Which brings me to conspiracy theories.
‘Gosh, that was a big jump,’ you might think. Or, if you were less charitable (and also well-read), ‘that was a complete non sequitur.’
Why conspiracy theories?
Well ... it all started when I was eating my lunch at work last week. One of my colleagues is seven months’ pregnant, so, naturally, the subject turned to babies, bibs and ... giving birth. Luckily, my colleague had attended births before - something she described as the best form of contraception there is - and had some idea what to expect. In good spirits, she was pretty clear that she would have an epidural as there was no way she wanted to go through the kind of pain that her sister experienced (and she witnessed). She did, however, ask me the dreaded question ‘what was it like for you?’
Now, as I’ve blogged previously, my birth experience is not really something you’d want to share to rally and support an expectant mother. While a traumatic birth is certainly a possibility, what I experienced was far from routine. I have therefore struggled on a number of occasions to think of what the best response would be to someone about to give birth who asked me this very question.
It's tricky. You don’t want to to sugar-coat, but you don’t want to scare the bejesus out of someone either - especially, as in this case, at seven months pregnant, the die is pretty much cast. Not to mention the fact that women are different, their babies are different, and their experiences will be different. ‘Telling the truth’ about childbirth might be the catch-cry of any number of books on motherhood from Kate Figes to Eleanor Black, but it’s also a lot harder than it seems. One woman’s truth is another woman’s fiction.
I 'ummed' and 'aahed' a bit before saying something ineffectual like 'it's good you've been to births before - that should give you an idea of what to expect'. This searing insight was followed up with something like ‘mine didn’t go so well, so it’s probably not a good guide as to what might happen.’
The understatement of the century.
But what is the thing to say? It’s harder than you might think. One friend did have a straightforward natural birth that went pretty much as she wanted it. If I’d had that experience, I’d gladly tell anyone who asked. Other times, I’ve more obviously dodged the subject and said little to nothing at all. The so-called conspiracy of silence is less ‘government cover-up’ and more ‘if you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.’
The double bind I found myself in at lunch the other day reminded me of the scene in The Deer Hunter (1978), where Michael, Steven and Nick encounter a Green Beret at the wedding reception. The three friends are just about to leave for Vietnam and they encounter the returned Green Beret drinking quietly - and heavily - by himself in the bar, as everyone else carouses in the main hall. In high spirits - both literally and metaphorically - Michael, Steven and Nick try to connect with the returned soldier. They tell him that they too are soon to 'go airborne' and ask ‘what’s it like over there?’ He tries to ignore them, preferring to deal with his demons privately. The more he does so, the more they want him to answer. Eventually, surrounded, he turns to them, raises his glass, and toasts them with a wry ‘f*** it.’
Caught between the desire to warn and be helpful, and the desire not to scare someone and potentially impact the positive frame of mind they’ll need to get through the experience, mothers have been accused of perpetuating a conspiracy of silence, particularly in relation to childbirth and the relentlessness of parenting.
In 1997, Australian researcher Carol McVeigh published the results of a study of 79 first-time mothers, many of whom spoke about the conspiracy of silence, bewailing the fact that no-one told them what to expect, (as I myself did in an earlier post). Since McVeigh published her research, there has been an explosion of mummy-literature - books and blogs, academic research and novels - that not only exhort us to ‘tell the truth’ about motherhood, but also proceed to ‘tell the truth’ about the author’s own experiences. With all the truth-telling going on, it’s a wonder that the idea of a ‘conspiracy of silence’ still persists.
Perhaps it's as my midwife said, that ‘women just don’t want to hear it.’ I know when I sat down to read Kate Figes’ Life After Birth while I was still pregnant, I quickly abandoned it after reading the back cover, as it just seemed too depressing. I also know that recommending her book to me was one way that a mother I knew had tried to break the conspiracy of silence for me.
This blog is, I guess, my way.
Next time, a bright-eyed mum-to-be asks me what my experience was like, I’ll know what to do. Instead of trying to capture the highs and the lows, the joys and the pain - while simultaneously trying not put them off all together - I’ll say, ‘It’s hard to sum up in just a few sentences. Here, read my blog instead. It’s the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Oh, and 70, 000 words and counting ...’
Or perhaps I should just offer the Green Beret’s toast instead?
