I have a boyfriend (please leave me alone)
Yes I am totally mentally distraught about this pregnancy and would get lots worse if I had to continue (please give me an abortion)
No extra flatmates (please give me enough resources to support my whanau)
It's not you, it's me (please let me go)
I'm driving tonight (please don't spike my drink)
Maybe, I'm not sure, but perhaps we could do it this way? (please listen to my excellent idea)
No I don't mind you asking me if I'm having more kids, it's okay (please don't get angry with me)
Sure I can work late (please see my worth)
Oh yes, baby is a great sleeper (please think I'm a good parent)
Thanks, you look great too (please stop talking about my appearance)
---
We live in a society where women often need to lie to get by. Honesty is often the preserve of those who have a high level of safety and comfort. May we live in a world where we don't need to lie to get by. We don't live there yet.
Showing posts with label Sprogging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sprogging. Show all posts
Tuesday, 8 August 2017
Monday, 15 February 2016
The problem is low pay, not family size
In recent public
debate about child poverty blame has been laid once again on parents having too
many children. Correspondents and
opinion piece writers have stated or implied that more than two children is too
many. When did we decide that having
three kids constitutes a large family?
In the whole of human
history there has been a massive period of time with average family sizes of
more than three children born to one couple. In many countries in the
world now women are
likely to have more than two children over the course of their fertile years, indeed the world average fertility rate is a bit
over 2.5 on all three measures Wikipedia uses.
is it unreasonable to expect to be able to have three children and be
able to get by in Aotearoa New Zealand, a comparatively well-off place to live?
Those who blame
family size for child poverty have been rebutted on the statistics already by
such as the Child Poverty Action Group, who have as their mandate research and
advocacy to reduce child poverty and would I have no doubt promote reductions
in family sizes if that really were a key driver.
What the family size
argument seems to boil down to is pretending that you know more about someone
else’s life than they know about it themselves.
Second guessing the life choices of others is an impossible game, even
with the benefit of hindsight.
There could be many
reasons why people have more than two children (or indeed any children, one
child, or no children). Maybe there was a contraceptive failure, or
cultural pressure to have a big family, or a desire to have children of
different sexes, or they had the financial resources at the time of conception,
or any range of other reasons that are theirs and not yours or mine.
By stating bluntly
“if you can’t feed then don’t breed” a series of unhelpful assumptions are
made, including that people’s financial situations don’t change over time, or
at least don’t get worse. In an age of
uncertainty around employment, the future of work, rapidly changing technology
and industries, this seems a naïve assumption to make. In decades gone by how
many people, young women in particular, took typing at school before we saw the
rise of the personal computer and the demise of the typing pool?
It is equally
impossible for a couple or an individual to accurately foresee how much each
child will add to their outgoings. Will
this child have additional health needs, a disability, or be one of twins? Will we have to move to different housing
because of particular needs this child has, housing that is more expensive and
creates more transport expenses too?
Finally not all
children are planned at the point of conception. Contraception does fail, and is not easily
available and socially acceptable to all.
In New Zealand Abortions are legally allowed only for medical risk to
the physical or mental health of the pregnant person, not for economic reasons. Those advocating for the termination of
pregnancies which are going to put financial pressure on a parent, based on
projected income, should think carefully, not least because an abortion on such
grounds would be against the current law.
The key driver of child poverty is not too many children but too little
money; low incomes, whether it be from paid
employment or social welfare or a combination of both.
It's not that long
ago that most people in this country could expect a reasonable standard of
living for their family based on the income of one full time worker, even with
three or more children in the household. In 2012 the Herald published
statistics on median income levels across Auckland. The area I live in and represent, Puketapapa
(Mt Roskill), had the 18th lowest median income in the Herald's stats, despite
having a lower percentage of people on benefits (10.5%) than many of the
suburbs higher up. This gap is not about the choices of individuals, it
is about a system that distributes wealth in a way that is wrong. We
simply must lift incomes. We do that by investing in education, in
infrastructure, in social welfare, in job creation, in innovation, in pay
equity and, crucially, paying at least a living wage. Focusing on
procreation is a distraction, not a solution.
NB: This post is a rewrite and update of an earlier one I wrote about four years ago on the same topic. I submitted it to the Herald but they declined to publish it. Special thanks to Deborah Russell for editing.
Tuesday, 21 July 2015
In the half-light
My third child is six weeks old today. For almost all of that time he and I have been living in a kind of dim twilight world, half-lit and full of unusual faint noises, as we navigated the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) together. We started out in Level 3, the most acute level of care, travelled across the ward to Level 2 for a few days, and then finally to Level 1, the Parent Infant Nursery. I was discharged from neighbouring Ward 96 at Day 7, and baby came home late last week.
For those who haven't been to NICU, which will be most people, it's something of a shock, or at least it was to me. Not only are the lights dim and the noises somewhat muffled, there are medical machines everywhere, including empty incubators cluttering the corridors at times. Pings and beeps and whooshing noises in the more intensive rooms, rushes of laughing chatter amongst nurses and parents sporadically in others, loud alarms that catch you unawares occasionally. It's like an old-fashioned library but with a few babies instead of many books. You expect to be shushed at any moment.
The outcome for our whanau has been good. Baby (nicknamed Early) decided to come eight weeks ahead of schedule (well seven ahead of mine, but that's a story for another time) and so he needed to cook for a bit longer basically. The care and support we received astonished me, not just for the medical needs of my child but also for my health and wellbeing, mentally and physically. I have come away very much wishing that every parent, new or experienced, could access this level of support for a period after birth if they wanted to; a lactation consultant checking in with all the breastfeederers every few days, friendly reminders that you could go eat lunch while a nurse watched over your child, help learning to do what they call "the cares" (take temperature, change nappy, top and tail wash, followed by a tube feed and later on breastfeeds), practical support with bathing these tiny creatures, comfy chairs that you could nap in, social worker and mental health workers available to come and have a chat.
Despite the excellent level of care and support coming home has very much felt like emerging from a long dream; not quite a nightmare, for us anyway, but not the kind of dream you'd really enjoy and lie in bed wishing you could dive back into. The people who live in the half-light of NICU are of three kinds; exhausted stressed parents spending as many hours as they can at the cot-side while juggling everything else in life, efficient calm medical staff effectively going about their work, visitors who are only in the library to browse a little while and feel very much like interlopers.
There is an odd kind of camaraderie amongst the parents, I found. Introductions are about baby names, gestation at birth, and how long you've been Here (ie in NICU). It was days before I found out the name of a neighbouring mother in Level 1, and in the end I worked out the trick is to read their names on the bottles of milk in the fridge - every baby has stacks of sticky labels BABY OF LAST NAME, FIRST NAME that go on everything. It sometimes felt like I had some extra status because my baby had been in Level 3 (the most acute level of care) and had come earlier than most (at almost 32 weeks). People are careful not to ask too many questions about the health of the baby; no one wants bad news and there's always someone worse off than you.
I recognised a Level 1 mother by the toenails I had spied through a door in Level 2 - I remembered because they had taken all of my nail polish off before the emergency c-section but she still had hers and I wondered why (because acrylics I found out later). Four of us in Room 18 bonded over weigh ins and hopes to graduate to the parent room (where you stay overnight with your baby) before going home. We've arranged to keep in touch.
Now that we are home, and the sunlight comes through the windows in every room, my strongest memory is of the first room Early was in - Room 2 in Level 3. Warm, dim, quiet. Ratio of one or two nurses to each baby. The gentle pings of oxygen saturation alarms. Sitting in the lazy-boy staring at my impossibly small child through the incubator plastic, too dazed by drugs and the circumstances to do more than pat him from time to time, and sometimes only brave enough to pat the incubator as I dropped off pumped milk. The incredible kindness of the nurses and staff. The sense that the baby in the neighbouring room had it much much worse. Waiting for bad news that didn't come, and feeling lucky and grateful and humbled.
I hope you never have to go to NICU. I wish I hadn't. And I am very very glad it exists.
For those who haven't been to NICU, which will be most people, it's something of a shock, or at least it was to me. Not only are the lights dim and the noises somewhat muffled, there are medical machines everywhere, including empty incubators cluttering the corridors at times. Pings and beeps and whooshing noises in the more intensive rooms, rushes of laughing chatter amongst nurses and parents sporadically in others, loud alarms that catch you unawares occasionally. It's like an old-fashioned library but with a few babies instead of many books. You expect to be shushed at any moment.
The outcome for our whanau has been good. Baby (nicknamed Early) decided to come eight weeks ahead of schedule (well seven ahead of mine, but that's a story for another time) and so he needed to cook for a bit longer basically. The care and support we received astonished me, not just for the medical needs of my child but also for my health and wellbeing, mentally and physically. I have come away very much wishing that every parent, new or experienced, could access this level of support for a period after birth if they wanted to; a lactation consultant checking in with all the breastfeederers every few days, friendly reminders that you could go eat lunch while a nurse watched over your child, help learning to do what they call "the cares" (take temperature, change nappy, top and tail wash, followed by a tube feed and later on breastfeeds), practical support with bathing these tiny creatures, comfy chairs that you could nap in, social worker and mental health workers available to come and have a chat.
