Dusk and dawn - Day 49

Day 49 (Thursday 18th January 2018)

49, the age of King Naresuan of Siam when he died. On the 18 January 1591,
King Naresuan the Great killed Prince Minchit Sra of Burma in a single elephant combat,
marking the end of Burmese invasion. The battle is one of the epic moments in Thai
military history and the day is now commemorated as Royal Thai Armed Forces Day.
King Naresuan ruled 

I have much to think about today - yesterday early evening I spent some time in one of the leading London hospitals - working with the leaders, looking at data relating to patient safety, staff well-being and the levels of care. Unlike many hospitals Guy's and Saint Thomas' did not stop undertaking routine operations during the recent crisis and did not grind to a halt during the peak of the severe outbreak of flu that has hampered so many other Trusts; indeed emergency patient care was provided by the Trust to other Trusts' patients to help other hospitals that were struggling in the area. At present across most of the NHS more nurses are leaving than joining and, without sufficient nurses it is impossible to establish extra beds for patients during times of crisis.

Today's post is by Jo Mortimer. Jo is a successful business woman - she has grown and runs one of the most significant divisions of the global recruitment firm Angela Mortimer. The ethos of the company rests on integrity (both towards individuals and clients). By going out of your way to understand what an individual or a business needs, it is possible to ensure a great cultural fit where all parties can thrive. 

Jo is highly intelligent and a delight to spend time with. After reading (and gaining a 1st) in Psychology at Cambridge, Jo commenced working in education as a primary school teacher. She is a gifted musician and singer and, despite no longer running youth choirs and school curricula, she remains actively involved in the folk music scene. Jo lives in south London with her enchanting daughter and brilliantly supportive husband. You can connect with her on social media (her Twitter handle is @J0Mortimer.

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I love this series of blogs. It brings a real sense of connection to a disparate group of people. This year, as is often the case, mental health has been a strong theme. When we hosted a seminar on the topic this year we were overwhelmed by the response of HR professionals now keen to engage with it. Corbyn has likewise been strong on the theme. It seems the taboo around mental health is melting with the ice-caps. But how to go about nurturing it, and helping others do the same?

At this time of year we find ourselves celebrating the dusk of the old year and the dawn of the new – a celebration older than time. The dominant paradigm where I live in the UK is the Christian imagery, with advent calendars and nativity plays a plenty, and a few of the old pagan traditions still pleasantly loitering like dear grandparents around the fire.

The story behind the Christmas festival – in its most literal interpretation – is that a virgin gave birth.

Sorry to be the one to bring up religion at the Advent blog dinner party, but I think it’s fair to say that taken out of context – or, well, in any context – lots of people might think that was a bit of a tall one. However, at this time of year, many learned and well respected members of society stand in pulpits, sing in the pews and “proclaim the virgin birth”.

Over the past two years various births, deaths and marriages in my life have led me to engage with the Church on a logistical level and it was when exploring the various Christening/naming/child celebration options, I got in touch for the first time with our local vicar.

In our living room, with my husband sitting awkwardly with a cup of tea I knew he wished was a single malt, I asked her what she thought people who went to church actually believe. Her response was: “look around the congregation, 85 different people, 85 different beliefs”. This was a small revelation to me. 

Having attended a “C of E” school, I was familiar with Christian traditions and had even had what I thought was strong personal faith as a teenager. But then aged 16 I read Freud who basically changed my mind. I set up camp with Richard Dawkins et al, essentially still a fundamentalist but on the other side of the fence. I rejected virgin births along with Father Christmas and other fairy tales.

As an atheist fundamentalist, you can’t really go to church, because it’s against your religion. Just like you can’t go to visit Santa in his grotto….or can you?

Rejecting ideas is all very well, but as the mental health theme is showing us, human beings still have needs of the spirit. We long to be part of communities, to be loved, to have company, to have families, to sometimes have distance from those families, to feel useful, supported and part of something bigger than ourselves.

A Part of Something Bigger by Laurel Pettit

As a Philosophy student, I also explored non-intellectual approaches to spirituality through meditation, yoga and Taoist Tai Chi™. Through Tai Chi I have had exposure to Taoist, Confucian and Buddhist rituals and chanting. I have never been expected to understand, let alone vouch for the content of the chanting. Indeed some of the chants are so old they are now incomprehensible to anyone of any dialect, and the syllables are simply chanted, keeping the ritual alive. My experience must be similar to that of the English illiterati of centuries past, enjoying the break from the daily grind as the Latin readings and communal singing washed over them.

