ElementalMom

The Breech Birth Conference was amazing. I’m still sort of in shock that I got to attend. As the only non-professional on the ticket, I was just a little intimidated, but! I got Jane Evans to commit to letting me help her get online, and I got Lisa Barrett to commit to learning how to Twitter! Hurrah!

A few high points:

• Got a strong sense of how much work is still to be done with regards to breech birth. Holy cow, the idea that hands and knees is an innovation just flabbergasted me. It really demonstrated how huge the gap is between the obstetrical model and the midwifery model. The very idea of “putting a woman in a position” just made my skin crawl.
• Got a strong sense of how deeply, profoundly, insanely flawed the American system really is. Listening to so many perspectives from so many other countries was so fantastic, and the fact that the conference organizers pulled so many people in from so many places was absolutely a credit to them.

• Finally got to see Birth, the play. Been hearing about it for ages, and this was the first opportunity I’d gotten to see it. I was really impressed; I’ve got a background in street theater, and formal theater folks always impress me.

• The Rideau Canal through Ottawa was the most gorgeous thing; how enlightened for a city to plan ahead for skating! I want to go back when it’s ice (and if you know me, you know how bizarre that is, I normally don’t like winter!)

A few low points:

• There was so much to cram into just two days of conference sessions. I was a breakout session, and every other person presenting at the same time was bummed they didn’t get to see the other presenters at that time. Everyone was so unique and so interesting, that missing even one session was frustrating.

• The OBs you get at something like this tend to be the good guys. And they have trouble believing that the bad guys even exist. So there’s some education to be done there.

So that’s my opinion. I hope I have enough to offer in the way of new social media info for them to invite me back next time. And hey America… when are we having ours? =)

From Alan Huber’s Birth Issues blog:

What do you call people of childbearing age? If you’re 40 and over, you would call them twenty or thirty something’s. If you’re under 40, they are known as; millennials or digital natives.

Most obstetricians, midwives, family physicians, childbirth educators and administrators are in the over 40 category. They need to get their message heard by pregnant women, i.e., millennials. Just as you didn’t like your parents music, and your children don’t like your music, most birth care providers don’t know how to create and place a message that the millennials will hear and act upon.

At the 2009 Controversies in Childbirth Conference, super geek, and frustrated birth advocate, Laureen Hudson, presented an amazing seminar on getting your message heard. Of course, one hour is insufficient to learn how to bridge the digital generation gap.

Laureen has agreed to a, full afternoon, hands-on workshop with participants encouraged to bring your laptops, so you not only learn, but you actually:

Create an online presence on; Websites, Facebook, Twitter, Linkedin and Blogs.
Including:
How to build an audience
How much time will it take
The importance of your online reputation
How to be found on search engines
What works
What you should avoid and much more…

Space is extremely limited because of the limited number of WiFi connections and you are urged to register now at the conference website: http://www.birthconference.org

The Controversies in Childbirth Conference will be held February 19-21, 2010, in Tampa, Florida. Laureen’s pre-conference workshop will be held on Thursday, February 18th.

This is an amazing opportunity to improve your business marketing and learn to digitally connect with patients and clients. Hope to see you in Tampa!

I love love love this blog. She’s saying what I’ve been saying for years; there’s a double standard about how birth is viewed when compared to other physical endeavor. Men get scars, and go back out and play. Women get a scar, and OMG they’re banned from birth forever after.

I could go on. But I’ll let the author.

This just in… Dr. Stuart Fischbein needs help. Read the whole thing here:

…Dr. Stuart Fischbein, is being threatened with disciplinary action by his hospital “for violating hospital policies.” The hospital has already suspended the privileges of the two CNMs he works with, and now he faces a possible loss of his livelihood.

His crime? Supporting women’s right to informed consent and to having a say about happens to their bodies. In the past few months, he attended 3 VBACs and 3 vaginal breech births, all successful and with healthy outcomes.

There’s a Dr. Amy-led smearfest in the comments. I’ll be honest folks… I don’t care what else he does, if he supports women in VBAC and breech, I’ll stand for him. I’ve also met him personally, and he’s the goods.

Go forth, do what you can, and thanks!

I think there’s no time like the present to teach your kids that bureaucracies are made for poking holes in. Like, when they’re three months old.