Despite the excellent level of care and support coming home has very much felt like emerging from a long dream; not quite a nightmare, for us anyway, but not the kind of dream you'd really enjoy and lie in bed wishing you could dive back into. The people who live in the half-light of NICU are of three kinds; exhausted stressed parents spending as many hours as they can at the cot-side while juggling everything else in life, efficient calm medical staff effectively going about their work, visitors who are only in the library to browse a little while and feel very much like interlopers.
There is an odd kind of camaraderie amongst the parents, I found. Introductions are about baby names, gestation at birth, and how long you've been Here (ie in NICU). It was days before I found out the name of a neighbouring mother in Level 1, and in the end I worked out the trick is to read their names on the bottles of milk in the fridge - every baby has stacks of sticky labels BABY OF LAST NAME, FIRST NAME that go on everything. It sometimes felt like I had some extra status because my baby had been in Level 3 (the most acute level of care) and had come earlier than most (at almost 32 weeks). People are careful not to ask too many questions about the health of the baby; no one wants bad news and there's always someone worse off than you.
I recognised a Level 1 mother by the toenails I had spied through a door in Level 2 - I remembered because they had taken all of my nail polish off before the emergency c-section but she still had hers and I wondered why (because acrylics I found out later). Four of us in Room 18 bonded over weigh ins and hopes to graduate to the parent room (where you stay overnight with your baby) before going home. We've arranged to keep in touch.
Now that we are home, and the sunlight comes through the windows in every room, my strongest memory is of the first room Early was in - Room 2 in Level 3. Warm, dim, quiet. Ratio of one or two nurses to each baby. The gentle pings of oxygen saturation alarms. Sitting in the lazy-boy staring at my impossibly small child through the incubator plastic, too dazed by drugs and the circumstances to do more than pat him from time to time, and sometimes only brave enough to pat the incubator as I dropped off pumped milk. The incredible kindness of the nurses and staff. The sense that the baby in the neighbouring room had it much much worse. Waiting for bad news that didn't come, and feeling lucky and grateful and humbled.
I hope you never have to go to NICU. I wish I hadn't. And I am very very glad it exists.
Sunday, 17 May 2015
Fourth of three
In a couple of months I will be transforming my life, and my body, again, through the addition hopefully of another baby. To answer the standard questions and get that out of the way: everything is going fine for the fetus, it's a boy (joining two other sons) and I am just looking forward to having another baby, don't care about the sex although the others in the household wanted a girl, I've unfortunately been quite sick and tired and sore this time around. Right, now that that's done (and thank you in advance for any congratulations you may wish to offer - please don't feel you need to do so in comments) let's move on to my motivation for writing this post.
Many many people assume this is my first, unless they actually see me with my children or know me well. This means I get rather a lot of well meaning advice before I'm able to say actually this is my third child on the way, and get that deflated "oh" which goes along with the mental realisation they don't need to give me any instructions or horror stories or non-scientific anecdotes. A few persist, but most flag it at that point.
Some have been unwise enough to assume I am disappointed about the physical sex. I'm not, other people are, but genuinely not me. I now try to get in first with telling them that, before they put their foot in it.
What I'm struggling with most though about these conversations is saying "this is my third."
Each time it niggles a bit, because this is actually my fourth (known) pregnancy - not because I had an abortion as I suppose many reading this will think given my activity on that issue, but because I had an early miscarriage.
It wasn't physically traumatic, more a delayed period at about the six week mark. The stick had told me I was pregnant but I hadn't yet had time to go to my GP for confirmation; when I did instead it was to discuss the miscarriage, get ultrasounds to check everything had dislodged properly, and so on. I was pretty upset, not least because this was my first attempt, but not distraught. We didn't tell anyone really, and then I became pregnant again immediately, this time with the pregnancy that produced the child known to many of you in days gone by as Wriggly.* I did end up telling quite a lot of people about the miscarriage during that second pregnancy because it skewed my dates and resulted in some out of the usual order scans and such like.
So when people say to me "is this your first?" and I say "it's my third" I mean third child, not third pregnancy, but I always feel a little stab of guilt that I'm erasing that very first experience, the one that was over before it had hardly started.
I don't mourn for that embryo, I don't imagine the child that could have been, I never have really since my children were born and I realised how for me what I miscarried wasn't at all a comparable life, a human being, in the way the now 7 and 4 year olds are and were since they were newborns. It wasn't even an attachment as strong as what I feel now to the fetus moving and kicking inside me, even though I remain somewhat aloof from that, just in case.
But I do feel a sense of betrayal, or erasing an important part of my uterine history, when I use the word "third" knowing that most will translate that as third pregnancy, not third child. I want to be upfront about it, and I know that experiences of miscarriage, especially probably those that happen early, are not commonly shared, serving to unfortunately isolate those who experience them. I also don't want to end up giving too much information, thinking that those who ask me the standard casual questions about my now obviously distended belly want my full gynaecological history, which I must admit I'm not particularly inclined to give.
In my head I've decided now to think of this as the fourth of three. Maybe I'll work out a way to articulate that in polite conversation sometime in the next six weeks. Perhaps it'll be enough for me to have written it up here, and shared it in this manner, that I won't feel a niggle anymore.
* He prefers me to use his real name now on the internet and I try to respect that, but he's actually irrelevant to this so I won't be in this post.
Many many people assume this is my first, unless they actually see me with my children or know me well. This means I get rather a lot of well meaning advice before I'm able to say actually this is my third child on the way, and get that deflated "oh" which goes along with the mental realisation they don't need to give me any instructions or horror stories or non-scientific anecdotes. A few persist, but most flag it at that point.
Some have been unwise enough to assume I am disappointed about the physical sex. I'm not, other people are, but genuinely not me. I now try to get in first with telling them that, before they put their foot in it.
What I'm struggling with most though about these conversations is saying "this is my third."
Each time it niggles a bit, because this is actually my fourth (known) pregnancy - not because I had an abortion as I suppose many reading this will think given my activity on that issue, but because I had an early miscarriage.
It wasn't physically traumatic, more a delayed period at about the six week mark. The stick had told me I was pregnant but I hadn't yet had time to go to my GP for confirmation; when I did instead it was to discuss the miscarriage, get ultrasounds to check everything had dislodged properly, and so on. I was pretty upset, not least because this was my first attempt, but not distraught. We didn't tell anyone really, and then I became pregnant again immediately, this time with the pregnancy that produced the child known to many of you in days gone by as Wriggly.* I did end up telling quite a lot of people about the miscarriage during that second pregnancy because it skewed my dates and resulted in some out of the usual order scans and such like.
So when people say to me "is this your first?" and I say "it's my third" I mean third child, not third pregnancy, but I always feel a little stab of guilt that I'm erasing that very first experience, the one that was over before it had hardly started.
I don't mourn for that embryo, I don't imagine the child that could have been, I never have really since my children were born and I realised how for me what I miscarried wasn't at all a comparable life, a human being, in the way the now 7 and 4 year olds are and were since they were newborns. It wasn't even an attachment as strong as what I feel now to the fetus moving and kicking inside me, even though I remain somewhat aloof from that, just in case.
But I do feel a sense of betrayal, or erasing an important part of my uterine history, when I use the word "third" knowing that most will translate that as third pregnancy, not third child. I want to be upfront about it, and I know that experiences of miscarriage, especially probably those that happen early, are not commonly shared, serving to unfortunately isolate those who experience them. I also don't want to end up giving too much information, thinking that those who ask me the standard casual questions about my now obviously distended belly want my full gynaecological history, which I must admit I'm not particularly inclined to give.
In my head I've decided now to think of this as the fourth of three. Maybe I'll work out a way to articulate that in polite conversation sometime in the next six weeks. Perhaps it'll be enough for me to have written it up here, and shared it in this manner, that I won't feel a niggle anymore.
* He prefers me to use his real name now on the internet and I try to respect that, but he's actually irrelevant to this so I won't be in this post.
Tuesday, 9 October 2012
Auckland public meeting on Extending Paid Parental Leave - 23rd Oct
What: Public meeting as part of the 26 for Babies campaign, supporting Sue Moroney's bill to extend paid parental leave to 26 weeks.When: Tuesday 23rd October, 7pm
Where: At the Fickling Centre, underneath the Mt Roskill Library, 546 Mt Albert Rd, Three Kings (best accessed from the lower carpark)
Who: You, your friends, your neighbours, your workmates, that person you say hi to at the bus stop, and...
