The Clitoris in Labour

Did you know that, like an iceberg, most of the clitoris is hidden beneath the surface? I didn’t until a couple of years ago but there was a spate of pretty pink 3D clitorises (?sp ??clitorati) on the net and it got me thinking and Googling.  I found an article by a urologist who kept failing a test because her answers didn’t match that given by the textbooks. Helen O’Connell’s paper in the Journal of Urology (2005) was a real eye opener, a mine of information on the anatomy of the clitoris – and the history of that anatomy which shows that sometimes the textbooks are just plain wrong.

According to Wikipedia (I know … but practically everyone else agrees) the function of the clitoris is to provide women with sexual pleasure. All well and good and thanks very much, but any structure that lies anywhere near the birth canal must be a candidate for a role in birth. Birth is the evolutionary bottleneck which must surely trump women’s pleasure – and, when all’s said and done, most of the time the clitoris doesn’t even provide a woman with an orgasm in the standard human mating position!

When we started to walk upright four million years ago, the standard mammalian mating position, the male entering from behind, became problematic. (Read Elaine Morgan, The Descent of Woman for more details) The practicalities of a vagina that was becoming inaccessible switched the mating position to face to face, but the clitoris was on the wrong side of the vagina to be stimulated with any ease during sex. Besides, the male had ‘lost’ his penis bone and with it the means to provide adequate stimulation (sorry chaps). These days the happy pair are indeed fortunate if he manages to hit the G spot with any accuracy and with any regularity (or perhaps I have just been unlucky).

The trouble with those pretty pink models of the clitoris is that they march across the page with no indication of quite where they are situated. Call it my inadequate female brain if you like, but an ability to manipulate 3D structures in space is not my best attribute. I struggled to sort out in my head where all those extensions and extremities fitted in (the outside button bit was the only bit I was sure about). I got there in the end.  It turns out that the two legs (crura) are attached each side of the pubic arch and the two bulbs project backwards either side of the vagina where they seem to be known as the vestibular bulbs. What might be called the main body of the clitoris lies behind the cartilage of the pubic symphysis. A portion of this root doubles back on itself and burrows through to the Mons of Venus at the apex of the pubic arch. The glans, the visible ‘button’, is at the end of this root. The legendary G spot now has an anatomical explanation, it corresponds to the corpus, the root of the clitoris, which is higher up behind the symphysis pubis. The nerves of the clitoris are huge, visible to the naked eye, and travel back to the sacrum.  So now you know.

In my book, Dynamic Positions in Birth, (Pinter and Martin, 2014) I had speculated that the G spot might be stimulated by the back of the baby’s head on the journey down the birth canal and that this could be responsible for triggering Ferguson’s reflex. Ferguson’s reflex is a nervous signal to the hypothalamus which results in a bolus of oxytocin giving the uterus a tonic contraction which assists the mother in the final pushes for the baby to be born. (More than assist – a large enough uterine contraction can do practically all the work.) Now that I knew that the G spot was part of a larger structure, everything dropped into place. (Confusion about its location is now explained, because it is stimulated at one remove through the vaginal wall and it is not so much as a spot as an area.)

Birth should be orgasmic, the fluttering vaginal contractions of orgasm initiated by the downward movement of the fetal head also ease the baby out.  The engorgement of the vestibular bulbs and the crura cushion the back of the baby’s head from the hard bones of the pubic arch. Vaginal orgasm at birth is the intended target of evolution. Orgasm by external stimulation during sex is an added bonus. (It says a lot for our birth culture that it is so rare … yes, me neither.) It probably says even more for our birth culture that textbook physiology has absolutely nothing to say on the subject. I wonder whether all that engorgement and lubrication protects women against tearing?

In Spiritual Midwifery Ina May Gaskin makes much of what partners can do to help their women give birth – loving, smooching, cuddling and sexual stimulation.  Though it grieves me to say it, there are some obstetricians who stimulate the external clitoris mechanically to ease birth, which seems to me to be a gross intrusion, verging on assault. They do at least have physiology on their side – like nipple stimulation, it releases oxytocin,  but both orgasm and oxytocin secretion are shy phenomena, failing to manifest themselves in stressful environments.

