Finding a Home - By Shayla
For some pregnancy and the journey of motherhood is an isolating experience. This may be in part to the absence of or toxicity of involved support systems. For me, it was neither. For me, my isolation stemmed from the world falling apart and the idea of being around people, even being touched by family and friends was a life or death reality.
The year 2020 marked the start of my second trimester and my ability to see the OB because January was when I would be ten weeks pregnant. At the end of my first OB appointment, I asked my doctor if she had midwives on staff because I wanted one. I didn’t know anything then, just that there were obstetricians and there were midwives. But she quickly informed me that they did not work with midwives, and that ended any conversations or considerations for a different birthing option.
Then, February came and, with it, the whispers of a virus that was killing people was gaining traction in the news. Conversations at work were shifting to whether we would still physically go in. And in the midst of it all, I was going to doctor’s appointments with my husband and facing the newfound reality that I was considered a geriatric pregnancy because I was the prime old age of 37. This meant genetic testing and extra appointments with maternal fetal medicine despite no other evidence that I was high risk.
Several appointments later, my doctor remembered that I was going to be a first-time mom and told me about a group I should consider joining and to talk to the front desk about it. There, they told me someone would contact me, but I didn't know who.
And then, it was March and the world as I knew it, evaporated as everyone was confined to their home, especially pregnant women because we were vulnerable, and my husband was no longer allowed at my appointments. And the hope of some kind of alternative option to birthing in a hospital reared its head again. Several weeks later, