Dying in childbirth...in 2010???

I read the Sunday LA Times yesterday and was beyond shocked to come across an article that discussed the alarming trend in American maternal deaths. Each day in The U.S., two women die of problems related to pregnancy. Black maternal deaths are four times higher. The numbers are rising for reasons which are unknown, and in California alone the rates have tripled since 1999. One third of these deaths are preventable, say experts. What's even more alarming is that the U.S. spends more per birth than any other nation, yet the mortality rate is higher here than in 40 other industrialized countries, and is double that of Canada and Western Europe. That's tough to make sense of. Which is why the human rights organization, Amnesty International, released a report this year calling for sweeping changes in our maternal healthcare.

Experts are weighing in and giving some opinions and their reasons for the rise. It seems there's a mismatch between the way American medicine delivers babies and the changing profile of the American mother. We are getting pregnant older, with more of us are giving birth in our 30's and 40's when risks of complications can occur. And almost 25% of women of childbearing age are obese and thus at higher risk for complications. The bottom line is physicians haven't adapted their approach to childbirth to accommodate these new risks.

We as mothers need to educate ourselves to certain trends in childbirth and the risks they carry with their seeming benefits. Experts are implicating the rise in rates of cesarean sections - which account for one third of all births (I can't believe this stat) - also up from 1999, playing a part. Although some are done to save the life of a mother and her baby, half of them are elective, and therefore, unnecessary. After one C-section, they are typically recommended for subsequent pregnancies. Yet, we should remember,these are major operations and should not be taken lightly because each additional C-section can increase the risk of placental complications and threaten the lives of mother and baby. Also a trend in childbirth is the induction or prompting of labor by medication (pitocin), which is sometimes necessary, but more often than not just elective for a doctor's or patient's convenience. When did childbirth become a convenience? That has climbed by 22% in the last decade! The problem with induced labor is the uterus may not be ready, leading to prolonged labor. After delivery, the exhausted muscle may not contract properly to stop bleeding. Then blood can no longer clot and can lead to hemorrhaging which obviously elevates the risk of death. Another culprit is the widespread use of electronically monitoring women in early labor which keeps staff passive, the patient neglected, and warning signs may be missed.

Hatin' on Facebook: the pressures of social networking

Am I the only person who hates Facebook?

Friends and family encouraged me to sign up for Facebook, but I held out, refusing for some intuitive reason. People Twittering "I just had the best mocha Frappuccino of my life!" and others summing their current complicated state of affairs into clever one liners depressed me somehow. The information superhighway felt lonely with all its banal generalities - no real, deep human connection it seemed from from the outside looking in. I finally capitulated despite my reservations, under the guise of social networking for this blog and the book I've been writing (forever it seems). And now that I am a full-fledged Facebook member I realize how crazy that rationalization was. Because at the end of the day, I am the least self-promoting person there is...I never advertise my posts! Ever. I send these blogs out into the blogosphere thinking I'm writing letters to my close friends and that feels much more grounded and authentic, as opposed to advertising and therefore implying "Hey, check out my musings. I'm a writing genius." I'll obviously have to cultivate a more self-propagating attitude if I'm at all interested in having more readers down the line!!

My mom, who predominantly pushed FB, has a huge following of Friends herself. She said "It's OK if you don't want to be Friends with someone, you can politely decline their request. No big deal." She assured me they'd never know I'd snubbed them...and I naively believed her. So I signed up and people came out of the woodwork in droves. I've had the privilege, thanks to my mom's line of work, of going to many schools in exotic places while I grew up, so lots of classmates, teachers, friends and acquaintances came forward... Some were both amazing and startling to hear from, but once the novelty wore off, I realized I was expected to stoke these friendships to keep them going. People wanted news and personal banter, not just a quick update and then head back into obscurity. I was reminded how nutty I actually am when I'd feel panic that I might be letting these new Friends down when I didn't answer their questions; or that I might hurt others if i didn't press "Accept." I am decidedly way too Codependent for FB; I worry way too much about others' feelings...to a fault. "How's your life? How was your public divorce? What have you been doing for the last 20 years?" I want to type back "Oh go crawl back under your rock. There's a reason we didn't stay in touch way back when..." I know , it doesn't sound "friendly" at all, in fact, it's downright hostile.

The truth is, these days I feel pulled in so many directions. It's a full plate with kids, girlfriends, family - and I am a big time communicator. I love nothing more than sitting down with my circle of people and connecting by sharing from the heart. I just can't do soundbites and I am ultimately disinterested in widening my immediate circle and taking time away from those that matter to share platitudes.

I am clearly not a good Facebook candidate. I never update or upload new photos. And I have over 100 people waiting to hear back from me. It doesn't make me feel popular, it's just that I've covered some terrain in my day and met a lot of people on the journey. So I remain passive. With an open page that is neglected. Maybe one day I'll delete myself entirely or maybe one day I'll feel a surge of ambition and I'll use that page to direct traffic to my humble blog, "The M.I.L.K."