Aurora and I set off for downtown Oakland, to get her paper trail going. Ours is a documentation-crazy society, and it’s far easier to do all this when they’re little. We’d undergone the application process for the birth certificate two months ago. This involved showing up in the office with the baby, both parents, and the midwife, and everyone waving around little pieces of paper to prove that they were who they said they were and that in fact that precise baby had been made by precisely those parents and that we had not in fact stolen her from someone or somewhere else. La. Once the admin was satisfied, we submitted the form, and left to wait for a few weeks to let the computers in the system digest the information.

We arrived at the Vital Records office, to get the paper copies. I have to say, I think it’s a little cruel to have births, deaths, and marriages all in the same line. But it also gives one a great deal to think about while waiting. And wait we did. 45 minutes later, we were called back. I gave them her name and date of birth, and within two minutes and quite a ridiculous amount of money, they’d run three legal copies off on their printer. I find myself wondering why I had to pay $19 apiece for them; do I not pay taxes? I don’t know anyone who bills at the rate of $9.50/minute, nor do I know of any paper that costs that much per sheet, so I’m still a bit befuddled by the payment structure there. But I’m sure my government only wants what’s best for me and there’s a valid reason. Yeah.

From there, we headed up the hill to the Social Security Administration. These are the folks that crank out the nine digits that rule the rest of your life, if you’re American. It’s used as ID pretty much everywhere. And it’s also a must-have if you’re going to get a passport, which was the end-purpose of all this paper pushing. So off we go. If you have a hospital birth, they do this for you, but if you’re a homebirther, you have to do it yourself. I’d been super diligent and filled out the form online in advance, although I was confused by the part where they ask for another form of ID. Um, she’s three months old, there’s no other ID besides a birth certificate possible.

I got to the office, took a number, and was immediately called up. Score! I plopped down the application, the birth certificate (still slightly warm from Vital’s printer), and smiled.

“I’d like a social security number for my baby, please.”

The woman looked at me like I was a bug. “You haven’t completed the form, the prior social security number isn’t filled out.”

“Um… she doesn’t have a prior, this is a first card, she’s three months old.” At this point I leaned sideways, so she could see Aurora, who was at that point, sound asleep in my Beco sling.

And this is where it got goofy.

“You could have gotten that baby anywhere, who says it’s yours?”

Annoyed, I showed her my medical insurance card, which has my name, Jason’s name, and all the kids’s names. “I’m paying for her insurance, I am who I am, I have her birth certificate, her father and the midwife and I all had to be present to get that, so really, that’s about as identified as she’s going to get.”

“Well, you’ll have to have her medical records then.”

“But she’s not been to a doctor, she’s not sick.”

“Well what about her vaccination records?”

“She’s not vaccinated.”

At this point, the bureaucrat behind the desk literally gasped and pushed back from the window. Yeah, cause oh-so-many infectious disease epidemics are spread by three month olds.

“Well you will have to have her examined by a fully qualified medical doctor, NOT a midwife, and get her vaccinated, before she can be issued a card.”

This is, of course, an outright lie. I smiled tightly, said “thank you for your time” and was given the most self-satisfied, smug smile I’ve ever seen on the face of a bureaucrat. We left.

I walked back down to the car. I fumed for about two minutes, while I fed Aurora, and thought about my options.

I decided that the simplest resistance was best. I drove to the Berkeley Social Security office. Walked in. Took a number. Waited about fifteen minutes, and had several fabulous conversations with some wildly colorful and entertaining people. Got called to the screening window, where they verify that you have your forms filled out and everything ready to go.

“I’m here to get a Social Security Number for my baby.” (lean sideways to flash Aurora’s gorgeous smile)

“Oh! That is the cutest baby!” She then yelled over her shoulder to the woman running the next window “Don’t call anyone else! I’m pushing the lady with the baby to the front of the line!”

I get called up. I confidently, despite sweating inside, hand her my form, the birth certificate, the insurance card, my ID, and say “I’d like to get a number for my baby, please.”

To which the woman replies “Wow! You are so prepared! Thanks, that really helps us out!”. She typed, we chatted about babies and slings and governments and sleep deprivation. Her printer spit out a receipt, which she handed over, saying sunnily “you should get a receipt in the mail that says it’s in process, and the card should arrive in 4 to 6 weeks; faster if the Governor increases our budget!”

And that was that.

I am really conflicted about what to do next. Do I just spread the word with the local homebirth community that there’s someone at the Oakland Social Security office who is giving out inaccurate info and making life difficult for no good reason? Do I file a formal complaint? Do I do nothing?

It’s upsetting that a single paper pusher with an agenda can sit smugly behind their rolling window, and make your life easy, or difficult, at their whim, based on their own prejudices. I’m glad we are getting this all done way before we actually need it, while there’s still time to be calm and work it through. I can only imagine what that woman’s obstructionism does to people who are in a hurry to get a child’s passport and are balked by her power trip. And I am really grateful that I live in a metropolitan area where I have options of different offices to go to; I could not have pulled this off if I lived in a more rural location, with only one office in striking distance. And what’s more upsetting is this; I was trying to do the right thing, in terms of the government. I was getting Aurora’s information into the system, making her officially a citizen, and throwing stupid amounts of money at the government in the meantime. Were I really someone with a subversive agenda, I would not have been in there trying to get Aurora all documented; I’d have been flying as far under the radar as possible.

So at base, it was the bureaucrat’s prejudices versus my desire to play by the rules, and prejudice nearly won. Welcome to the land of the free.

Over the last extremely stressful year, I’ve been exploring my personal spirituality a lot. There are no atheists in foxholes, the saying goes, and I kinda roll with that. Frankly, I almost have to believe that, because of some of the things that I’ve seen happen to other moms, and that have happened to me.

Almost a year ago, the marvelous Dana gave me a mala bracelet made of bodhi seeds. It’s fabulous and I love how it feels in my hands, but it’s too big to wear and the elastic gave up pretty rapidly. So Dana bought me another bracelet, and brought it to me right before Aurora’s birth. At first I thought it was just a nice pattern on the beads, but on closer reflection, discovered that the carvings are tiny Madonnas.

As I’ve posted before, I’m not a Catholic. Not even close. I resent the idea that an institution thinks they can come between me and my personal relationship with the Divine. So la.

My aunt Marla, before she died, surrounded herself with latin images of the Madonna. I miss Marla hugely; I think we might have had a lot to talk about once we were both mothers. Sadly, she did not live to see my children. But I think of her all the time; when I see the film Dune, when I hear David Bowie, when I see Madonnas.

I refer to Mary a lot in my birth advocacy work. If you point out that Christ was born unassisted in a horse barn, suddenly modern home birthing looks pretty slick. And also classical. I’ve seen a lot of devout Christians do a 180 on their ideas about homebirth once this fact is mentioned. Mary is therefore my own personal patron of why homebirth works. When I see her, I think of women’s power in birthing.

To some degree, all mothers touch the Divine. You can’t be this much a part of the dance of birth, death, and everything in between and not be in touch with something bigger than yourself. Sometimes, it’s just because it’s all so overwhelming you have to have someone to hand it over to; the responsibility for it all is just too crushing otherwise. In that way, all mothers are to some degree the Madonna. I do recognize that some women reject that role entirely. But I also see women all around me who step up to the plate and embrace the sort of growth that motherhood can bestow upon you if you let it.

So on days where it’s too big, it’s too crazy, it’s too amazing, it’s too humbling, I wear my Mama Mala, I thumb through the beads, and I think of all the Madonnas I know.

I am teaching a series over at Conscious Woman, “Conscious Woman Online“, to help encourage people who have good messages to offer to get online and start communicating with the Digital Natives who are already there.

Yesterday’s class was disappointingly small; only two registrants. Wah, right? Those two registrants were none other than Gloria Lemay, and Ina May Gaskin! WHOOT! I got to soapbox them both with my message; that women need to be able to find good information on birth *before* the Machine gets them. And apparently, I got my message across! WHOOT!!!! Check these review comments out!

I just had my mind expanded this morning by Laureen Hudson’s hour long online session on how to use the internet to get a message out. Laureen’s session “Creating an Online Presence,” gave me a wealth of information in a short time and impressed me with how many people are out there who completely rely on the internet for their information. I needed that, and maybe you do, too.

