The Wretched Refuse of Your Teeming Church/State Paradigm

Lou Dobbs writes today on Keeping Religion Out of Politics. He's apparently getting some hinky feeling about houses of worship violating Federal tax laws (which prohibit endorsing or opposing candidates). This I get; I don't want my church to be a cog in a political machine. That's an important moral issue, and not just because it affects Mr. Dobbs' precious tax dollars (in the macroeconomic sense that he's ultimately affected by my church's tax-exempt status).

But Dobbs gives only one example -- the Mormons "helping a pro-amnesty incumbent with a get out the vote campaign," where a church is accused of supporting a particular candidate. His argument is much broader: No religious organization, apparently, should participate in any activity within what he has deemed as a "political" sphere. He mentions that the IRS has dozens of investigations underway, and snarks that, "apparently nobody in the federal government is too concerned that the Catholic Church has repeatedly lobbied on behalf of millions of illegal aliens and their supporters for wholesale amnesty and open borders." And he says it's "time for all of us to examine closely, both in our communities and in our Congress, just what separation of church and state really means to us and to the nation."

Okay, I've examined it. How about this, Lou? Keep your politics off my immigration issues. Maybe the reason "nobody in the federal government is too concerned" here is because you're wrong.

This is my religion: "for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me…. Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of my people, you did it to me." Jesus Christ. Immigration isn't just a footnote to Christianity; it is one of its core themes and defining values. What kind of government would deny me my right to study this in a Bible group, announce it to my fellow parishioners, and minister to immigrant peoples? On what theory does my personal religious practice become a government "establishment" of religion to the extent that my own right to free exercise -- in fact to free speech, to free assembly, to free press -- can be abridged?

I'd say "we were here first" -- that immigration has been a religious issue far longer than it's been a political one -- but that buys into Dobbs' polarization of "Church" and "State" as two institutional spheres that should never influence each other. But "religion" isn't simply an institution. Religion is a paradigm; a set of values; a defining premise that guides the lives of individual men and women of faith. Whether these people meet in a church or synagogue, worship their God by name, or pray together or separately -- their faith is an innermost, private process of the human heart. Likewise, "politics" isn't a disembodied activity that occurs only in campaigning, in voting, in the activities of our legislature and judiciary. "Politics" are the very processes by which we argue, buy, discuss, read and spend according to what is most important to us. Political process and religion perspective are each part of all of us. How can one be ever kept wholly distinct from the other?

Yes, I hold the establishment clause as dearly as I hold my right to free exercise. But telling my parish to stay silent in the face of massive social oppression, as if we must shut up and stick to singing Kumbaya on Sundays, is unconscionable. If immigration is political, it's because of the way our government uses its economic and military power to control its borders and deny its privileges of citizenship to outsiders. This threatens the life and safety of the thousands of men, women and children who their lives for a chance to come join (and be exploited by) our society. This is a tragedy and an epidemic. And if my heart and soul tell me not to look away -- to help, to reform, to fight the tragedy -- does it matter that this particular heart is informed by a particular faith? It cannot.

Give me your tired, your poor

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore

Send these, the homeless tempest-tossed to me

I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

Inscription on the Statue of Liberty

For Reference: C-section risks

I'm gathering all my links together for easy reference . . .

Vaginal Birth after Cesarean in California: Before and After a Change in Guidelines. The 1999 ACOG recommendation on VBAC resulted in a marked decrease (from 24% to 13.5%) of vaginal deliveries of women scarred from previous cesarean surgery. Neonatal and maternal mortality rates did not improve.

Cesarean Delivery Triples Maternal Death Risk. French National Perinatal Survey as reported in Obstetrics & Gynecology, September 2006. Yes, I'm sure you don't know anyone who has died from the c-section. Thank God, neither do I. But when we look at the numbers -- not just our personal anecdotal evidence -- we learn what we're missing: Deaths, resulting from blood clots, infection or complications from anesthesia -- at 3.6 times the rate of mothers birthing vaginally.

Cesarean Delivery increases Infant Death by 2.85x. Infant and Neonatal Mortality for Primary Cesarean and Vaginal Births to Women with "No Indicated Risk," United States, 1998–2001 Birth Cohorts. Birth: Issues in Perinatal Care, September 2006

The Risk of Adhesions after Gynecologic Surgery. Dr. Gregory Fossum, September 2006. Those little side effects that are usually ignored by the larger studies of mortality and complications: Adhesions are bands of tissue that form between organs in response to injury caused during surgery. in one report, adhesions formed in 73% of primary C-section patients. Resulting injury includes small bowel obstruction, chronic pelvic, and infertility.

