Menstruation and Goats and TV; Aka, random post

Internet has been down, power has been in and out, and we have all had the flu. I am sitting in an internet cafe where they are blasting Annie Lennox and the computer keeps turning on and off.
Ahh, what a week.
We have launched 'The Moon Project'. The issue of menstruation across developing nations is becoming bigger and bigger. Women want to use sanitary napkins because they are modern and yet they are often purchased in place of food in communities of extreme poverty. Secondly, there is no sanitation department coming around to collect trash- pads are filling/clogging up pit latrines. Last week at St. Monicas they pulled out TWO WHEELBARROWS full of used pads that were clogging the pit latrine. So pads are a burdensome cost, and there is no way to properly dispose of them. Women don't want to burn them because of a belief that if one burns menstrual blood one will become infertile.
Third issue is chlorine bleaching of pads- that chlorine when warmed against skin can emit dioxin gas which studies are showing leads to increased risk of cervical cancer, heavy bleeding and cramping and infertility.
So the moon project is a sewing collective of Child Mothers who are making re-usable cloth pads. They are AWESOME. Made with sofr terry cloth with inserts for lighter or heavier days. They have 'wings' that button under the underwear and are cute- sewn with bright aftican prints and are able to be folded into a little square for storage. We are making 'kits'- each kit includes a bucket for washing pads, five pads (three small and two large), a bar of soap and an information booklet.
The kits sell for the same cost as 3 month supply of disposable pads, but will last for 2 years. We completed our first order yesterday, which was sold to a dance troupe called 'Undugu Family'. The child mothers are taking home 2/3 profit after supplies, and the cost of the kits are still affordable to the community. We now have orders from boarding schools all over region. It is an exciting venture into a truly 'holistic vision' for Earth Birth and for women's health in general. We will post pictures on the website soon.

What else....Trainings have been amazing. Figuring out how to get creative when we hit information blocks because of language or cultural understanding. We have been trying to work on counting fetal heartrate, but are finding multiplication is a challenge (you have to listen for 15 seconds and multiply the number by 4 in order to get a full minute count)- so we have created a colored bead system. Strings of bead that you count off on your fingers as you listen. If you are in the white zone the heart rate is too slow, in the green zone it's good, in the purple, it's too high. When we were making them last night a priest asked if we were making molyo beads- which he explained are what women traditionally used to count the days of their cycle and know when they were most fertile.
Tomorrow is our workshop on labor management. We have made a large vulva puppet (out of bright african prints) that women can reach into and check cervical dilation and the position of the babies head, which we fashioned out of paper mache. It works really well and gets a laugh every time we whip her out.

In non midwifery related news, Chioke slaughtered a goat. They asked him to do it and without any apparant fear he took the dull knife he was handed and slit its throat. It was so dull he had to saw for a while until the goat stopped moving. I watched. It was both repulsive and impressive. The goat was then skinned and BBQed for a large feast. I made ground nut stew and stuffed peppers which were a big hit. The next morning, Sister Rosemary placed the roasted testicles of the goat on a plate and presented them to Chioke. For virility. He didn't say a word, just ate the rest of his meal around the jiggling balls. Finally when nothing remained but the testicles, everyone looked to him and he said 'no thanks sister rosemary' and everyone burst out laughing.

There are a number of American funders staying with us for the opening of a new counseling center. One of them is the host of a Cathlolic television show in the US called 'Focus'. She interviewed Olivia and I about the project. It was a difficult interview- I ended up having to sidestep a lot of questions like "tell me Rachel, are these the worst conditions you have ever seen for women giving birth'?
Which is a difficult question because yes, they are, but at the same time I feel a deep commitment to avoiding the Western Gaze onto poverty and the struggle of 'the other'. I know that evoking emotion in others creates commitment to change, but it's playing into a difficult and complicated discourse of 'west saving Africa' that I feel we need to more actively address in any kind of activism/outreach work.
Anyway, this is a national TV show and will probably bring lots of good attention/funding to the project- I suppose I will need to live with and write about my complicated feelings as it airs.


That's it for now. I am off to make broth for Chioke and Olivia who were both sick in bed this AM.

great north roads

It is still dark out but the alarm is blaring from Olivia's room and I can hear it through the tin walls as if it is were in the bed with me. I roll over in hopes of blocking out the noise but soon there is a knock at the door. It's 6:00. Get up.
We are driving to Atiak this morning for our first workshop with the Traditional Birth Attendants who will staff the clinic.

Breakfast is dry white bread with peanut butter and hot water with lemon.
Chioke has volunteered to drive the old white truck that Sister Rosemary has given us (now that she has a fancy Safari vehicle). Better him than me. It is a stick shift, but the gear shifter is up by the wheel, and there only appear to be two gears. We cannot find reverse, so our first moment involves Olivia and I jumping out and pushing the car out of the driveway.

'The Great North Road' stretches from Cape Town to Cairo. The stretch from Uganda to the Sudan is a thin strip of unpacked red dirt that has more pot holes and puddles than actual road. It is the kind of road that would make a chiropractor rich and makes a girl wish she had a better bra. There is never a moment of relief in which one can shift into a higher gear and just drive, it is a constant navigation of holes, bumps, puddles, mud and of course, people, chicken, cows, goats, motorcycles and huge trucks and busses carrying dry goods, soldiers and villagers alike, into the Sudan.
After about ten minutes on this road, Chioke turned to me and said 'Why are we doing this alone?'- to which I had no good answer.

One hour into our two hour journey we were flagged over by soldiers with guns. I realized as soon as Chioke slowed the truck what they wanted, but it was too late.
"Please, help these refugees get to the next town". We looked over to see about fifty people, babies, luggage, animals by the side of the road.
"How can we take all of them?"
"Please, just take the women and children"- and who can say no to that?
If in doubt, always play the women and children card to passing Americans.
So suddenly there was a rush of bags, pots of water, babies, women (and a few sneaky men), chickens loaded up into the cab of the car, piled on top of one other and spilling upward so that the final passengers rode on top of the truck.
Chioke, who now had the grave responsibility of driving smoothly enough to not knock any of these people onto the road, placed his face in his hands and took a deep breath. I felt bad, but not that bad as I was also hysterically laughing at the madness of it all.

The IDP camps of Atiak are located along the Great North Road (only great because of its length). Because of its proximity to this road and its proximity to the border of Sudan it is what most people call the 'pathway for the rebels'. It was the first village in Northern Uganda to be devastated by the war and the last to receive aid. The World Food Program only came in six months ago. There was a major massacre in this village on April 20th, 1995. Someone pointed out this was also the day of the Columbine Shootings which the entire world heard about, but very few have heard that on this day 250 people were lined up and shot while the rest of the village watched. In fact, this tiny Wikepedia article was all I could find on it.

