The personal reason this superwoman has dedicated her life to Indigenous midwifery.

Claire Dion Fletcher was taking a class in Women’s Studies as part of her undergraduate program when she first realized she wanted to become a midwife.

She was writing a paper on the decline of midwifery and the medicalization of birth in Ontario, when she started thinking about whether or not midwifery was even practiced anymore. It didn’t take long before Claire found that the answer was ‘yes’ along with a lot more information on the subject from the Association of Ontario Midwives and the Ryerson Midwifery Education programme.

The more she read, the more confident she became about wanting to become a midwife herself. She had always been interested in health care, and especially women taking an active role in their health, so midwifery seemed like the perfect fit.


Photo via Unsplash.

But it wasn’t just an academic interest — Claire also had a personal connection to health care and midwifery.

Claire is Potawatomi-Lenape, and she wanted to help Indigenous women like herself take an active role in their health care. She thinks that Indigenous women should have access to an Indigenous midwife if they want, because their Aboriginal identity is something that “cannot be replicated or taught”.

Despite the differences in experiences of Indigenous people, Claire explains that they share an ongoing experience of assimilation. Indigenous people also typically don’t have access to as comprehensive health care as other groups in Canada.

But one of the biggest challenges Indigenous people face is “[they] have the poorest health outcomes compared to any other group in Canada”, Claire explains.

And there are studies to support Claire’s claim. In a report by the National Collaboration for Aboriginal Health, health indicators show a higher burden of disease or health disparities among Indigenous people than among non-Aboriginal Canadians. And there isn’t just a gap in health outcomes, there is also a gap in data which makes it more difficult to address the situation.

What’s more, women often get the shortest end of the proverbial stick, “due to the intersecting effects of colonization, race, sex and gender,” notes Claire.

This is why people like her are so important — Claire recognizes that there’s a lot about the state of maternal health that needs to change.

“Our families deserve Indigenous midwifery care that meets all their health needs, our people deserve access to health care in a place where they feel safe and respected, where they will be listened to and their concerns taken seriously.”

Thankfully, Claire found a way to actively work towards that change  — she became a registered midwife who specifically caters to Indigenous women.

Claire Dion-Fletcher receiving the Iewirokwas Cape Award for Midwifery Heroes from the Toronto Birth Centre on February 16. Photo via Ryerson University.

But she does much more than deliver babies.

Claire holds several other positions that help propel her mission forward.

She sits on the core leadership of the National Aboriginal Council of Midwives, where she works on several projects to expand Indigenous midwifery and enhance midwifery education. She also supports increased access to culturally safe educational opportunities through her role as an Aboriginal student coordinator at the Ryerson Midwifery Education Program, which is also where she got her midwifery certificate.

And Claire’s constantly researching decolonized health care and Indigenous midwifery, too. One of her most interesting findings so far is the unique approach that Indigenous midwives bring to health care.

“Indigenous midwifery provides clinically excellent care that incorporates an Indigenous understanding of health and world view.” writes Claire.

Ultimately her mission is to recover Indigenous practices while trying to improve overall health and wellbeing of Indigenous people and fight against the ongoing impacts of colonization and assimilation.  

And Claire and the National Aboriginal Council of Midwives share another important goal — to have at least one Aboriginal midwife in each Aboriginal community.

That’s why she lobbies for the expansion of Indigenous content in university programs and the growth of Indigenous midwifery in Ontario.

“I see all of these as a part of Indigenous midwifery and part of our responsibility as Indigenous midwives to serve our communities,” she notes.

Since she’s involved  with so many projects, it’s impressive that Claire finds the energy to keep up her work, but the strength and resiliency of her Indigenous clients help her stay motivated.

And her goal for the future of Indigenous health care in Canada is a powerful motivator as well.  

She wants to help build a health care system that is focused on the clients, in order to meet the needs of the people actually using the system. She also wants to make Indigenous midwifery is more accessible, and make it easier for Indigenous people to become midwives themselves.

To achieve this, she will keep lobbying for a fairer health care system and increased recognition for Indigenous midwifery. She hopes her research will also provide her with more tools to improve the situation and spread information about the most pressing issues associated with Indigenous health today.

There’s still a long way to go before we see the necessary changes in place, but with people like Claire in the mix, the chances are good that they’ll happen a lot sooner.

Images courtesy of John Scully, Walden University, Ingrid Scully
True

Since March of 2020, over 29 million Americans have been diagnosed with COVID-19, according to the CDC. Over 540,000 have died in the United States as this unprecedented pandemic has swept the globe. And yet, by the end of 2020, it looked like science was winning: vaccines had been developed.