- Michele A'Court in the chair
- Jacquie Brown - famous from such things as Keep Calm and Carry On
- Sue Moroney MP - Labour
- Jan Logie MP - Greens
- Marama Davidson - Te Wharepora Hou
- Professor Tim Hazeldine - Economist
Facebook event.
Wednesday, 25 July 2012
Paid Parental leave extension passes second hurdle
Fantastic to hear the first reading of the Private Member's Bill to extend paid parental leave to 26 weeks pass tonight. Labour, Greens, NZ First, the Maori Party, Mana and United Future all voted in favour, and only National and Act opposed.The first hurdle was getting a Bill into the ballot and drawn - Sue Moroney undertook this and had some good luck to get it pop out relatively quickly, and now the second hurdle is dealt with we have a bit of distance to travel before the third, which will be submissions to the Select Committee process.
The 26 For Babies campaign is being launched tomorrow (Thursday) to support the Bill through to a hopefully successful third reading, and you can show your support by Liking their Facebook page (and no doubt participating in other forthcoming activities for those not into that kind of thing).
Please consider this an open thread to discuss the Bill, the concept of paid parental leave in general, and the political aspect of today's votes (another Opposition-sponsored Bill also passed its first reading, on Mondayising Waitangi and ANZAC Days).
Monday, 9 July 2012
Guest Post: Abortion & maternal mental health report
Many thanks to Family Planning NZ for allowing me to publish the below from their e-newsletter:
A report released in December 2011 by the United Kingdom National
Collaborating Centre for Mental Health was commissioned to review the
best available evidence on any association between induced abortion and
mental health outcomes, and draw conclusions where possible. The report
concluded that, on the best evidence available:
- The rates of mental health problems for women with an unwanted pregnancy were the same whether they had an abortion or gave birth.
- An unwanted pregnancy was associated with an increased risk of mental health problems.
- The most reliable predictor of post-abortion mental health problems for women was having a history of mental health problems before the abortion.
- The factors associated with increased rates of mental health problems for women in the general population and following abortion were similar.
- There were some additional factors associated with an increased risk of mental health problems specifically related to abortion, such as pressure from a partner to have an abortion and negative attitudes towards abortions in general and towards a woman’s personal experience of the abortion.
Wednesday, 8 February 2012
A response to the Can't Feed Don't Breed Brigade
On Monday the NZ Herald started a week-long series looking at the gap between rich and poor in Auckland. On the first day they examined two families - one well-off and one struggling. The first had two kids, 10 and 13, the second three children, all aged 3 and under. The article was widely shared online by leftie progressive types I follow and I was startled by some of the responses, particularly on the issue of the struggling family including three children.
Comments such as these were made:
"Agree though that life is all about choices and looking at the big picture of deciding to have 3 kids (and another from a prior relationship) to support when not in a strong enough financial position points to perhaps the wrong choices being made along the way."
"I agree that an average worker should expect to be able to support a family on average pay, but three or more kids I think is pushing it. You shouldn't enter into a situation you can't afford to maintain, that's irresponsible in my view."When did we decide that having three kids constitutes a large family?
In the whole of human history there has been a massive period of time with average family sizes of more than 3 children born to one couple. In many countries in the world now women are likely to have more than two children over the course of their fertile years, indeed the world average fertility rate is a bit over 2.5 on all three measures Wikipedia lists. Why is it unreasonable to expect to be able to have three children and be able to get by in Aotearoa New Zealand, a comparatively well-off place to live?
What also bugs me is how, like with so many issues that come up through a feminist prism, this is about pretending that you know more about someone else's life than they know about it themselves. Second guessing the life choices of others is a game I'd rather not play. There could be many reasons why people have 2< children (or indeed any children, one child, no children). Maybe there was a contraceptive failure, or cultural pressure to have a big family, or a desire to have children of different sexes, or they had the financial resources at the time of conception, or any range of other reasons that are theirs and not yours, or mine.
And what's are the assumptions made by those saying the equivalent of "you shouldn't breed more mouths than you can feed"?
- People's financial situations don't change over time - or at least they don't get worse.
- Someone can totally foresee how much more each child will add to their outgoings.
- Contraception is fool-proof and freely available and widely used and not socially, religiously or culturally discouraged for anyone.
- Abortion for economic reasons is legal and accessible.
None of these is an accurate assumption. Taken together they in fact look quite ludicrous, and the last one in particular I find quite chilling. Those advocating for the termination of pregnancies which are going to put financial pressure on a parent, based on projected income, well, there's a name for that.
And if you don't take it that far, if you merely encourage people who are on tight incomes to end pregnancies, then you are actually asking them to break to law, because, as we frequently discuss on this blog, an abortion for reasons other than the physical or mental health of the pregnant person is illegal in this country. While personally I'll be working to change that law, it isn't likely that abortions on economic grounds will be allowable in the near future.
So if the "Can't Feed Don't Breed" brigade don't want to force poor people to have abortions, or even encourage them to break the law, then what's the next thing? Use contraception? Not 100% effective, so no guarantee of children resulting to impoverish their siblings and parents. Oh wait I know, don't have consensual heterosexual sex! At least not during the fertile years - so that's never for men and not until post-menopause for women. This would certainly be good for that Homosexual Recruitment Drive we've all heard so much about.
Let's not lose sight of the original point of discussion that the Herald article was about - the widening income disparity in Auckland. How about we actually look at the real problem, rather than getting distracted. The issue here is not too many children but too little money; low incomes, whether it be from paid employment or social welfare or a combination of both.
It's not that long ago that most people in this country could expect a reasonable standard of living for their family based on the income of one full time worker, even with three or more children in the household. The area I represent at Auckland Council, Puketapapa, had the 18th lowest median income in the Herald's stats, despite having a lower percentage of people on benefits (10.5%) than many of the suburbs higher up. I live here, in one of the poorer suburbs, and I work all over this part of town. This gap is not about the choices of individuals, it is about a system that distributes wealth in a way that is all wrong. We simply must lift incomes. And we do that not by bagging people for having kids but by investing in education, in infrastructure, in social welfare, in job creation, in innovation, in pay equity and, in the public sector, in actual pay to public servants of all hues. Focusing on procreation is a distraction, not a solution.
Saturday, 7 May 2011
Guest Post: Dealing with Infertility: a How to Guide for friends and family
Many thanks to Foggy in Nelson for this contribution, on the eve of Mothers' Day. Wanting to write this has driven FiN to set up her own eponymous blog, (the below is crossposted) which I'll be adding to the blogroll shortly.
I’ve thought long and hard about whether to pen this post but after 12 hours of feeling churned up about the issue I have decided that getting it all out on paper (the laptop version) will help with the processing of my feelings, and maybe serve as an educational and useful tool for a few people out there.
Fertility, or lack of it, is an awkward issue. It can destroy friendships, relationships, and the self esteem of those involved because of the sheer hugeness of it all, combined with the insidious silence that is often associated with all things to do with female reproduction.
I have known since age 23 that I have a fertility ‘issue’, having been diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS) following years of irregular periods, strange weight gain, body hair and oily skin. I read up on PCOS, took the information to my GP, who ordered the necessary blood tests and internal uterus / ovary scan (fun – not) and confirmed my thoughts. I have PCOS, which means that my ovulation is out of whack. It doesn’t make pregnancy impossible, but it certainly can make it more challenging. I’m fully aware that I may have to go through the horrors of hormone treatment, medication and IVF, and that there is still no guarantee of a child at the end of it all.
It’s always been in the back of my mind, but it wasn’t until my marriage to S in 2009 at age 29 that the reality started to really weigh on my mind. S and I visited our GP, whose advice was to ‘get cracking’, which we promptly have done but to no avail yet.
One of the total arseholes about having PCOS is the irregular periods, meaning that 5-6 times a year I have ‘hope’; my period hasn’t arrived for 8 weeks and we immediately think ‘ooh, could it maybe have happened naturally’. Then comes the purchase of a pregnancy test with the heartbreaking single blue line as a result.
This doesn’t just affect me, it affects S deeply too. The only times I have seen him cry during our marriage is when he admits how painful our conception issues are for him. It must be doubly difficult for him; having to comfort me and the (irrational but real) guilt I face, while also feeling heartbroken himself.
I sometimes wonder if people are aware that we are not childless by choice, particularly given my commitment to my career (whatever my career will morph into!) and passion for feminism, choice and women’s rights. The reality is that until re-connecting with S I wasn’t desperate for children (although I did have a plan to have them one day), but once we had started dating again I have been burdened with an overwhelming desire to make a small creature that is part me, part S. I love the idea of having children who look like him, maybe have his personality, or mine, or their own! Yes, I can rationalise that it’s probably hormones talking, but that doesn’t take the pain away.