We arrived 20 minutes late, to a group of thirty five traditional birth attendants (34 women and one man). More than we expected. They sang and danced to greet us and we soon settled into a comfortable circle under a large tree.
The training went amazingly well. It was a true sharing of practices, knowledge, ideas and stories. We began by having everyone speak about their first experience at a birth. Many of them had attended the births of their 'co-wives' as young girls who were first married. In all of the stories, history was reflected- they all got 'trained' in 1989 by World Vision and this was when they considered themselves official TBAs, and also the time they were taught to keep women lying on their backs throughout labor, to restrict them from food and water and to refer, refer, refer to the health unit (at that time the closest one was 7 miles away).

We then invoked an image of a large pot and asked for everyone's collective knowledge. Olivia and I enacted a 'normal' birth one of us in labor, the other the midwife, and we asked them to tell us what to do in order to manage it. We then acted out complications and asked for the same feedback. It was really fun for everyone (most who cannot read or write) and tt was an incredible tool for gathering what they do know and also seeing where the gaps in knowledge are (ie, when Olivia fake fainted from a hemorrhage they said, give her tea and wipe the blood).

We spent a lot of the day focusing on labor positions and comfort, which was also really fun. Massage, comfort and one on one support are arts that have been lost in the flurry of technocratic trainings and trauma of war- and yet were able to pull out some of their 'old knowledge' and also add a few of our tricks to the bag- and lastly, on our little laptop screen in the middle of a refugee camp, we showed a video of a home birth in America, which really caused some tong clicking and oohs and ahhs as the woman in the video squatted down and leaned on her husband for support as her baby was born.

I once again question the line between offering 'too much' information and allowing what they know to be trusted as well. I think we were as successful as we could be- allowing for a group knowledge that grows and builds on itself and where best practices are valued as those that are safest and most culturally relevant.

The drive back was pure misery. We got stuck in the mud and once again, Olivia and I hopped out to push the truck which slid and skidded all over the place, blowing black smoke and red clay like mud all over us. Eventually a truck stopped and with the help of a few more men we were soon bouncing down the road to Gulu. I can't quite imagine how we will do this every Monday.

A long update today. I suppose the great north road is a good metaphor for this project- it is something you can navigate, but it twists and turns in the most unexpected places, it is longer, it is deeper, it is more expansive than any one person, one project, could ever know.

ways of knowing

Sunday mornings are slow. I baked some eggs with fresh garlic and tomato and brewed fresh Ugandan coffee.
I have a moment to reflect and yet I can't shake this feeling of wanting to escape the process somehow. I have been thinking a lot about communication and its culturally embedded nature. Sometimes you think you are on the same page with someone but it turns out you are not. I had such an encounter yesterday with Lam, our connection in Atiak.
He was a generous host. He housed us, fed us, connected us to the chief of the village so that we could get his blessing, and helped us to coordinate the first meeting of the TBAs. We set up our first training for monday (tomorrow).
Yesterday I ran into Lam on my way to a workshop with the child mothers at St. Monicas. He was insistant that we meet that moment, even though I was rushing to begin the workshop. What came out was that he thought we should wait a week to begin the trainings because he wanted to be there for it and he had other obligations. I explained that I understood his frustration, however, since we are here such a short time, it is important to begin sooner and that he should rest assured there would be a place for him when he came. He then became very upset that I did not concede to him, stating a few times that my project won't be sustainable without him and 'This is Africa, you need to listen to the men". I explained that this sounded like it required a real meeting and I was running to a workshop so could we please meet later? He stormed off.

I left the room feeling shaky and uncomfortable. I spoke to Sister Rosemary who said he simply likes control and it is not a big deal, and ultimately, it is not- but it speaks to an overall issue of communication. We all have these different cultural narratives and ways of knowing that shape and shift the way we understand events- so the same conversation can be interpreted in a multitude of ways. I wonder how we enter into international dialogue in a way that nurtures some of these gaps and allows for perspective and listening. I wonder how women can navigate male spaces, and vice versa, I wonder what it will take to make it safe to allow men into womens spaces.

I saw Becky for the first time on Friday. For those of you who remember, she is the girl who lost her baby to an unmonitored cytotec induction last year. She came to the compound and we had a nice meeting, she is back in school and doing well. Then yesterday she showed up again. She said had been beaten by her landlords son, and kicked in the uterus and had been bleeding all night, soaking through pads. In reality she was bleeding very little and it came out later that this may have been her period, since she was expecting it. Not to discount her pain because I know it is valid and I believe she is indeed being beaten ( a cyclce I wish with all of my heart I knew how to stop), but I am interested in the need for women to present themselves as victims in order to get attention- even from other women. So many questions are coming up for me around how to advocate, how to heal, how to empower and how to represent in a way that speak to my earlier questions of communication and cultural difference. Robbie Davis Floyd has a great article on Ways of Knowing and thinking in midwery systems. She says that even cultural relativist thinkers (those of us who value each cultural belief as equal, not prioritizing our own), must move beyond to what she calls Global Humanism, a way of knowing that says yes your way is good and my way is good, but there are certain things, like the beating of women, which we ALL must move beyond, even if it is 'cultural'. I like this, yet the way into action is thickly layered and complicated.

We have just returned from Atiak.
It is a community of IDP camps 20 miles from the Sudanese border.
Literally the pathway for the rebel army and as such nearly untouched by resources.
We slept in huts in the camp and met with the elders of the community as well as the TBAs to do a needs assesment. It seems the largest issue is that Doctors Without Borders came in about 5 years ago in the height of the conflict. They provided tons of care but in the meantime, replaced the doctors and healers of the community. They left last month to go to Somalia and the community is without any formal healthcare system. The TBA's have jumped back in to catch babies but do so for no money and with no backup support should an issue arise.
Sister Rosemary is setting up her second school in this area and so we are beginning the TBA work here. The TBAs will work hand in hand with child mothers to create a model for safe birth that is realistic for their community.

Internet is in and out so I will have to be short again, but I promise some full throttle blog entries soon. They are collecting on my computer, just can't plug it in yet.

Arrival

It has been a journey.
Start with the getting here. It took us three days, four planes, one night in a tent and a six hour drive through the night to land us in Gulu. On the plane from London to Nairobi, Chioke fainted. I was fast asleep and felt a strong tapping on my shoulder. I looked at my seat mate to the left and he pointed to the floor where I saw Chioke's legs. At first I thought he had just fallen into a deep sleep and perhaps fallen out of the aisle seat, but it soon became clear that he was unresponsive. A few minutes later with some oxygen and some loud and unnecessary freaking out of the missionaries sitting around us (was he drunk? was he acting weird? do you think it's a seizure?), he was back into consciousness and had no memory of even feeling sick before he went down. We chalked it up to altitude, and I kept my hand on his pulse and plowed him with tea and power bars to bring his blood sugar and body temperature up.It was an intense experience for both of us, and for very different reasons. For me, it brought up feelings of impermanence and transition- moving from one space to another. Perhaps there is a necessary moment when we all must check out in order to make room the next space. I don't think this moment is one we often acknowledge or think about, but I think it is intrinsic to moving through time and space. Chioke provided me with a dramatic enactment of this. He made me take a picture of him with the oxygen tank on his mouth (that was when I knew he was feeling better) so perhaps I will post it and others soon with internet is more reliable.

