As a Black woman, preparing to give birth to my second child has been like preparing for battle.
Five years ago, as I was in labor with my first child, an intake physician at the hospital made a
comment that was both jarring and eye-opening, especially given the precarious situation of Black women
in
our health system:
“If you are not ready to give birth immediately, we would need to cut you open because we need the beds.”
That set a horrific tone for my birth experience.
Frantic that I would be forced to have an unnecessary C-section, I waddled back home and went through another
24 hours of labor from my couch, until I knew I was ready to proceed with a vaginal birth. The evening and morning
of my labor continued to be stressful and traumatic. My primary health care professionals had no empathy for my
concern and pain during the birth or postpartum recovery.
I was someone in a bed who had to be ushered out to make
room for another person. And that was at a time when there was no pandemic, and no other extenuating circumstance.
I was lucky to have my husband and my doula at my side to guide my birth process and help advocate for me — but what
about the women who don’t have a support system and have to give birth during a public health crisis?
Now, I am 32 weeks pregnant at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, I am frightened about how I will be received at
the time of the delivery of my child. This time, I’ve attempted to do things differently from conception to birth:
I chose a different hospital, I carefully selected a person of color as my doctor, and I’ve managed my expectations
about equal care.
I clearly described the trauma I experienced five years ago when I gave birth to my son to my new
doctor. He expressed his disgust with how the system treats Black women, apologized, and promised me a different
experience this time.
I’m hesitant and cautious about
immediately believing him, but he helped me through a miscarriage
a year ago and so I am hopeful.
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