I Put What, Where?

The second and final Maori birthing class finally came. The only snag was my midwife called up the night before and said since my initial gestational diabetes test showed my sugar levels as "slightly elevated" so I was going to have to go into the mini-hospital and take the more advanced (read: annoying/disgusting) test the next day before my class began.

So, I fasted the night before, and the next morning we drove to the hospital where they immediately took my blood. (Beau left to attend the beginning of the class without me).

Then she plopped down the infamous bottle. The first time I did this test it was a small bottle of clear liquid that tasted like flat Sprite. Not pleasant, but no big tragedy. This time the bottle was twice as big, the liquid was green, thick, and tasted like I was sucking straight Sprite syrup, with no dilution. GAG! Oh, and it was room temperature, just to add to its utter deliciousness. Every couple minutes the phlebotomist would look at me and chirp, "Almost done?" and I'd croak, "Almost," with my eyes watering and my jedi mind tricks focusing on not puking it back up.

But, I got it down, and she announced that soon I would be feeling very sleepy from the hyper-injection of sugar into my body (couldn't they have given me some old-fashioned Lick-Em/Dip-Em Sticks instead?). She very kindly showed me to a private waiting room where I read for awhile, and then finally laid down, where I proceeded to fade in and out of unconsciousness. After a couple hours, she came back in and woke me up. I jumped up like a ninja for battle, stunned by the unfamiliar setting, then apologized and quickly put my shoes on and followed her, surreptitiously wiping my cheek and hoping she didn't see the sizeable drool patch left on the pillow.

She took my blood again, from the SAME spot, and actually did quite a good job. Usually, I end up a bit bruised when blood's taken, but there was just a small red dot. She then thanked and excused me, suggesting I go eat right away. Luckily, I was prepared and reached into my purse for my homemade trail mix which has been quite the blessing for me in these easily-head-swimming pregnant days.

I casually walked to where the class was a few blocks away, and was surprised when the red school van where Beau (and lately I) work pulled up, the door slid open, and like a clown car, a dozen or so of "our" high school students jumped out. They crowded around me in curiosity and concern, which I found quite touching. I talked with them briefly before leaving them and going on to class.

I pulled open the sliding glass door and slipped inside. The first thing I saw was Beau sitting on the ground, in a large circle with the others, pounding the life out of a giant block of grey clay. I was greeted by the midwife and others and I sat down next to him.

"We're making our whenua pot," he said. (Note: "whenua" is the placenta/afterbirth).

"Oh." I said.

The muka (flax twine to tie around the baby's umbilical cord) is something I thought was pretty cool, but I've always had a big "Eh" in my mind about the whole "Keeping and burying the placenta" thing. Yes, it's a nice idea to plant a tree in your baby's honor and plant the placenta below it and watch the tree grow every year. But shit, I'm also a Western city girl, and well, it's also kind of ick. Okay, really ick. Especially since I now know the placenta that comes out after the baby is about the SIZE of the baby. I always thought it was just some liquidy mess that drained out afterwards, not that it was actually this big, bloody bubble of goo. So, yeah, a little grossed out, but trying NOT to be.

Beau leaned over again, "She showed one of those birthing videos - you missed it."

"Oh," I said, not too broken up over that. Those birthing things make me want to start sobbing. Seriously.

"But it was one in water, so it wasn't so bad," he said.

I looked around and saw the room was filled with a few of the teenage girls from last time, and one new one. We were still the grandparents in the room. Everyone else was hard at work making what looked like various versions of clay log cabins, with log-like layers piling up. Beau had so far not done much but beat the clay into submission. We quickly decided to make it the shape of a giant heart and in no time he had the base smacked out. He nudged me to start building up the log-like walls, while he proceded to concentrate heavily on making a small pot of his own to store the umbilical cord in. It took awhile, but I finally built up the walls quite high, as he lovingly attended his...creation. At one point the midwife looked over and exclaimed to him, "It looks like one of those statues on Easter Island!"

She was right, it was just a head and looked very similar to those Rapanui heads.

"Is that a girl or a boy?" I whispered to him. "A girl!" he said indignantly. "Okay," I said, "You might want to give her some hair...or a much smaller nose." We all finished our teetering whenua homes and put them aside to dry.

We had our "tea" (not as long as before, Spongie, but still too long for this American *wink*) and then the class continued on with various tips and things to expect, which I liked, since I can't get enough of that part, but the warm room and a bad night's sleep had Beau fighting to stay awake. I had to keep one foot pushed up against the back of his thigh so that every time I heard him going under, I could give him a gentle, but insistent nudge. Once, he let out a subtle, crackling snore, and I gave him the most loving jab I could. He awoke wide-eyed, peering left and right. Not sure if anyone else noticed, at least they pretended not to.

The class ended and the midwife let me borrow the DVD so I could watch the water birth I had missed. I tried to dissuade her, but she seemed insistent.

*gulp*

P.S. We were told by a (Maori) woman today that for her children, they had put the placenta in a plastic bag in the freezer to await when all the relatives could come and then they would bury it in the cemetary with other ancestors. Cool, but again.. *squirm*

Roll Up Your Pants Leg, Dad.

One of the strange things I've found in general with NZ healthcare is that there seems to be a lack of...um...urgency that I felt in the U.S. Maybe this is a good thing because it keeps any hypochondriac tendencies at bay. Personally though, I often feel like I'm not getting thorough-enough care. What I really mean is, I feel like I'm not being informed enough of what's going on. I hate not knowing, good or bad.

A good example is my midwife, whom I have every confidence in, in terms of her knowledge and skills. In addition, every nurse, obstetrician and former pregnant patient of hers have all rated her highly.