The first night in Nairobi, sleeping in a tent, feeling the stars and the cool air around my body and in the words of Sister Pauline, deep in the belly of my blanket, I took a deep breath and allowed my arrival on the continent to sink into my body. The weight of travel, of moving through, and finally arriving somewhere is a process that inspires reflection and perhaps even eloquence. And yet what I found was that I had no words. The sound of the monkeys outside, the coyotes in the distance, a crickets at my feet provided a sweet lullaby and I fell into deep sleep.

I am going to invoke a 'fainting spell' into this narrative now, a necessary checking out and skip to our arrival in Gulu. It is beautiful. Perhaps even more than I remembered. The amazing warmth of the nuns and the hospitality they provide. Lush green grass layered over brick red dirt and trees that house animals large and small. The sweetest pineapples, the juiciest mangoes, the ripest avocados, stacks of fried dough and mushrooms that grow in abundance from termite mounds and melt the moment they meet your tongue. Perhaps the eating of meals offers a way of knowing a place that is as layered and diffuse as the hands that harvest, buy, prepare and eat the food itself. The contrast of course, is that most people are hungry here and that hunger or shall we say great need, pervades moments of intimacy, connection, genuine opportunities to achieve success. I find it hard to have anything to say. I'll call it an adjustment and processing period and hope that in a few days I will be able to describe the actual events that have unfolded. For now I will give a bit of a list.

1. Olivia has done a lot of prep work. She has selected 12 Traditional Birth Attendants to begin training immediately. The vision shifts a little every day as reality and needs come up and we work to create a project that is truly community centered.
2. The clinics walls are up and the construction is in full swing. It should be finished within two weeks.
3. Sister Rosemary has identified a group of women between Gulu and the Sudanese border who have been untouched by resources. She has purchased land in this area called 'Atiak' and will build another St. Monicas there. We are headed there this evening to meet with the TBA's and think about how all of our sites can connect to resource these child mothers. We will stay over night and conduct narrative interviews in the morning.
4. I am tired.
5. I am excited.

Preparing and Breathing

I am readying myself for another journey.
A year later and somehow no less complicated.
Last year in Uganda the goal was to work on a maternity ward at a government hospital serving mostly refugees of the war.
The trauma was deep (go back to the June 07 archives of this blog to read about the experience) and it manifested not only in the care that women received, but in the culture surrounding birth and intrinsically, death.

My partner and I worked in a hospital with no running water and unreliable electricity, and perhaps it was that our goals were not clear enough or that there really is a fine line between helping and hurting, or that we put ourselves in a traumatizing situation from which we had the privilege to walk away from, but ultimately we never managed to escape the dynamic of insider/outsider. I believe that both of us had radically different experiences of our time and of the ward itself.

I returned from that trip with post traumatic stress disorder. I began to have panic attacks and had to slowly peel back the layers of hurt and anger that I had pushed through in order to survive, in order to work, in order to be a healer to the best of my ability in that environment. Many things have come up in this process of reflection that have brought me to an innate trust that both personally and globally, change begins within. So how does a person, a group, an organization effect sustainable change in a space that so desperately needs help?

The Earth-Birth project has been a long time collaborative vision between myself and my co-midwife Olivia. Over the last year much has happened to turn vision into reality and without going into a long list, I will say that the turning point for me was when I realized I needed to stop pushing up against a system that isn't working. The question of why 'western' medicine is problematic in under-resourced areas is a subject of much fascination to me- and is the heartbeat of my work in academia, narrative medicine and midwifery. Right now it's all questions- but the main goal is to create sustainable birthing centers that allow women access to important maternal and child care while at the same time offering opportunities for emotional health, healing and empowerment.

So how do I enter into this?
Midwives say its all in how you breath.
Find the center of it, go deeper, allow it to fill all the little spaces and then release. Expansion and contraction.

I am feeling the contraction after expansion. Perhaps it is the necessary tightening before opening wider. I wonder how a person stays open despite the past.

Turning Vision Into Reality

I am happy to announce the initial launch of the home site for The Earth Birth Global Women's Health Collective: http://www.earth-birth.com/
We are officially virtual.

Thank you to everyone who has supported our project. If I have not been able to send you a personal thank you it is because things have been blossoming quickly.
If you have not had the time to see how you can get involved and support this enormous effort, check out the website!

The site is a work in progress. Please check back for updates, podcasts, interviews and more.

Midwives reach out

This is a great little PSA for a better trained international community of midwives.
The problem, as I see it, is that we tend to train from one model (a western model) of care which fails to take into account the cultural needs and resources of a community. I think hand in hand with the medical training of midwives, we must do training's in critical risk assessment based on a community of cultural competent midwives. We have to start thinking about how culture effects medicine and inversely, how western medicine effects culture, if we want to have truly integrated approaches to treating women.

Abnormal agency

Twenty-four women sit cross-legged on straw mats that are laid out strategically to cover the dirt between two huts in Unyama, a camp for internally displaced persons in Northern Uganda. A plate of boiled yams is passed around and water is poured from a large gourd into tin cups. One of the women towards the back raises her hand and begins to speak. I cannot tell if she is young or old. Her voice is soft and we all lean in to hear her. She pauses between sentences so that the translator can speak into the recorder.
A woman came to me in the night. She was feeling strong labor pains. I stayed with her into the morning. Finally, she began to push. I leaned in close to her, placed my hands to catch, but instead of a baby… she pauses and glances around the circle, we are all silent in anticipation, imagining what could have come out in place of a baby…instead of a baby, a swarm of one thousand black flies flew out of her vagina into the hut in a thick cloud. Almost like smoke from a fire. After this there was no sign of a pregnancy. Nothing at all. Her belly became small and tight very quickly. We took her to a hospital and the ultrasound revealed nothing. It was as if it never happened. An American doctor for World Vision suggested we were crazy but I know what I saw. Tell me sisters. Tell me. Was this the Devil? Most women begin to nod their heads in agreement and one woman calls out “yes, yes, this is the work of the devil, I have seen something similar…”
Suddenly there is a rush to speak. Women begin rapidly telling tales of abnormal or ‘devil influenced’ births they have attended: a woman who gave birth to a large hairy eyeball, a child born with her foot attached to her head, and a baby born with a full set of teeth. Sitting in this circle I find myself wondering how narratives about the body and birth work to both create and heal the traumatized female body.