In celebration of the power of science we spoke to three people: an individual, a medical provider, and a vaccine scientist about how vaccines have impacted them throughout their lives. Here are their answers:

John Scully, 79, resident of Florida

Photo courtesy of John Scully

When John Scully was born, America was in the midst of an epidemic: tens of thousands of children in the United States were falling ill with paralytic poliomyelitis — otherwise known as polio, a disease that attacks the central nervous system and often leaves its victims partially or fully paralyzed.

"As kids, we were all afraid of getting polio," he says, "because if you got polio, you could end up in the dreaded iron lung and we were all terrified of those." Iron lungs were respirators that enclosed most of a person's body; people with severe cases often would end up in these respirators as they fought for their lives.

John remembers going to see matinee showings of cowboy movies on Saturdays and, before the movie, shorts would run. "Usually they showed the news," he says, "but I just remember seeing this one clip warning us about polio and it just showed all these kids in iron lungs." If kids survived the iron lung, they'd often come back to school on crutches, in leg braces, or in wheelchairs.

"We all tried to be really careful in the summer — or, as we called it back then, 'polio season,''" John says. This was because every year around Memorial Day, major outbreaks would begin to emerge and they'd spike sometime around August. People weren't really sure how the disease spread at the time, but many believed it traveled through the water. There was no cure — and every child was susceptible to getting sick with it.

"We couldn't swim in hot weather," he remembers, "and the municipal outdoor pool would close down in August."

Then, in 1954 clinical trials began for Dr. Jonas Salk's vaccine against polio and within a year, his vaccine was announced safe. "I got that vaccine at school," John says. Within two years, U.S. polio cases had dropped 85-95 percent — even before a second vaccine was developed by Dr. Albert Sabin in the 1960s. "I remember how much better things got after the vaccines came out. They changed everything," John says.

Keep Reading Show less

When "bobcat" trended on Twitter this week, no one anticipated the unreal series of events they were about to witness. The bizarre bobcat encounter was captured on a security cam video and...well...you just have to see it. (Read the following description if you want to be prepared, or skip down to the video if you want to be surprised. I promise, it's a wild ride either way.)

In a North Carolina neighborhood that looks like a present-day Pleasantville, a man carries a cup of coffee and a plate of brownies out to his car. "Good mornin!" he calls cheerfully to a neighbor jogging by. As he sets his coffee cup on the hood of the car, he says, "I need to wash my car." Well, shucks. His wife enters the camera frame on the other side of the car.

So far, it's just about the most classic modern Americana scene imaginable. And then...

A horrifying "rrrrawwwww!" Blood-curdling screaming. Running. Panic. The man abandons the brownies, races to his wife's side of the car, then emerges with an animal in his hands. He holds the creature up like Rafiki holding up Simba, then yells in its face, "Oh my god! It's a bobcat! Oh my god!"

Then he hucks the bobcat across the yard with all his might.

Keep Reading Show less
Images courtesy of John Scully, Walden University, Ingrid Scully
True

Since March of 2020, over 29 million Americans have been diagnosed with COVID-19, according to the CDC. Over 540,000 have died in the United States as this unprecedented pandemic has swept the globe. And yet, by the end of 2020, it looked like science was winning: vaccines had been developed.

In celebration of the power of science we spoke to three people: an individual, a medical provider, and a vaccine scientist about how vaccines have impacted them throughout their lives. Here are their answers:

John Scully, 79, resident of Florida

Photo courtesy of John Scully

When John Scully was born, America was in the midst of an epidemic: tens of thousands of children in the United States were falling ill with paralytic poliomyelitis — otherwise known as polio, a disease that attacks the central nervous system and often leaves its victims partially or fully paralyzed.

"As kids, we were all afraid of getting polio," he says, "because if you got polio, you could end up in the dreaded iron lung and we were all terrified of those." Iron lungs were respirators that enclosed most of a person's body; people with severe cases often would end up in these respirators as they fought for their lives.

John remembers going to see matinee showings of cowboy movies on Saturdays and, before the movie, shorts would run. "Usually they showed the news," he says, "but I just remember seeing this one clip warning us about polio and it just showed all these kids in iron lungs." If kids survived the iron lung, they'd often come back to school on crutches, in leg braces, or in wheelchairs.

"We all tried to be really careful in the summer — or, as we called it back then, 'polio season,''" John says. This was because every year around Memorial Day, major outbreaks would begin to emerge and they'd spike sometime around August. People weren't really sure how the disease spread at the time, but many believed it traveled through the water. There was no cure — and every child was susceptible to getting sick with it.

"We couldn't swim in hot weather," he remembers, "and the municipal outdoor pool would close down in August."

Then, in 1954 clinical trials began for Dr. Jonas Salk's vaccine against polio and within a year, his vaccine was announced safe. "I got that vaccine at school," John says. Within two years, U.S. polio cases had dropped 85-95 percent — even before a second vaccine was developed by Dr. Albert Sabin in the 1960s. "I remember how much better things got after the vaccines came out. They changed everything," John says.

Keep Reading Show less