The reason this has all come to a head is the pain of having to endure another round of “mum’s are the best”, “being a mum has completed me” nonsense that comes up during the commercialised marketing opportunity that is Mother’s Day. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem celebrating mothers (mine is amazing), but I DO have a problem with the sheer hype about Mother’s Day that has the opposite effect of a celebration on many people; those who have lost children, those who can’t have them, those who are trying and trying to have them, those who have lost Mother’s, those who have become estranged from their Mother’s, those who were adopted and desperate to find their birth Mother, those who had their children taken from them when it was socially unacceptable to have a baby out of wedlock.
I am grateful that my Mother has always seen Mother’s Day as a commercialised waste of time, and has instead encouraged us to do nice things for her on a regular basis. She would rather us attend her PhD graduation, make her regular cups of teas and have long phone chats, instead of making a big fuss of her on a random day that has been designed to generate $$ for companies.
I make the comparison with Valentine’s Day. I’d rather S made me cups of coffee when I’m working on an essay, gets up in the morning with me when I have to get to the airport early and buys me flowers / chocolate / wine / ice cream occasionally. It would suck to be in a relationship when it was only celebrated once a year. I would likewise encourage those who go overboard on Valentine’s Day to also think about the effect of their celebrations on others. Since struggling with our infertility issues I have become acutely aware that shoving my happy relationship in other people’s faces could actually be really hurtful for those who are going through a breakup, separated from a loved one, bereaved, or single and lonely.
This isn’t to say we shouldn’t celebrate the happiness in our lives. But we should also do so sensitively and also keep a look out for our friends and families who have tough burdens to bear and think about their needs.
One further point before I leave you with some ‘do’s and don’ts’ for supporting a friend or family member who has infertility issues. Being a mum is not “the best”. People who say that are unintentionally ostracising and demeaning the work and lives of those who are not mothers. Just because we’re not mums doesn’t mean we can’t be “the best”. It doesn’t make us less loving, less caring, less hard working, less smart, less connected to people, or less valuable. We do other things that matter: we advocate for people, we work as cleaners, doctors, teachers, bus drivers and politicians. I am no less a fully-fledged adult woman because I haven’t popped out a sprog yet.
Do:
Don’t:
* Ok, so that may be a little harsh, I don't mind hearing about children occasionally but when it's all I ever see it's quite a put-off and makes me assume that you have nothing else to talk about. For me, seeing your posts about kids all day is the other side to you putting up with constant political posts from me.
- Involve us in the lives of your children. Just because we don’t have them doesn’t mean we don’t like yours. Invite us to birthday parties, baptisms, school assemblies etc. When you leave us out but invite your friends who do have children you only ostracise us further.
- Do allow us to say ‘no’ though if it is a bit too hard.
- Ask us about our work and actually put some genuine interest into it.
- Organise a girls’ night, get a babysitter, and keep children out of the conversation.
- Remember that we childless ones can have sleepless nights, stress, and sickness too.
- Pity us. Treat us as human beings with full lives, because we don’t need children to have a full and interesting life.
- Expect us to get super excited when you get pregnant / have a child.
- Give advice on how to get pregnant, or promise that we will get pregnant one day. How could you possibly promise that?
- Tell me a story about someone that I’ve never met with PCOS who got pregnant after trying for years. How could that possibly help me?
- Forget about your childless friends after you’ve had a baby. We’re still here!
- Stick endless posts up on Facebook about your children’s nappies, teeth, sleeping routines etc. No offence, but no one really cares.*
Thursday, 11 November 2010
Boobs about boobies
I thought the second time would be easy. It should be shouldn't it? After all Wriggly was breastfed to a year and he had a pretty bad start, what with the elective caesar for breech, the lack of milk, the mix feeding, the pain, and a large weight loss on my part. This time was going to be better, because I was going to labour, I was going to know what to expect and I was going to be kinder to myself.
We're at ten weeks now and I have mastitis. It feels very unfair indeed. After weeks of pain and nipple shields and sterilising and cracks and blisters and fissures and tears and advice things were finally, finally, coming right and then the red flare comes up, the flu-y feeling starts and this morning my partner had to drive me to the doctor because I was too ill to go by myself. I nearly cried when I got there and the lift wasn't working. I did cry as I explained it all to the doctor.
I'm just not very good at breastfeeding a newborn. I can't get the latch right, and I hate just sitting around while I'm being sucked on. I need to read a book, or be online, or play a game, or make a phone call. None of which is conducive to good positioning. I do seem to have very sensitive nipples as well, and having already fed Snuffly's big brother for a year hasn't changed that.
I asked myself earlier on in this process why I was so determined to breastfeed; what were the actual reasons why I was persevering. Thinking hard there were two main ones; because it gives me a sense of achievement and because it is so much more convenient for my life than dealing with formula and bottles. Because of the nature of the way I live, Snuffly has been fed publicly many times already - in meetings, large and small, mainly. No one has batted an eyelid to date, which is good because I'd hate to have to be rude to them.
Last time I had to start giving Wriggly formula in hospital, as I simply didn't make enough milk. We mix fed until about three or four months, I can't really remember precisely, and then formula became a rarity, until I went back to work at nine months and had to be out a lot over the evening feed. On his first birthday he gave up, but my supply had been dwindling for months.
I swore this time would be different. My concerns about the pain have certainly been taken a lot more seriously than they were two and a half years ago. The fact that I have already fed one baby for a year seems to give me a bit of standing, plus my Lead Maternity Carer has been a revelation of good midwifery compared to the last one. But it was around this point last time that the pain lifted and feeding started to become an easy joy. And that hasn't happened yet.
It scares me - what if this time will be different because it will be worse? Now that I've got antibiotics for the mastitis it seems to be clearing fast, but what about the thrush which we seem unable to shake? Is this going to hurt forever?
And am I going to have to give up?
We're at ten weeks now and I have mastitis. It feels very unfair indeed. After weeks of pain and nipple shields and sterilising and cracks and blisters and fissures and tears and advice things were finally, finally, coming right and then the red flare comes up, the flu-y feeling starts and this morning my partner had to drive me to the doctor because I was too ill to go by myself. I nearly cried when I got there and the lift wasn't working. I did cry as I explained it all to the doctor.
I'm just not very good at breastfeeding a newborn. I can't get the latch right, and I hate just sitting around while I'm being sucked on. I need to read a book, or be online, or play a game, or make a phone call. None of which is conducive to good positioning. I do seem to have very sensitive nipples as well, and having already fed Snuffly's big brother for a year hasn't changed that.
I asked myself earlier on in this process why I was so determined to breastfeed; what were the actual reasons why I was persevering. Thinking hard there were two main ones; because it gives me a sense of achievement and because it is so much more convenient for my life than dealing with formula and bottles. Because of the nature of the way I live, Snuffly has been fed publicly many times already - in meetings, large and small, mainly. No one has batted an eyelid to date, which is good because I'd hate to have to be rude to them.
Last time I had to start giving Wriggly formula in hospital, as I simply didn't make enough milk. We mix fed until about three or four months, I can't really remember precisely, and then formula became a rarity, until I went back to work at nine months and had to be out a lot over the evening feed. On his first birthday he gave up, but my supply had been dwindling for months.
I swore this time would be different. My concerns about the pain have certainly been taken a lot more seriously than they were two and a half years ago. The fact that I have already fed one baby for a year seems to give me a bit of standing, plus my Lead Maternity Carer has been a revelation of good midwifery compared to the last one. But it was around this point last time that the pain lifted and feeding started to become an easy joy. And that hasn't happened yet.
It scares me - what if this time will be different because it will be worse? Now that I've got antibiotics for the mastitis it seems to be clearing fast, but what about the thrush which we seem unable to shake? Is this going to hurt forever?
And am I going to have to give up?
Friday, 13 August 2010
Abortion - why it needs to be legal (A Presentation)
Please find below (indeed below the Read More) the presentation I gave today on why abortion needs to be legal, and why we need a pro-choice law change. Many thanks to Kristy, Alana and Soraiya for organising it, and Nicole for pressing buttons, and everyone for coming along. Especially Nikki for being my friendly face in the crowd, and also big thanks to Deborah for proofing it from afar.
As you read please bear in mind that I was writing it to speak to the slides (which I've inserted as pics above the section of the speech that goes with them), and also that I've never done that before.
Here goes...
As you read please bear in mind that I was writing it to speak to the slides (which I've inserted as pics above the section of the speech that goes with them), and also that I've never done that before.
Here goes...
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
Nine and a bit months
This is what pregnancy means for me. Maybe it's different for you. Maybe it's not. This is what it's like for me.
To start with there's the waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting, followed by peeing. Then some more waiting. Sometimes by now there'll also be some nausea, tiredness and general crampiness. Not long after the waiting is over there will be the vague sense of my world closing around me. This will come back at various points over the ensuing months. It's a bittersweet feeling, for me.
The dietary restrictions will come in fully after some half-hearted efforts prior to the appearance of that little blue line. Feta and salami I shall miss the most, in a pita bread with some spinach leaves and some red onion, a little balsamic vinegar sprinkled in too, and put in my handbag for a nice cold lunch on the move. I'll give up foods and drinks I like and I'll also stop doing many things I enjoy like going for very long walks in the bush out of cellphone coverage. And roller-skating.