This particular incident was transcribed during a meeting of Traditional Birth Attendants, women trained by their mothers, sisters and aunties in the art of catching babies. None had been formally trained by Western standards, but all had attended hundreds of births and most were mothers as well. Supported by a grant from Mama Cash, an organization that allocates funds to bolster the position of women’s rights, I was one of two Americans, a midwife and a doula, working alongside Ugandan midwives with the intent to exchange practices, share techniques and understanding of the birthing body. I hold a Masters degree in Performance Studies, which framed my understanding of this circle of tales as a performance of it.

The ‘devil’ is one of multiple answers to the question of ‘what’ came out of this woman instead of a baby. The biomedical rationale for a swarm of flies disguised as a pregnancy could be that the laboring mother had a parasite. According to the American Journal of Infectious Disease ‘Gasterophilidae’ or ‘Stomach Botflies’ can produce a pregnancy like distension of the pelvis. Another biomedical explanation may be that, as the World Vision doctor suggested, the birth attendant was delusional and imagined the entire incident. The institution of medicine produces a certain story of the body, one that is skeptical of personal experience narratives. From the biocultural perspective however, the rationale will be as diffuse as the experiences of the women sitting in the circle. Religious belief systems, myths and ritual may be used to make sense of the world in ways that move beyond scientific explanation and offer points of entry into understandings of health. dimension of narrative and voice as intrinsic to women’s health care in particular.

In war torn Northern Uganda, the biomedical conditions of women’s reproductive health are mediated and created by the circumstances of cultural warfare. For twenty-years a group of rebel soldiers attempted to tear down the Ugandan government to replace it with one, it claimed, based on the Ten Commandments. In the name of those religious principles the ‘Lords Resistance Army’ kidnapped more than 20,000 children, who made up the bulk of their fighting army. Some academic attention has been paid to the stories of boy soldiers but fewer accounts have been published of what happened to the girls, although we know that rape and servitude - as well as murder - are part of the tale. Most of the women in Unyama are refugees who have escaped abduction by rebel soldiers and are now giving birth to their rapists babies.

Even in rural Uganda, birth is managed from a technocratic model. “Traditional” birth attendants are trained in practices that date back only as far as British colonization. The story of the cell is privileged over the story of the woman. In spaces such as Unyama, I posit that the biomedical explanation of an ailment is not always the most helpful. Knowing that the flies were a parasite might be useful in America where one has access to clean drinking water and hand sanitizer in order to change future outcomes. In Unyama, knowing the conditions of emergence does little to change the circumstances of transmission. It is not surprising that it is the abnormal birth stories that create the necessary conditions for narrative sharing among the group of women who are both refugees and birth attendants. The tales are bound to overarching themes of religious morals, sin and punishment; themes that are not unlike the conditions that produced the pregnancies themselves. These tales of the devil mirror cultural circumstances and can be useful biomedical tools towards understanding what women think about their own bodies, the babies that pass through them and how they care for one another. The vocalizing of the tales demonstrates a certain level of ownership and rationalization of the circumstances, making possible the potential for personal decisions and choices about bodies and babies, which may be inclusive of safer biomedical practice. The two models overlap and intermix, the story of the woman informs the management of the molecular tale.

In a medical context, interpretation of narrative is critical; the successful transmission of information becomes intrinsic to the care that a patient receives. A scientific explanation may have its place in the treatment of physical ailments- yet it does not address the integral nature of women’s understanding of her own experience and therefore her ability to heal or prevent future instances.

I am interested in intersection of these two tales of the body– the spaces between what a woman speaks and a doctor understands, what a human experiences and science explains. I am interested in exploring the multiple narratives or means of framing one story, and locating the cultural influences between these narratives that can lend agency to both medical practice and patient care. While science may offer some explanations for the social conditions, to privilege the biomedical tale of the body misses opportunities for understanding and thus changes of practice that might be accessed through cultural narrative. The spaces and gaps between the story that is narrated by a patient and the story that is actually heard and interpreted by a health care practitioner should be explored to determine impact on women’s bodies and agency.

Personal Narrative as Medical History?

I am the daughter of a storyteller.
Personal narrative has been alive in my cell memory since I was born.
My research as of late has been on the medical history- this charting of abnormality we all fill out at the doctor, which helps them to pathologize and diagnose, yet misses most of our actual history of 'health'.

About two years ago I had Cellulitus (a bacterial skin infection) on my face.
I recently switched doctors and so I had my medical records shipped to me. In the ‘notes section’ of this chart, my Doctor had written:
Patient presents with swelling and rash on ears (and face). Bumpy and hot to the touch. Skin is swollen to capacity and has burst… oozing a sticky yellow fluid, between water and puss. Left ear grotesque. Diagnoses: Cellulitus. Treatment: Penicillin and Benadryl.

Aside from feeling slightly woozy from the description, I was intrigued. Here was a history of my body that somebody else had narrated, and I had never seen. Not only that, I remembered the experience completely differently. In my memory it was not my ears that mattered so much, but my eyes, mouth and cheeks: a parenthesis in the Doctors description, but the most painful for me. I remember that all I wanted to do was cry, but could not because my eyes were swollen shut. I remember my cheeks stung and dirt kept collecting on the moist (pussy) skin so I had to lay with a wet washcloth spread across my face to keep from further infection

As Foucault points out in ‘The Birth of the Clinic”, “I cannot be present to a temporality that exceeds my own capacity for self-reflection, and whatever story about myself I might have to give has to take this into consideration. It constitutes the way in which my story arrives belatedly, missing some of the beginnings and preconditions of the life it seeks to narrate”.

Interestingly, a year before I received these charts, I had a flare up of the exact same symptoms that landed me in a Brooklyn emergency room. When my medical history was taken, nobody asked if I had ever had the same thing happen before. I was diagnosed this time with an allergy to Penicillin, the very drug that was used to treat the initial condition. It is hard for me to narrate the significance of these events on my physical body, in part because it is impossible for me to understand them apart from the context in which they emerged. Swollen to the point of having no facial features, my body became unrecognizable to my ‘self’. In order to give an account of myself in a way that was meaningful to the Brooklyn ER Doctors, I needed to remove myself from the actual experience; citing exact moments of swelling and symptoms, and leaving out the rest of the story. Reflecting on this experience and flipping through the charts that documented my medical history I cannot understand them as ‘mine’ without attaching experience to them. In my present embodiment I carry a mark of those stories. I still have a scar on my left ear from the broken skin that the doctor described as the biggest he had ever seen. Yet if asked for proof, ultimately, it is the charts that become the ‘official’ history of my body and not the scar. The scar, however, carries a story, one that is more ‘mine’ than the chart.

In a medical history form there are a prescribed set of questions that are meant to engage and evoke answers that fit into a prescribed way of understanding the body and its past or present malfunctions. The chronological history of the ‘event’ of malfunctions as well as a number of vague lifestyle questions such as overall diet and exercise lead the practitioner to a fuzzy framework of understanding the body they are treating.

