The California Coven Project

by Bob Stickgold

  “If I may?” Susan Glanvil was on her feet, trying to get the floor.

  “It would seem, Susan, that it’s a little late to ask whether you may, since clearly you already have!” Amy was bordering on fury, but her comment brought chuckles from the audience.

  “If I could have a minute, I could explain why he’s here, and I think that you all will appreciate my having brought him.” At first a bit unsure of herself in the face of the group’s animosity, she was slowly regaining her usual airs.

  “What I was about to suggest,” Amy replied evenly, “is that I would accept a motion from the floor that Dr. Somers be allowed to stay for a preset length of time. Would you like to make such a motion?”

  “Well,” Glanvil replied curtly, “if we have to be so formal about it—”

  “Let’s just throw him out!” someone shouted from the back, and a small cheer went up in support of the idea.

  “I think,” Amy continued, “that a degree of formality might be more satisfactory to all present. If there are no objections, I will accept such a motion.” She looked around the room a moment, carefully avoiding Glanvil, and then turned directly toward her. “Hearing no objections, I will accept your motion.”

  Even Maggie had to admit a bit of pleasure at Glanvil’s discomfiture.

  “Thank you,” Glanvil replied. “I would like to move that Dr. Somers be allowed to stay for about fifteen minutes, so that he can make a statement to this organization that I think you will all want to hear. I’ve—”

  “A motion has been made,” Amy announced, cutting Glanvil off, “and before there can be any discussion of the motion, I need a second. Do I hear one?” Her request was met by a wall of silence. Amy looked around the room calmly.

  “Listen,” Glanvil insisted, “couldn’t I just explain—”

  “Not,” insisted Amy, “without a second.”

  Casually, Beckie raised her hand, and waved to get Amy’s attention. “Amy, I’ll second the motion, if only to hear why Susan brought this gentleman.”

  Amy looked surprised. “You are seconding it? Okay, then. The motion has been made, seconded, and is now open for discussion. Susan?”

  “As I’m sure you all know, the main issue before us this evening is a proposal to recommend the banning of fetal monitors in almost all deliveries by midwives in this association.”

  “Now wait a minute,” Maggie interrupted, but an icy stare from Glanvil stopped her in midsentence.

  “Maggie, I do have the floor,” Glanvil declared. “I would hope you might exhibit at least enough courtesy to let me get more than one sentence out before interrupting. I’m sure you’ll get more than enough time to say what you think when it’s your turn.” She spoke with the condescension of a long-time schoolteacher berating her least favorite pupil.

  Turning from Maggie, she continued. “Most of us here see this decision as a policy matter for the Midwives Association, of little relevance or interest to others. But, in fact, this is not so. You must all remember that we are permitted to practice our profession only because the state legislature has approved our doing so, and we retain the right to practice it only so long as such a statute is on the books. The original approval of the legislation legalizing midwifery was granted only after the A.M.A. voted to support this bill, a decision that we all know was hotly and closely debated within the A.M.A.

  “Clearly, anything which might jeopardize this sanctioning by the A.M.A. could also jeopardize the very legislation permitting us to practice. I doubt that this group would want to unknowingly support a policy change for the Midwives Association that might lead to the revocation of that right. It’s clear to me that this renunciation of medical technology is just the sort of issue that could lead to our losing the right to practice, but I thought you might be more forcefully convinced by an individual who has been active in the A.M.A.’s decision to support our right to practice.” She looked around the room, trying to judge the mood of the audience, then she unceremoniously sat down.”

  “Beckie’s hand was waving in the air; a nod from Amy gave her the floor. Rising slowly from her chair, she shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her pants, turned to Glanvil, smiled, then turned back toward Amy. “Look,” she began in a calm voice, “I suspect everyone here knows what I personally think about Dr. Somers, and his ‘active’ role in the passage of the Midwifery Bill. But it seems to me that it would be faster, and less acrimonious if we just agree that Dr. Somers can have the floor for, oh, fifteen minutes to have his say, with the understanding that he will be leaving right afterward, Personally, I’m not particularly worried that what he says will unreasonably prejudice the impressionable minds of our membership.” She sat down to a scattering of chuckles and a few cheers.

