Sheila Kitzinger

Abstract

Social anthropologist and childbirth campaigner. She was born in Taunton, UK, on March 29, 1929, and died in Standlake, UK, on April 11, 2015, aged 86 years. In 1980, in one of the first editions of a weekly medical programme I'd begun presenting on BBC Radio 4, the topics included a new report on home birth. As a keen proponent of this option, Sheila Kitzinger was an obvious interviewee—and gave a characteristically articulate and spirited account of its virtues. More than once she emphasised that what she wished for all women was “a happy birth day”. Later, listening to it in the office, opinion was split—and not solely along gender lines. Some applauded the sentiment; others objected that Kitzinger seemed to be placing as much emphasis on process as on outcome. A successful delivery is one in which the child is born safely and in good health, but not necessarily one in which the mother has an emotionally exhilarating experience. Kitzinger would rightly have argued that the two are not mutually exclusive. But the force of her enthusiasm for what she saw as an ideal delivery could draw attention away from the greater purpose of the event. It was no surprise that many people saw her as a champion, others as an irritant. On one point, though, there is agreement. She had a substantial and beneficial effect on the management of birth in the UK. One of Kitzinger's daughters, Celia, is Professor of Sociology at the University of York. As she points out, “my mother was the first person to research women's experience of episiotomy.” Kitzinger questioned its value, and also that of other routine childbirth procedures from the use of enemas to the shaving of pubic hair. Lesley Page, President of the Royal College of Midwives and a friend of longstanding, remarks that “The language she used was different to the usual medical or midwifery language, but I don't think she was disliked within the professions.” Page adds that “in recent years we've become aware that the experience [of birth] can be as important as the physical outcome.” Depression and other mental health problems can be one consequence of a difficult labour. “Looking back”, she says, “I think I can see traces of Sheila in much of our maternity policy, particularly in the idea of woman-centred care.” You could say that Kitzinger began her career as a child, eavesdropping as she apparently did on counselling sessions held by her midwife mother in the family sitting room. This early introduction to social anthropology was followed by a more formal education in the topic at Oxford University. Before that she'd also studied drama, a training she used to advantage in the many public appearances she was soon to start making. From Oxford she moved to Edinburgh University where she began research on race relations. Aged 26 years, and by now married, she had the first of her five daughters, each of whom was born at home. The third of these births prompted her first book, The Experience of Childbirth, published in 1962. The response to the book was massive, and confirmed her emergence as a kind of childbirth guru. In 1958, she joined the advisory board of what was to become the UK's National Childbirth Trust; she lectured in the UK and worldwide, wrote many more books, championed the introduction of birth plans, and spoke endlessly to the media. One of her most demanding innovations was the Birth Crisis Network, a helpline that women could call if they wanted to talk about a traumatic birth. Her own phone number was displayed on the website together with an invitation to any woman in need of a sympathetic ear. She also organised workshops on the topic, often held at her own home. “She knew in detail about adverse consequences when women have their babies”, says Page. Celia Kitzinger collaborated with her mother on a detailed analysis of some 800 recorded Birth Crisis Network calls. This, she says, offered her a direct insight into the kindness and understanding with which her mother talked to women who phoned in distress. Page describes Kitzinger as full of energy: vital, vibrant, and as colourful in her language as in her clothes. And just as she'd always given birth at home, this was also where she died. She is survived by her husband, Uwe, as well as her five daughters.