One of my least favorite aspects of the human condition is the assertion by one person that what’s good for one is good for all.
As I am now a father and accompanied my wife through all her stages of childbirth, we invariably came into contact with what are now nontraditional methods of labor. Proponents of homebirth, in particular, would immediately suggest we run out and watch The Business of Being Born and fight against the commercialization of the sacred birthing act. They, ironically, were usually found engaging in some type of baby-related business selling baby slings, wraps, homeopathic teething tablets or the like.
The talk of the evils of hospitals and reduction of the mother to a patient ID queued up on a roster board was one step below The Prisoner. The idea is that the “unwelcoming” hospital environment robs the mother of the full glorious experience of childbirth, and reduces the initial bond between mother and child.
In theory, this sounds fantastic and full of unicorns and Hello Kitty maternity gowns. In practice, I’d like five minutes with one of these homebirth fans to get answers to specific questions about what they would do in the midst of one of the wide array of complications that can arise during the delivery process.
My wife had three such complications. First, she had gestational diabetes. Though she was lucky and our son was roughly six and a half pounds, the risk of an overly large baby is always a heavy concern. Let any 110 pound women know they’ll be attempting to birth a ten pound baby and the expression on their face alone should be enough to sway opinion.
Second, my wife began to have extremely high blood pressure and began to show signs of preeclampsia, despite some bed rest toward the end, and generally taking care of herself. To continue without being induced would have put her own health seriously at risk.
Last, and the most serious, my wife suffered a Uterine Inversion during our son’s delivery. In this potentially fatal complication, her uterus actually came completely outside her body, still attached to the placenta.
As the mother during the inversion, my wife could not see “down there” and knew vaguely little of what was going on. As the husband, I found myself involved in a fairly traumatic situation resembling something out of a slasher horror film. I’ve never seen that much blood covering one room. The nurses were slapping my wife’s face yelling “stay with us” as she moved in and out of consciousness. It wound up being all hands on deck as they tried to stuff her incessantly bleeding uterus back in her body, before whisking her off to surgery.
Despite a variety of hippie jokes I’ve made in the past, I’m not actually against home birth. For certain people, I’m sure it’s a wonderful and rewarding experience. But in our personal situation I’m curious as to whether, if she were home squatting over a kiddie pool with Enya playing in the background, my wife would even be alive today. It’s really the height of arrogance to assume that since that way might be better for some, it’s better across the board.
There is a reason medical science is pursued, and there is a reason people have babies in hospitals with medically qualified attendants. Though a major point I’ve heard made supporting home birth is that the infant mortality rate from hospital birth has been uncomfortably high over the last forty years, I would be more interested in doing research to see whether there has been a dramatic decrease in the mortality rate of birthing mothers.