Next comes the nausea. Followed shortly thereafter by the vomiting. There's a large amount of both. Like a really really really large amount. None of this four football fields malarky, we are talking about so much that I lose weight in the first trimester even if I am eating more than usual. This also means there are a lot of trips to the toilet, that I need to always know where the nearest toilet is, and that there is a lot of toilet cleaning too. And probably some throwing up that happens sans toilet, like in a park or into a gutter or over a rubbish bin.
If I'm lucky it'll be predictable vomiting, which allows me to plan around it rather than just have to stay at home as a precaution. If I'm unlucky then workmates will hear me hurling before I'm ready to tell my boss, or I'll be stuck sitting on the toilet floor for prolonged periods, or I won't be able to drive on the motorway where I can't pull over with a few seconds notice. This bit may go well into the second trimester, and as for only happening in the morning, well that's bunkum. Although I'll probably be late to work a lot, either because I lost time throwing up as soon as I got up, or if I attempted to have some breakfast, or because I slept in from waking up in the night to vomit. Did you know you can throw up even when your stomach is empty? I do, now.
To start with there's the waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting, followed by peeing. Then some more waiting. Sometimes by now there'll also be some nausea, tiredness and general crampiness. Not long after the waiting is over there will be the vague sense of my world closing around me. This will come back at various points over the ensuing months. It's a bittersweet feeling, for me.
The dietary restrictions will come in fully after some half-hearted efforts prior to the appearance of that little blue line. Feta and salami I shall miss the most, in a pita bread with some spinach leaves and some red onion, a little balsamic vinegar sprinkled in too, and put in my handbag for a nice cold lunch on the move. I'll give up foods and drinks I like and I'll also stop doing many things I enjoy like going for very long walks in the bush out of cellphone coverage. And roller-skating.
Next comes the nausea. Followed shortly thereafter by the vomiting. There's a large amount of both. Like a really really really large amount. None of this four football fields malarky, we are talking about so much that I lose weight in the first trimester even if I am eating more than usual. This also means there are a lot of trips to the toilet, that I need to always know where the nearest toilet is, and that there is a lot of toilet cleaning too. And probably some throwing up that happens sans toilet, like in a park or into a gutter or over a rubbish bin.
If I'm lucky it'll be predictable vomiting, which allows me to plan around it rather than just have to stay at home as a precaution. If I'm unlucky then workmates will hear me hurling before I'm ready to tell my boss, or I'll be stuck sitting on the toilet floor for prolonged periods, or I won't be able to drive on the motorway where I can't pull over with a few seconds notice. This bit may go well into the second trimester, and as for only happening in the morning, well that's bunkum. Although I'll probably be late to work a lot, either because I lost time throwing up as soon as I got up, or if I attempted to have some breakfast, or because I slept in from waking up in the night to vomit. Did you know you can throw up even when your stomach is empty? I do, now.
Tuesday, 17 November 2009
Raising your f**king family - still women's work?
Gah this day just keeps getting better and better.
First women are being chided for not being Julia Child, but now we know the reason for our failure in the kitchen is because we work and thus don't have time to carry out our family responsibilities.
Stuff is carrying another wire story in which the head of the girls' school association tells us that young girls need to be taught the 'realities' of trying to have a career and having children and that we can't have 'it all.'
Gah! It's like feminism never happened.
Can we all please get over this assumption that it is only women who must sacrifice their careers because childcare/house work is women's work. Yes biologically dictates that it will be the mother doing the labouring and breastfeed, but that's only one part of looking after your offspring and managing a household. There's the cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping and those seemingly never-ending piles of laundry.
And perhaps instead of schooling girls in the 'realities' of parenthood and work maybe, just maybe, we could teach teenage boys that they should not automatically expect women to do all of the child-raising and housework if they want to have children or for that matter a partner at all.* And perhaps we could even, shock horror, teach boys** about the ins and outs of parenting in order to better equip them for this role.
Oh and while I'm on a roll, perhaps we can do something about that wage gap so that a woman's career isn't the one that is seen as more expendable because she earns less.
* But then you'd also have to bust another pop-culture meme that men don't want children and do so to placate us women-folk with our clocks a ticking.
** Yes, yes and girls too.
First women are being chided for not being Julia Child, but now we know the reason for our failure in the kitchen is because we work and thus don't have time to carry out our family responsibilities.
Stuff is carrying another wire story in which the head of the girls' school association tells us that young girls need to be taught the 'realities' of trying to have a career and having children and that we can't have 'it all.'
Gah! It's like feminism never happened.
Can we all please get over this assumption that it is only women who must sacrifice their careers because childcare/house work is women's work. Yes biologically dictates that it will be the mother doing the labouring and breastfeed, but that's only one part of looking after your offspring and managing a household. There's the cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping and those seemingly never-ending piles of laundry.
And perhaps instead of schooling girls in the 'realities' of parenthood and work maybe, just maybe, we could teach teenage boys that they should not automatically expect women to do all of the child-raising and housework if they want to have children or for that matter a partner at all.* And perhaps we could even, shock horror, teach boys** about the ins and outs of parenting in order to better equip them for this role.
Oh and while I'm on a roll, perhaps we can do something about that wage gap so that a woman's career isn't the one that is seen as more expendable because she earns less.
* But then you'd also have to bust another pop-culture meme that men don't want children and do so to placate us women-folk with our clocks a ticking.
** Yes, yes and girls too.
Sunday, 23 August 2009
What to expect.... when you weren't expecting
Dear Child,
Not the one who gives me huge sloppy kisses, but the other one inside my tummy.
We've had a pretty odd beginning. Other women will tell you that it was their tingling breasts, missed period or some odd intuition that they 'just knew' they were pregnant. For me not taking a dump in four days that was a sign that something was up. One bulk pregnancy test purchase later, I got a sign I didn't need. Two lines, mocking me inside the toilets of McDonalds.
Some women cry for different reasons over home pregnancy tests; anguish over yet another negative result or perhaps joy after months or even years of trying. I'm not sure why I cried but a few days later, there were a few more sobs at the doctors office with the official news that I was up the duff. Your father's response wasn't quite what I expected either. I thought a normal reaction to this sort of news would have been a 'fuck' or maybe even a 'are you sure?' but the announcement of your existence was met with a 'I TOLD YOU I HAD SUPER SPERM' followed by 'I should text my best mate, at least he got six months of trying before his wife fell pregnant.' After I let Daddy marvel at his strength of his semen, we had to decide what to do with you, the unexpected womb visitor.
The rational part of my brain was ticking over all the reasons why we needed to say goodbye but then by golly those hormones got to me and all I could think was 'Babies, babies, babies, NOW!' Everywhere I looked there were pregnant women and babies. 'Don't they look so sweet and cute?' I'd think to myself, 'I could totally do the whole motherhood thing, hell I already have a part-time kid care of your father.' I would like to say it was the experience of seeing your bean-like outline on the screen but honestly the only thing on my mind was willing the moment the radiologist would stop pushing that metal wand thingy into my full bladder and let me go pee.
I've been trying to get used to the feeling that my body isn't entirely my own anymore. Tired doesn't even begin to explain the constant overwhelming exhaustion I've had these past few months. I wake up tired, I get tireder throughout the day before I can go home and take a nap before pulling myself off the sofa to go bed for the night. Not to mention the constant nausea, regular vomiting oh and my little b-cup breasts exploded seemingly overnight into giant D cups a few weeks into this journey. Your Dad asked me what it's like being pregnant and the only description I give was that pregnancy is like having permanent hangover after not sleeping for a week.
That feeling of being stuck with hangover has meant I chowed my way through many servings of my favourite hangover food, whopper meals, way more than either of us would have liked. I know I should, but I really don't care what all that processed food has done to your brain development much less my figure. The fastfood gave me a few hours respite from the feeling that I'm about to projectile vomit should I open my mouth for too long. While we're on the topic of 'bad food' I apologize for putting you in mortal peril during my period of indecisiveness by eating my way through the following banned for pregnant women foods: brie, sushi, sashimi, smoked salmon, raw cookie dough, ham, homemade ice-cream and tiramsu. But hey at least I've stayed away from caffeine and booze so I'm not really that bad a hostess right?
But as it turned out, I was a bad hostess.
Just as getting used to the concept of being pregnant and excited about being your mother, week 13 hit. For most women week 13 is the time they get to relax as the 'danger time' for miscarriage has passed. My week 13 involved getting a bad sign in the middle of nowheresville Australia and bouncing from one hospital to the next trying to find someone who could give me a good sign. But instead the doctor confirmed what I already feared was going on, my pregnancy hormone levels had already plummeted which meant you weren't alive anymore.
It's odd that I should feel that my heart is broken into a million tiny pieces over your short existence. At first all I could think about was how all the drama in my life, lack of space and astronomical lawyers bills made plan A, abortion, the only real option. But when the time came to start making the arrangements, I couldn't go through with Plan A. Why you might wonder? I suppose it was because even though you were a huge surprise and your timing was really crappy, on some level you were wanted.
That moment of knowing was much like your existence, so brief I'm pretty sure we almost missed it. But one day your daddy rubbed my tummy and asked 'how's my baby?' with his cheeky grin that is usually reserved for when his bowels omit a gas so foul that it really should be bottled and sold on the black market as a weapon of mass destruction. I think that's the point when we both decided that no matter how bad the timing, plan A had just be torn to shreds.
But now it's me that feels like I'm being pulled to shreds. I'm sitting in a foreign land with a dead fetus in my belly, feeling so alone. All I want is a giant hug from your Dad, but he's back in New Zealand. I know that I'll be back there tomorrow but right now it feels like forever. I also know that even though this pregnancy ended in disaster, at least I have no trouble with the getting pregnant part of the procreation process. Someday hopefully not long from now, I'll be holding a new child in my arms and the pieces of my heart will be put back together again. Except for that one piece you'll always have.
Love from,
Mummy
Not the one who gives me huge sloppy kisses, but the other one inside my tummy.
We've had a pretty odd beginning. Other women will tell you that it was their tingling breasts, missed period or some odd intuition that they 'just knew' they were pregnant. For me not taking a dump in four days that was a sign that something was up. One bulk pregnancy test purchase later, I got a sign I didn't need. Two lines, mocking me inside the toilets of McDonalds.
Some women cry for different reasons over home pregnancy tests; anguish over yet another negative result or perhaps joy after months or even years of trying. I'm not sure why I cried but a few days later, there were a few more sobs at the doctors office with the official news that I was up the duff. Your father's response wasn't quite what I expected either. I thought a normal reaction to this sort of news would have been a 'fuck' or maybe even a 'are you sure?' but the announcement of your existence was met with a 'I TOLD YOU I HAD SUPER SPERM' followed by 'I should text my best mate, at least he got six months of trying before his wife fell pregnant.' After I let Daddy marvel at his strength of his semen, we had to decide what to do with you, the unexpected womb visitor.
The rational part of my brain was ticking over all the reasons why we needed to say goodbye but then by golly those hormones got to me and all I could think was 'Babies, babies, babies, NOW!' Everywhere I looked there were pregnant women and babies. 'Don't they look so sweet and cute?' I'd think to myself, 'I could totally do the whole motherhood thing, hell I already have a part-time kid care of your father.' I would like to say it was the experience of seeing your bean-like outline on the screen but honestly the only thing on my mind was willing the moment the radiologist would stop pushing that metal wand thingy into my full bladder and let me go pee.
I've been trying to get used to the feeling that my body isn't entirely my own anymore. Tired doesn't even begin to explain the constant overwhelming exhaustion I've had these past few months. I wake up tired, I get tireder throughout the day before I can go home and take a nap before pulling myself off the sofa to go bed for the night. Not to mention the constant nausea, regular vomiting oh and my little b-cup breasts exploded seemingly overnight into giant D cups a few weeks into this journey. Your Dad asked me what it's like being pregnant and the only description I give was that pregnancy is like having permanent hangover after not sleeping for a week.
That feeling of being stuck with hangover has meant I chowed my way through many servings of my favourite hangover food, whopper meals, way more than either of us would have liked. I know I should, but I really don't care what all that processed food has done to your brain development much less my figure. The fastfood gave me a few hours respite from the feeling that I'm about to projectile vomit should I open my mouth for too long. While we're on the topic of 'bad food' I apologize for putting you in mortal peril during my period of indecisiveness by eating my way through the following banned for pregnant women foods: brie, sushi, sashimi, smoked salmon, raw cookie dough, ham, homemade ice-cream and tiramsu. But hey at least I've stayed away from caffeine and booze so I'm not really that bad a hostess right?
But as it turned out, I was a bad hostess.
Just as getting used to the concept of being pregnant and excited about being your mother, week 13 hit. For most women week 13 is the time they get to relax as the 'danger time' for miscarriage has passed. My week 13 involved getting a bad sign in the middle of nowheresville Australia and bouncing from one hospital to the next trying to find someone who could give me a good sign. But instead the doctor confirmed what I already feared was going on, my pregnancy hormone levels had already plummeted which meant you weren't alive anymore.
It's odd that I should feel that my heart is broken into a million tiny pieces over your short existence. At first all I could think about was how all the drama in my life, lack of space and astronomical lawyers bills made plan A, abortion, the only real option. But when the time came to start making the arrangements, I couldn't go through with Plan A. Why you might wonder? I suppose it was because even though you were a huge surprise and your timing was really crappy, on some level you were wanted.
That moment of knowing was much like your existence, so brief I'm pretty sure we almost missed it. But one day your daddy rubbed my tummy and asked 'how's my baby?' with his cheeky grin that is usually reserved for when his bowels omit a gas so foul that it really should be bottled and sold on the black market as a weapon of mass destruction. I think that's the point when we both decided that no matter how bad the timing, plan A had just be torn to shreds.
But now it's me that feels like I'm being pulled to shreds. I'm sitting in a foreign land with a dead fetus in my belly, feeling so alone. All I want is a giant hug from your Dad, but he's back in New Zealand. I know that I'll be back there tomorrow but right now it feels like forever. I also know that even though this pregnancy ended in disaster, at least I have no trouble with the getting pregnant part of the procreation process. Someday hopefully not long from now, I'll be holding a new child in my arms and the pieces of my heart will be put back together again. Except for that one piece you'll always have.
Love from,
Mummy
Tuesday, 23 June 2009
children at work
i was quite interested by the discussion around this story about an australian MP who took her child into the house for a short while:
Politics has to be, perhaps along with long-distance road transport, one of the least family-friendly occupations in the country.
Even your average backbench Federal MP works long hours. They’re away in Canberra 19-20 weeks of the year, and with a long schedule of electorate events and duties when they’re back home. Ministers, shadow ministers and swing vote senators, who have to get their heads around every piece of legislation and work out whether to back it or amend it, work even harder.
This time of year, the last sittings before the winter recess, are particularly intense.
Sarah Hanson-Young is to be commended for having her child with her in the chamber yesterday. It was for a division, not a debate, and her daughter was about to leave to return to Adelaide.
Instead there has been some remarkable vitriol, particularly on radio, and from at least one of her colleagues, Barnaby Joyce, who accused her of pulling a stunt. That was one of the lowest jibes I’ve seen in this place for a while. The distraught look on Hanson-Young’s face as a staffer took her daughter outside didn’t look much like a stunt.
the debate is mostly between those who think there's no place for children at all in the workplace, and those who think workplaces should be more accommodating of family needs. and then there are those who are saying that this was just a one-off event in the case of a particular crisis, and why is everyone making such a huge deal of it.
as for me, i'm a working mum & well know the pressures associated with that. i'm really lucky to have a workplace where my employers are really understanding, and i'm also lucky to have an office of my own. which means that i've had one or other of the children with me during the day, now and again, when childcare has fallen through in the school holidays or when one of them is sick. it does mean i'm not as productive as i would have been if the child wasn't there, but it's at least a lot more productive than if i hadn't been there at all.
when my eldest was really little & i was working at a university, i'd often take her in with me to lectures. she'd be well fed and sleeping on the floor near me in her little carry cot. or, when she was a bit older, i'd sit her to one side with a few toys and she'd play away quietly. of course, once they're toddlers who want to be running around, there isn't the scope for that.
i know that many workers don't have the luxury of having their kids with them in the workplace, and i'm sure this places stress on many families. it's probably high time that we, as a society, put much more thought into the structure of workplaces. at least this aussie MP has gotten a real debate going in her country.
Politics has to be, perhaps along with long-distance road transport, one of the least family-friendly occupations in the country.
Even your average backbench Federal MP works long hours. They’re away in Canberra 19-20 weeks of the year, and with a long schedule of electorate events and duties when they’re back home. Ministers, shadow ministers and swing vote senators, who have to get their heads around every piece of legislation and work out whether to back it or amend it, work even harder.
This time of year, the last sittings before the winter recess, are particularly intense.
Sarah Hanson-Young is to be commended for having her child with her in the chamber yesterday. It was for a division, not a debate, and her daughter was about to leave to return to Adelaide.