Cesarean Spike Drives up Medicaid Costs. Study by Health and Human Services' Agency for Healthcare Research and Quality, August, 2006. The epidemic of surgical delivery isn't just the pet issue of birth fanatics like me. It's your problem, too.

A Role Model for Water

This week's Newsweek features "The New Generation" of women leaders -- profiles of political, athletic and artistic women and their achievements. It's a good read, if a little canned. All the women seem to have been asked about their role models -- many of them cite role models, or wrestle the idea in general. As racecar driver Danica Patrick puts it, "I learned from people that I knew along the way, but I didn't have somebody that I wanted to be like. I wanted to be the first Danica, not the next somebody else."

I wonder about role models. Of course, girls need exposure to diverse and inspiring examples of adult womanhood -- in family, in work, in matters of personal character. But the idea of a "role model" is so limiting: As if we must choose our role, then imitate those who model it for us. As if there's one way to be a good racecar driver. Or a good Secretary of State. Or a good mother.

The "mother" role is, of course, one of the hardest to define. It overlaps with all the other categories of what it means to be a woman, to have a family, to work. Even those of us with admirable "role model" mothers are bound to struggle against fulfilling or rejecting the role as we imagine it to be. It's worth asking the question: Why is motherhood a "role" at all?

Looking lately at some studies of ancient Hebrew "word pictures" -- the original characters used in Biblical scripture that eventually involved into our own alphabet as well as modern Hebrew -- I’ve recently learned that the ancient Hebraic word for mother -- "Em" -- means "strong water." Which makes sense: The symbols for "father" (strong house) embody the structured, formal, property-bound family entity: Man's solution to the problem of rain and wind. The mother, on the other hand, is elemental and ubiquitous. Nourishing and necessary; everywhere, doing everything. And not just any water -- the strength of water, the first among the waters. A strong river. A deep wellspring. The first rain.

And "Em," while consistent with a traditional, life-giving mother role, immediately transcends the entire idea. Water is fluid and dynamic. It is vital to everything around it, but true unto itself. "Em" isn't just the spring in the center of oasis. It's not a source that might one day run dry. It is the water itself, flowing over the ground, rising to the sky in steam, and raining back to earth. We can consume water -- but while it lends itself to our nourishment, it always retains its own unique character.

We're mothers, by definition, when we have children. We mother them regardless of where we work, how large our family is, or when and what we feed them. As we lend our nature and our strength to our family, we do not disappear. And in straining to be the mother we think we "should" be -- to imitate others, to try to reproduce what we see as the productive elements of someone else's life and role -- we can lose ourselves in the process. Karenna Gore Schiff, in her Newsweek interview, tells of getting married in lawschool and pregnant soon after. She describes being one of the youngest mothers she knows, and mentions that she left the practice of law after a year, but declines to make a larger political or social point about this. She simply points out that "women in particular gain strength from operating in different spheres." And maybe this is all there is to it. A woman can be fully a mother, yet must be fully herself.

So what is the role model for water? Water doesn't need anyone to imitate, or any books to read, to show it how to be what it is. Maybe it takes an image like this to remind us how futile it is to compare ourselves to each other, or to a Motherhood Ideal. Despite our commonality, we are incomparable: The nature of water is constant, but its forms are infinitely varying. Water it always just as watery and wet as it is supposed to be. There's no "better" water or "wetter" water. It’s just water – falling from the sky, tumbling down a mountainside, washing up the beach with a rising tide.

No wonder, when mothers compete with each other, we’re left confused and frustrated. Any competition is only futile and distracting. But we can nourish and inspire each other. Perhaps (at times) we do so by "modeling" healthy behaviors and attitudes through all our challenges. But, regardless of our role models, each one of us can only be herself. Strong water, on her own course, vital and strong – washing away our roles and stereotypes. As fine as mist; as right as rain.

You Go, Girl.

Today is Washington's Primary Election Day. If I hadn't already sent in my absentee ballot, it would be exhilirating to go to the polls and celebrate my suffrage on the same day that the Thai government is being overthrown by a military coup because its democracy is failing. I was going to mention last week that the most inspiring thing I heard Ann Richards speak about was the right to vote and run for office -- that she was elected governor only a mere generation after women had to fight for the right to cast a ballot. It's a privilege to vote. Not because, as a woman, I ever needed special permission. But just because we live in a safe and free country, and voting is what ever and always can make it so. Even the abuses, failures and weakness of our electoral process serve to remind us of this -- to not be complacent, keep our standards high, and remember that we value democracy.