A role for the clitoris in labour would make sense of many of the things we see in birth. We might find that birth proceeds better when we adopt positions where maximal clitoral stimulation is possible, not just upright, but forward leaning, acknowledging our quadrupedal heritage. It would certainly proceed better in the same sorts of environments that facilitate sex. Anyone for sex in the lithotomy position gazed on by a posse of strangers (me neither)?


Kick starting labour – a new model of uterine function

Kick starting labour – a new model of uterine function.

The current management of women in labour is based around RCTs of what health professionals do – or don’t do – to women under their care. Physiology comes right at the bottom of the hierarchy of evidence in evidence based medicine, but in the case of childbirth, a physiological process rather than a disease to be treated, physiology should head that list. We should be managing care according what the woman’s body needs in order to labour efficiently and effectively.

Traditionally, the forces of labour are described in terms of the Powers, the Passenger and the Passage. Somewhat bizarrely, this model denies both the mother and her baby any active involvement in the process.  We can make a better model of labour when we consider the mother and her baby as active participants. The uterus is the interface between them. Both the mother and her baby have bodies which can move and affect the effectiveness of uterine activity.

It is true that in mechanistic terms the uterus is the ‘engine’ of labour. It is the strongest muscle in the body but it is acting upon that most delicate of human beings, a baby. Mistreated engines tend to seize up, sometimes with catastrophic consequences.  Understanding how the uterus works is central to good maternity care but most textbooks have little to say on the subject, they simply refer to uterine function as the ‘Powers’. Contractions just happen – or not. And if not, labour can usually be kick started with artificial oxytocin.

Labour is a hormonal event. We have only to look at the effects of syntocinon (Pitocin) infusions to know that oxytocin has a very powerful effect on the uterus but physiologists are aware that blood levels of natural oxytocin do not increase until second stage.  What drives labour before second stage seems to be the increasing sensitivity of the uterus to these lowish levels of oxytocin.  We also know that, even in established labour, contractions can stop and that the likely mechanism is antagonism of  oxytocin by the stress hormones secreted by anxious or fearful mothers. Preventing or alleviating the mother’s stress will improve uterine function. This is where supportive midwifery care comes into the picture.

But there is another driver of contraction which physiologists know about but doesn’t make the clinical textbooks and that is stretch. Most smooth muscle, including that of the uterus, is activated by stretch. That is how food moves along the intestines, faeces through the colon and blood through the veins.

The heart, a special form of smooth muscle, has a pacemaker to drive its contractions and scientists have been searching in vain for a pacemaker site in the uterus. Instead they have found that any site in the main body of the uterus has the capacity to be either a pacemaker or a pace follower. 25 years ago I proposed that fetus him/herself ‘steered’ themselves towards the exit by means of what I called the stretch-contract reflex.  Visualise a balloon shaped trampoline and put a kicking baby inside. The origin of a contraction will be where the fetus is stretching the uterus. Shortly after my first book, Childbirth Unmasked, was published, Sheila Kitzinger rang me to suggest that the so-called neonatal reflexes could be involved. This was a vast improvement on my initial idea. Milani Comparetti, the father of paediatric neurology, proposed that the neonatal reflexes enabled the fetus to search for the ‘invitation to softness’.  The fetus himself may kick his way into the best position for his journey through the birth canal.

Is the fetus really able to position her/himself for entry into the birth canal? Does the fetus utilise his/her reflexes to negotiate the birth canal? Could cerebral palsy be the cause of a difficult labour rather than being a consequence? We don’t know, but a role for fetal positioning in labour is a testable hypothesis. I am no lover of electronic fetal monitoring, but we would need a few expectant mothers who were willing to undergo multi-channel monitoring for a few contractions.  Electromyography can already record electrical activity in the uterus at more than one place at once and the source and spread of a contraction can be mapped using powerful computer software. At the same time movement activated LED lights could be placed in a network over the mother’s abdomen and videoed to provide a corresponding map of activity. We could then see whether there was any correlation between fetal movements and uterine activity.  A few contractions from a few women with babies in different positions (e.g OP, AP, breech) and with the women adopting a different position for each contraction should yield a wealth of data for a computer to crunch.

