Having a baby in Shimane
By SHERRY
NAKANISHI
Like many foreign women living in
Japan, when I became pregnant I was faced with the decision of where to
have my baby. Did I want to return to my home country, Canada, or have the
baby in Japan? The decision was based not only on nationality (Canada
allows dual citizenship, whereas in Japan the individual must decide
whether they want to be Canadian or Japanese when they reach twenty years
of age) but also on the cultural differences regarding pregnancy and
delivery. My personal decision was easy to make, as I did not want to be
separated from my husband, who is Japanese. I wanted to have the baby with
him.
Living in Hamada
the choices are further limited, but I insisted on having a doctor who was
not only female but who could also speak English. I found two
obstetricians who fulfilled these requirements, but they both worked at
Seikyo Hospital in Matsue, a three-hour
journey from Hamada. Despite the long journey and the horror stories
from the well- meaning Hamada residents — a woman who had to have her
baby in a car en route to the hospital and a sister who delivered in an
hour — I had made up my mind: I was going to have my baby in Matsue.
Having been brought up in the late
60s, early 70s, I was part of the ‘free generation’ and wanted a
natural pregnancy and delivery. I soon found out that this dream would be
impossible to realize because I was Rh-
blood type — a condition in which a child inherits a blood type from
the father that is incompatible with the mother’s blood type. The
antibodies in the blood can sometimes attack the baby’s blood and must
be closely monitored.
(In Canada 15% of the population is Rh-, but in
Japan only 1 in 300 is Rh-.) Another factor was my age; at 37 I was deemed
to have a higher risk of complications than younger women and this also
meant that I should be kept under observation.
The months passed and I truly began
to see the differences between Japanese culture and my own Canadian
culture. I had traveled and lived in many countries but in times of
stress, and pregnancy is stressful (although a joyous type of stress), we
all revert back to what we are familiar with as a child, what we grew up
with. I found myself being very rigid in my views. Dualism crept in; the
differences were extreme.
To learn more about the mystery of
childbirth I relied on self-education and ordered two American books, The
Well Pregnancy Book and What
to Expect When You’re Expecting.
I thought I was prepared for
pregnancy but as time passed that illusion faded. The advice given by the
books was the exact opposite of that which I received from my doctors. My
doctors said I was eating for one, my books said I was eating for two. My
doctors said no vitamin supplements, the books said to take my vitamin
supplements every day. My doctors said natural childbirth, the books said
don’t be a martyr, take medicine if you need it, and listed all the
kinds. My childbirth delivery classes in Hamada and Matsue both taught
breathing exercises only for natural birth; the books said be prepared for
a caesarean section and spent chapters in explanation. The differences
were endless. I started to get major anxiety attacks, something I had not
experienced since I was living in New York.
When in Rome, do as the Romans. I
closed my pregnancy books and opened my Zen training text and put my faith
in my doctor and the kamisama (gods). I went to my local shrine, Izumo
Taisha Bunshi, and made certain that the baby’s name would bring it
good fortune. The number of strokes in each character is carefully
calculated so that they add up to a lucky number. If the number of strokes
equals an unlucky number then it is best not to use those particular
characters. In my case the baby’s name is ‘Sasha’, short for the
Russian Alexander (helper of mankind). The priest at the shrine chose the kanji
meaning ‘thin silk’ and ‘forgive’. With this stroke tally my baby
will grow up to become talented, wise and brave. Many foreigners may laugh
at me but based on my life experience I believe this. Laugh if you want to
but I can say that I heard the sound of pure water and like a frog I
jumped into the ocean and swam to Japan.
Back to the delivery room…my water
broke in Hamada at 3:00 pm. I called my husband, who works in Kanagi.
He rushed home, I jumped in the car and we drove to Matsue. On the way,
sitting on a stack of towels and timing contractions with the car clock, I
wondered what I was doing. I saw the road to Matsue so beautiful and while
driving along the coast of the Japan Sea I felt as if the sea were holding
my hand, telling me to be brave. The setting sun was colouring the sky
purple, red and gold. Who could have a worried thought amidst such beauty?
In the hospital the story changed.
The contractions came faster and harder. No pain medicine. My doctor
introduced me to the midwife, the woman who would stay with me for the
next ten hours rubbing my back, massaging my legs, coaching my breathing.
It was a Godsend having her beside me. But as the contractions increased,
my pain threshold broke. I was screaming for help, screaming for
painkillers. All of my yoga training, zazen
lessons at Eiheiji
Temple, taikyokuken
[Editor: T'ai-chi
Ch'uan] lessons — all of it went out the window.
I was my old weak self — truly a scared Canadian rabbit. I wanted to go
home, I wanted to be my old unpregnant self, but most of all I wanted the
contractions to stop.
My doctor arrived even though it was
her day off. When I saw her I burst into tears. I still don’t know why
— relief, or maybe only seeing her kind face, sympathy in her eyes. She
suggested a caesarean. I put my finger on the red ink pad and gave my
fingerprint to consent to the operation. I could no longer hold a pen. I
was doubled up with pain, held in my husband’s arms, my only lung
exercises were screaming.
I was whisked away on a hospital
trolley. I was out of ‘natural’ Japan, and suddenly eight people, an
anaesthetist, nurses and both my doctors were surrounding me, preparing me
for a caesarean. I was in modern, hi-tech Japan and it was wonderful. An
hour later I was lying in a private hospital room, my husband beside me
still holding my hand, and my baby, healthy and strong, waiting for me in
the nursery. I was filled with happiness.
As the next few days passed, my baby
and I were given such tender gentle care by the many nurses. It was like
being surrounded by colourful butterflies. They flew in and out bringing
me anything I wanted or needed. There was no formal hospital feeling.
Rather I felt like I was in someone’s home — a guest. I was given a
celebration dinner in my room: red bean mochi
rice with a whole sea bream fish, an orange origami
bird and a note of congratulation.
Now too, I am in my hospital room
three days post partum. My baby sleeps beside me, and my green tea and Zen
book are at the side of the bed. Incense burns, filling the air with a
sacred scent. There is a small cot beside my bed for my husband, who will
arrive at 10 pm and leave again at four in the morning for his work in
Kanagi. I am in Japan with my new family. It is my new home.
Thank you to Seikyo Hospital and
Doctors Kouno-san and Toda-san.
© The Shimanean
1997 All rights reserved.
Editor's note:
I was handed this rather captivating story by the author's chosen
obstetrician,
Dr. Yoshie Kouno, whom I had the honor of tutoring in English
for ten years between 1993 and 2003, along with her
husband and two delightful children. The article was originally
published in a local government periodical for foreign residents of
Shimane Prefecture.
This page last updated 2008-06-16
Eyes on Japan compiled and edited by
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