The results of the Primaries matter in quite a few races -- in legislative districts, such as the 43rd, that are so dominated by a single party that the primary winner is guaranteed the seat in the House of Representatives. In reading the Stranger's endorsement of Stephanie Pure, I've only recently learned about the "Feminine Critique" controversy: This past summer, The Stranger reported that Lynne Dodson -- the other female frontrunner -- along with representatives from NARAL and the National Women's Political Caucus -- approached Stephanie and asked her to drop out of the race. Not because Stephanie is a lesser champion for women's rights or, if elected, she would be any kind of threat to their platform. But because, as the candidate with (in their assessment) a lesser chance of winning, Stephanie should step aside -- so that the "women's vote" is undivided among multiple qualified candidates, and a woman is more likely to win.

In theory, I comprehend the rationale. As NWPC's Mitchell said: "I want to see a woman win that seat. And when voters are offered a choice of two great women, then it limits each woman's chances of winning." Political strategy makes sense in certain contexts: For instance, in the Nader v. Gore v. Bush 2000 Presidential race, there were long-ranging implications of Nader staying in the race (and voters voting for him), instead of strategically backing Gore to provide him undivided support in defeating Bush. But Nader, and many of his 2000 supporters, will still argue that a person must stand by their position, regardless of the ultimate outcome.

I'd say that was a close moral and political call. But Stephanie Pure isn't Ralph Nader, and Lynne Dodson is no Vice President Gore. Oh, and "women" aren't comparable to the nationwide 2000 Electorate. We're not a troop of girl scouts all marching in uniform, either. We're a diverse and dynamic array of voters who simply have in common our XX chromosome. To act as if women are an interest group, who only deserve one qualified candidate to choose from, stinks with the cheap perfume of quotas and tokenism. Would a "wait your turn, little girl" attitude be tolerable in reviewing applications for medical school or NEA grants? Electing law firm partners or Union Presidents? It would be annoying if it didn't chill me to the bone.

I would agree that Stephanie had an obligation to assess her chance of winning and consider the strategic impact of her candidacy. And believe me, she did -- and she is as serious and responsible a candidate as you'll find. Opposition candidate Jamie Pedersen has been criticized for trying to make the 43rd Representative position a "gay seat" -- but the Dodson coalition has done us one worse -- acting as if there's only one "pink seat" in the legislature. Apparently the ladies of the 43rd must politely wait in line until Ms. Dodson has finished her term, washed her hands, and moved on.

As a 30-something professional woman running for the House of Representatives (who I have, as a disclaimer, known since college), Stephanie has courage, conviction, and energy that are nothing but admirable -- unless you are her opponent, in which case I imagine you'd find it all threatening. Her candidacy is a reminder that a Democrat-only district deserves choice and diversity in a race (and everyone running, for the record, appears to agree on the substantive issues of gay marriage, women's choice, and civil rights -- there's no G.W. Bush to be found). Another bright, qualified woman on the ballot can only serve women. And a greater number of qualified candidates, in this situation, can only further the democratic process.

Stephanie, you go, girl. May the best woman win.

Update: Today's results indicate that Stephanie Pure received 13.1% of the votes cast among all six candidates. The frontrunners are battling for the seat between 23.9% and 22.8%. And yes, if the votes for Dodson (with 11.5%) and Pure were combined together, it would be enough to win the seat . So if Dodson's logic was correct, she should have withdrawn -- and Stephanie might have won.

Tears to the Heart of Texas

Former Texas Governor Ann Richards died this week. A few years ago, I saw Governor Richards speak at a dinner for the Northwest Women's Law Center (and even got to shake her hand when a friend from Texas introduced me). She made such an impression, I talked about her for weeks -- usually choking back emotion and unable to adequately describe what she actually said. I'm the same way today.

I'm so sad. Partly because I'm immature about death and just feel like crying, "but I met her -- and she was alive!" Partly because I'd imagined even greater things for her -- national office, more publications, even farther-reaching service to her party and country. But even if she was the wrong generation to be in Barak Obama's cabinet (or he in hers), she left a great legacy of prison reform and equal rights. She was a sensible, convicted voice for respectful treatment of everyone. She was a commanding and inspired woman who remained true to her own self while holding public office. She was one of the greatest, but she doesn't have to be the last.