Instead there has been some remarkable vitriol, particularly on radio, and from at least one of her colleagues, Barnaby Joyce, who accused her of pulling a stunt. That was one of the lowest jibes I’ve seen in this place for a while. The distraught look on Hanson-Young’s face as a staffer took her daughter outside didn’t look much like a stunt.
the debate is mostly between those who think there's no place for children at all in the workplace, and those who think workplaces should be more accommodating of family needs. and then there are those who are saying that this was just a one-off event in the case of a particular crisis, and why is everyone making such a huge deal of it.
as for me, i'm a working mum & well know the pressures associated with that. i'm really lucky to have a workplace where my employers are really understanding, and i'm also lucky to have an office of my own. which means that i've had one or other of the children with me during the day, now and again, when childcare has fallen through in the school holidays or when one of them is sick. it does mean i'm not as productive as i would have been if the child wasn't there, but it's at least a lot more productive than if i hadn't been there at all.
when my eldest was really little & i was working at a university, i'd often take her in with me to lectures. she'd be well fed and sleeping on the floor near me in her little carry cot. or, when she was a bit older, i'd sit her to one side with a few toys and she'd play away quietly. of course, once they're toddlers who want to be running around, there isn't the scope for that.
i know that many workers don't have the luxury of having their kids with them in the workplace, and i'm sure this places stress on many families. it's probably high time that we, as a society, put much more thought into the structure of workplaces. at least this aussie MP has gotten a real debate going in her country.
Wednesday, 20 May 2009
Quick hit: More Money for Maternity Care
The Herald is reporting that the Government is putting an extar $100 million into maternity care over the new four years.
The money will go on:
* Longer stays for new mothers in birthing facilities
* An optional meeting each trimester for at risk mothers, attended by the pregnant woman, their GP, and their lead maternity carer (usually a midwife)
* Obstetric training or refreshers for GPs wishing to return to maternity care
* Meeting the costs from the increase in the number of births each year
* Fully funding the Plunketline 24 hour telephone advice service (although this was previously announced)
In general more money on maternity is good and that longer stays might be good for some new mothers.
When I lived in Korea many mothers were in post-maternity for a month and had the mother-in-law move in to help with the baby (though some women may have seen this more as curse than a blessing). They were absolutely horrified that New Zealand hospitals were discharging woman after just a few hours in some cases.
I do wonder if merely training GPs will give the more incentive to provide LMC care given that the major issue is that the time involved in being an LMC just isn't worth the money for most GPs.
The money will go on:
* Longer stays for new mothers in birthing facilities
* An optional meeting each trimester for at risk mothers, attended by the pregnant woman, their GP, and their lead maternity carer (usually a midwife)
* Obstetric training or refreshers for GPs wishing to return to maternity care
* Meeting the costs from the increase in the number of births each year
* Fully funding the Plunketline 24 hour telephone advice service (although this was previously announced)
In general more money on maternity is good and that longer stays might be good for some new mothers.
When I lived in Korea many mothers were in post-maternity for a month and had the mother-in-law move in to help with the baby (though some women may have seen this more as curse than a blessing). They were absolutely horrified that New Zealand hospitals were discharging woman after just a few hours in some cases.
I do wonder if merely training GPs will give the more incentive to provide LMC care given that the major issue is that the time involved in being an LMC just isn't worth the money for most GPs.
Friday, 15 May 2009
Quick hit: Snip snip
From Stuff's Business Day section:
Kind of odd that this was in the Business section?
Vasectomy specialist Dr Dirk Venter at the Henderson Medical Centre says there is definitely a link between financial concerns and a rising demand for vasectomies.Click through for the whole article.
In the last two months, Venter has performed nearly double the amount of vasectomy procedures.
"It used to take a lot more convincing to get the men to undergo the procedure. But we are getting a lot of people who have just had a new baby come straight in for a vasectomy."
...With the recession showing no signs of easing and the job market becoming increasingly grim (unemployment now stands at a six year high of five percent), it is understandable why some men may want to put on a halt on having more children.
No estimates exist in New Zealand for the cost of bringing up a child, but in the United Kingdom, figures have been kept for the last decade.
The 2009 cost? A typical family can expect to fork out an average of £186,032 to raise a child from birth to the age of 21, according to UK insurance and investment group, Liverpool Victoria.
So translating that into Kiwi dollars using the current exchange rate - an eye watering $479,516.
Yes, it's a toss up which is more eye watering, the money or the vasectomy.
Kind of odd that this was in the Business section?
Wednesday, 13 May 2009
Paid Parental Leave makes a difference
Across the ditch our Australian friends are not so always lucky, doing without any form of paid parental leave whatsoever. With a change in Government it was hoped this would improve. And it will, with 18 weeks leave at the level of the minimum wage targeted at those earning under $150,000.
But not until 2011. Deborah has more. In fact she's worked out that the delay will only save at most $22M, which is tiny in the context of the entire Federal budget.
So why delay? Probably because in this time of Fiscal Apocalypse aka The Collapse of Global Capitalism spending money on frivolities is considered irresponsible. Financial austerity is the new black and all that.
Why does it seem to so often be women's issues that are send as expendable when spending is uncool? Pay equity here in New Zealand, paid parental leave in Australia; both are benefits largely accruing to the ladies, and more than that they are specifically measures which undermine the traditional gendered division of labour and thus encourage men into areas of traditional women's work.
For my family paid parental leave made a very real difference. Fourteen weeks of pay at the maximum rate at the time (about $380 a week if I remember correctly) was the buffer we needed to get us through the transition from two decent incomes to one. We tightened our belts to such an extent that we had $42 week competitions, and often it was the paid parental leave money that meant the bills got paid. We squirrelled it away as it came in and used it up when it looked like a mortgage or bill payment would bounce. In short: it helped a lot.
Good luck to those in Oz who are campaigning on this issue. The commitment to paid parental leave is itself a fantastic win, building on years of fighting for it. Even if it doesn't come in until 2011 all those who have put effort into this struggle will be making a real difference for many Australian families, hopefully for decades to come.
But not until 2011. Deborah has more. In fact she's worked out that the delay will only save at most $22M, which is tiny in the context of the entire Federal budget.
So why delay? Probably because in this time of Fiscal Apocalypse aka The Collapse of Global Capitalism spending money on frivolities is considered irresponsible. Financial austerity is the new black and all that.
Why does it seem to so often be women's issues that are send as expendable when spending is uncool? Pay equity here in New Zealand, paid parental leave in Australia; both are benefits largely accruing to the ladies, and more than that they are specifically measures which undermine the traditional gendered division of labour and thus encourage men into areas of traditional women's work.
For my family paid parental leave made a very real difference. Fourteen weeks of pay at the maximum rate at the time (about $380 a week if I remember correctly) was the buffer we needed to get us through the transition from two decent incomes to one. We tightened our belts to such an extent that we had $42 week competitions, and often it was the paid parental leave money that meant the bills got paid. We squirrelled it away as it came in and used it up when it looked like a mortgage or bill payment would bounce. In short: it helped a lot.
Good luck to those in Oz who are campaigning on this issue. The commitment to paid parental leave is itself a fantastic win, building on years of fighting for it. Even if it doesn't come in until 2011 all those who have put effort into this struggle will be making a real difference for many Australian families, hopefully for decades to come.
Tuesday, 5 May 2009
celebrating midwives
today is the 18th international day of the midwife:
This years’ theme “The World Needs Midwives Now More than ever” has been developed as part of the World Health Organisations Millennium Development Goals in response to the overwhelming evidence that midwives are the key workforce in the drive to improve outcomes for mothers and babies. This year’s theme specifically links to the goal to the ability of midwives to significantly reduce mother and baby mortality.
New Zealand College of Midwives CEO Karen Guilliland says “New Zealand is fortunate to have a strong maternity system with a one on one, twenty four hour maternity service from pregnancy test to six weeks post partum. This service involves the whole family in focusing on the woman and baby’s needs at a very personal level. Over 85% of New Zealand women choose a midwife as their lead maternity carer and where the LMC is a doctor there will also be a midwife involved in every birth in every birth setting”. Karen adds “the latest reports from the Ministry of Health indicate that New Zealand is also one of the only countries in the world to achieve the same excellent outcomes for both rich and poor mothers and babies.”
so, on this day, i'd like to acknowledge the two wonderful midwives that helped me deliver my children. each of them was supportive, and i loved the process of discussing how i wanted the birth to be ("drugs, i want drugs, i want all possible drugs at the earliest possible moment" - yup, i'm a total wimp and not ashamed to admit it!). the post-natal care was also great.
i know it's not every person's experience, but i love the system as it is in new zealand (except that we need more midwives!) and i was lucky to have good support around me. so here's to midwives, the women who get up at all hours and work miracles every day.
This years’ theme “The World Needs Midwives Now More than ever” has been developed as part of the World Health Organisations Millennium Development Goals in response to the overwhelming evidence that midwives are the key workforce in the drive to improve outcomes for mothers and babies. This year’s theme specifically links to the goal to the ability of midwives to significantly reduce mother and baby mortality.