  The atmosphere lightened perceptibly, and no one else sought the floor. After calling for the vote, Amy announced, “The vote is near unanimous. Dr. Somers, you have the floor, for fifteen minutes.”

  Somers rose formally and smiled. “Well, I hope I can keep my comments down to less than fifteen minutes, even if I am a doctor.” He was a portly man, in his mid-fifties, with a humorless face and large ears that stuck out prominently from his head. He gave the impression of an old country doctor, complete to three-piece suit and gold watch fob. His near-hysterical opposition to the Midwifery Bill had almost blocked its passage.

  “Well, I’m sure that you are all aware that I was opposed to the Midwifery Resolution when it came before the A.M.A. five years ago, although I suspect that most of you are unaware of the reasons for my opposition. It certainly was not, as some have suggested, that I thought women were incapable of giving good medical care—why, we have hundreds of women in the California chapter of the A.M.A. itself, and I’m as happy to have them as anyone else is. Why, some of the best doctors I know are women.”

  Unintentionally, a groan escaped from Maggie. Sinking down into her chair, she settled in for a tedious lecture.

  For five minutes, Somers droned on about how he had really supported the concept of midwives, and was now one of the Association’s staunchest supporters. Even Glanvil seemed to understand that he was overdoing it. Everyone was calmly waiting for him to get to the big But.

  “But, if you want to be treated like doctors, and have the privileges of doctors, then you must accept the responsibility to act like doctors. You must give your patients the best medical care possible, regardless of their means. You must keep abreast of advances in your field, and be prepared to change your style of practice as new and better methods appear. You must never allow yourselves to rest, confident that you know all there is to know, that you are as good as you can be, You must constantly strive to improve your methodology. You must . . .”

  Beckie smiled contentedly. If there had been any question of whether Susan Glanvil could stop their proposal, the question was dead. No one, or at least nowhere near half, would be able to support her after Somers’s patronizing display. She almost felt disappointed. It took all the fun out of the fight.

  “So in concluding, let me sound a tocsin of warning to you: if you insist on taking stances in opposition to those recognized as good medical practice, if you refuse to give your patients the advantages of medical technology that they have a birthright to, if you drag obstetrical care back into the sad image of the past, you will be stopped dead in your tracks by the true medical establishment, which has so generously given you the extraordinary right to practice medicine without a medical degree. Thank you.” With a half-smile, and a half-bow, he sat down once again. Next to him, Glanvil clapped politely, but she stopped when only two others joined her. She looked around nervously.

  Amy turned to Somers. “The chair would like to thank Dr. Somers for his presentation.” Somers smiled sincerely, and Amy returned the smile. “We were worried that you would run overtime, but indeed, you finished with almost two minutes to spare.” She turned from Somers to the rest of the audience, and announced, “We’ll take a two-minute break while Dr. Somers leaves, and
then promptly restart the meeting. It might be a long one, so let’s not waste any more time.” She rapped once with the gavel, then sat, staring oft into space, ignoring everyone else.

  Maggie turned to Beckie. “That was unbelievable! Why did you want him to talk? If you hadn’t seconded the motion, we wouldn’t have had to listen to that garbage.”

  “Yes you would have,” Beckie retorted. “You would have had to take it from Glanvil and her cronies, and it would have taken an hour or an hour and a half. Now there’s almost nothing they can say without alienating everyone even further. Because in fact, Somers did accurately present Glanvil’s position. She’s just not quite as stupid as Somers, and would have presented it more effectively camouflaged. They’re going to have to fall back on the specific merits of the fetal monitors now, and they know they don’t have a chance on those grounds. The evidence against them is just too overwhelming.” She stopped and thought a minute, and then added, “You know, I thought you had really blown it at the last meeting when you brought up the whole philosophical issue of overuse of medication and technology, but I was wrong. It gave Glanvil just enough rope to hang herself. I’m proud of you, it was a brilliant move.”

  Maggie made an exasperated frown. “Cut it out. You know that has nothing to do with why I brought the issue up. And now it looks like you’re saying we won’t actually discuss it this week, either. I hope you’re wrong.”