Everyone talks about Governor Richards' wit, which makes me reflect on what exactly made her so darn funny. Because humor is so subjective. I once was in a workshop with a group of engaged couples when we were asked to name one thing we loved about our partners. Almost everyone mentioned "sense of humor." But after spending a weekend with these people, I had to respectfully (and quietly) observe that, with the exception of my own fiancé, no one was being particularly amusing. Humor is part of affection and intimacy -- it doesn't just attract us, it grows as we become more familiar. The more we trust someone, the more they share their selves with us, the more we are able to laugh together. The best humor is in those sudden little moments -- that light up with a twist of phrase, a quick insight, shining like a bright flash from the depth of a person's character. The deeper we love someone, the funnier they are.

And that was Governor Richards' appeal. I've been looking up quotes to repost here (some of the best are at her Keynote Address to the 1988 Democratic Convention), but find that -- as brilliant as she sounds in writing -- I can't quite capture the warmth and conviction I recall from seeing her speak. She brought her genuine self into the room as few people do. She loved progress and cared about people. And she was loved in return. And that's why she was so, so funny -- At the heart of her wit was her courageous and humble heart.

Learning to ride a motorcycle on her 60th Birthday


. . . After all, Ginger Rogers did everything that Fred Astaire did. She just did it backwards and in high heels.
-Ann Richards

Let the Midget Demons Come to Me

Salon.com has a feature article today about Mars Hill Church, in my very own neighborhood of Ballard. The friend who sent me the link described this as "scary." I read it carefully, because I was ready to explain to him why progressive, educated salon-readers like us don't need to be scared of every Evangelical Christian we read about.

But then I read it, and I agree that it's scary.

According to the article, Mars Hill teaches an interpretation of the Bible that requires its married female parishioners to "quit their jobs and try to have as many babies as possible," and "submit" to their husbands about little details like their personal purchases and plans. Their pastor speaks flippantly about his own children as "midget demons" and jokes (or is it a joke) about his childhood of "duct-taping and hog-tying his own siblings." Not surprisingly, the article describes the women in the article as tired and frustrated -- complaining about how one child "talks back" while the other one cries alone in the other room during the interview.

Christians don't have to live like this. And I'm not just talking here about liberal, social-justice minded Roman Catholic Christians like myself. I'm talking about Bible-college, homeshooling, fundamentalist Protestant Christians who live by Sola Scriptura -- upholding the text of the Bible as the sole and only basis for all religious belief. Even within the Evangelical community (or communities), many women disagree on whether Titus 2:5 prohibits work outside the home, or whether Paul's Ephesians 5 directive to "submit" requires that a wife defer to all her husband's preferences. Many Fundamentalist families don't believe that Proverbs 23 or Hebrews 12 require them to punish their children. They rely instead on their faith in Christ's Grace as a model and a foundation to for grace-based discipline.

It's not just Christian parents who see their children as adversaries to be wrested under control. Many mainstream parenting sources -- including the abysmal "What to Expect" series -- describe greedy, selfish children who will overwhelm us if we don't train them out of their natural habits as early as possible. And I can name many feminist mothers who have sighed over their mixed feelings and unfinished masters' degrees -- none of them Fundamentalist conservatives like the one described in the article. These are cultural challenges, not just Christian ones.

Evangelical parents, however, may have an added burden. In their conviction that the Bible contains their entire life's directive, they can become vulnerable to charismatic ministries who, in ironic defiance of Sola Scriptura itself, impose their own interpretations of Scripture that are unsupported by Hebraic tradition and linguisitic study. And a cultural bias, given the authority of God's Word, is a heavy burden to labor under.

Along with their great burden, however, many Christians have a great strength -- their faith in a greater love than all the misinformation, legalism, and corruption both of culture and of church. I've been honored to meet many Evangelical mothers online, debate with them, and learn from them (Yes, I cited the above verses from memory). Despite some critical differences of opinion, I've opened my mind and discovered an eduated, diverse, critically-thinking community (and some dear women that I might humbly refer to as friends).

It is scary when Mars Hill -- or any institution -- becomes an amplified voice that threatens to distort such a powerful message as that of Jesus Christ. At the same time, it's important to realize what we have in common -- just as the Salon article described the movements' camraderie, healthy living, and skepticism about corporate tyranny and consumerism. We might aspire to the same strengths and, as women and mothers, might share the same struggles. And maybe with open minds, we can learn from each other.

He said to them, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these." Mark 10:14

For reference:
www.aolff.org
www.ezzo.info

ERCS, She Did it Again

Britney Spears has another son, delivered by cesarean section.