If the results supported the hypothesis, the importance of maternal freedom of movement would become apparent. The mother, her fetus and the uterus would all need to have as much freedom of movement as possible in order to enable the fetus the manoeuvre him/herself in the optimum position for birth. Restricted movement would lead to pain and failure to progress, all too often found in ‘managed’ births where electronic fetal monitoring limits mothers’ choice of position.

My most recent mindshift has been in the area of the material substance of the uterus – by which I mean the composition of the biological tissue of which it is formed.  We already know that there are hormonal changes in terms of receptor sites for various contraction associated proteins (CAPs), but what if substantial changes to the gross anatomy of the uterus involving tissue remodelling was taking place during labour itself? What if the uterus started to remodel itself during labour (as we know it does during the days that follow)?

We already know that the cervix has scaffolding of collagen  which keeps it shut during pregnancy and which can be artificially ripened (broken down) by prostaglandins so that it can to stretch to 10 cm in the course of labour.

The uterus also has collagen scaffolding.  This is less well known  – tissue samples from the main body of the pregnant uterus are harder to come by. What if uterine collagen performs the same task as the collagen scaffolding at the cervix, preventing stretch-initiated contraction? What if this collagen is also broken down (by prostaglandins, IL-8 and MMP8, collagenase) during labour? The loss of collagen scaffolding then affects the biomechanics of the uterus, allowing it to become progressively more stretchable and more contractable. The ‘trampoline’ of the uterus becomes ‘bouncier’. Contractions become more effective. The fetus starts searching for the best way out.

Now for the final piece of the puzzle, the onset of labour. We know that in other mammals the fetus is involved in initiating labour by a hormonal mechanism which changes the balance between oestrogen and progesterone, but in humans progesterone levels remain high even at the onset of labour. In order to be able to give birth to a baby with a bigger head, we evolved to give birth earlier in pregnancy when the progesterone block was still in place. Rising oestrogen does still plays a part in the onset of labour. On a signal from the fetus, oestrogen rises and primes the uterus for labour by increasing oxytocin receptors and gap junctions. The oxytocin receptors make the uterus more contractile and the gap junctions allow electrical activity to spread to involve the whole uterus.

It looks as though the alternative mechanism (from a change in the oestrogen:progesterone ratio) for the onset of human labour may be stretch-activated inflammation acting on a primed uterus.  The only difference between Braxton Hicks contractions and the contractions of labour are that BH contractions are less powerful and don’t spread so far. In the oestrogen primed uterus, contractions can spread. Inflammation is a primary driver of labour, often associated with premature labour. According to Kim et al of Imperial College (unpublished paper, unknown date):

“The stimuli triggering inflammatory activation in normal human parturition are not fully understood.”

I think the elusive inflammatory event that precipitates labour is increased stretch made possible by loss of collagen, the same biochemical mechanism that causes cervical ripening. Both twin pregnancy and polyhydramnios are associated with premature labour. The uterus is already distended so it takes little more to push it over the edge into labour. Breaking the waters can kick start labour in a uterus that is already primed for labour because now the fetus is able to stretch one part of the uterus with more force.

What can we do to improve uterine efficiency?

RCTs have shown better outcomes with caseload midwifery and out-of-hospital birth. This suggests that the powerhouse of the uterus tends to work better when its owner is cared for by a midwife, preferrably a midwife already known to her. Labour progresses more quickly at home when measured by the simplest of parameters – length of labour. The Birthplace study (2011) doesn’t give average length of total labour for all women, but women giving birth in obstetric units laboured there for 9 hours and women giving birth at home had a midwife for 6.6 hours. Midwives encourage women to move freely, women are less likely to be tethered to a fetal monitor and asked to remain still. Midwives are expert in rearranging the furniture to allow women freedom of movement. Labouring in water is even better.

All women need freedom of movement, not just low risk women deemed suitable for midwife-led care. We should stop putting women to bed for labour and we should outlaw tight belts holding transducers in place, we may be preventing the very activity that we need to enhance. I found that forward leaning positions were least painful in my labours. These positions keep the main body of the uterus away from the maternal bones.