The Health Care Financing Administration (those who decide what medical procedures will or won’t be reimbursed) and American Medical Association require the history component of the examination to the following elements (commentary in italics is written in a guide for medical students by chairwoman Donna McCune ).
• Chief complaint (CC)
“The CC states why the patient is in your office. It is a brief description of the reason for today's visit including symptoms, conditions, problems, diagnoses, physician-recommended return, or other explanation. It is usually stated in the patient's own words. This entry is an essential part of every chart note. There must be a reason the patient is sitting in the examination chair.”

• History of present illness (HPI)
The CC and the HPI have a similar connotation. The HPI is a chronological description of the present illness from the first sign or symptom or from the previous encounter to the present. It contains subjective symptoms not observable by another (e.g., pain and nausea) and objective symptoms that are observable (e.g., redness, swelling).

• Review of systems (ROS)
An ROS is a listing of any signs or symptoms the patient may be experiencing or has experienced organized by body system. The ROS is not a history. It is a review of systems directly related to the problem(s) identified in the HPI as well as any pertinent current medical problem(s). There are 14 possible systems: constitution (general health), integumentary, eyes, musculoskeletal, ears nose throat, neurological, cardiovascular, hematologic lymphatic, respiratory, allergic/immunologic, gastrointestinal, psychiatric, genitourinary, and endocrine

• Past personal, family, and/or social history (PFSH)
The PFSH has three parts:
Past personal (current medications, allergies, prior illnesses/injuries, operations/admissions) Family (members living, health status, hereditary conditions related to the present complaint or illness) and Social (marital status, employment, tobacco, alcohol, drug use).


The author of this guide may provide insight into why health histories of the last one hundred years are only concerned with moments of rupture. Unless there is scientific capital to be gained, liability says that it cannot be done.
This locks Doctors into a system from which they must obtain very specific information and ignore the information that doesn’t fit into the box of what insurance says is important. In relation to what she is suffering from, the patient becomes an external fact; the medical reading takes her into account only to place her in parentheses. This enables classificatory medicine to presuppose a certain configuration of disease. The above framework for taking a medical history is used by all Doctors who are members of the American Medical Association. It takes into account a certain history of the body and completely ignores or bypasses another, assuming that illness happens in a prescribed and methodological way. Arthur Kleinmen, in his preface to Patients and Healers in the Context of Culture (1980) offers, “Clinicians tend to be simplistic about clinical practice. Their tendency toward positivistic scientism and atheoretical pragmatism discourages attempts to understand illness and care as embedded in the social and cultural world. Their reliance on ‘common sense’ often masks ignorance of relevant behavioral and social science concepts that should be part of the foundation of clinical science and practice”. (7)

Just a whole slew of thoughts today....

Byllye Avery

I attended this talk last week, given by Byllye Avery:

Breathing Life into Ourselves: Personal Stories as Research

For the past 25 years Black women have been engaged in telling the stories of their lives, their struggles and triumphs as part of the Black women's health movement. These stories are liberating for the women who tell them as well as the women who listen. The process of sharing personal stories, some obviously related to women's health, some less so, allows women to become active proponents of their own health. Active listening to such stories develops awareness of shared experiences and helps to suggest answers for addressing health and social issues. It also provides information for conducting research and understanding the power of acceptance and self esteem in self care and self healing.

Byllye Avery is a busy woman. Founder of the Avery Institute for Social Change and the National Black Women's Health Imperative and The Birth Place

It was so overwhelmingly inspiring to hear not only about the incredible projects she has effected, but also to think about framing and creating solutions to women's health issues from a narrative as evidence perspective. Listen to a podcast of her speaking here.

A quick shout out to the conference Byllye is organizing in Boston next week. Details are below. I so wish I could be there but I will be helping my good friend Ame at the Umami Festival that night. Also something worth checking out for all you NY foodies!

» Women Must Lead Health Care Reform: National Health Care Conference April 17-18

BOSTON (April 10, 2008) Some of the nation's leading women's health advocates, including former U.S. Surgeon General Joycelyn Elders, will convene at a national conference April 17 and 18 at Simmons College in Boston, to help mobilize a grassroots movement for creating a progressive U.S. health care system that meets the needs of women and their families.

More than 300 national, state and local women's health care advocates will attend the conference, "Hear Us Now! Raising Women's Voices for the Health Care We Need," to engage in an array of panel discussions and training sessions on topics ranging from health care insurance obstacles facing women and girls, to the vision of health care for all from a policy perspective.

This event is open to the public, but R.S.V.P. is required. To register, visit www.raisingwomensvoices.net.

The national conference is organized by the Avery Institute for Social Change, National Women's Health Network, and MergerWatch Project of Community Catalyst, to launch a campaign of actively involved women's health advocates in health care reform. The "Raising Women's Voices for the Health Care We Need" strategy focuses on identifying policy issues related to women's health and healthcare reform; engaging a national network of key women's health stakeholders; developing a women's vision of quality health care for all; and engaging women to become actively involved in the national health care reform debate.

Joycelyn Elders, M.D., former U.S. surgeon general for health and human services, will deliver the keynote address April 17 at 9:45 a.m., "The Crisis in Our Health Care System: Why Don't We Have Quality, Affordable Health Care for All?" in the Linda K. Pareksy Conference Center, 300 The Fenway, Simmons College.

Other featured speakers include Judy Ann Bigby, M.D., Massachusetts secretary of health and human services; Claudia Morrissey, M.D., MPH, president of the American Medical Women's Association; Byllye Avery, founder and president of the Avery Institute for Social Change and founder of the Black Women's Health Imperative; Miriam Yeung, executive director of the National Asian Pacific American Women's Forum; Judy Norsigian, director of the Boston-based Our Bodies, Ourselves; Jessica Rojas-Gonzalez, policy director of the National Latina Institute for Reproductive Health; Judy Waxman, vice president of the National Women's Law Center; and Maureen Corry, executive director of Childbirth Connection.

Conference topic titles include:
• "Uninsured or Under-Insured: Who is Left Out of the System Now?"
• "Making Our Health Care Culturally Competent"
• "Why Isn't Health Care Considered a Human Right?"
• "A Call to Action"

Women's health care advocates say that women's input in the debate on health is crucial, considering their frequent role as the decision-maker for their family's health care. Additionally, with 47 million Americans without health insurance, certain groups of women, such as Latinas, are often disproportionately affected. Those women who do not have insurance, or whose insurance coverage is inadequate or too costly to use, often postpone care or do not get prescriptions filled for themselves or their children. The Institute for Medicine reports that more than 18,000 women die from lack of medical care each year. Women face special concerns such as the loss of dependent health insurance when they become divorced or widowed, and the refusal by insurers in some states to insure women who are pregnant.

To determine specific health care needs and problems of women and their families, organizers have been conducting small group meetings with targeted women's health audiences, particularly underserved groups that are often excluded from health care reform discussions.