Before having her first child, Spears told ELLE magazine that she "hoped for surgery" because she didn't want to "go through the pain" [of labor and delivery]. Now she has done it again. It's impossible to know whether her experience with her first surgery was everything she had hoped for. I don't know whether she had any interest, or support, to revisit the decision for vaginal delivery the second time around. It's easy to imagine, give the hostile medical climate surrounding VBAC, that like most women she presumed it was high-risk and didn't think twice about it.

And now, c-sections are even more normal than they were when I woke up this morning. Birth anecdotes create our cultural beliefs about birth (where did she get the idea that surgery was preferable to vaginal delivery in the first place?) Hundreds of thousands of young women will read about Britney's repeat c-section and accept it as a preferable and safe course of action. I doubt any of those women will ever hear what I have to say. But I'll say it anyway: It's not. Britney and her babies faced a tripled risk of death. She now faces increased risk of infection, blood transfusion, depression and anxiety. Her uterus will be sewn shut and her remaining layers of muscle, fat and skin will be stapled and glued together. She is likely to scar over with adhesions as the tissue heals.

If she wants more children, she'll have the face the fact that each c-section is more risky than the last. If she wants a large family, she will likely be outright discouraged, because of the increased risk and strain to her uterus each time it is cut open and sewn shut (uterine rupture is as likely during pregnancy as it is during labor and delivery). And if she ever is haunted by regret, by confusion and some haunting rage about it all, she will probably hear what most of us hear -- you're fine. You're healthy. It's normal. Be thankful you have healthy babies.

It looks like her family is recovering just fine. So is mine, Thank God. And neither one of us have daughters (yet) to inherit the legacy that our choices are building -- a world where surgery is normal, birth is feared, and women have little right to choose.

Ethiopean New Year

It's September Eleventh.

It's been almost five years since I got burnt out on the phrase "September Eleventh." I've never liked how the numerical date itself is our actual relic for the terrorist attacks. Of course I remember "the day," and all my reactions to it: Trying to get ahold of friends in New York, hearing their story of watching towers fall and how they walked home for hours through ash and crowds. The feeling everywhere of imminent vulnerability. How some moving boxes fell over in a crash late one night, and I was out of bed in tears before I knew what happened: at once facing my own mortality and feeling ridiculously safe. The patriotism that pretended not to be political, but planted the seeds for years of war and confusion. It's so universal, it's a cliché. There's really no reason for me to discuss my own memories of September 11, 2001.

But before there was September Eleventh, there were hundreds of other September Elevenths. It was just a date, in late summer or early fall. For generations, people could discuss it, schedule it, and get up in the morning on September 11-- without the clanging syllables ringing heavy in their ears: Sept-EM-ber! Ee-LEV-enth!

September 11, 1999, for instance, was my sister's wedding day. I was the maid of honor. It was 90 degrees in the Wishkah Valley shade. We wore blue dresses, and had bouquets of delphiniums. My beautiful boyfriend and I flew back from Chicago for the weekend. In addition to all the other great things (love, family, Spencer the dog who kept trying to crash the ceremony) I remember my Grandma being there. In a crowd of people at the reception, she called out to my boyfriend from her table, and asked him to come over and be introduced to more relatives. He proceeded to sit with her and be introduced, and was polite and considerate. I don't know what they talked about. I know it impressed other relatives (which is how I learned of it). Just one of those simple little family challenges where everyone is at their best, and it comes together shining for a moment -- that makes a wedding day what it is.

My Grandma died less than two years later. My boyfriend is now my husband. That's the September Eleventh I'd like to remember.

Using the phrase "September Eleventh" to mean "Terrorist Attacks on New York and Washington" is at once too much and not enough. It's overbroad: September will have an eleventh day, year after year, as long our Gregorian-calendar-using civilization survives. At the same time, it's inadequate -- to refer to the terrorist attacks with nothing but the icon "9/11" serves to somehow veil the actual attacks and the actual terror. In my house, we find it more accurate to refer to "The Terrorist Attacks on New York and Washington." Let's hope there will never be more -- and to call the Terrorist Attacks the Terrorist Attacks will serve, indefinitely, to be the most accurate and the most honest way to describe them.

September 11 is somebody's birthday, somebody's anniversary, somebody's first day of school. It also happens to be Ethiopean New Year: A reminder of an entire people, an entire continent, a calendar, for whom my country and its problems are peripheral to their own traditions and celebrations. Even in our pain, our rememberance, and our sense of community, it's important to keep some perspective.

Happy Anniversary, K and J!

Lunatia on a Friday Afternoon

So I'm loving the blog, but these are turning into long essays that demand a lot of me and anyone reading them. I'm aiming for a post per day, but at this volume it's a lot slower. Every single time, I think I'm going to be pithy and just post a single link and few short quips. And then my ideas expand until I just have too much to say. Some of this stuff is emotionally intense, and I'm trying not to be superficial and go into depth when I want. But it's a big learning process. I have spent an hour or two writing each "essay," and many more hours editing. Then the html slows me down, even those simple little linky-thingies. And there are still tons of typos, I start too many sentences with "maybe," and ask too many rhetorical questions. I'm really trying to let it go, keep moving on, and get better with time.

I really do welcome comments, ideas and discussion. I might experiment with shorter formats, blurbs, posting links, giving myself a paragraph or time limit. In the next few days I'm going to try and write about:

Categories Suck: (I don't care if I'm a "Good mom.")
Love Means Never Having to Say You're Happy
Ten Things I Hate About Scientology
Ethiopean Independence Day
What else?

Before the Seizure that You May or May not Have

Headline yesterday: Two Proteins Tied to Preeclampsia. Big news, because this is a dangerous, mysterious pregnancy complication. It’s really a "symptom cluster" (elevated blood pressure, proteins in urine, hyperreflexia) with no definitive way to diagnose, cause or cure it. "Pre-eclampsia" means "before the seizure" – the eclamptic seizure being worst of its symptoms and effects (it used to be called "toxemia" because it involves toxins in the blood). There’s some good info here: What Happens Biologically During Pre-E. Pre-e causes a "domino effect" in the mother’s blood – some things (diet, minerals or blood pressure meds) seem to help, but they might just slow down the systemic chain reaction long enough for the baby to be born. But nothing is proven to work, and thousands of mothers (and their infants) die of it.

If it’s caught early, pre-e is medically "managed" by bedrest, monitoring, intravenous anti-seizure medications, or surgical removal of the (hopefully healthy and viable term) fetus. In order to avoid the (very low, but real) chance of a seizure, current protocols demand aggressive management. I’ll assume that, on balance, this does more good than harm – although I haven’t seen any stats that show it. Not even hindsight is 20/20 – it’s impossible to know whether any given interventions actually avoided a seizure, or did any good at all.

When a woman shows up in labor (like I did) presenting some clinical symptoms for pre-eclampsia, the protocol is apparently "everyone freak out." I had BP around 135/90, some protein showing on a urine "test strip," and excelled on my reflex test by kicking the nurse in the face (I was momentarily proud, before I realized was not a good sign). I was immediately given an IV (after two false tries which left me too bruised for anyone to hold my hands through labor). For the next 20 hours I was administered magnesium sulfate, a drug so strong it burns the arms on entry and causes "flu-like" symptoms (dizziness, exhaustion, vomiting). Magnesium, coincidentally, is a drug that's also used to stop labor when women are in danger of delivering prematurely. So, not surprisingly, after 12 hours of being "stuck" at 6 cm of dilation (and after pitocin, artificial rupture of membranes, an intrauterine catheter, and other stuff I probably don’t even know about), I agreed to the doctor’s proposal that "we go ahead and section you." Somewhere in the back of my mind was the recollection that "failure to progress" really means "failure to be patient," that c-sections were not an easy way out of anything, and that somewhere inside me was a baby who knew how to come out of my body the way the good Lord intended. But I don't remember thinking much about this. Mostly I remember that they promised me a cherry popsicle when it was over, at my insistence.

I'm lucky, I know: pre-eclampsia stole my birth, but not my baby. I’m also lucky that I did not suffer serious complications from the interventions and surgery. But yes, the birth still matters -- a point I think Gretchen Humphries says best in her essay You Should Be Grateful. I understand that medicine is an art as well as a science, and I believe that the doctors who put me on magensium me did it with every intention of protection me from seizure and delivering me of a healthy baby. I’m not prepared to second-guess their decisions, even when we saw another OB shake her head in dismay at my chart and tell me my pre-e was "mild." Even though I recently checked my labwork and saw that my actual blood draws did not show positive indicators of pre-eclampsia. I still might have been at risk. They might have saved my life. There’s no way to know.

It’s a popular myth that women are healthier and safer now than in "The Old Days" of childbirth where we didn't have operating rooms and anesthesiologists on-call. While nutrition and sanitation have made birth much healthier (especially compared to eras of historic poverty, malnutrition or social oppression) other things haven’t: Skyrocketing c-section rates since the 1970's, for instance, haven’t lowered maternal or neonatal mortality rates in the same time period. In fact (see below), surgical deliveries carry a higher risk of death for everyone. And this is without considering complications like infected incisions, blood transfusions, pain, depression and anxiety (that are not quantified as "serious" complications by most research, or legally cognizable as damage). And in countless other situations, mothers and babies are exposed to infections, allergens, medicinal error, anxiety and post-traumatic stress -- simply by going to the hospital.

