giving you oxygen. The second midwife had shown up some time during the delivery, I didn’t know when. You weren’t breathing, but I didn’t panic, because I knew that it sometimes takes a minute or so for a baby to take its first breath. You were slightly blue, but a blue baby still has blood circulating. A white, limp baby is much more dangerous – it has neither circulating blood nor oxygen. Your umbilical cord was still attached and functioning. I looked up to see my husband Frank in the bathroom doorway. He looked worried. I looked back at you. The midwives were still working on you. I did not know your sex yet, so I reached back and lifted your leg. “It’s a boy”, I exclaimed. Then finally, you cried and breathed.

Sarah was in the room now. She beheld you just moments after your birth. They wrapped you in a warm blanket and put us in the bed together. I tried to put you to the breast, but you weren’t interested. Another contraction and I pushed out the placenta. I felt it this time, unlike with Sarah. I was sore all over, like I had been through a wringer, and I was still nauseous. They cleaned us up, and gave me a fresh nightgown. Sarah and your Dad got in bed with us, and we all snuggled a while. Still, I was a little disappointed that this birth hadn’t been the easy and relatively painless experience I’d had with Sarah. I didn’t have that same the sense of elation, like I’d just reached the mountaintop; I just felt sick and exhausted.

Thankfully, the feeling soon passed. Emptying my stomach helped. One by one the midwives and friends left, leaving just my sister and my family with me. I was just beginning to get to know you, God’s newest creation, Joseph William.


Conclusions on the Birth

Well, that’s the birth story of Joseph. As you have gathered, I chose a home delivery for my second child. Unlike with Sarah, I knew I was pregnant right away with Joseph. I had been practicing (the operative word here is “practicing”!) natural family planning when I conceived, and I could tell there was an immediate change in the mucous signs. I gave myself a pregnancy test and it was positive. Slowly we told family and friends. And then I procrastinated. I regretted two things from my first birth experience, and I wanted to figure out a way to put my lessons learned into practice. I had pushed too exuberantly with Sarah, causing tiny tears too small to stitch, and found myself in the emergency room in intense pain six days later. I eventually realized that not only was my enthusiastic pushing to blame for this setback, but the seemingly innocuous local anesthetic kept me from knowing when to stop pushing . The second thing I regretted was the early separation between me and Sarah. The nurses put her on an examining table naked, and then wrapped her up in a blanket inches thick before handing her to me. Then they took her away because she was too cold. If only they had laid her on me skin-to-skin and covered us both with a warm blanket, everything would have been fine. I read the books; I went to the classes; I wrote the birth plan; but I still found the medical care wanting.

I sorted through my options. I knew I did not want an ultrasound or amniocentesis, but I did want the alpha fetal protein (AFP) screening, which can indicate neural tube defects, Down’s syndrome, and the presence of twins; and I had a certain window of opportunity to make a decision. I could go the traditional route as I had done with Sarah and hope for the best. I could use the midwife from the same practice, but she might not be available when I went into labor, and I would still be subject to hospital policies. I had heard good things about the midwives at a different local hospital, but unfortunately, that hospital was not in my insurance network. There was another good midwife practice at a covered hospital in the next town, but it was a 25 minute drive, and I had concerns about my husband driving me. He has a neurological disorder, and though he drives, he doesn’t drive particularly well, especially under pressure. Additionally, I had never spent a night away from Sarah, and she still nursed to go to sleep. A hospital birth would entail at least a two day stay. As I had few risk factors, a proven pelvis, no desire for pain medication, and we were within ten minutes of two hospitals, we finally decided that I would get the best outcome with a home birth.

I had met a midwife by chance or fate that previous summer at a bookstore. I had taken her phone number, though I wasn’t even planning on having another child. What with a husband in poor health and working fulltime to support my family, my head knew that I didn’t need another person to take care of. My heart however, longed for a child regardless of logic, and thankfully God read my heart and not my mind.