You can see a visual representation of the ‘collagen scaffolding’ on a youtube animation made to illustrate a kneeling chair I have designed for labour and birth and which, I hope, illustrates why I am so passionate about giving women freedom of movement in labour. Freedom of movement should not just be a ‘nice to have’ option for low risk women but a physiological imperative for all women in labour. (In case you were wondering, freedom of movement should also include freedom to choose the bed!)

Margaret Jowitt










Zen and the Science of Birth

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance has replaced Arthur Ransom’s The Picts and the Martyrs as my desert island book. My daughter says that no one ever should be told that they ought to read a book but my son recommended ZAMM when I was agonising over two seemingly intractable problems  – my mind was spinning off in so many directions at once that I feared for my sanity.  I was frustrated by my apparent failure to wow the NHS into giving women a useful piece of kit to encourage them to keep off the bed for labour and birth, and in despair that I would ever be able to interest health professionals in a new science of birth – rather than being a mere passenger in a disembodied uterus, the baby and the mother might both have crucial parts to play in the action.

What Persig was trying to do in ZAMM was to reconcile the classical and the romantic, reason and emotion, the Cartesian dualism that pervades modern thinking and divides art from science.  It seems to me that the apparent differences between obstetrics and midwifery divide along those very lines. Obstetrics claims to be driven by reason, science and technology, whereas midwifery is seen as the Antiscience, touchy feely emotion-driven care which puts mother and baby at risk – despite the fact that statistics show that midwifery care, particularly from a known midwife, is just as safe for the baby and safer for the mother – and I believe for her mental health and therefore the health of family life.

Persig was struck by the fear or even contempt that some have of technology – how could there possibly be an art to motorcycle maintenance? But unless we can learn to see the art in technology it becomes our master and us its slaves; we live in a technological world, we must embrace technology not run from it.  At the same time we cannot live by algorithms, life is not just a matter of following the steps laid down by the manuals to obtain the desired result. Current manuals of motorcycle maintenance fail to tell you what to do when you encounter a sticky screw which resists all attempts to remove it. In order to get from step 1 (remove screw) to step 2  (lift off engine cover) you have to insert an additional step not mentioned in the manual. You have to be inventive and use your wits and insert step 1a (think of a way of removing stuck screw and remove it). This is where the art comes in. You can’t do everything by the book because no book can cover absolutely every eventuality.

I have to admit to an antipathy to machines that go ‘ping’. For me the technology of fetal monitoring epitomises the divide between obstetrics and midwifery. Sometimes it seems that the EFM printout  is the only thing important in maternity care – certainly that is what the lawyers and administrators of insurance like to tell us. EFM may well serve their purposes but research shows that it benefits neither mother nor baby, it does nothing to reduce perinatal mortality or cerebral palsy rates and it increases caesarean section rates. Furthermore, I would suggest that it puts a technological barrier between mother and caregiver and blinds the caregiver to other clues to the progress of labour.  For my part, I would prefer the simpler technology of the Pinard stethoscope which makes a more direct connection between the midwife’s ear and the baby’s heart sounds, with only the barrier of the maternal abdomen in between. I want the midwife to use all of her senses in assessing the condition of mother and fetus. Concentrating her efforts on the comparison of two graphical representations made by a machine falls far short of quality care in labour.

And, for Persig, Quality and Care are the means of reconciling technology and art.

So my aim is to do for birth care what Persig did for motorcycle maintenance, to reconcile the seemingly opposing philosophies of birth espoused by midwifery and obstetrics. Midwives do not have a monopoly on the art of birth and obstetricians do not have a monopoly on the science of birth. The interface is physiology, the natural science of birth. I started my own journey towards understanding birth as a psychologist, looking at the interface of mind and body – stress hormones. I ended up with a new model of uterine function which emphasises the importance of active birth.  We can give Quality Maternity Care only when we understand how mothers’ and babies’ bodies work together during labour and do all we can to honour and respect this partnership.


Traumatic Childbirth

Yesterday’s Observer (7/5/2017) had a heartrending piece about traumatic childbirth. The comments section confirmed that the author was not alone. There were accounts dating back 30 years or more of appalling injuries which remained unresolved to this day, damage to the genital tract, broken marriages, crippling damage to the bony pelvis. A veritable tsunami of untold human misery was unleashed by this brave woman’s words. Most of the comments were from damaged women and for every one that contributed there are probably a hundred or even a thousand who continue to suffer in silence.  The physical trauma was often compounded by the way that the emergency was dealt with, people rushing into the room, doing what they had to do to rescue the baby but ignoring the woman herself. Such treatment can lead all too easily to PTSD, a consequence of unescapable stress.