  But Beckie was right. What had looked like it might be a long, tempestuous argument dissolved in response to the annoyance over Somers’s presentation, and the obvious threat involved. After less than an hour’s debate the committee recommended by a 3-1 vote that the Midwives Association approve the restriction on the use of intrauterine fetal monitors.

  By 10:30 Beckie and Maggie were on the road, heading back to Santa Cruz. Beckie was beaming with delight. “Well, that’s the halfway mark. If we can do it again at the general membership meeting next week, we’ll have it. I wonder if we can get Susan Glanvil to bring her friend back again.” She rubbed her hands together in anticipation of the battle. “Have to do some telephone work this week, see what’s the best tack for exploiting Somers’s statement. Too bad we didn’t know to record it. I’d love to type it up for the membership. It’d drive them crazy.” She chuckled.

  Maggie tried to ignore the comment, paying attention to the road, and waiting patiently for the city traffic to thin out as they reached the interstate highway that coursed through the foothills, back toward Santa Cruz.

  “Do you think we could invite Somers back ourselves?” Beckie asked.

  “Cut it out,” Maggie complained.

  Beckie looked surprised. “What’s the matter? I expected you to be delighted with what happened.”

  Maggie stared out at the road, urging the car on a little faster, impatient to get out of the city. “I don’t like how we’re acting like men, arguing and fighting and intriguing among ourselves. You act as if the Midwives Association was a tennis tournament or something, and you’re out for trophies. And you’re acting like a bad sport, to boot. I find it hard to reconcile your claim that you’re acting out of political motivation with the way that you go on and on about Glanvil and Somers. It seems to me you’d be happy to switch sides if Glanvil did.”

  “Oh, fuck! Sometimes I think you’re an old fuddy-duddy, Maggie.”

  “Why? Because I think we should act like civilized people and work things out in a peaceful, supportive atmosphere? Because I don’t like to see midwives using violence against midwives to get their own way? Well, if that’s being a fuddy-duddy, thank you. I prefer it!”

  “For crissake, Maggie, you know that’s not what I mean. It’s just that you don’t seem to realize that there are people in the Association, like Glanvil, who just aren’t nice people, and if you insist on being nice to them, they’re going to walk all over you.”

  “I do know that, And I realize that we need to act as hard and as nasty as they do. That’s not the issue. The issue is that you seem to enjoy being hard and nasty.”

  Beckie kicked angrily at the door of the car. “Oh, I don’t know if I like it or not. Partly it’s that I despise her so much, and this just allows me to vent my spleen a bit, and partly, I think I take delight in it because otherwise it would make me sick.”

  Maggie nodded silently. “It’s such a waste to spend so much energy fighting, bargaining, and all, when we seem to ignore putting energy into being close to those we love.” She paused, but then continued. “Like Mom. I feel that I’ve been so tied up in other things that I’ve just ignored her lately, putting her off till later, when there really isn’t going to be a later.” Her voice had sunk to a whisper by the end.

  Beckie sat silently, looking out the side window at the rapidly passing foothills. “How has she been this week?”

  Maggie drove on without replying, unsure how much to say. Finally, relenting, she told Beckie everything. “And as far as I can tell, it didn’t do anything. I haven’t the foggiest notion what I was expecting, but it didn’t happen.” She glanced at Beckie “Am I going crazy, trying something like that?”

  Beckie shook her head. “No. It hurts, being unable to help. Sometime you have to try.”

  “But the idea. I mean, digging around for old folk remedies—that was sort of crazy, wasn’t it?” She gave a little laugh, not sure whether it was reasonable or not.

  Beckie shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. I guess maybe it is kind of crazy trying to resurrect old wives’ tales that died out hundreds of years ago.”

  Maggie smiled. Old wives’ tales—midwives. Both names left a bad taste. But midwives were back, the people who had come to the rescue when the hospitals had run rampant with their own queer diseases, infections that made hospitals unsafe for childbirth. Why, until five years ago, had they disappeared so totally in the U.S.? They had never really died out in Europe at all. And what was the connection between that and old wives tales? It didn’t make total sense, but she realized that she felt reassured. Except, she now remembered, she had failed. Ann was dying as inexorably as ever, and for all her rightness and justifications, Maggie hadn’t done any good. Had those cures ever been good for anything? If they had, why didn’t they work now? It just didn’t make any sense.

