My husband and I chose to give birth at a small clinic in
our neighborhood in Ubud, Bali, rather than returning home to the USA, where we
were both born. Maternal and post-natal mortality rates are much higher in
Indonesia than in the USA, but our pregnancy was textbook normal with no
complications. We felt well-supported by the loving and attentive midwives at
Yayasan Bumi Sehat.
After our daughter’s birth, we kept the placenta attached
for about 24 hours, cradled in a small basket filled with flowers next to our
newborn. There is credible research suggesting that leaving the placenta
attached to a newborn baby for minutes or even seconds, rather than the
standard practice of clamping and cutting it immediately after birth, can
significantly reduce the baby’s risk of anemia and benefit brain development.
Where I come from, newborns’ umbilical cords are routinely clamped and cut
within a few seconds after birth. Leaving them attached for even 30 seconds
after an uncomplicated birth is better, as the cord continues to pulse with
blood. About a third of the newborn’s blood remains in the placenta and
umbilical cord immediately after birth. Waiting two to five minutes, until the
cord stops visibly pulsing with blood, is even better for the baby.
Rather than implementing any standard practice without
consultation, our midwife Ibu Robin asked us how we wanted to handle it. We
said we didn’t want to keep her attached for a full lotus birth, which means
waiting until the whole umbilicus and placenta dry and fall off on their own. We
felt a little awkward holding our incredibly tiny and vulnerable little
daughter. We anticipated feeling even more awkward if we tried to leave her
attached to a flower-filled basket by nature’s strongest string for days,
worrying that we might accidently tug away the short umbilicus and cause her
belly to bleed. After 24 hours, her cord was certainly finished pulsing with
blood.
Ibu Robin suggested we try a ceremony in which we would burn
through the cord, rather than cutting it. She had originated this practice in
Aceh, where her team had opened up a clinic to serve Sumatran families after
the devastating tsunami of December 2004 that left them without so many and so
much. She insisted that the burning was not only maximally hygienic—its
original reason for being, with a shortage of hygienic equipment in the
aftermath of the tsunami—but also had the benefit of driving any remaining chi
or life force energy from the placenta into the baby. We liked this idea, so
this is how we separated our new daughter from her placenta, ‘the forgotten
chakra’ as Ibu Robin calls it.
My daughter and I curled on the bed, with my husband huddled
beside us, and we placed a small piece of cardboard with a slice removed to
accommodate the placenta between our baby and the fire. Ibu Robin and midwife Tracy
sang the Gayatri mantra again as the candle’s flame seared through this
lifeline to which she had always been attached. Our baby’s attention flared
with the flame, and her eyes remained on its white-yellow light as we all bore
witness to this early rite. We would take the placenta home along with her, in
its own basket.
Tracy volunteered to help us dry and encapsulate part of it
for me to take in case I had any post-partum depression. Pak Pastika from Bumi
Sehat also helped us get a small mango tree and large pot, so that we could
plant the rest of the placenta under the tree. Perhaps as it grows, we thought,
we can transfer the tree to the earth, and it will still be here in Ubud, if
some day our daughter returns to visit her birth place.
Order your copy of Becoming Home: A Memoir of Birth in Bali
at CreateSpace or Amazon.