- Ina May Gaskin

I just hung up the phone from doing the hour long session with Laureen Hudson on “Creating an Online Presence”. Laureen’s know-how and expertise were enough to wake up even the birth oldtimers like me and Ina May to the many unused opportunities of the internet. Laureen’s engaging and easygoing teaching style made even those scary (to me) terms like “hypertext, streaming, wordpress, technorati, feedreader and trackback” start to make sense. Her passion is to reach the generation of young women who have not yet given birth BEFORE they fall into the black hole of aggressive obstetrics. I came away from the class today with lots of ways to improve my website and make it more modern, usable and interesting for readers. This class will run again this coming Friday (August 22) and I heartily recommend it.

- Gloria Lemay

How incredibly spiffy is that?

I‘m teaching that class that they took one more time, and there are two more classes in the series, one on SEO and one on blogging, which I’m honestly more excited about than I was about the first two classes in the series. Hopefully I can drum up some more registrations… cause that means I’ve managed to convince more people to get out there and actually reach the folks who need the messages most.

http://consciouswoman.org/2008/08/04/conscious-woman-of-the-month-august-2008/

Want to have your blood pressure raised? Want to realize yet again how incredibly lucky you are to have been born as you were? Read this month’s Conscious Woman article, about Dalit activist Manjula Pradeep.

http://midwiferyworld.com/?p=232

WASHINGTON, D.C. (June 16, 2008)—Just in time for Father’s Day, at its annual meeting last weekend, the American Medical Association (AMA) adopted a resolution to introduce legislation outlawing home birth, and potentially making criminals of the mothers who choose home birth with the help of Certified Professional Midwives (CPMs) for their families.

I think what kills me about this is that if home birth is outlawed… what are they planning to do with the babies of the women who do it?

More news as it appears, and as soon as I have some concrete action to take, I’ll let y’all know.

La Leche League founder Edwina Froehlich died last Sunday. She was 93.
I am completely devastated. Edwina pretty much embodied everything I admire in an activist. And also proved that even if you come late to your passion, you can change the world.

My favorite article about her, so far, is the Chicago Tribune piece. Some tidbits:

In the 1940s, Mrs. Froehlich witnessed her older sister Pauline go through what were then standard hospital childbirth procedures: plenty of drugs, the use of forceps and no fathers allowed, said another son, state Rep. Paul Froehlich (D-Schaumburg). Her sister also was discouraged from breast-feeding.

“That experience led mom to seek a better way,” Paul Froehlich said.

Newspapers would not run stories or meeting notices that included the word “breast,” so the group used the Spanish word for milk, “leche,” for its name.

How fabulous is that? Smack into some stupid arbitrary rule, and work around it creatively. See what’s wrong with the world, and change it. Some other fun bits from the New York Times piece:

Edwina Froehlich,… was inspired to help found La Leche League to support breast-feeding after being told at the age of 35 that she was too old to make breast milk for her baby…

A pioneer on several fronts of motherhood, she worked for Young Christian Workers, a Roman Catholic lay organization, before marrying John Froehlich when she was in her early 30s. She had her first child a couple of years later, making her comparatively old to have a first child at the time, and she made the controversial decision to forgo giving birth in a hospital in favor of a more natural delivery in her Franklin Park, Ill., home, with an obstetrician attending.

“We used to tell the mothers the three main obstacles to successful breast-feeding were doctors, hospitals and social pressure,” Mrs. White said.

It is so hard to be an “older” mother. It’s so hard to stand up when the world wants to shame you for doing what’s biologically appropriate in birthing and feeding your offspring. Having had a cesarean with my first baby, and feeling that breastfeeding was at least something I could do right, it’s because of Edwina’s work that I was able, 2.5 weeks out from that cesarean, to participate in the Berkeley, CA Guinness World Record Breastfeeding event. It healed a lot of the “broken” feelings I was working through. Breastfeeding has also been a really good arena for me to use in my birth activism work, to show mothers how very wrong doctors can be about very basic things.

But at the time Edwina and her six cohorts (Marian Tompson, Mary White, Mary Ann Cahill, Mary Ann Kerwin, Viola Lennon, and Betty Wagner) got started with LLLI, breastfeeding in America was down to 20% of women. It’s not a whole lot better now, but without them to hold back the tide, who knows how much harder it might have been for me to get the support and encouragement I needed for this critical aspect of mothering?

So thank you, Edwina, for standing up for what you believed in, and making it that much easier for me to do so as well. You’ll be missed.

I‘m due to have this baby any time now.