New Zealand College of Midwives CEO Karen Guilliland says “New Zealand is fortunate to have a strong maternity system with a one on one, twenty four hour maternity service from pregnancy test to six weeks post partum. This service involves the whole family in focusing on the woman and baby’s needs at a very personal level. Over 85% of New Zealand women choose a midwife as their lead maternity carer and where the LMC is a doctor there will also be a midwife involved in every birth in every birth setting”. Karen adds “the latest reports from the Ministry of Health indicate that New Zealand is also one of the only countries in the world to achieve the same excellent outcomes for both rich and poor mothers and babies.”
so, on this day, i'd like to acknowledge the two wonderful midwives that helped me deliver my children. each of them was supportive, and i loved the process of discussing how i wanted the birth to be ("drugs, i want drugs, i want all possible drugs at the earliest possible moment" - yup, i'm a total wimp and not ashamed to admit it!). the post-natal care was also great.
i know it's not every person's experience, but i love the system as it is in new zealand (except that we need more midwives!) and i was lucky to have good support around me. so here's to midwives, the women who get up at all hours and work miracles every day.
Saturday, 2 May 2009
Swine flu, world poverty and childhood vaccinations! Oh my!
In 2006 I went to concert put on Dr. Beat Richner. Richner had dedicated his life to setting up children's hospitals in Cambodia. He was there that fateful day in April 1975 when the Khmer Rouge took over the city not to return until the 1990s to continue his work. His concerts were mostly a way to get wealthy tourists to part with their money and the young healthy backpackers to give a pint of blood for his children's hospitals in the capital and Siem Reap, the tourist town that services the Angkor Watt temples.
What really stuck with me during the talk was that he noted that a few years previously his concerts had almost no tourists due to the outbreak of SARS and bird flu starving his hospital and the Cambodian economy of much needed funds. During that time far more Cambodian children would die of preventable illnesses than the numbers of people who died during the previous two round of pandemics.
So what's all this got to do with the latest virus that is going to be the end of mankind as we know it?
Two things.
Firstly I think the reason why the mortality rate for the latest virus is so high in Mexico is because many people in Mexico don't have the luxury of good nutrition, housing and ready access to health care that we all take for granted and which contributes to our ability to fight disease. While there is as Russell Brown points out be history here, the approach of our local newsmedia has taken in reporting the outbreak might be good tamiflu sales here in New Zealand, but that doesn't necessarily make us any safer. Particularly if the sick people are infecting others in the pharmacies buying their tamiflu or even worse, we end up with a strain resistant to the current anti-viral drugs due to people taking the medication when they don't need it.
More importantly the deaths of all those thousands of people from boring diseases such as malaria, polio and whooping cough go unnoticed in the hysteria. This isn't just a third world thing. New Zealand's immunisation rate is appalling. I'm not sure why our rates are so low especially in comparison to the United States which isn't famous for accessible health care. I do know there is a strident group of parents who choose not to adhere to the vaccination schedule for their kids.
I'm going to come right out and say that I have little tolerance for people who knowingly choose to forgo childhood vaccinations for their children.
I'm sure many regular readers may find this opinion at odds with my general view of parenting decisions (breastfeeding, homeschooling, or indeed having kids in the first place) in that I generally think it's up to individuals to figure out what works best for them and their kids and ignore all the people who are screaming at that they're doing it wrong.
But when it comes to vaccinations I'm not so tolerant.
I understand that many parents might be concerned about immunizations after reading the horror stories about children who developed symptoms of autism around the same time as they were given their childhood vaccinations. Not to mention the stories about children suffered terrible fevers and rashes and sometimes seizures post-jab that undoubtedly do the rounds at coffee groups. These stories will naturally have raised some questions for parents and I can see why this fear may lead some of them choose not to vaccinate their kid.
But if you talk to your grandparent's generation, you might find a different set of horror stories.
That in just a two generations we no longer have to fear death from diseases like measles or polio or whooping cough is a miracle made possible by modern medicine. The thing that irks me about the anti-immunization crowd is that as the number of parents who choose not to vaccinate their children increases so does the likelihood that these diseases will become a problem again. Parents who decide that the risks are too great to vaccinate their kids are counting on the rest of the population who are willing to take those risks to decrease the chances that their child will be exposed to these diseases. Moreover their decision to not jab does have real effects on other parents.
Like the parents who take their baby into the doctor's office around the same time as the kid presenting with a case of the measles who came into contact with the disease overseas. It goes without saying that the immune system of baby isn't as well-developed as that of an older child and the repercussions of such an infection could result in death for the infant.
Let us not forgot many millions of parents around simply don't have that choice because they can't afford the jabs in the first place. Because let's face it, the ability of parents to refuse vaccinations really is a first world luxury. We have access to healthcare if and when we need it, good nutrition and proper housing all of which lowers our chances of getting sick and much more importantly being able to get better when we do.
The influence of drug companies not to mention morality campaigners do make it difficult for people to make confident decisions about healthcare. Some vaccines and medications have undoubtedly been pushed on the public for little benefit and great expense while at the same time there are people who are forgoing the benefits of modern medicine due to public scaremongering and in many countries a lack of a cash.
I generally err on the side of 'better living through pharmacology' but I know there will be plenty of readers who will disagree me and I'd love to hear from you. Despite my rather militant ramblings, I'm pretty sure that most people want the same thing, healthy living for all of us.
What really stuck with me during the talk was that he noted that a few years previously his concerts had almost no tourists due to the outbreak of SARS and bird flu starving his hospital and the Cambodian economy of much needed funds. During that time far more Cambodian children would die of preventable illnesses than the numbers of people who died during the previous two round of pandemics.
So what's all this got to do with the latest virus that is going to be the end of mankind as we know it?
Two things.
Firstly I think the reason why the mortality rate for the latest virus is so high in Mexico is because many people in Mexico don't have the luxury of good nutrition, housing and ready access to health care that we all take for granted and which contributes to our ability to fight disease. While there is as Russell Brown points out be history here, the approach of our local newsmedia has taken in reporting the outbreak might be good tamiflu sales here in New Zealand, but that doesn't necessarily make us any safer. Particularly if the sick people are infecting others in the pharmacies buying their tamiflu or even worse, we end up with a strain resistant to the current anti-viral drugs due to people taking the medication when they don't need it.
More importantly the deaths of all those thousands of people from boring diseases such as malaria, polio and whooping cough go unnoticed in the hysteria. This isn't just a third world thing. New Zealand's immunisation rate is appalling. I'm not sure why our rates are so low especially in comparison to the United States which isn't famous for accessible health care. I do know there is a strident group of parents who choose not to adhere to the vaccination schedule for their kids.
I'm going to come right out and say that I have little tolerance for people who knowingly choose to forgo childhood vaccinations for their children.
I'm sure many regular readers may find this opinion at odds with my general view of parenting decisions (breastfeeding, homeschooling, or indeed having kids in the first place) in that I generally think it's up to individuals to figure out what works best for them and their kids and ignore all the people who are screaming at that they're doing it wrong.
But when it comes to vaccinations I'm not so tolerant.
I understand that many parents might be concerned about immunizations after reading the horror stories about children who developed symptoms of autism around the same time as they were given their childhood vaccinations. Not to mention the stories about children suffered terrible fevers and rashes and sometimes seizures post-jab that undoubtedly do the rounds at coffee groups. These stories will naturally have raised some questions for parents and I can see why this fear may lead some of them choose not to vaccinate their kid.
But if you talk to your grandparent's generation, you might find a different set of horror stories.
That in just a two generations we no longer have to fear death from diseases like measles or polio or whooping cough is a miracle made possible by modern medicine. The thing that irks me about the anti-immunization crowd is that as the number of parents who choose not to vaccinate their children increases so does the likelihood that these diseases will become a problem again. Parents who decide that the risks are too great to vaccinate their kids are counting on the rest of the population who are willing to take those risks to decrease the chances that their child will be exposed to these diseases. Moreover their decision to not jab does have real effects on other parents.
Like the parents who take their baby into the doctor's office around the same time as the kid presenting with a case of the measles who came into contact with the disease overseas. It goes without saying that the immune system of baby isn't as well-developed as that of an older child and the repercussions of such an infection could result in death for the infant.
Let us not forgot many millions of parents around simply don't have that choice because they can't afford the jabs in the first place. Because let's face it, the ability of parents to refuse vaccinations really is a first world luxury. We have access to healthcare if and when we need it, good nutrition and proper housing all of which lowers our chances of getting sick and much more importantly being able to get better when we do.
The influence of drug companies not to mention morality campaigners do make it difficult for people to make confident decisions about healthcare. Some vaccines and medications have undoubtedly been pushed on the public for little benefit and great expense while at the same time there are people who are forgoing the benefits of modern medicine due to public scaremongering and in many countries a lack of a cash.
I generally err on the side of 'better living through pharmacology' but I know there will be plenty of readers who will disagree me and I'd love to hear from you. Despite my rather militant ramblings, I'm pretty sure that most people want the same thing, healthy living for all of us.
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