Poverty has taken on a different persona in the rural Midwestern communities I've been a part of. With vast modern communication networks and social services, it seems that children living in poverty are not necessarily always going without, starving, isolated, and cold, but are instead living without the basic needs of stability, consistency, and proper nutrition. The children I have known who are poor still have access to entertainment in the form of cable television and hand-held devices. They have bikes to ride, many, many toys, and new clothing. One specific example that comes to mind was, in fact, very poor, living with a young, pregnant, single mother, being transported in an unreliable vehicle, and obese. Not at all hungry. However, I suspect, he wasn't being nourished well. I think he was obese due to eating processed, high sugar, high salt foods, and without a proper meal routine. The culture of poverty that existed in his community and family placed some material things above other necessities, including healthy food and dental care. His mother always had a working cell phone. But he had experienced terrible baby-bottle mouth as a toddler and his front teeth had decayed away. I remember a span of time during which he and his mother lived in the woman's shelter because her water had been turned off. I provided transportation to her child during those weeks, assisting him in attending a community summer camp, and can remember pulling up to the shelter to pick him up and seeing his mother on that cell phone.
This contrasts with children living in poverty without social services and modern communication networks as a backdrop. Children in sub-Saharan Africa are without the very basic needs: clean water, food, shelter, medicine. Diarrhea, malaria, and AIDS kill children every day. Children are orphaned by these same diseases. Mental health issues accompany this level of poverty on a debilitating scale. Children who lack access to these basics grow up without the opportunity to attend school. Children are often forced to support their siblings and labor for food. Those who are fortunate to attend school typically drop out at a young age to help support a family. In the case of girls, they may leave school when they begin menstruating because of the lack of personal hygiene supplies, or may be married or pregnant at a very young age as a symptom of a poverty- stricken culture.
Thankfully, there is global concern and efforts in place to attempt to raise children in these settings out of poverty. As a mother of three healthy daughters with lives full of opportunity, I feel that it is necessary to assist impoverished communities in some way, big or small. Over the years we have made an effort to share what we have with children living in poverty. We sponsored a child in Nepal for several years. Recently, when my daughter turned 11, we held a fundraiser in lieu of a typical birthday party. Instead of gifts, she asked for monetary donations. She raised over $400 for the Because I Am A Girl campaign. That money will help purchase school supplies and feminine hygiene products for girls who would otherwise not have these basic necessities and would, therefor, not have the opportunity to attend school. Because I Am A Girl also gives us the option to purchase goats, chickens, or cows for the girls to raise for food and money.
Programs such as this have not solved the problem. However, participating in global campaigns such as Save the Children or Because I Am A Girl may provide some means of resource to children who are living in extreme poverty, and hopefully minimize the effects.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Adventures of the American Breast, as Compared to the French and Irish
After that doozie of a delivery, I further devoted myself to a natural start for my first baby. I began breastfeeding in the hospital, and while it wasn't easy, I thought I'd gotten the hang of things by the time we were wheeled out the door.
I was wrong, however, and we were walking back in the door two days later. I needed help from the nurses; the whole thing seemed so much easier with four hands instead of two. I struggled for a while longer, wrestling with extremely sore, blistered, bleeding nipples. At some point, though, things shifted into gear and we found our groove. I weaned her on her first birthday.
Baby girl number two came along, little and speckled with petechiae like a robin's egg. She did well at the breast in the hospital, but, once again, we struggled at home. I remember the toe-curling pain of a starved, reflexive infant latching on to a blistered nipple at three in the morning. I loved that little elf more than anything, but cringed whenever she peeped, knowing that pain was the only way to feed her, and no one else could help.
With her it never got better. I cried and cried, fighting with myself over giving up and the huge sense of failure that came with that. Finally, a nurse gave me an out- she said at some point the benefits of continuing will be at the expense of a having happy family who can enjoy their newborn. She was right- I wan NOT enjoying my baby, and my husband and older daughter were having to deal with a weepy, nerve-wrung wife and mom.
So, at about four weeks I gave in and sent Daddy out for a can a formula. The relief that followed was like a rebirth in and of itself. I found myself again, rejoined the rest of the world, and let go of that sense of guilt. My baby would be fine, and so would I.
We repeated the same basic pattern when little lady number three came along- only this time I held out for six weeks thanks to a rented pump. With her I was able to draw the discomfort out a little longer; the pain was bad with the pump, but not AS bad. I just didn't let myself get to that point of panic again- I knew things would be fine if I needed to quit.
