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Part 3 7 Now the stage is set. The lights are dimmed. The curtain may rise. The child can make his entrance. At last he is here. 8 Head first, and then his shoulders, one after the other. Either all this happens naturally, or some help is needed at this critical moment. As soon as the head is out the child wants to draw a breath, which is impossible for him because his chest is still imprisoned in his mother's body. If the shoulders are stuck, his progress comes to a halt, and help is needed quickly, because anguish is building up furiously in the child. How can we help? By sliding a finger under the child's armpit we can help the rotation of his body and liberate the little prisoner. Then, holding him under both arms we hoist him out, as if pulling him from a well, and put him straight onto his mother's belly. Most important of all, we never, never, at any time touch his head. He's lying on his mother's belly. And where better to receive the child than this belly. It has the exact shape to receive the baby. When he was within, it was rounded and convex; it has now become hollow, and waits like a nest to cradle the child. Soft and supple, it moves with the rhythm of the mother's breathing, and the living warmth of her body makes it the perfect place for the newborn to be. Finally, and this is most important, because the baby remains so near to her, the umbilical cord can remain intact. 9 Cutting the cord the moment a baby has emerged from his mother's womb is an act of extreme cruelty, and harms the baby to an extent that is hard to believe. Leaving it intact, however, so long as it continues to beat, transforms the whole birth experience. For one thing, it forces the obstetrician to be patient, and leads him, as well as the mother, to respect the rhythm, the sense of time ordained by the child. Besides, leaving the cord intact allows the natural physiological changes to take place within the child's body at their own pace. We have already described the way air suddenly rushing into the baby's lungs has the same effect on him as a burn. But there is more. Before his birth, the child lived in oneness. For him there was no difference between the world and himself, because inside and outside were one. He knew nothing of polarities. He didn't know about being cold, for example, because cold cannot exist without heat. The body temperature of the mother and the baby are exactly the same. How then could he appreciate any contrast? As he enters this world, the newborn baby encounters for the first time a kingdom of opposites in which everything is either good or bad, pleasant or unpleasant, agreeable or disagreeable, wet or dry. What is the gate through which he enters this kingdom of opposites? Not through his senses, that comes much later, but through breathing. When he takes his first breath, he crosses a threshold, a border. He breathes in, and from this action is born its opposite: he breathes out. And then in turn . . . Thus he is launched irrevocably into the eternal cycle, the never-ending oscillation, the very principle of our world, in which everything comes back to this breath, this pulsation. He is in the world where everything, for always, is born of its own opposite: Day from night, summer from winter, riches from poverty, strength from weakness, never ending, without beginning. 10 To breathe is to become one with the world outside, to tune in to the music of the spheres. Its function is to make the blood take in oxygen and get rid of wastes, mostly carbon dioxide. But in this simple exchange, two worlds come near each other, try to mix and touch: the world of outside and the world of inside. It is in the lungs where they meet--the blood mounting from one's own depths, the air coming from above. The blood and air rush to conjoin, anxious to mix and mingle. The blood arrives in the lungs, depleted of its oxygen, its strength spent, dark with waste: the carbon dioxide which makes it old. Here it is going to rid itself of its old age, gain its energy, rejuvenate. Transformed by this visit to the fountain of youth, it departs, alive, red and rich! It returns to the depths where it gives forth its riches. Once more lets itself be filled with wastes, and then returns to the lungs. Thus the cycle continues indefinitely. As for the heart, it keeps pumping, pushing the blood sending it, rich and red toward the thirsty tissues of the organism, and sending it back when it has become old and worn-out, for renewal to the lungs. How does all this happen in the fetus, Where the lungs are not yet working? The blood of the fetus, just like ours, needs to be renewed. The placenta fulfills this role. In the act of drawing breath, of oxygenating his own blood with his own lungs, the child becomes himself, in effect saying, "Woman, what do we have in common? I no longer need an intermediary between myself and the world." Of course it is only the first step, for all the rest he still relies totally on his mother. But it is a step in the right direction. With his first breath, the child sets forth on the road to independence, to autonomy, to freedom. But practically speaking, much depends on the way this transition takes place. Whether this transition is made slowly, progressively, or brutally, in panic and terror, can make the difference between a gentle birth . . . and a tragedy. Excerpted from Birth Without Violence by Frédérick Leboyer All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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Kirkus Book Review

The newest neonatal wrinkle, from France -- Dr. Leboyer has excited attention all over the continent and there has been some earlier commentary here -- childbirth without pain for the child. In photographs (40 full page) and short sentences of ultrasimplicity, Dr. Leboyer indicates how to reduce birth trauma -- the sensitivity to light, to noise, the yanking and spanking. Speak to your child (almost as you would your plants) with ""tenderness."" Touch the baby gently. Put him back in a small bath of warm water -- the equivalent of his former habitat. Ease his way into the world. Dr. Leboyer's tone is tantamount to a caress and a wide audience is expected to respond. Love, listen, understand -- DOUCEMENT. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Author notes provided by Syndetics

Frédérick Leboyer was born Alfred Lazare Levy in Paris, France on November 1, 1918. He graduated from the University of Paris School of Medicine. During World War II, he and his older brother changed their name to Leboyer to avoid detection as Jews by the occupying Nazis. After the war, he worked in a hospital and then opened a private practice. He began questioning modern obstetrics in the late 1950s and became an advocate for natural birth methods. His book, Birth Without Violence, was published in 1974. He stopped practicing medicine and dedicated himself to photography and film. He wrote several books including Loving Hands and Inner Beauty, Inner Light. He died on May 25, 2017 at the age of 98.

(Bowker Author Biography)