Blurring edges

This is one of the best things I have seen in a long time.
It directly addresses questions of the body, its boundaries and our relationship to those edges.
I am always in awe of how very very beautiful a scientific or mathematic understanding of this world can be.

Poo-phoria

Thanks for the link, Grace!

I always say that poop is a 'fringe benefit' of working in the birth field.

Avatar Birth

This is an avatar in Sims 2 giving birth .





Interesting to pay attention to what the programmers choose to 'keep' of the birth process. The woman appears to be in pain, however, the actual giving birth process involves spinning around and catching the baby and an outfit change all in one.

Historical Ruptures

“The knowledge of a disease is a doctors compass; the success of the cure depends on an exact knowledge of the disease; the doctors gaze is directed initially not towards that concrete body, the visible whole, that positive plentitude that faces him- the patient- but towards intervals in nature- like negatives- the signs which differentiate one disease from another, the true from the false, the legitimate from the bastard, the malign from the benign.” Michele Foucault, The Birth of the Clinic.

In the medical tradition of the eighteenth century, illness was defined in terms of ‘symptoms’ and ‘signs’. These were determined from one another by their semantic value. The symptom is the form in which the illness presents, all are that is visible- a cough, fever, a rash, they allow the invisibility of illness to ‘show through’. The sign on the other hand ‘announces’. The sign performs the illness: The prognostic sign: what will happen, and the diagnostic sign: what is happening now. Between it and the disease is the doctor’s interpretation of a patient’s narrative and symptoms. Medicine produces historical knowledge of the body. Medical ‘gaze’ as Foucault names it is like a magnifying glass, which when amplified to one part, has the potential to call into question that which one might not otherwise perceive and simultaneously has the power to only magnify what it deems important. During a medical interview, we are conditioned to respond to only the questions that the Doctor asks us, nothing more. So conditioned, that the answers becomes the story that we tell. The patient becomes the portrait of whatever the doctor diagnoses. We frame the history of our illness in clinical terms, the chronology of events in or on the body, rarely delving into physical feelings or emotional connection to and awareness of the body.

What happens to the history of the body that does not go into the charts? Does the person who has never seen a doctor not have a health history? In the framing of the body in medicine, the paper of a chart is more of an archive than the body itself. There may well be agency then in the un-narrated history of the body. The history that does not show up in charts, but is narrated through a repertoire of physical embodiment and the performance of ‘self’, as either a healthy or sick person.
Think about it. Is your health 'history' a portrait of your health or a portrait if your body in dis-ease? Is viewing the body through a series of rupture the best approach for comprehensive medicine?
More on the inadequacy of language to express of pain later....

Slippery Narratives

Sit with a group of new moms together and you will inevitably hear a story or two about birth. From the moment that a women reveals that she is pregnant she is surrounded by women telling their birth tales: in line, in the bathroom, in the park, over lunch; women participate in the ritual process of recounting birth experiences, forming those experiences out of the threads of memory and pieces of stories left after the ritual performance of birth itself. Pregnant women (and anyone around them who will listen) become members of a narrative ring; bound by a conspiracy of the body, contracted by maternity to hear, to tell and retell what others insidiously, joyously, even anxiously- tell and retell. In every act of childbearing two stories are simultaneously produced, a story of what the ‘body’ does and a story of what the ‘woman’ does; the ‘body’ might dilate slowly while the ‘woman’ screams out for pain medication. The body and the woman intersect and influence one another while still managing to maintain independent realities.

Human’s frame understanding of experience in terms of narrative account. When we try to understand why things happen, we put events in temporal order, making decisions about beginnings, middles and ends or causes and effects by virtue of imposing plots on otherwise chaotic events, creating what Rita Charon calls narrative knowledge. If narratives are stories that have a teller, a listener, a time course, a plot and a point, then narrative knowledge is what we naturally use to make sense of them. The narrating and sharing of birth stories play an important role in creating and recreating the performance of giving birth. A classic story of the marriage of childbirth and narrative, cited by Claude Levi-Strauss, is one of a woman who had difficulty giving birth. After a long night and eventually a stalled labor a shaman told the woman in labor the story of valiant warriors freeing a prisoner trapped by strangers, and on hearing the plot resolution, she gave birth to her child. After an imagined break-through, she had a physical break-through. Nature imitated narrative. In this instance narrative served as mental and emotional tool for the production of a woman in labor, and in the course of her giving birth, a new story was created. One that will be recounted time and time again, to her sisters, her friends, anthropologist’s and in a few years, the child herself.

Telling a narrative in any setting is a bridging performance. Most obviously it connects the teller and the listener. A pregnant woman becomes both the subject of and subject to birth stories. Depending on the community she is in, she could hear childbirth described as anything from a horrific and severely painful event to a cosmically orgasmic body quake – there is rarely any narrative in between. This discrepancy of experience, leads one to believe that what one hears about childbirth might influence and shape physical enactment of childbirth. When faced with the often frightening and confusing language of clinical medicine, it is the stories of other women’s experiences that serve as navigational guidance. Asked why she was opting for an elective Cesarean section, a woman recently said to me "my friend’s baby had a really big head and got stuck in her vagina. My Doctor says I have a small pelvis and I just don’t want to be stuck like my friend. She said it was the worst”. Whether a claim like this is ‘bio-medically’ true or not, it certainly is bioculturally interesting. This woman, backed by her doctor, is making a physical choice based on the medical fact of her small pelvis (small compared to what?) and the story of another woman’s birth experience. Another woman stated that she was scared to have babies because all of the women in her family have reported excruciating births. What gets passed on from generation to generation through the body is transmitted and constituted through oral narrative. Oral texts are slippery entities, the way that they are performed and made meaning of shift from person to person. Here I will explore how the sharing of birth stories shapes and reshapes the performance of childbirth within three women’s lives.

A woman walks into a birthing clinic to deliver her first baby. The midwives check her dilation, determine that she is only two centimeters dilated and send her home telling her to come back when her contractions are three minutes apart and lasting one full minute. The woman leaves, gets in a taxicab, and delivers her baby in the cab on the way home.

The dramatic story of a taxicab birth is not a new one; although nobody has formally written about it, this tale is one of the most commonly produced and reproduced birth stories (at least in places like NY where most people travel while in labor by taxi to the hospital or birthing center). I heard this story, and almost identical versions of it three times by three separate tellers in March of 2007. Each teller was pregnant with her first child. Presumably the events of this particular story happened in Brooklyn, NY but as is characteristic of folk and oral narratives its original source cannot be traced. Its interpretation is as diffuse as the tellers who make meaning of it.

The first teller is a forty five year old singer who is married to the drummer in her band. They are having their first child ‘late in life’ because they spent years on the road touring. They plan to deliver their child at home. In her version of the story the taxicab birth happened to her ‘friends cousin’. She told me the story in the context of a hospital versus home birth discussion that she and her husband had been having. Upon hearing this story she was swayed towards homebirth.