Because I didn’t have to engage with the meaning of the chanting, the fundamentalist atheist in me was able to relax, and I felt great benefit. I was physically energised, enjoyed community with my fellow chanters and allowed my brain to stop whirring. I also found the space when celebrating the All Souls festival in the Chinatown of Toronto, Canada, to have a good old cry and let go of grief and tension I hadn’t even realised I was holding on to.

London is a wonderfully cosmopolitan melting pot, but as with anywhere in the world, Taoist temples are few!  With the discovery that our vicar doesn’t mind me coming to church and adding a 86th belief system to the existing 85 she counts in her congregation, I’ve discovered a delightful community, quite literally on my doorstep, where I can go on the lonely Sunday mornings when I would otherwise be pushing my toddler on a solitary swing, quietly wondering what the point is.

I think lots of us stay away from church because we are ourselves fundamentalists (albeit of the atheist persuasion). Understandably it feels hypocritical to take part in a ceremony that you can’t wholeheartedly buy into. Equally, we wouldn’t want to stand up and say: “I believe in Santa Claus, gifter almighty, maker of candy and sleighs”. (Except perhaps in the grotto at the school Christmas fair, when it would be rude not to.)

The beauty of the culture of the Church of England tradition, and something I hadn’t properly appreciated, is that everyone is welcome to come to church, no matter what you believe. Heck, they even have the ‘doubting Thomas’ story for those of us who know we don’t know.

I suppose life’s finally gifted me the humility to realise I need the support of a community and the space to connect to The Universe/Space/Peace/Quiet/Reality/Truth/God* (*delete as you see fit – though in my view defining the last one can be a can of worms).

I also think that if congregations dwindle and we lose the churches, we will have lost a baby in all that murky, grubby bathwater. Whether it’s a stained glass window, a candle, a sermon, a carol, an old lady talking to your baby or a mince pie that gives you pause for thought, there’s a rich tapestry on offer that in my view has yet to be replicated on one’s doorstep.

All Saints Church Denmead - stained glass window

In an age of frightening radicalism and polarisation, churches have the potential to become a place where moderates can come together, connect with their community, take some time for reflection and enjoy a rare moment of peace. The more the merrier!

 

“A modern Nativity the old fashioned way” (aka “Ostentatious Over-Sharings of a Smug Git”)

Day 17 (Saturday 17th December 2016)

17 thousand solar cells on the wings of Solar Impulse 2

enabled it to achieve its record making fossil-fuel-free flight

around the globe. It has a wider wingspan than a Boeing 747.

The journey started on 9th March 2015 and was completed on

26th July 2016 when it arrived back in Abu Dhabi.

We have reached the weekend and, even though I suspect that you have a busy day ahead of you, I hope you find time to read today's post and perhaps catch up on ones that you have missed or merit a re-read. I am sure you will agree with me that the blogs so far have been extraordinary; today's is no exception. Jo Mortimer, one of the UK's leading recruitment experts, specialising in administrative and office roles is a Divisional Leader at the highly regarded Angela Mortimer Group. Jo can be found on Twitter, her handle is @J0Mortimer. Jo has a 1st class degree in Psychology from Cambridge and has retained an interest in questioning the world and the people around her. She is well-travelled and engaging company. A Buddhist, she practices Taoist Tai Chi. She has an excellent voice (singing folk and as part of a capella group). Jo is a feminist, as you will be able to tell from her post.

Jo has written a very personal post influenced by a significant high during her past 12 months: the birth of her daughter. She also, deliberately, raises a number of topics that are not often discussed or even are considered taboo in our western society.

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“A modern Nativity the old fashioned way”

(aka “Ostentatious Over-Sharings of a Smug Git”)

Around this time last year, an eagerly anticipated event came upon us – the birth of our daughter.

It was beautiful, though not in conventional Hollywood terms. Like all newborns, her grey skin was more “Shaun of the Dead” than “Casa Blanca”. I’ll spare you the analysis of bodily fluids in the birthing pool.

Image: Shaun of the Dead, Dir: Edgar Wright, 2004

But the process of giving birth really was beautiful – one of the greatest highs of my life. Not just the “phew it’s all over and we have a baby” bit, the whole experience. And that’s an unusual thing for a woman to say.

Why?

At this point, I get on my feminist high horse.

In modern history, patriarchal society has, I contend, embraced an image of the weak and helpless woman, feeling faint in a corset and heels (this is not a bygone era – remember Nicola Thorp, the receptionist sent home from PwC earlier this year for not wearing heels?). Such delicate and lovely creatures cannot be expected to do, well, hard labour.

Image sourced from www.marriedtothesea.com

Enter the men in white coats with their trusty sidekick, technology.

“Lie on your back my dear while we strap you to this recording device, give you pain relief rendering you immobile and then inevitably have to cut you in some way to wrench the poor grey specimen out of you.”