  By the time they reached Santa Cruz, Maggie was totally exhausted. Not just physically—it was almost midnight, and she rarely stayed up that late—but emotionally as well. She didn’t want to go home to Ann and Carol. The suffering was just too much burden. People were never made to live such solitary lives, she thought to herself. And the closeness to death made the isolation so much more painful.

  She dropped Beckie off at her house without any further discussion. Unwillingly, but unavoidably, she drove on home alone.

  Chapter Six

  MAGGIE awoke a minute ahead of her alarm clock, and quickly turned it off, then lay back on the pillow. Smiling, she realized she had just lost a bet, and owed Lisa a lunch. She had been sure that Ellsie Gordon’s child would come in the middle of the night, and had bet Lisa that the phone would ring before her alarm clock. Actually, she thought, finagling in her mind, the alarm hadn’t gone off this morning, so technically . . . She laughed to herself, and sat up. The morning haze was already burning away, so it would in all probability be a beautiful, clear day. For the end of January, that wasn’t bad at all. Slowly, almost luxuriously, Maggie laced her fingers together, and stretched her arms out in front of her, palms away, until she could feel it all the way to her head. Then, yawning, she swung around and dropped her feet to the floor, just as the phone rang.

  Even after three years, excitement coursed through her body as she realized that another child was on its way. Before the day was out there would be another person whom she bad helped bring into the world. She answered the phone on the second ring.

  “Hi Lisa, is Ellsie on her way?”

  “Yep. The contractions don’t seem so close, but they’re getting nervous, and wanted to know if you or Kathy could come by
.”

  Maggie grimaced. “Damn! I was afraid that might happen. They live near Ellsie’s mother, and she’s big on ‘Childbirth is a terrible experience.’ Do they have any specific complaints?”

  “Not seriously. Ellsie said that some of the contractions were hard right from the start, but it wasn’t clear if she meant that they were too painful, or that she was afraid that she was getting close to transition. I tried to ask her, but she just sort of said, ‘Both.’ It looks like plain old fear.”

  Maggie laughed. “Old for us, Lisa, but not for them.” She paused a minute, calculating. “I’m pretty sure that it’s Kathy’s turn to take early call. Why don’t you phone her, okay?”

  “Will do And I suspect that you can take it easy, because I doubt that they’ll be close for several hours yet. I’ll have Kathy get over there with the ambulance, and she’ll call when it’s time.”

  “Yep. Except, make sure that it’s Kathy’s turn.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “‘Bye.” Maggie hung up and lay back on the bed, her feet still hanging over the side.

  The excitement had drained from her body. God, I hope she doesn’t have a hard time, she thought. It was such a delicate line, between maintaining control and losing it. But the difference in the experiences was tremendous. She frowned, remembering the last woman who had become too scared. It had definitely not been a pleasant experience for any of them.

  What was it, she wondered, that made the difference in the end? Was it how painful the labor actually Was? She doubted that. Too often a woman could be spotted months ahead of time as likely to have trouble with the delivery. But no one had ever really studied it, she was confident, or she would have seen the results. And then she smiled, realizing that it was not the sort of question that the medical profession was traditionally interested in. Besides, it dealt too much with emotions, a subject that obstetrics had classically neglected. Women were just weak and emotional. What more could you want to know about it? Laughing at the idea, she finally roused herself and headed for the shower, making a mental note to check whether anyone was actually doing such a study. She lingered on in the shower, letting the warm needles prick her back, then roll sensuously down to her feet. She gently rocked back and forth, making the needles move up and down. It was hard to remember that a generation ago even this sensuality was tinged by the fear of sexuality. Sex had been evil, and childbirth unbearably painful. Our mothers had been deserted, abandoned by both the medical profession and by religion, to lead schizophrenic lives where their bodies were not to be enjoyed, but censured. No wonder they couldn’t deal with childbirth! They had no control at all over how their bodies acted or felt. They could only censure them.