An Introduction
In 1980, my family grew to include children who had fled the
conflict in Southeast Asia. They made
their way to refugee camps in Thailand and Indonesia by foot and by boat and
then as, orphans and unaccompanied minors, they arrived aour house in Portland,
Oregon. I was thirty-two years old,
pregnant and already a mother to two young boys. My husband was in medical school. We felt that love could accomplish all things
and were children ourselves of the idealism of our generation. Our old wooden house would burst to
overflowing as we faced, unprepared, the joys and challenges of bringing young
people into our community who were sick, frightened, homesick and lonely.
Thirty-three years later, I made a trip to Vietnam and
Cambodia with two of those now grown children. I had been to Cambodia twice
before with my daughter but it was my first visit to Vietnam. I had volunteered as a midwife in Haiti and
Gahanna and wanted to spend some part of my trip with midwives. They had grown up with a midwife- mother and
knew this to be my particular and peculiar passion.
I was interested in how Vietnam and Cambodia’s midwives had
managed through bombs, famine, genocide and years of conflict. I wanted to know how they became midwives and
who helped them along the way. I wanted
to know how their new governments had made the transition from war to peace
while improving the maternal and newborn mortality rates of women and children. I wanted to know the situations in which my
own children were born; of the practices and women who helped them take their
first breath and survive.
I had wanted to offer the midwives of my children’s
countries some small gift and so
before leaving, I had decided to offer training in newborn
resuscitation through Helping Babies Breathe.
I packed training materials and 40 ambubags to give to local birth
centers. My children helped me to make
contact with many local clinics and others I found through NGO’s working in the
countries. Through them I gave many
workshops, observed birth in a variety of settings and had an opportunity to
meet many midwives.
I had become a midwife in the post Vietnam war years, when many of us struggled
to create a way of life that would eliminate the causes of war. During this time, we formed food co-ops,
schools, community gardens, and some of us were drawn to birth. I was working in Head Start and saw the harm
of drug and alcohol use on the unborn child.
I saw the need for parenting to begin long before my four- year old
classroom. A co-worker asked if I would
go to her teen age daughters birth classes and birth. It was my very first birth and I sensed then
that in that place I could find, for myself, the moment where heaven and earth
touched. After so much conflict from
war, the civil rights movement and protest I felt a possibility of healing and peace.
I began my journey, as a midwife, slowly but without
hesitation. In Cambodia, a midwife told
me she was woken by a dream that told her to go and help a neighbor in labor. We are all perhaps, offered these dreams but
it is often hard to get out of bed and follow them.
This is how it was for me, both as a midwife and as a
mother. Once I knew that children from
the refugee camps needed homes and families there was really never any turning
back. Once I began to listen to the
story of birth there was no choice but to listen.
While women in my country were making connections between
war and corporate control over every part of our lives, the women in Vietnam
and Cambodia were struggling to heal their communities and their families. Over and over again the women and the
midwives told me that it was not birth that killed them or their children but
war and famine. Most women had many
children during this time and all, that I spoke with, lost several to
starvation and a lack of basic medical care.
I was reminded over and over again how deeply war impacts women and
children and their ability to survive and protect one another.
In these stories, I try to capture the impact of war but
also the resiliency and courage with which women preserved their families and
their communities. As the guide in My
Lai said, “It is hard for your generation of Americans to come to Vietnam.” It was often very painful and full of
heartbreaking memories. Coming face to
face with the lasting harm of Agent Orange on newborns left me sobbing with
embarrassed, powerless, pent up tears.
Years ago, I had stood in silent vigils asking for the war to end. It felt right, no matter how difficult, that
I make this vigil and stand beside the women and midwives of Cambodia and Vietnam. I tried to feel peace and to let my heart, so
broken by the actions of my own much loved country, heal.
I am forever thankful to my children’s families who fed me,
introduced me to older midwives and helped me find my way from place to
place. For all the cups of tea,
laughter and nights spent sleeping together I am grateful. To all the midwives of the world who deliver
each and every baby with a silent prayer for peace in their hearts. For all women who deserve to give birth in
peace and to raise their children with enough food, a free education, health
care and a clean environment.
A photo of my children who came from Cambodia and Vietnam as adults.
