My Birth Story
Blessed to have my life and two healthy children after what I endured birthing my two girls. Both my baby girls were born prematurely at 29 weeks at 1 pound 6 ounces. I experienced infant restricted growth at 26 weeks which really took me for a spin. Thinking I would have a doula and natural birth without any pain medication went completely out the door once I was warned if they didn’t intervene the baby could die. Sitting in the hospital room with the surgical team prepping for my emergency c section, while I sat in the labor and delivery room with a heart doppler beeping loudly to keep track of the babies heart rate had me at the highest point of stress. Not knowing if my baby would survive, or if I would endure surgery had me so scared and uncomfortable. I was willing to discharge myself out of the hospital, because I felt the way the hospital was pressuring me to birth my baby so soon was so rushed and invasive to what I envisioned my birth story would look like.
Holding my doctors hand while the anesthesiologist shoved the epidural in my spine, was the most uncomfortable thing I experienced. Thankfully my doctor was a black woman. Holding my hand while she tells me that everything will be okay, gave me some type of solace. When my spouse could finally come in the surgery room, I felt some type of relief, while also self blaming myself for putting him through this traumatic experience.
In a matter of 45 minutes the baby was out. Couldn’t see her, because they had to resuscitate her. They shipped my 1st born directly to the NICU. As I lay on the table, I had no clue what had happened. Everything was an absolute blur. I was no longer pregnant, I never got to see or feel myself birth my child, and I was devastated. The nausea from the anesthesia, my husband running back and forth to the NICU, and my mind running 1000 mins per hour, a doula would've been the best fit in that moment.
The recovery from the classical C section where they cut deep and oblong to reach the baby really sabotaged my pelvic floor. The hardest part of it all was leaving the hospital and having to leave my baby in the NICU. I felt like an absolute failure. What did I do to deserve this? See my baby wired up, and looking extremely uncomfortable, my heart was shattered. It didn’t matter what anyone said, I needed emotional support during these times.
My second baby, was born in another state. Similar story, by 23 weeks, doctors already assumed I would have another premature baby. I was dealing with another case of infant restricted growth. I tried to be ahead of the game by finding doctors that could support my case. I either got non-empathetic doctors, or those who just didn’t want to deal with my case. I had to travel over 45 mins to finally get some support in birthing my child. Why was my body fighting my babies from growing? With all the tests I took, nothing was found other than a small chance of having something similar to lupus. And even with that information, it wasn’t fully confirmed.
The surgical team at this hospital attempted to be helpful in making the c section not as traumatic and allowed me to pick a date to have the procedure done. What gave me the most stress in this birth was everyone in the surgery room were all white. Not one person looked like me. Going through the same details as the 1st birth with the wretched epidural, but this time holding a blond hair blued eyed white woman’s hand, I had no connection with her whatsoever. The women in the surgery room joked and laughed, because for them, this was just a regular day at the job. Whereas I was scared for my life and my baby’s life. Four hours later my second baby was born. I was left on the surgical table for an hour wide open, with my intestines exposed until the general surgeons were available to cut through the scar tissue that was blocking them from getting to the baby. I started to feel light headed, and cold. I literally felt I was going to die on that table. None of the pain medications they gave me was helping. Only thing that helped me focus was the laughing gas they gave me at the last minute. It was the anesthesia resident that made me feel comfortable ensuring me I was doing a good job. Once my baby was ripped out of me, there were a lot of "ewws" and "ahhs" and still couldn't see my baby behind the blue sheet they had in front of my face. Yet again, another birth, not being able to see my baby as they rushed her to the NICU.
My experience with bringing my girls into this world definitely gauged my interest in helping mothers who look like me get the support they needed in times like these. The amount of mothers in the NICU dealing with the pain and struggle alone is immense. There is no way women should be dealing with this type of treatment while bringing a human being in this world. I wonder if my experiences would've been different if I wasn't black. Birth should be sacred. Going through our postpartum journeys should be sacred as well. No matter how you birth, naturally or through c-section, there should never be discrimination and bias. Black women deserve to be fully loved on, cared for, and supported during their birthing and postpartum journey from the beginning to end.