It may be too much to hope for a magic pill for pre-eclampsia (folic acid during pregnancy, for instance dramatically reduces neural tube defects). But science has got to lead us (eventually) to more certainty, less fear, and more accurate and specific treatment. And we have to wonder whether so many women's bodies are truly made (evolved, designed, created) with innate defects that can only be cured by modern medicine. Childbirth is not supposed to be easy, but I have to wonder if it's supposed to be deadly. Do we really need science to save us from the danger of own bodies? How much of this is a symptom of our modern lives -- poor diets, exposure to pollutants, and a culture of fear and mistrust surrounding birth? How much are we asking of medicine, and how much do we need to take responsibility for ourselves?

In some cases, maybe mine (maybe), medical intervention saves lives. I’ll never know. What I do know is that, from here on out, I’m classified as a "high risk" birth – not because of pre-eclampsia, but because of the previous uterine surgery that fear and treatment of pre-eclampsia led to. So we'll see what happens if I do it again. In the meantime I’m learning all I can -- about health and disease; responsibility and trust; risk, fear and courage.

Better than Banana Milkshakes

I just celebrated my four-year wedding anniversary. This is not impressive to normal people, but I'm feeling quite superior to Nicolas Cage and Lisa Marie Presley. They were married a few weeks before I was, back in 2002. They lasted three months. I'm gloating: Look what money can’t buy!

Even when I don't envy celebrities, I compare myself to them. Like I enmesh my identity with this idealized notion of what they are, that I'm not. I let them get to me: I hate how they're so skinny that girls think they’re getting "fat" when they hit highschool and grow out of a size 2. I’m annoyed that their casual sex lives look so glossy and easy, and their divorces hardly seem to inconvenience them.

And we're codependent. Because I pay, month after month, to read, watch and ogle their beautiful, awful lives. I’m the enabler, because I consume it all. The glamorous photo shoots and the paparazzi shots. That section of Us Weekly that says "Stars: They’re just like Us!" – and all the advertising along the way, so I know what purchases will cure my imperfections and make me more like them. I haven’t actually bought any pore-minimizer, but I look in the mirror see lots of pores. More pores on my nose alone than I can see on the combined surface area of Angelina Jolie’s entire family. I also see heavier arms, shaggier brows -- and a happy wife who met her husband when he was single; and a grown daughter who is happily on speaking terms with her wonderful dad. But, as long as I compare myself, I can only see Robin, The Not-Angelina. Whether I "buy into" it or not, I’m buying it.

Thomas Merton (who pre-dated pore minimizer, but would know what I’m talking about) described this as the loss of love itself. In his Love and need: Is love a package or a message? He wrote about "the advertising imagery which associates sexual fulfillment with all the most trivial forms of satisfaction" -- what's now the conventional wisdom that "sex sells." Merton saw this rooted in our very definition of love as a "a package concept." Pursuing love as a "thing" – the promise of ultimate fulfillment of a need – pushes us to seek others who will "make a deal" to love us. As Merton says, "in order to make a deal you have to appear in the market with a worthwhile product, or if the product is worthless you can get by if you dress it up in a good-looking package. We unconsciously think of ourselves as objects for sale on the market. We want to be wanted. We want to attract customers. We want to look like the kind of product that makes money." At some level, even the most educated and emotionally healthy of us are bound to wonder whether, if we were more attractive, we would be happier. But to ask this question, we are hoping for conditional love, and nothing more.

Celebrities are everywhere – our constant reminder of an ideal package we covet but cannot compete with. This is the fascination with Jennifer Aniston: She is so beautifully packaged, how could someone leave her? Her wedding vows promised her "banana milkshakes forever" -- really a pretty lame aspiration, and her husband couldn’t even live up to that. Maybe she’s not as worthy as she looks. Maybe my own package isn’t so bad. At least I’m not starving myself and constantly photographed by strangers. But comparisons debase us all (and are haunting -- what if a woman of Angelina Jolie-caliber attractiveness becomes interested in my husband?) But my marriage is not an achievement, any more than my body is an accessory.