Since then, I have learned that you do the best you can, and then the million other factors come into play to influence the health of your children. I am proud that I gave my first daughter that whole year, and that I was able to breastfeed my other two exclusively for their first month. They are all healthy, very rarely sick. Two of them have broken bones (my second little fragile daughter had three fractures in her arm at 14 months- eek!- but then her solid breast-fed-for-a-year big sister snapped two bones in her arm last year).
The topic of breastfeeding is obviously meaningful to me as a mother. It has bigger meaning, though, which speaks to my support system and culture. Through it all I had an amazing support in my husband. He listened while I screeched, he helped me be discreet while I breastfed at football games and restaurants. He did not judge or push when I needed to give in. He picked up the slack when we switched to bottles and took some of that burden away. My sisters were supportive, my mother and brother were supportive. Our hospital was helpful and America as a whole had swung the pendulum of tolerance back toward the direction of breastfeeding enough to allow me to feel like I had the right and the support to breastfeed my children... or not.
I was shocked, however, to learn that things are not that way in many European countries. France, for example, has some of the lowest breastfeeding rates in the world (Gibbons, 2011). Ireland's rates are extremely low, too (Tarrant et al, 2011). I guess I just assumed that European cultures would be on par with American culture when it came to a health/parenting trend such as breastfeeding. A culture that doesn't support mothers, or that doesn't provide education, or worse, that mis-educates parents about the natural nature and benefits of breastfeeding is one which fails to support the best start for its smallest citizens. According to what I've read, the cultures of France and Ireland do not present a supportive atmosphere for mothers who would otherwise breastfeed, and so formula from the beginning is the norm.
Not that it is the absolute end of the world. Quality formula and adequate pediatric care can help new babies grow up to be strong, healthy people, too. But I would hate to think that mothers are being pressured out of breastfeeding.
In my work, I have consulted early learning and care providers on supporting breastfeeding moms, and hope to have further opportunities to assist providers in facilitating a family's choice to breastfeed even after mom goes back to work. After having read about cultures which are not as supportive, I'm happy to be part of a system that promotes a families' option to breastfeed, or, as in my case, to not breastfeed when that becomes the choice a mother makes.
Gibbons, F. (2011). In France, breast is definitely not best. Guardian.co.uk. Retrieved September 15, 2012 from http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2011/apr/01/france-breast-breastfed-baby-death.
Tarrant, R.C., Younger, K.M., Sheriden-Pereira, M., Kearney, J.M. (2011). Factors associated with duration of breastfeeding in Irelend: potential areas for improvement. Arrow.dit.it. Retrieved on September 15, 2012 from http://arrow.dit.ie/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1075&context=scschbioart&sei-redir=1&referer=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.google.com%2Furl%3Fsa%3Dt%26rct%3Dj%26q%3Dbreastfeeding%2520trends%2520in%2520ireland%26source%3Dweb%26cd%3D2%26ved%3D0CCgQFjAB%26url%3Dhttp%253A%252F%252Farrow.dit.ie%252Fcgi%252Fviewcontent.cgi%253Farticle%253D1075%2526context%253Dscschbioart%26ei%3DRClVUKK1NdLOyAHY0oGACA%26usg%3DAFQjCNHhRVq1Gx9PFIsa2vubK43CuNP4eg#search=%22breastfeeding%20trends%20ireland%22.
I was wrong, however, and we were walking back in the door two days later. I needed help from the nurses; the whole thing seemed so much easier with four hands instead of two. I struggled for a while longer, wrestling with extremely sore, blistered, bleeding nipples. At some point, though, things shifted into gear and we found our groove. I weaned her on her first birthday.
Baby girl number two came along, little and speckled with petechiae like a robin's egg. She did well at the breast in the hospital, but, once again, we struggled at home. I remember the toe-curling pain of a starved, reflexive infant latching on to a blistered nipple at three in the morning. I loved that little elf more than anything, but cringed whenever she peeped, knowing that pain was the only way to feed her, and no one else could help.
With her it never got better. I cried and cried, fighting with myself over giving up and the huge sense of failure that came with that. Finally, a nurse gave me an out- she said at some point the benefits of continuing will be at the expense of a having happy family who can enjoy their newborn. She was right- I wan NOT enjoying my baby, and my husband and older daughter were having to deal with a weepy, nerve-wrung wife and mom.
So, at about four weeks I gave in and sent Daddy out for a can a formula. The relief that followed was like a rebirth in and of itself. I found myself again, rejoined the rest of the world, and let go of that sense of guilt. My baby would be fine, and so would I.