“I really see how very natural childbirth is. I mean, in a hospital they try to control everything, but like this woman her body just had its own thing going on. And the baby was fine. Like totally fine. In a taxicab. I mean she could have been squatting in the bush like most women do. I mean who cares if I am older, my body wouldn’t have let me get pregnant if it couldn’t have the baby. So anyway, it (the story) just made me less scared, and more like… no matter where you are babies come out and well if I am at home at least I won’t have anywhere I need to get except the bed.”

The second teller is a nineteen-year-old West Indian immigrant. She is having her baby without the support of her parents or the baby’s father. She plans to deliver at the hospital closest to her house. In her version of the tale, the woman giving birth was her ‘sister’s friend’. Upon hearing this story she felt fearful of her own circumstances and expressed desire for medical intervention and constant supervision.

“ I mean it’s totally crazy how fast it could happen. I just want them to like take it out of me. Not really, but I would hate for something like that to happen to me, to be all alone on my way to the hospital and have nobody to catch the baby, except you know, a dirty cab driver. So scary. So I just want them to umm, induce me when its time, like start the whole thing there that way I wont have to worry about being alone, the nurses will always be there."

The third teller is a corporate lawyer in her early thirties. Her husband is an entertainment lawyer. They plan to travel an hour to a hospital that has very high tech equipment and celebrity birthing suites. This woman did not admit to any personal connection to the woman who gave birth in a cab, but said she heard it from a coworker. In recounting this story to me, her intent was to confirm her decision to travel far to a hospital that was high tech and high intervention, which in her version intrinsically meant ‘better’.

“I wonder if there was a law suit against those midwives that sent that poor woman home. I mean clearly she knew that she needed care or else she wouldn’t have come in the first place, and those midwives that sent her away, well, it just makes me feel really good that we will be going to the hospital where all of the best doctors are and they understand that birth in this day and age is not something you treat lightly, we have the technology so why not use it! You know my sister had her baby at this hospital and she came in at 2cm and they just gave her a nice epidural, some pitocin to speed things up, and voila, she had a baby. That’s what I expect. To be treated like a human being. None of this animal stuff. “

The same story produces three radically different meanings and performative outcomes for each woman’s birth experience. It is not possible to view these oral narratives apart from issues of race, class, power and gender. In ‘Absent Gender, Silent Encounter’; Debora Kodish identifies one purpose of feminist scholarship as the deconstruction of ‘male paradigms’ and another as the reconstruction of models attentive to women’s experiences. Childbirth is certainly a woman’s experience, and yet is embedded in a medical narrative of the body that is historically male centered. As each woman wades through the creative, shifting, interstitial process of negotiating the meaning and value of birth, the taxi story dramatizes the convergence of multiple performativities on the birth experience. In telling the tale, she reclaims an identity for herself as a birthing woman within the context of an always constructed feminine performance. This identity is inextricable from the birth narratives that she has been told by others and chooses to align herself with. Each of these women is telling the taxicab story with the hopes of a better outcome for herself, and yet ‘what’ a better outcome is varies from woman to woman, community to community and ultimately story to story.

In many ways birth stories imply a radical inversion of established structures of meaning and action and so must be, it seems, counter-performed. Della Pollack writes about this counter performance of birth stories stating “They must be circumscribed, discredited, pushed to the margins of discursive practice, whether by identification with ‘gossip’ lore’ or anecdote, or to make a woman’s body and so her story conform to prescribed medical narratives”. This fundamental connection between tale and body has a narrative tracing to the Cartesian philosophical separation of mind and body inherent in the scientific medical view, which does not permit the interaction of individual consciousness with the molecules and atoms that comprise the ‘substance’ of scientific inquiry. Not surprisingly, the dominant metaphors describing birth in the late twentieth century are characterized by mechanical images in which a woman’s body is fragmented into working parts over which she has little control. As Emily Martin phrases it “medically, birth is seen as the control of laborers (women) and their machines (their uteruses) by managers (doctors) often using other machines to help,” The canonical obstetrics textbook Williams Obstetrics encapsulates the mechanicity of the dominant medical view; it defines birth as “the complete expulsion or extraction from the mother of a fetus”. Martin argues that “there is a compelling need for new key metaphors, core symbols of birth that capture what we do not want to loose about birth”. She argues that any attempt to conceive new languages for birth will be fraught with the contradictions arising from living within an andocentric society shaped by mechanical images of birth and bodies.

In the United States, pregnant women have two choices, to birth at a hospital with an obstetrician, or to birth at home with a midwife. Only one percent of the population chooses the latter . Choice is often rooted in privilege, and feeling free to choose where, how and with whom to birth is no different. Because western culture privileges medicalized, technological and interventionist birth over natural birth, it is ironically most often only the privileged who have access to ‘natural’ birthing options. Western women who choose to birth at home tend to have access to education that allows them to challenge the hegemony of the system, but to do so with the knowledge and confidence that hospitals and insurance companies are there for ‘backup’ should they need them; they therefore inhabit what theorist Donna Haraway calls post-biomedical bodies- bodies that do not entirely deny the usefulness of biomedicine, but are able to challenge its authority. Conversely, in areas of the world without large western influence, most new babies pass through the hands of midwives. In these areas, it is only the privileged who have access to ‘western’ style birth experiences in a hospital. These ironies provide ample room for questioning the intersections between cultural and medical practice as they are chosen, experienced, embodied and turned into tales.

A story like the taxicab tale, in its unpredictability, its high drama, and uncontrollable female body rupture, disrupts this ‘male tale’ of the body and perhaps is why women across race and class divisions feel so drawn to telling it. The middle-aged singer, who sees the ‘good’ in the tale, elaborates on the potential for a natural and un-interventionist homebirth; in doing so she disrupts the medical narrative that assumes the birthing body must be controlled. By invoking alternative systems of knowledge, this woman uses the story to challenge the hegemony of mainstream childbirth systems. The young woman, who reads into and interprets ‘fear’ as the dominant theme of the woman alone in a cab, aligns herself as a subject to medical practice and is comforted by the notion of her rupturing body under constant management. By virtue of her vulnerability as an ‘other’ this young, single, pregnant, woman of color trusts the institution of medicine to take care of her, exemplifying what Foucault called the clinical ‘gaze’. Finally the lawyer both expects and demands technology as an extension of her privilege. The body as machine is a removal from that which is primitive. For this woman, the ‘uncontrollable’ birth of the woman in the taxicab is a gross malpractice of a medical profession that should be better at monitoring and managing bodies.

