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1796 was a difficult year for the Ballards. Both Ephraim and Martha experienced professional hardships in 1795; Ephraim’s land surveying was hard, physically taxing work at his age of 70 years, and as Martha’s midwifery practice continued to grow, she spent over 60 nights away from home tending to laboring mothers. Martha was concerned with her son Jonathan’s behavior, a concern that grew over the coming months. Martha’s daughters encountered a number of health conditions: Dolly got measles, Lucy experienced the death of a child soon after birth, and Hannah became severely ill for six weeks after the birth of her second child. In November, when Ephraim returned home early, he informed Martha that he had been robbed at gunpoint while surveying. This was the same day Martha celebrated her 600th birth attended in the 20 years that they had lived in Maine. Martha’s fatigue is apparent in these entries, quoting an old song saying “a woman’s work is never done” (243). Despite her bustling midwifery business, she was still responsible for the domestic economy of the home, which as she aged, grew even more cumbersome, especially with all her daughters leaving the house and the revolving door of temporary helpers that required training and oversight.
Ulrich transitions into a description of the mundane nature of Ephraim’s work as a surveyor and the connection of his professional success to the fortunes of the proprietors who hired him. Surveying was uncertain due to rapidly changing conditions and the unpredictability of nature. In addition, settlers of the land that Ephraim and others sought to survey often resorted to violence and threats to keep wealthy land proprietors from obtaining increasingly more acreage. Ephraim’s adventures out west and north contrast with Martha’s seemingly mundane diary entries, including one entirely about laundry. However, during this period of hardship, Martha’s diary is akin to a prayer book, full of pleas for strength to be able to continue her work. She also outlined an adversarial relationship with her own house, a personification of the domestic work that piled up when she was out working and lacked domestic help. Ulrich writes, “The trials she faced after 1795 not only demonstrate the importance in her own life of her career as a midwife, but they show what it meant to regulate one’s work to the rhythms of mothering” (255). Martha’s oldest son, Cyrus, remained at home and unmarried, and her youngest child, Ephraim, was also male, meaning that she had no daughters to help her with the domestic duties, and she was often displeased with the helpers she obtained from the community. Her diary displays her sense of despair that perhaps no one else took full note of, especially not Ephraim. Despite this, she delivered more babies in the two years after Dolly left home than in any year prior, demonstrating that her midwifery career was picking up.
Martha’s view of her marriage became clear in this period’s diary entries. She complained about Ephraim and his treatment of her, alluding to some jealousy she felt about his conduct toward their current domestic helper, Hepsey. She also complained about Ephraim’s apparent lack of empathy toward her and the amount of work she needed to put into the household. Martha’s diary started to subtly shift; it still held all the information that she always mentioned, but it began to include more of her feelings and glimpses into her inner life. During 1799, she and Ephraim moved to a new house on Jonathan’s land, which was arduous for her, and it’s clear in her references to the house as “Mr. Ballard’s” that she struggled to see it as her own. During the first two years in the new farm, she was ill often, dealing with perhaps hemorrhoids or a prolapsed uterus that made sitting difficult. Her midwifery practice also began to taper off, down to 51 births in 1799, 26 in 1800, and only 11 in 1802. Her health continued to decline, with her reporting 75 days of illness in 1802. Her diary became a witness to her suffering and ailments, and above all, her attempts to persevere.
A number of entries from 1802 describe the saga of John Davis, the son born outside of marriage to Sally Ballard’s (nee Pierce) sister Mehettable (Hitty) Pierce and John Vassal Davis, a justice of the peace. Martha was present at both the birth and death of the child. The community was shocked by Davis’s acknowledgment of his son and the support he showed the child and Hitty, though he never married her. The brazen openness of Davis’s affair is what was most surprising. Because of her association with a man as high ranking as Davis, Martha referred to Hitty as “Mrs. Pierce” instead of “Miss.”
Due to the numerous religious, social, and economic factors at play, Ulrich writes, “the story of John Davis, Jr., offers grist for cultural or political commentary. Those issues are tangential to Martha’s diary, however. In her account it is the daily realities that stand out” (279). The daily realities include Martha’s repeated visits to see little John Davis, who was burned in an accident in the home. He recovered and worsened, passing worms in addition to enduring his burns. Martha nursed him often in the month he lived after his accident. John’s body was autopsied, a process that Martha observed. Martha observed four autopsies across the course of her career and was familiar with anatomy. When she looked at little John’s body, she could identify exactly which internal organs were inflamed. Martha’s invitation to observe was likely due to her role as nurse to John and her position as a healer within the community. Beyond that, Ulrich notes, her role as a midwife gave her presence additional meaning: “As guardians of women and children, midwives presumably ensured proper reverence for the bodies” (289). Martha’s presence validated the process and lessened the anxiety of relatives of the deceased. As the 1800s continued, men began to believe that women should not serve as midwives or in the medical field, as “their character would be destroyed” if they were exposed to elements of medical instruction like dissection or autopsy (289). Ulrich explains, “This was a classic double bind: Women could not qualify themselves to practice midwifery without mastering general medicine, but learning general medicine would disqualify them as women and therefore as midwives” (290). In this alleged logic, men attempted to push women further out of medicine.