We repeated the same basic pattern when little lady number three came along- only this time I held out for six weeks thanks to a rented pump. With her I was able to draw the discomfort out a little longer; the pain was bad with the pump, but not AS bad. I just didn't let myself get to that point of panic again- I knew things would be fine if I needed to quit.
Since then, I have learned that you do the best you can, and then the million other factors come into play to influence the health of your children. I am proud that I gave my first daughter that whole year, and that I was able to breastfeed my other two exclusively for their first month. They are all healthy, very rarely sick. Two of them have broken bones (my second little fragile daughter had three fractures in her arm at 14 months- eek!- but then her solid breast-fed-for-a-year big sister snapped two bones in her arm last year).
The topic of breastfeeding is obviously meaningful to me as a mother. It has bigger meaning, though, which speaks to my support system and culture. Through it all I had an amazing support in my husband. He listened while I screeched, he helped me be discreet while I breastfed at football games and restaurants. He did not judge or push when I needed to give in. He picked up the slack when we switched to bottles and took some of that burden away. My sisters were supportive, my mother and brother were supportive. Our hospital was helpful and America as a whole had swung the pendulum of tolerance back toward the direction of breastfeeding enough to allow me to feel like I had the right and the support to breastfeed my children... or not.
I was shocked, however, to learn that things are not that way in many European countries. France, for example, has some of the lowest breastfeeding rates in the world (Gibbons, 2011). Ireland's rates are extremely low, too (Tarrant et al, 2011). I guess I just assumed that European cultures would be on par with American culture when it came to a health/parenting trend such as breastfeeding. A culture that doesn't support mothers, or that doesn't provide education, or worse, that mis-educates parents about the natural nature and benefits of breastfeeding is one which fails to support the best start for its smallest citizens. According to what I've read, the cultures of France and Ireland do not present a supportive atmosphere for mothers who would otherwise breastfeed, and so formula from the beginning is the norm.
Not that it is the absolute end of the world. Quality formula and adequate pediatric care can help new babies grow up to be strong, healthy people, too. But I would hate to think that mothers are being pressured out of breastfeeding.
In my work, I have consulted early learning and care providers on supporting breastfeeding moms, and hope to have further opportunities to assist providers in facilitating a family's choice to breastfeed even after mom goes back to work. After having read about cultures which are not as supportive, I'm happy to be part of a system that promotes a families' option to breastfeed, or, as in my case, to not breastfeed when that becomes the choice a mother makes.
Gibbons, F. (2011). In France, breast is definitely not best. Guardian.co.uk. Retrieved September 15, 2012 from http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2011/apr/01/france-breast-breastfed-baby-death.
Tarrant, R.C., Younger, K.M., Sheriden-Pereira, M., Kearney, J.M. (2011). Factors associated with duration of breastfeeding in Irelend: potential areas for improvement. Arrow.dit.it. Retrieved on September 15, 2012 from http://arrow.dit.ie/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1075&context=scschbioart&sei-redir=1&referer=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.google.com%2Furl%3Fsa%3Dt%26rct%3Dj%26q%3Dbreastfeeding%2520trends%2520in%2520ireland%26source%3Dweb%26cd%3D2%26ved%3D0CCgQFjAB%26url%3Dhttp%253A%252F%252Farrow.dit.ie%252Fcgi%252Fviewcontent.cgi%253Farticle%253D1075%2526context%253Dscschbioart%26ei%3DRClVUKK1NdLOyAHY0oGACA%26usg%3DAFQjCNHhRVq1Gx9PFIsa2vubK43CuNP4eg#search=%22breastfeeding%20trends%20ireland%22.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
A Birth Story: North America and South Africa
My first birth was typical, full term (delivered on my due date), and happened a bit too fast. At the time, I was happy and proud to have delivered an 8lb 10oz baby drug free and naturally. However, several years and two births later I found that I'd experienced extensive damage during my first delivery (including a broken tailbone)- damage that eventually resulted in reconstructive surgery. A small part of me now wishes I had known my first daughter was on the big side, and would have opted for a cesarean. Hindsight.
While I was pregnant with my second I wished for a petite baby, and got what I wished for. My second daughter, also delivered on her due date, was a full pound smaller than her big sister at 7lb 10oz. She came quickly too, but without as much trauma to my body. I felt incredible after her birth, and joked that I felt good enough to do cartwheels compared to how I had felt the first time.