It’s obvious if you know me and know my dates. I’ve been telling people “I’m having a Gemini”, so that’s a clear clue. And of course, I’m huge, so that’s a dead giveaway.

If even one more person asks me “haven’t you had that baby yet?” I’m gonna stick ‘em in the eye with a fork. Cause clearly, they aren’t actually using their eyes for, y’know, observation or anything. And that’s just the people I see in person. The oh-so-subtle “oh, I was just thinking of you and thought I’d call…” phone calls aren’t much better. I’ve put myself on self-imposed phone rest (like bed rest, but better), and made Jason answer the dratted thing.

I was pondering, this morning, as I awoke having yet again not gone into labor in the night, what it is that makes people get in such a hurry at the end of a pregnancy. It’s like at 36-37 weeks, the baby has to stay in, then at 38-39, everyone starts freaking out and being impatient. “Is it there yet? Is it there yet? Have you had it yet?” It sounds like little kids at Christmas. Or at the end of a road trip. Or… and it struck me… like people who are excited about an event, but have no actual work to perform to ensure said event comes off.

Think about it. Adults who are responsible for filling the gas tank, doing the auto maintenance, doing the trip planning, doing the driving, parceling out the snacks… they never ask “are we there yet?”… they just stare out the windows. Adults who are fully engaged with the holiday madness of shopping, party-having, cooking, planning, etc, always are startled by how fast the calendar moves, and wish for an additional week or two.

So here’s my solution. People who ask me if I’ve had that baby yet? Clearly, they haven’t enough to do. The next person who asks me that question gets invited to bring a casserole, do a load of dishes or laundry, handle the grocery shopping, or rub my feet (since helping actually gestate this little punkin is physiologically impossible). I figure if I start involving the rushers in the process, they’ll realize there’s so much going on, that clearly, they need to either pitch in fully, or maybe plan themselves a road trip.

Apparently, having a child in this culture means you are disabled. At least, that’s what HR thinks.

I spent about 45 minutes on the phone with the illustrious folks who administer these things last week. This is the third baby I’ve had while working, and thank goodness I kinda know what I’m doing, or it would have been ugly. Last time, I was all fired up about my VBAC, about fighting the birth machine, about making sure everyone and their dog knew that I was having a homebirth, by God.

This time? This time I just want to have my baby in peace. Course, that’s not the way it’s done in these parts…

“Who’s your OB” the chipper operator asks. I simply give her the name of my midwife; it’s easier than arguing.

“What hospital are you delivering at?” I simply give her the name of the only hospital in CA that I would consider setting foot inside. I’ve never actually been there, spoken to anyone there, or interacted with the place in any way, but they’re the only hospital that “allows” VBACs, so that’s my “in case of disaster” backup option. But it allows her to fill the blank in her form without the computer having fits.

“What’s your due date?” This one is a bit trickier. I don’t actually have a due date, for a lot of reasons, that mostly involve my cycle being all messed up from my miscarriage still at the time I conceived this baby. Besides, due dates are pretty bogus (my favorite discussion of this is here). Babies come when they come. If my boss is OK with me working straight up into contractions, if my coworkers are OK with this, then why do I have to… oh never mind. I pull a date out of thin air that’s more or less in the right range, and reaffirm that I can indeed switch the date around “if work requires it.” And that seems to be OK… if the demands of my job require my leave to change, that’s alright. So we’re set.

Because I’ve done this before, I am prepared for the gotchas. I’ve had two other babies in this timeframe, so I know what’s coming. I ask the HR person “so is that goofy rule about not being eligible for Performance Review if you’re on disability still in place?” She mumbles something, and goes to look it up. Sure enough, it is. So by virtue of the period of time for which I’ll be on leave, I will not be eligible for any of the perks that come with a good performance review. Luckily, I figured this out before. So I tell her, “OK, so I’ll contact you, go on vacation for the week of reviews, then back onto disability afterwards.” She gasps. No one has ever handed her this particular workaround before, but of course, other than being a paperwork hassle, it’s utterly valid. I do not make the rules, I just figure out how to work around them.

But I’m lucky; this woman is on the ball. “Oooh!” she says, “it’s the same stupid thing (her words!) for holiday pay too! So go off disability and onto vacation for July 3, so you get paid for July 4, then back on disability again!”. It’s always nice to have a collaborator on the inside.