This is the prevailing model of first world childbirth, talked about by new mothers ad nauseam. The competition for top horror story makes “Rosemary’s Baby” look like “Toy Story 2”.

Rosemary’s Baby, Roman Polanski, 1968

And women with a positive birth story can hardly speak up at these coffee meets. Rule number 1 of the playground: when you’re making new friends, try not to be the smug git. So women with positive birth stories remain the silent. This does all women a disservice.

It takes courage to step outside the prevailing paradigm. I came under pressure from the well-meaning family to have a hospital birth. This was motivated by loving concern for our welfare, and in the context of the modern norm is understandable.

But taking control of your choices is key to ensuring that you feel relaxed and comfortable, and that you have the best chance of a gentle, natural birth. Our mammalian cousin, the household cat, is renowned for shunning birthing baskets meticulously prepared by owners, favouring instead the solitude of the garden hedge.

Image source: Dailymail.co.uk

The “hypnobirthing” movement, championed by Marie Mongan amongst others, sounds whacky but has at its heart a simple physiological fact: as with all mammals, if the mother is relaxed, the muscles of the womb will contract easily. If the mother is tense and fearful, the muscles of the womb will not want to contract. They will fight to remain closed to delay the birth until the mother feels safe and secure – ‘out of the lion’s den’. This is likely to result in an extended and painful labour.

I decided to create a ‘birthing nest’ in the front room of our house. My husband surpassed himself with birth pool logistics (getting an inflatable Jacuzzi filled with water that remains at a stable 37 degrees isn’t as easy as it sounds), a perfect playlist (Max Richter’s “Sleep” amongst others) and a veritable shrine of candles. Oxytocin, the hormone associated with love and relaxation, was flowing and the birthing goddess was ready to emerge!

And she’d been training.

Realising the importance of a relaxed mind, I repeatedly listened to a man (Phil Parker) telling me in deliciously rhythmic tones that I was going to be “amazed by the easy…simple…and natural process of giving birth”.

Image source: www.prenatalyoga.com

I also tried pre-natal yoga, which gave my pregnant body some vocabulary to move with. For some years, I’ve ‘played’ Taoist Tai ChiÔ (www.taoist.org), a powerful tool for improving physical and psychological health. Tai Chi teaches how to ‘let go’ in body as well as mind. The Chinese have the concept of ‘yin’ force (the opposite of the ‘yang’ force), associated with the empty, yielding, the ‘hollow’. It is the essence of feminine strength, the heart of natural birth.

The second stage of labour (commonly referred to as the ‘pushing’ phase) was long, because hypnobirthing teaches not to ‘push’. In breathing through contractions (and don’t get me wrong, this was not a quiet experience - there were many noises coming out of my mouth that choir girls have no use for), the baby gently moves down. If the modern hospital birth scenario is akin to relieving yourself at work as quickly as possible to avoid breaking wind in a board meeting, this was akin to a relaxed Sunday morning experience with plenty of time to read the weekend supplements.

Image source: http://www.123rf.com/

Our baby was born gently into the water, did not cry and was calm and alert during her first moments outside the womb. I also got off very lightly from the experience (apart from several months of urinary incontinence, which virtually all new mothers suffer from (why does nobody talk about this?)). There was no inflammation to the lower spine, and the wonderful post-natal massage therapist @beccyhands said she wished she could show my lower back to a room of medics to demonstrate the benefits of a gentle birth without intervention.

In her brilliant book, “Birthing From Within”, Pam England explains how in some cultures childbirth for women is held in the same regard as going to war is for men: it is an intense and high risk experience from which you hope to emerge bloody and victorious, shrouded in honour.

The nature of war is that you don’t always emerge victorious. Giving birth is challenging.  It’s bloody.  It’s perhaps our closest shave with death. Many have a tougher experience than I; and if I give birth again, I may not have such good fortune.

If things do go wrong, thank goodness for the amazing staff of the NHS. The Juniper Community Midwives were outstanding in the home care they provided and I felt in very safe hands. Had things gone wrong, we were lucky enough to have King’s College Hospital a short ride away.

Image source: http://www.healthwatchlincolnshire.co.uk

As it was, we did not need a hospital bed, and the baby did not need to be exposed to the increased infection risk from being outside the home. Many of us in our jobs feel we need to be ‘busy’ and ‘doing’ as much as we can in order to be effective. The community midwives understood that the less they intervened, the more effectively they were supporting us.

So as with any battle, the reality of giving birth is likely to surprise. But let this not stop us from training for the big day, eagerly anticipating it and visualising a positive experience. And whilst I’m not advocating medals, for the sake of future mothers, let’s not shy away from talking about our beautiful victorious experiences. I dare say our men folk would!