My third baby didn't come on her due date, but the day after. I had regular contractions during the night but was able to sleep. I woke up knowing I was getting close. My husband went in to work and I loaded big sisters 1 and 2 into the car. I dropped them off at child care and drove myself to the hospital. After checking in, donning the gown, and being hooked up on the monitors I called my husband to tell him to come on over. Our third daughter was delivered easily and was the smallest at 7lbs 7oz.
I chose to write about my own births because they have given me the opinion that the human birth process is pretty darn poorly designed! I have been disappointed that my body was unable to survive three uncomplicated, easy births. Because of the repairs needed to my body my children's first years included experiencing their mother's hospital stay and recovery from an extensive surgery. However, we were lucky that at the time of each of my daughters' births, we were healthy and happy and had the opportunity to bond and fall in love. My daughters' early months and years were very special to us, and our relatively wonderful birth experiences set us up for a healthy start.
I am grateful that I had access to convenient, quality medical facilities for both childbirth as well as for the process of repairing my body. I am thankful that a safe cesarean would have been an option had I needed to make that decision, and that stress regarding a safe birth environment was never a part of my birth experience.
My North American birth experience is almost beyond comparison with the typical South African woman's birth experience, where women's care during labor and delivery has deteriorated. I've read that the number of maternal deaths is four times higher than it was 20 years ago. It is heartbreaking to know that conditions for pregnant women are worsening, and that a woman might actually fear the hospital and birth at home unprepared only to face complications, or that a family and laboring woman would be abused and neglected at the hospital. Terrible.
I can only imagine the effects poor treatment of a woman during childbirth would have on the development of the child. Even if the two survive the ordeal, all of the factors that our hospitals monitor closely could come in to play and place risk on the health and development of the baby.
Smith, A.D. (2011). South Africa's maternal mortality rate increases fourfold. The Guardian. Retrieved September 8, 2012, from http://www.guardian.co.uk/global-development/2011/aug/12/south-africa-maternal-mortality-health.
Nordqvist, C. (2011). The shocking truth about giving birth in South Africa. Medical News Today. Retrieved September 8, 2012, from http://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/232413.php.
While I was pregnant with my second I wished for a petite baby, and got what I wished for. My second daughter, also delivered on her due date, was a full pound smaller than her big sister at 7lb 10oz. She came quickly too, but without as much trauma to my body. I felt incredible after her birth, and joked that I felt good enough to do cartwheels compared to how I had felt the first time.
My third baby didn't come on her due date, but the day after. I had regular contractions during the night but was able to sleep. I woke up knowing I was getting close. My husband went in to work and I loaded big sisters 1 and 2 into the car. I dropped them off at child care and drove myself to the hospital. After checking in, donning the gown, and being hooked up on the monitors I called my husband to tell him to come on over. Our third daughter was delivered easily and was the smallest at 7lbs 7oz.
I chose to write about my own births because they have given me the opinion that the human birth process is pretty darn poorly designed! I have been disappointed that my body was unable to survive three uncomplicated, easy births. Because of the repairs needed to my body my children's first years included experiencing their mother's hospital stay and recovery from an extensive surgery. However, we were lucky that at the time of each of my daughters' births, we were healthy and happy and had the opportunity to bond and fall in love. My daughters' early months and years were very special to us, and our relatively wonderful birth experiences set us up for a healthy start.
I am grateful that I had access to convenient, quality medical facilities for both childbirth as well as for the process of repairing my body. I am thankful that a safe cesarean would have been an option had I needed to make that decision, and that stress regarding a safe birth environment was never a part of my birth experience.
My North American birth experience is almost beyond comparison with the typical South African woman's birth experience, where women's care during labor and delivery has deteriorated. I've read that the number of maternal deaths is four times higher than it was 20 years ago. It is heartbreaking to know that conditions for pregnant women are worsening, and that a woman might actually fear the hospital and birth at home unprepared only to face complications, or that a family and laboring woman would be abused and neglected at the hospital. Terrible.
I can only imagine the effects poor treatment of a woman during childbirth would have on the development of the child. Even if the two survive the ordeal, all of the factors that our hospitals monitor closely could come in to play and place risk on the health and development of the baby.
Smith, A.D. (2011). South Africa's maternal mortality rate increases fourfold. The Guardian. Retrieved September 8, 2012, from http://www.guardian.co.uk/global-development/2011/aug/12/south-africa-maternal-mortality-health.
Nordqvist, C. (2011). The shocking truth about giving birth in South Africa. Medical News Today. Retrieved September 8, 2012, from http://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/232413.php.
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