So my paperwork is all set. I’m good to be considered Disabled by the State after giving birth to my child. But only for six weeks, mind, because I’m not that disabled. And that, my friends, is a whole other tirade.

I was extremely honored to be asked to provide a guest post on Rixa’s wonderful “True Face of Birth” blog recently. The post was a response to a comment-storm, generated by some people who were not prepared to see some pretty typical homebirther stuff online (although what they thought they’d see on a blog subtitled “Raw, Powerful, Ecstatic” is beyond me…)

Anyway, here’s my contribution to the fray, “Judgment, Fear, and Focus“.

A while back, before I had her permission to post, I wrote “Triumph” about Shaye’s birth. On Brighton’s one-month birthday, she’s now published the full birth story. It doesn’t show up well in firefox, so use IE. And prepare to be amazed. A few of my personal fave bits:

• The look on her face after surgery, compared to the look after Brighton’s birth
• The fact that her husband went on the radio to ask for pilots to fly them to a birth place! What a guy! You go, Lee!
• Her discussion of fear-based living, at the end. Woah.

Way to go, Shaye. I am so so so proud of you, and of what you’ve accomplished. What a beacon of hope, what a trailblazer, to all the other women who are stuck where you were, and not sure how to get out. Because you did it, they’ll be able to see a path as well.

As usual, things are nutty in the birth advocacy world. It’s not worth going into the details, but recently, I was questioned by someone who basically said that because I was a mother of sons, not daughters, my birth advocacy work didn’t have the urgency that the work mothers of daughters had. You know, because my boys were never going to get subjected to what women here routinely do.

That part’s true. My sons will never be the direct physical victims of the physical, emotional, and mental abuse that passes for birth care in this country.

My sons, like their father before them, are likely to end up being helpless observers as the women they love are gutted like halibut. Woken up from a restless sleep in an uncomfortable chair to discover that other people have decided that it’s time to take your firstborn child by surgery. Completely discounted, completely marginalized, completely ignored. Here, put this surgical suit on; we’ll let you into the OR so you can see your wife’s intestines, smell her skin roasting when we do cautery, hold her hands when she starts convulsing, and have a moment of sheerest panic when we take the baby to the nursery; here, decide on a dime who needs your presence more, your helpless newborn or your helpless wife. Try really hard not to guilt yourself for either decision, but do so anyway.

My sons, like their father before them, will head home with a woman who underwent a surgery that everyone minimizes. Who is a shell of herself. Whose world was ripped apart and reassembled with vicodin and steri-strips. And they will be looking at between a year and as many years as the rest of her life, wondering when they get the woman they married back. And in the meantime, if she’s lucky, she’ll figure out that it’s the system, not her, and get her act together. If she’s not lucky, she’ll spend her days sitting in a rocker pulling on her hair, trying to figure out what’s wrong with her. Maybe she’ll get medicated, maybe she won’t. And my sons will be there, trying to deal with that and a newborn, and wondering where it all went wrong, and powerless to do a damn thing about it.

I have nothing to worry about. I’ll just be the mother in law, watching the impending train wreck, with no way to get in there and be useful to prevent … anything.

Friends… my urgency is huge. And there’s not nearly so much time as we think. In the time since advocacy groups began howling about the rate of cesareans, ours here in the US has skyrocketed from 5% to just over 31%. At that rate… by the time my sons are having children, my scenario is far more likely than the chance that the mother of their children will have a normal birth.

I could get lucky. They could hook up with women who know the score, who know how to fight, who are strong enough to have a normal birth. And of course I wish that for them with all my heart. But you know… *I* didn’t know any better. And in the years I’ve been doing this birth advocacy thing, I have met all kinds of women who are the sorts of women who could love, cherish, and honor my sons, who didn’t know any better. Not the first time, at any rate. Sometimes not even the second or third, and by that point, the fight to birth normally is insanely difficult, and uphill every step of the way, in the snow, both directions. I can’t assume my boys will hook up with women who are birth advocates. I have to assume they’ll be normal women, having normal lives, who are unaware of the monster of US obstetrics.

I can pray that I’ll have a relationship with them based on respect and support, and that maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll have earned the right to be involved in their process. It does happen; I myself have a wonderful MiL. But I can’t assume that.

Which means that I have serious work to do, on behalf of all women. And there simply isn’t much time.