Ulrich wonders on the page if Martha’s familiarity with human anatomy dulled her empathy, but then turns to diary entries that prove that concern is misplaced. Martha expresses empathy for John’s death and moments of extreme emotion paired with medical facts in her recollection of her niece Parthenia’s illness and death. Parthenia and Martha shared a close relationship that continued through the end of Parthenia’s life: “Martha had been a watcher at her bedside, a nurse, spiritual supporter, and physician” (292). This dutiful care continued after Parthenia’s death and Martha’s preparations for her funeral: “[Martha] was now prepared to observe and record the dissection of her body. In witnessing autopsies, as in so many other ways, social healers connected illness and death with life” (292). Ulrich argues that Martha’s role as a midwife did not dull her sensibilities or her capacity for empathy, but instead allowed her to approach death, as she approached life and birth, from a place of love. This juxtaposition matches that between Martha and Dr. Cony in a conflict over the treatment of Hannah’s son and Martha’s grandson. Dr. Cony approached the case through the lens of a physician, challenging Martha’s opinions and taking a harsh course of treatment, while Martha and the other women focused on tender care of the child. Though Martha’s methods were similar to Cony’s, the growing tension between the two mirrors the tension between the men and women engaging in medicine. Male practitioners began to advocate for more new therapies, such as bloodletting for various gynecological and obstetrical issues, a treatment Martha was against throughout her career. With the increase in new techniques, doctors began to ascribe more importance to their titles and less to the knowledge of traditional practitioners and midwives.
Martha’s own health conditions come to the fore in this section. Experiencing both fatigue and what was likely hemorrhoids or a prolapsed uterus made sitting painful and travel difficult. Martha’s response to her ailing health illustrates Religion’s Role in Everyday Life in Late 18th-Century New England, as Martha prayed on the pages of her diary, “not for ease or for release from her burdens, but for strength, for the physical ability to continue the work she had done for so long” (253). Her “burdens” were both physical and emotional. She was aging and attempting to cope with a body that was exhibiting the same symptoms for which she treated her patients. Ulrich notes that Martha “defined herself as a ‘gadder,’ as a woman who left home, frequently, to care for her neighbors” (255); yet when it came to her own home and domestic needs, Martha was now alone.
Advancing The Role of Women in Society and the Economy in Colonial and Postcolonial America, Ulrich examines how the lack of help at home was difficult to balance with her midwifery through the specific domestic task of laundry, which Martha fixates on in entries from 1795-1796:
[W]ashing symbolized Martha’s self-denial and her feeling of oppression. She had risen at three to heat a blanket, had gotten up again a few minutes later to remove her husband’s dirty linen, had risen at dawn to build a fire, heat water, and wash away the embarrassing evidence of his illness, and now watched him, miraculously recovered, ride off to church (269-70).
The image of Martha washing demonstrates her growing resentment of domestic demands. Her entries about laundry and cleaning reflect her struggle to balance a vocation she felt called to and fulfilled by with the practical needs of running a household in the way society required of her gender. The image of Ephraim riding to church calls back to the idea of separate spheres: Martha spent her predawn hours tending to both her husband and the home, but as soon as he felt the slightest bit better, he left Martha behind, trapped beneath a mound of housework and textile work.
As Martha navigated life without her daughters, her midwifery career remained her focus even though age and changes within the medical profession impacted the number of births she attended. Martha’s experience at the autopsy of John Davis Jr., the son of Sally Ballard’s sister, opens the door for Ulrich to examine the changing relationship between midwives and physicians and The Social and Medical Practices of the Late 18th-Early 19th Centuries in America and Britain:
Around this story churn many of the major themes in the diary—the communal rituals of healing and death, the close but problematic relations between doctors and midwives, the perennial trials of family life, Martha’s tenderness and toughness (282).
The midwife was involved in birth, healing, and death, allying her closely with all facets of life and making her a natural choice to attend an autopsy. Martha was invited to the autopsy despite some academics’ claims that women were too “delicate” to see such anatomy. However, Martha’s ability to watch the autopsy of a young child so close to her own family showed her “toughness,” and her presence was also a kind of care, a protection of the child’s body even as it was dissected.
This notion of “delicacy” takes hold even though doctors and midwives worked closely together at times, with midwives calling doctors in the case of extreme emergencies during birth or intense illness or injury of other patients. While doctors regarded midwives with some respect, it did not match the deference shown to doctors by midwives. Ulrich notes that “changing notions of womanhood played some role” (293) in the shifting relationship among physicians and midwives, but “More important is the emphasis […] on a new kind of male professionalism based on the full-time practice of medicine and on a unified therapeutic system in which ‘ordinary’ and ‘emergency’ practice were merged” (293). “Ordinary practice” during this period typically belonged to midwives. Doctors worked part-time, as previously established, so this attempt to make medicine a “full-time practice” demonstrates attempts made by male practitioners to encroach further into the territory of midwifery, utilizing arguments of “female delicacy” to justify such encroachment and their increasing authority.
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