One clear distinction is that none of these women wants the taxicab birth to happen to them, yet everybody wants to talk about it. The women told this story in the hopes of achieving for themselves and thus being licensed by what medical discourses describe as a ‘good outcome’, to elaborate and embellish dangers and conflict, with the intent of improving the climax, of ensuring relief in the final orderliness of all things. What Della Pollack calls the ‘almost but’ structure of birth stories, the expression of happiness depends on a ‘flirting’ with death: exposing the possibility of death only to deny it. Depending on her cultural circumstances, each woman sees a different path to denying it, yet is equally intrigued by the dramatic thread.

Perhaps unintentionally, the narrative ring of women telling these stories undermine the presumed neutrality of medical procedures and the apparent transparency of birth experiences with the pressure of their own reflexivity, effectively hot wiring a networked of rituals and resistances composed at least in part of medical techno-dramas, prenatal pedagogies, compulsive performance of the ‘good mother’, and the birth narratives that in various forms pervade, mock and sustain all of the above. Looping through multiple performativities, birth stories threaten not only the conventional isolation of birth from other episodes in the formation of cultural identity but also the concomitant isolation of birth from the broader body-politics, related issues that become silenced narratives such as miscarriage, abortion or even sexual orientation.

When women tell stories of the birthing body, the body becomes story; birth stories are always already performed. As performances they are unique constructions of bodies in time. As minor myths of origin, they loan history the authority of beginnings, through repetition and condensation, they become the founding facts of history. The convergences of performativity and maternity, in making history subject to the maternal body performing itself in ritual, spectacle and story.

Tell me what we gonna do

Joss stone wants to become a midwife.
Just had to share.

Performative Medicine

How do we change medicine? My thoughts are really questions and my questions spark further inquiry. How does one engage to change a system that doesn’t acknowledge its own malleability? Last year with the help of Anna Deveare Smith, I created a basic model for the collection of a medical history that was organic and comprehensive of a health narrative that moved beyond ‘ruptures’ of normal, and at times beyond words to describe events on and within the body. This model was based on practice as a midwife and my lifetime of observation of medical practitioners, performing on and around me. It is the beginning of an inquiry into better practices, better performance and better healing.

Modern medicine is based on the notion that what ‘science says’ is right. Even though what science says often changes, in the moment it is treated as the absolute and last authority. “Science Says” language positions the logic of science over the expression of human experience or knowledge of self. We are conditioned to believe and trust ‘science says’ over our own innate knowledge or feeling. Human voice, agency and desire are wrapped up in a system that is integral to their existence and yet does not acknowledge them as important. I believe that medicine must acknowledge human experience as intrinsic to what science says. The separation of the two is dangerous.

Science say is also related to ‘liability says’. Healing in this country is tied to money and to insurance coverage. Doctors and nurses are trained to heal from a liability perspective. Unless science says, liability says that it cannot be done. This severs the intuition present in genuine human interaction and also locks Doctors into a system from which there can be no creativity or out of the box thinking.

I realize that I can write a medical model for care but unless it is actually used, the model as a tool does not reach its full potential. It becomes like a script for a play that never gets produced; one that just sits in a file somewhere, or is performed for only an audience that likes and agrees with what it is saying. We need to challenge the audience who does not agree with us. Fortunately and unfortunately this is a very large audience. It constitutes most of the Doctors and the nurses who manage medicine and therefore what ‘science says’ is health in this country. Those of us working off the grid need to be a good enough engagers to work with other medical practitioners- to ask questions of the system we work in; to try new things; to trust the human voice and human emotion as intrinsic to the numbers, the cells, the blood and the skin.

As healers we are channelers. We take in another persons story, the account that they give about their embodied experience and channel what we have heard into some sort of action. I thought a lot about this in watching Anna perform her 'ADS' method, which is indeed a channeling; a taking in and a feeding back of words, gesture, expression so that you become a conduit for that person’s energy and story. As Richard Schechner would say, one becomes simultaneously ‘not and not not’ the person that one is performing. Intrinsic to this is a deeper understanding of a person’s role or position. I believe this to kind of transmission, of really listening and offering back, could transform medicine.

I want to think about and question the role of listening and the role of empathy in medicine. I once had a therapist who would cry every time that I cried. This made me terribly uncomfortable. In fact, it was inappropriate. He was taking on my emotion as opposed to staying removed from it. I expected him to be removed so I was unsettled when he was not. And yet, if ‘science says’ language told me that a therapist healed through empathy tears, I would most likely have expected and desired for him to cry with me. What is ‘normative’ we accept as healing. Truly, empathy does play a big role in healing. Healers take in an account of the body in dis-ease and the only way that we can relate to it is through our own embodied experience, or through the logic of science. Most people are informal healers all the time, suggesting that friends take a certain vitamin that we took that energized us, or offering soup to someone who is sick. Empathy is the reason that women often feel more comfortable with a woman gynecologist; aside from a scientific understanding, empathy (a not but not not situation) can make it easier to engage; easier to heal. So how do I engage with the medical institution so that the performance of healing is more holistic, more empathetic?

My personal primary care physician is a woman named Dr. Susan Massad. Six year ago, for fun she took a theater improvisation class and realized that all Drs should learn to improv, because it would make them better listeners, better reactors, better engagers, and thus, better healers. She partnered with an organization called ‘Performance of A Lifetime” and began teaching improvisation classes for medical residents in New York. You can check out an article about her at http://nymag.com/nymetro/health/bestdoctors/features/9259/ http://www.performanceofalifetime.com/press3.html

In my opinion, Dr. Massad has a proverbial ‘toe in the door’ into the way that medicine needs to be reframed and re-thought if we are going to truly improve health care in this country. I think the next step is to develop engagement workshops for healthcare practitioners. In order to do that we need to locate medicine in key moments where it both engages and disengages embodied experience. We need to understand where and why these practices both work and don’t work. I am concerned with what science says but also concerned with myth as lived experience and representation as product and practice.

How do we channel the story of the body into something that fits within science…. What would happen if we channeled science into the story of embodied experience? What if Doctors performed their patients? What if patients in return, performed their Doctors? What if Doctors were trained as extensively in listening as they are in anatomy? What if healing were to be approached from a ‘healthy’ perspective as opposed to only the moments when health ruptures? What if we learned from and shared healing practices with other countries…. we certainly share what ‘science says’ with other countries, why not performative healing as well? What would happen if we directly asked Doctors to imagine and think about their own position within the health dynamic?

We need to ask more questions to get more questions. Try things and fail at them, try things and succeed at them. Not every practice will work for every body. Be open to the futility of concrete answers, only a humble questioning. A celebratory loss of control. The story of medicine is as ancient as the human body itself. There is no point of origin. No beginning and no end. Only multiple points of entry. From this perspective, my engagement with medicine is a journey; one that starts in my body, in my inquiry, and lands itself in the resonance of questions and answers that follow. In my near future, I hope to make an offering to the medical communtiy, a series of workshops and performance practices whose boundaries will be also defined by the resonance of questions, thoughts, and action that are provoked through their telling.