Guest Post: Does It Really Matter? (A Poem)

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Trisha Lawrie has kindly shared three incredibly powerful poems regarding birth and I am thrilled to share them.  I feel they speak to so much that we speak of on EP and give voice to experiences that, sadly, far too many women experience during the birth process.  Though “enjoy” isn’t quite the right word, I hope you find these as moving and powerful as I have.  This is the second of the poems (you can read the first here) and is about questioning the real repercussions of giving up control during the birth process.

By Trish Lawrie

 

This is the question we’re asking these days

In the hurry-and-give-me-a-c-section ways

 

We’re impatient, we’re tired, we concede quite a lot

We schedule our births in available slots.

 

We check into hospitals, check out when we’re done

We bitch all the while because birth is no fun.

 

We avoid big decisions as a general rule

After all, we did not go to medical school.

 

We tend to stay quiet, questions rarely get asked

We just want it over with “easy” and fast.

 

Our sections are planned before anything’s wrong

And we blindly nod yes, and we just go along.

 

Our due dates are law and inductions blasé

They want us delivered and out of their way.

 

They give us strong drugs, then they walk out the door

When we’re pregnant again, we just go back for more.

 

So what does it matter, this lack of control?

After all, it’s convenient and won’t hurt a soul.

 

But we don’t often think of the baby’s reaction

We’re too busy with read-outs and other distractions.

 

And what of the moms, missing out on so much

Like holding her child and that first precious touch?

 

Babies need to pass through the canal during birth

So that they can breathe when they come to this earth.

 

Moms are pushing through drugs, exhausted, confused

They lie on their backs feeling beaten and bruised.

 

And if she’s not pushing, she’s still lying down

Her belly cut open with surgeons around.

 

Babies are born and then whisked away

They’re poked and they’re prodded, and don’t have a say.

 

Cords are cut quickly, the lifeline is gone

The placenta is pulled and too quickly withdrawn.

 

It’s cold in this world, and the lights are so bright

Babies scream and they flail and put up a good fight.

 

And everyone thinks it’s so cute how they cry

Then they stick them and then put some gunk in their eyes.

 

In the meantime, Mom lays with arms empty and wide

And the need for her baby is just brushed aside.

 

When the baby is handed, the moment has passed

Mom may have said something, but nobody asked.

 

She may now be groggy or even spaced out

Breastfeeding begins with her all full of doubt.

 

She’s been robbed of her hormones, she feels quite a mess

And then wonders why after she feels so depressed.

 

She goes home with her baby, but something was lost

What price are we paying?  What exactly’s the cost?

 

Our children are learning of life on this day

Will they learn how to love in this difficult way?

 

What are we doing to them, and to us?

Is birth worth all the pain?  Is it worth all that fuss?

 

The answer is yes, maybe more than we know

It’s not for a medal, it’s not just for show.

 

Women birth in their homes, women work through the pain

And then, in the end, it’s our babies that gain.

 

They learn about gentleness, tenderness, love

They are touched by their parents, not by some rubber glove.

 

Breastfeeding flows, the bonding commences

We build love this way with bridges, not fences.

 

“Less is more” is the mantra, and I pray it will spread

And weave into our consciousness just like a thread.

 

We do not have to fear what is rightfully ours

We’re prisoners, but we can break out of these bars.

 

Working together, become educated

Birth will be revered, not slandered or hated.

 

It’s a wish in my heart that all people on earth

Will soon know the joy of a beautiful birth.

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