Oh, and by the way Mom, I've had at least eight people come to me at the gym, the grocery store, and the park and ask me point blank why I have not agreed to be their Friend on Facebook. Each time I'd try my best to explain (and backpedal)and they'd give me a look that I read as 'slightly hurt with a trace of suspicion.' So they do take it personally...just as I had suspected!! And people are keeping track of who says yes and who says no. Total nightmare for me, so of course, I'd dutifully head home after those exchanges and "befriend" them... Like I said, total Codependent.

Crap! I'm a Stage Mom!

I’ve grown up around show business my whole life. With my mom being a renowned model and actress, I was pretty much exposed to both industries from birth. I later married an actor and had kids with him, then remarried another actor again years later. I have seen enough of the business from the inside out to feel somewhat sophisticated about it, and dare I say, jaded by the flash and illusions that that world propagates. I can give or a take a red carpet these days and with all the celebrity sightings and run-ins in my Hollywood community, I am rarely phased by any of it. So I like to think of myself as someone who doesn’t subscribe to the shenanigans Tinseltown cultivates. But isn’t it true that once you espouse a belief about yourself and really take it on as your truth, the Universe challenges it…and in my case, often in the form of my children.
My rude awakening was at Halloween when Eliana was loaned a Marie Antoinette costume that had come all the way from Versailles itself. Thankfully, for the integrity of my daughter’s and my relationship, she was game to wear it. Otherwise I had already built a case in my mind that if she refused and instead lobbied to be pedestrian Gabrielle from High School Musical, we were definitely going to have a throw-down. I immediately went to work and located the 'de rigeur' special white face powder from a professional makeup artist’s store; borrowed a fabulous fake emerald tiara from a friend; ordered a white, piled high wig online and dug through decorations to find a little stuffed bird (Marie Antoinette often put unusual objects in her ornate hairstyles). And finally, together we watched Sofia Coppola’s sumptuous biographical movie in preparation for the big night of trick-or-treating.
And she did look perfect. My husband shook his head watching me in a flurry of activity primping Eliana to within an inch of her life. To say I was ‘into it,’ was a gross understatement. Later that night, when she won First Prize for Best Costume at a creatively competitive costume party, beating out a hundred other kids, I whooped and high-fived everyone around me. I startled my husband and son, with my unusual display of public enthusiasm, instead of my usually socially reserved self. I kept repeating loudly, “She won! She won!” to anyone and everyone around me. Peripherally, I could see my husband and son inching away from me, and even my daughter, from the makeshift stage, I could tell was mortally embarrassed. I surprised myself, and acknowledged inwardly right then and there, “I’m a Stage Mom…who knew?’
I began embracing it. When casting announcements were made for her first school play last year, I was hugely disappointed when she was given a made-up part in High School Musical: “a friend of Sharpay’s.” But I hid it well with “That’s great honey! You bring all your personality to it and you’ll shine out there no matter how small your part.” Props to me! I sat through that painfully low budget performance with its requisite wooden acting, and I silently cursed the director for not highlighting my super-talented daughter’s abilities by not giving her a meatier role. In the car ride on the way home, I ‘constructively’ pointed out to Eliana that she was downstage and profile the entire show. “But that’s how Miss Amanda told me stand, Mommy.” And here it comes, the ultimate Stage Mom-standing-in-the-wings stage direction, “Ellie, you always face the audience, Honey. Doesn’t matter what the director tells you. You can always just turn your head to face the audience and your body stays on your mark to keep the director happy, OK? Otherwise no one gets to see you and your beautiful face up there.” Yikes! The car was silent for a moment, as I took stock of my own advice. My husband looked over at me - a man who does this for a living, mind you - and rolled his eyes, “OK simmer down Mrs. Ramsey… We don’t want to create a monster, here. Ellie, you did great. Don’t listen to your mom right now, she’s under the influence of her own insane, twisted ambition!” We laughed heartily at my newly developing persona… It seems I was the one becoming a monster!
This year, when casting for the production of Hairspray went into effect, I just knew in my heart Eliana was going to get chosen for the plum role of Tracy - the lead in the musical. She knew every song (and sang it beautifully, I might add). Physically she was perfect; she looked exactly like a miniature version of John Waters’ original movie character, Tracy. I told Ellie to raise her hand when Miss Amanda asked everyone if they wanted central parts in the show, and to make sure during the weeks leading up to Miss Amanda’s decision, that she sang directly into the mike and stayed focused during rehearsals. I must tell you that Ellie is naturally an outgoing, unbelievably charismatic little person who dances and sings wherever she goes. It’s in her nature to perform, always has been from birth. Not to mention she is a bonafide Leo through and through -- the most attention seeking sign in the Zodiac. So this was not a tall request of her I reasoned.
But in the end, after much anticipation for the starring role, she did not get that part. Kudos to me for keeping a stoic face as she cried in the backseat of the car at pickup time… And the bitter pill, yet again, was her assignment of a small part: the diminutive little sister that doesn’t even exist in the real production. We both took it hard. I did a flash forward in my mind to opening night, watching myself arm her with the seemingly supportive, but ultimately freakishly subversive pre-show pep talk backstage: “Now honey, don’t be afraid to take up space; try to sing louder than everyone else; face the audience no matter what you’ve been told; enunciate and sing from your belly; follow through on all your dancing moves with pointed toes and outstretched fingers…”
But I think, for my own progress as a balanced, well-adjusted human being, I will sit this one out and just passively watch the homegrown production that’s sometimes tough to enjoy when your own kid’s not on the stage. Because ultimately, I will encourage her to just relish being a part of a production and developing a love of the craft, not just the showmanship of it. All the more important for me to pass on to her now, as my intuition tells me she will one day follow in both her dads’ footsteps in some capacity in their industry. I coach myself into understanding these are significant lessons for her to know: the value of being a worker amongst workers; that all parts big or small create an inspired collective and a successful production both on the stage and in life. It’s a vital piece of her foundation as an artist, and as a young woman for her to grow towards.
That’ll work for this round of Hairspray, but make no mistake: this summer she’ll be enrolled in a professional theater company… Come the Fall, she’ll be fully equipped to try out again for Miss Amanda and at long last, maybe land the coveted lead in her school play.