Okay, so she's not warm and fuzzy, I can deal with that. But sometimes I feel as if I have to chase her down for everything from blood test results to appointments to pregnancy classes. I finally got her to give me the phone number to the midwife who was giving the only local class just days before it began (it's for 2 days and they're only offered every few months). I guess that's another example. The pregnancy class here is just a two-day'er. I always though these pregnancy classes went on for weeks. I guess there's not that much to know.

After several attempts and messages left, I talked to the other midwife, "Laura." After she gave me the technical information, she said, "You know this is a Maori kaupapa class, right?" (Basically, culturally and curriculum-y Maori, for Maori women). But I was still welcome, of course.

I didn''t, but oh well! I didn't have much choice and it should be interesting.

So, with me at around 28 weeks, Beau and I went to the class. I entered the room and immediately felt 100 years old. Every girl there was 16-19 years old and HEAVILY pregnant. So heavily pregnant that I spent the next few hours furtively staring at their enormous bellies in both amazement and freaked-out-ness. They. Were. Huge.

Perhaps that just shows the lack of urgency in everyone here - 3 of the girls were due to give birth that very month, one in just a week! I could not imagine myself waiting that long to take a pregnancy class. I'd go nuts with lack of information and wondering.

It also didn't help Beau's level of comfort that they were all accompanied by either a mother or a girlfriend. The only man in the room, and old enough to be their fathers, he shifted around in his chair uncomfortably. I thought I was going to kill one friend, who spent the first hour sitting next to her pregnant pal, texting on a cellphone, at a truly incredible speed, the clicky-clicky sounds echoing for all to hear. People like that should be smacked. Twice.

Being as the class was made up of teen moms, and geriatric me, there wasn't much in terms of class involvement. Laura, and her super squeaky and enthusiastic helper, were certainly nice enough, but it was clear that the pregnant girls were just there cause they had to be. And despite what Beau thinks, I do not always enjoy being the class Hermione and constantly raising my hand or speaking out, so I kept about 3/4 of mycomments in check, unless I had an important question. It was clear the midwife was a bit disappointed by the lack of general participation, and although we flew through the material, the first half of the class dragged. There were some interesting points and we did learn something about the Maori philosophy and approach to pregnancy though.

Then, in true Kiwi fashion, we had "tea" which means a very long.break involving food and people walking around or chatting or smoking cigarettes (luckily, I didn't see any of the pregnant girls do this). These teas can be fun, but I guess the American in me often finds them dragging on a bit long gossiping over cups of tea and eating fatty food when we could GO ON WITH OUR LIFE and move on to other more pressing things.

After tea, the class got a bit more interesting as the teacher spread out a large tarp and we waddled over to it. She then deposited a large pile of green flax into the middle of the tarp and handed us wooden blocks, knives, and box cutters. Soon, we were all cutting and scraping flax, Maori OLD SCHOOL! It was actually pretty cool, and Beau really got into it. We scraped it down until we had these fine tendrils which held a remarkable resemblence to my own hair (when blonde).

We then had to roll up our pants legs and then roll the flax back and forth across our skin until it braided itself in a specific way. I was a little hesitant at first -- I have lots of marks on my legs from various bug bites that I am embarrassed about, but really, everyone was too intent on their task and I soon had my own leg exposed and was rolling away. Beau took great relish in his own flax rolling and concentrated deeply on getting the long braid just right, rolling again and again. We finally managed to each make a couple of nice-looking, thin braids (or "plaits" as they say here).

These turned out to be "muka" which are what Maori traditionally used to tie off the umbilical cord. The flax has medicinal and antiseptic qualities, and it has already been proved that using a muka, as opposed to the plastic clamp given by hospitals, not only speeds up the healing/falling off of the umbilical cord, but reduces the apparant noxious stink by quite a bit. They're also nice and soft against a baby's skin. Well, we were sold! Since we sit on land surrounded by flax, we agreed right then and there that we'd like to use a muka on our own baby - though Beau is still steadfastly refusing to be anywhere south of my shoulders during the birth. I do think this made him reconsider, for a moment, of tying off the umbilical cord himself. Just for a moment.

We then went to the table where Laura had already set up a large group of native plants and explained what each one could do for you during and after pregnancy. One I noted was a large, heart-shaped leaf called kawa-kawa which can be heated and then used for sore boobies while nursing. The next day when walking around our place with the dog, I came upon this very plant growing wild and was kind of cooled-out by that. I picked it and brought it into the house to show Beau who recoginized it immediately.

The rest of the class went a bit more smoothly, with the girls speaking up slightly more. I noted that Raspberry Leaf tea was supposed to help with all this pelvic pain I've been having, and right after class we went to a health food store and bought ourselves a large packet of it. I've since tried it and have not noticed much of a difference, except for some marked drowsiness (and I took it at work at about 10am. Oops!). Oh well.

We then focused on where you can give birth, since our location out in the bush gave us three options: 1) Home; 2) A Medical "Way Station" (a sort-of hospital) 40 minutes away (no specialists, not much drugs); or 3) the city hospital (over an hour away, with lots of specialists and drugs).

It soon became clear that Laura was a strong advocate for not only a home birth, but a water birth (WITH NO DRUGS as well). Technically, I have no problem with either of those, since I've heard positive things about both, but my high blood pressure and age make me an instant candidate for the hospital. And really, though I know the hour+ car ride during labor will not be a treat, being my one and only baby, I really don't want to fuck around with this. And lets be honest, though I'd like to do this naturally, I am by no means giving up my option to drugs. Noooooo way.

The class came to a warm and fuzzy early end, and we found out that every single one of us were having a girl, which was kind of neat and weird at the same time. We ended with some soothing, though difficult yoga, and said goodbye until next week.

I just wonder how many of those soon-to-pop girls will be there.