I called the midwife, and we had a long chat. She explained the services she could provide, what she could not provide, her credentials, her experience with pregnant and laboring women, her experience with emergencies, and our responsibilities. Most importantly, she explained that while it was perfectly legal to have a child at home in North Carolina, it was illegal for her to practice direct-entry midwifery, and she could be prosecuted. Therefore, we would not be able to reveal her name to any health or legal authorities, and we would have to be careful revealing our plans to family and friends.

My husband had some reservations about the home birth, and after much probing I determined that he was afraid I would want pain medication and be unable to get any. I assured him that since I did not need any paid medication the first time, I would be just fine. My own fears centered around the baby – what if the baby needed emergency care, and we couldn’t get him to the hospital on time. I figured that any emergencies concerning myself, such as hemorrhaging or placenta-previa could be managed, but what if the baby wasn’t breathing? My fears turned out to be not completely groundless.

We decided to go with the midwife and the home birth. I was to see her regularly for prenatal care, but I had to find my own doctor for lab tests and emergency backup, and a pediatrician for the baby. First I tried the ob-gyn who delivered Sarah. I met with him, explained my plans for a home birth, and asked if he could provide lab tests, occasional prenatal care, and emergency backup. After consulting with the other doctors in the practice, he informed me that their insurance would not allow them to take me as a patient. I was nearing the deadline for the AFP test when my midwife obtained an appointment for me with an obstetrician about a forty minute drive away. This practice told me that they could not take any new patients, which I did not believe, and blamed their fear of malpractice instead, but they agreed to process my initial lab work. After that, I considered going to the health department and just not telling them of my birth plan, but it seemed dishonest.

After considering several family practitioners for the baby, a nurse friend of mine recommended a family doctor who was new in town and building a practice. He worked alone except for his registered nurse wife, and he had obstetrical experience, though he was not currently practicing obstetrics. I explained my situation to them over the phone, and they agreed to see me. At our visit, I explained that I did not expect them to provide my prenatal care or emergency backup, but only to perform certain prenatal tests at my request and to take the baby as a patient after the birth. They were both fine with this, and I transferred all my family’s medical records to their practice. It was one of the best decisions I ever made.

Would I have a home birth again? Probably. I’m convinced that that the U.S. healthcare system has over-medicalized a natural, normal process. With good intentions, they treat every birth like a major trauma, an accident waiting to happen, when the large majority could proceed with minimal intervention. Education is empowerment. Encouragement is confidence. I still have concerns about emergency care for the baby, but I had no post-partum perineal pain, and I was never separated from my baby, so my two original goals were achieved. I was quite comfortable laboring at home, and though the birth was not the gentle, beautiful experience I had anticipated, the outcome would have been worse in a hospital setting. I would have most likely been in a lot of pain from the episiotomy and the assisted delivery, and the baby would have been whisked away for emergency treatment. Everyone in attendance at my birth assured me that it was a wonderful experience for them, and thanked me for the opportunity.

What's It All About

I've been toying with the idea of creating my own website for some time now, and this seemed a really easy way to do it. I'm not sure if anyone will ever see it, but I'm going to put it out there anyway. I want an outlet for my thoughts, creativity, and passions. I'm not really sure where this journal is going, but I hope it's a fun ride. I'll be sharing some of my thoughts on Tolkien, whenever I compose something. I'm a frequent contributor to the Prancing Pony message board, which can be accessed through Netscape or www.lordoftherings.net (community). Whenever I compose something of significance for that site, I'll post it here as well. I'll probably mine some of my old posts to get started.
I'm also passionate about breastfeeding, parenting, and childbirth issues. I'll share some of my parenting stories as well as promote natural approaches to parenting. I have two children, a girl, Sarah, born in 2000, and a boy, Joseph, born in 2003. I had them both naturally, the second one at home, and I am tandem breastfeeding them both, if that gives you an idea of where I'm coming from.
I also keep up with news and current events, so I may make occasional political observations as well. I have had several letters published in The Charlotte Observer (NC), so if I am ever moved enough to write them, I'll post it here it too. Just remember, it's my journal, so it's my rules. Let's get started!