When we stop measuring ourselves by perfection (or cattily refusing it), what waits for us is unconditional love. It's the same liberation we find when we stop trying to control our children with affection and anger. Anything less, Merton says, misses the whole point of life itself: "Love is not an emptiness to be filled. It is a sacrifice. It is a form of worship. A positive force. A transcendent spiritual power. The deepest creative power in human nature. A living appreciation of life as value and as gift. The revelation of our deepest personal meaning. " And he does not dismiss the fulfilling power of relationships. Unconditional love is not a reward for perfection. It is the revelation of ourselves through the sacrifice of another.

My true meaning and worth are shown to me not in my estimate of myself, but in the eyes of the one who loves me; and that one must love me as I am, with my faults and limitations, revealing to me the truth that these faults and limitations cannot destroy my worth in their yes; and that I am therefore valuable as a person, In spite of my shortcomings, in spite of the imperfections of my exterior "package." The package is totally unimportant. What matters is this infinties precious message which I can discover only in my love for another person.

I’m working on it. Maybe Angelina is too. We’ll see how she’s doing after she and Brad spend four long years together.

"Love is not just something that happens to you: Love is a certain special way of being alive."
Thomas Merton

Dark Hearts and Wounded Knees

Christians seek West's atonement for colonialism today. This kind of thing makes me hopeful, then immediately wary. I know there's something dark under the surface here. I'm at once inspired, skeptical, daunted, and wondering what the "backlash" will be. Or maybe the darkness is my own heart, asking whether this is really my problem, and wondering if we can't just forget about it.

But these guys sound upbeat: "We are not looking to man for help, we are looking to God for our dignity to be restored but first of all the West must confess, repent and atone for their past . . . Once that happens we can talk of reparations and co-operation and how we can start on an equal footing."

It's a start. Apologies are scary. They're usually encumbered by small print so they can't be admitted into evidence as legal admissions. Unhindered, public apologies are unusual, and make headline news. The descendants of L. Frank Baum (Wizard of Oz), for example, recently made headlines for apologizing for Baum's racism against Native Americans. And by "racism," I mean "called for extermination." Or as Baum put it: "Having wronged them for centuries we had better, in order to protect our civilization, follow it up by one more wrong and wipe these untamed and untamable creatures from the face of the earth." A position that was egregious even on the 19th century frontier, as explained by Tony L. Kollman. This isn't the folksy racism of Mark Twain, and calling it out can't be dismissed as political correctness. This was express incitement to genocide; and Wounded Knee, which followed, was genocide.

So this summer, Baum's descendants visited Wounded Knee descendents and apologized. His great-great-grandson, Mac Hudson, described it as "a very humbling experience," and noted that "It seemed possible that healing could occur from this." .

Possible. There's some hope.

If apologizing is hard, what's the next step? Making amends is even harder. Reparations -- repairing that which was broken -- attempt both social reconciliation and legal restitution. Perhaps they make the most sense from an "unjust enrichment" theory -- but we tend to get hung up on the emotional issues of guilt, culpability, and vindictation. As Salim Muwaakil wrote about slavery reparations, they have the potential to "help clarify the crippling affects of that legacy by taking careful account of the structural and intergenerational dimensions of racial advantage and disadvantage. This approach is not concerned with inducing guilt or moral suasion; it defines slavery in terms of unjust enrichment and racially biased distribution of resources."

Okay, but do we have to do something about it? I was lucky to study Human Rights with Professor Wiktor Osiatynski, a Polish Constitutional scholar. What I remember about Professor Osiatynski is his admiration for the U.S. and our Constitution. His appreciation, from a critical and global perspective, was refreshing. (My own stagnant appreciation was pretty much summed up in my 8th Grade VFW-Contest winning essay entitled, "The Constitution, Our License to Liberty.") Professor Osiatynski gave the U.S. its due credit as a stable and successful young democracy (which, I gathered, has been a hard thing to create from scratch in post-Communist Poland). But he was equally open about America's debits: that we built our country on a history of slavery and Native displacement. This gave the young U.S. tremendous economic leverage and the geography of a "clean slate" compared to old countries like Poland. And this is a legacy we haven't reconciled. So there it was. The cloud in the room, darkening my gloating rights over Poland and her flailing Constitution. The same darkness I feel today -- it apparently stretches from South Dakota to Africa, all the way across Oz and beyond.

Reparations are complex. I don't know how we'd start considering who has been "unjustly enriched" by slavery and genocide, and to whom amends must be made. Or maybe I'm just making excuses -- and this is that darkness in my heart saying it's too little, too late, and it's time to move on. Because I sound pretty close to Mr. L. Frank Baum: we've come this far, wouldn't a few more wrongs make it all go away?

Our democracy gives us hope and (at risk of sounding like an 8th grader) it gives us responsibility. Where to begin?