Bullies and Best Friends

My daughter Eliana came home from school one afternoon in tears: it seems "Mean Girls" starts in 3rd Grade these days... The little girls that had been friends with her since Pre-Kindergarden had now collectively agreed that Eliana was somehow not cool anymore, and befriending her equaled social suicide. She's 8 years old for God's sake! This feeling of betrayal had been a slow build since the beginning of the school year. I noticed something was off when I'd suggest a playdate with a tried-and-true friend and Eliana would say, "Oh we just don't get along anymore." I just chalked that up to kids growing and having different interests. Then I heard rumblings of trouble in casual conversations, when she'd say so-and-so took her lunch, but she "had wanted to share it anyway and wasn't hungry." Red flag: time for motherly intervention. I talked to the teachers and they weren't observing any bullyish behavior, but made an announcement lunches were not to be shared amongst the students.
The day the tears flowed was the day I understood the extent to which Ellie had been holding in the taunting, the ostracizing and the just plain mean behavior with girls shouting around her: "Everyone run from Eliana! Eliana's fat." And if, God forbid, one of the group was "caught" playing with her, the leader of the pack would say right in front of her, "Why are you talking to Eliana? Don't be friends with HER!"
I listened, in shock, trying to make out the details through her great hiccuping tears, unbiasedly thinking to myself what a great person my daughter is: smart, funny, and years ahead of her peers in maturity. Was that it? Was that why she was a target? "Honey, why wouldn't you tell me this has been going on all this time? That's a terrible thing to hold inside and not talk about." She looked at me sheepishly and said, "I didn't want you to call their moms." I looked at her earnest tear-stained face and said gently, "They need to know, honey. I'd want to know if you were behaving that way too, right? It's totally fine for me to try and work this out. Don't be embarrassed, OK?" She looked me square in the face, "Mom, it's Marisa." I recoiled in horror. "Marisa?! No, it can't be." I could feel myself backpedaling already...not my best friend's daughter!!! Ugh! Not the call you want to make. Her daughter and mine had spent many years together, many overnights, and even holidays away. Her daughter was the only child-guest we'd invited to our wedding last summer and they'd flown across the country for it. I reassured Ellie I'd handle it, and in the meantime, I tried to emphasize that this is not what friendship looks like. That these girls were not behaving in a way that real friends do. And as hard as it is to turn the other cheek, she should focus on her other friends right now. I put her to bed, and with my heart hammering away in my chest, I speed dialed Marisa's mom. Who wants to tell their close friend their kid's a bully? What parent wouldn't get defensive hearing that? I love my girlfriend like a sister and that's exactly how I started the conversation. I then told her how uncomfortable I felt, but that this was what was happening to my Ellie throughout the day, spearheaded by her Marisa... And I was reminded why she's such a special person in my life: "Oh that's awful. Marisa can be a real little bitch sometimes. You know what's happening? She's trying out this new persona right now, and I don't like it. I'm going to sit her down and clear this up. Poor Ellie."
I exhaled a huge sigh of relief: for me obviously, but more importantly for my daughter, who had a protector in her frenemy's mom. And the next morning, like every morning, Eliana was grumpy getting out of bed. But halfway through her cream of wheat, she was singing and chatting and being her optimistic, all-accepting self. We should all be so resilient!