I took a deep breath and responded in the comments section, talking about prevention. I thought it would help if every woman had a midwife she already knew who was there for her alone, that when something untoward happened she was given emotional support, that at least one person in that rapidly filling room was keeping her in the picture, walking the journey alongside her.

The other means of prevention concerns the iatrogenic damage caused by the central position of the bed in the obstetric labour room.  The obstetric bed is the one thing in the labour room that has never been subjected to a clinical trial and I believe it causes untold damage to women by limiting maternal and fetal movement. There is profound ignorance about how labour works. I am shocked by the lack of interest in the biomechanics of birth, the fact that it took centuries for obstetrics to even consider that turning a woman from her back to all fours might be a good way to resolve shoulder dystocia.

There seems to have been little basic research into the biomechanics of the uterus since the middle of the last century when a consensus was reached that contractions emanated from a pacemaker near the fundus of the uterus which then acted as a piston pushing the fetus downwards towards the exit.  Modern labour management considers little but clock time, and recording the fetal heart rate and contractions from just one point on the uterus – which is in fact a hollow 3D biological shell capable of starting contractions more or less anywhere in its main body. Hospital obstetrics fails to consider that both the mother and her fetus can move to allow the fetus to wriggle around to find the best position for negotiating the birth canal. When the piston of the uterus is augmented by artificial oxytocin, forcing it to try and push out a baby through a bent birth canal – and uphill at that – is it any wonder that babies get ‘stuck’, that mothers sustain these fearsome injuries in the process?

We have to learn how the biomechanics of birth work and act on that knowledge. It won’t prevent all injury but it would be a step in the right direction.



Dangerous Liaisons?

“Why should women have to prepare themselves and psyche themselves up for encounters with health professionals? It’s ridiculous.” Not my words, but those of a Nicky Grace, a midwife. The maternity system seems unable to organise itself so that women meet a familiar, friendly face rather than a stranger in the labour room. And I’m not even talking about continuity of care given by just one midwife, my research showed that having met a midwife just once before was nearly as good as knowing her well. (None of the mothers in my Mothers’ Experience of Birth study were cared for by a male midwife.) There have been seven months to prepare for this crucial meeting, half a dozen antenatal appointments, lots of chances to meet the team. It is indeed ridiculous to have to encounter an unknown midwife when in labour.

We are primed by evolution to be wary of strangers. We have to psyche ourselves up to prepare to meet unknown people. Think of the difference between a GP appointment and a hospital appointment. Seeing a GP you’ve met before is vastly different from the first hospital appointment with a strange consultant. Psyching oneself up involves secreting stress hormones which antagonise oxytocin, the primary contraction associated protein. On the other hand, encountering someone who has become a friend lifts oxytocin. Knowing your midwife (or midwives) is a win-win situation, not only do you not secrete hormones resisting oxytocin but you get an oxytocin boost from meeting a friend.

I wouldn’t say I was a conspiracy theorist, but I do wonder whether some hospitals prefer you not to know your midwife. Some say that it is inequitable to offer continuity of carer to some women but not others, thereby tacitly acknowledging that there is an advantage to continuity.  Some midwives say that it doesn’t matter that they don’t already know the woman, they can easily establish rapport with mothers, but others value the mother-midwife relationship so highly that they find themselves unable to practise in the NHS. The NMC certainly seems to be taking the view that it is dangerous for friends and relations to provide care for a labouring mother. Apparently, the danger is that known midwives will be less rigid in following guidelines and give special treatment to women they know. They will bend the rules to accommodate women’s wishes. I’m just wondering what dangers there are in granting women’s wishes. As to special treatment, if anyone deserves special treatment, it is the woman who is doing the work of labour. One of the mums in my study said she chose home birth so she could be the Queen Bee.

Guidelines are there for a reason, they say, but it is a thin line between protective steering and coercive control. Which is better, natural oxytocin or syntocinon augmentation, individualised care or birth by numbers?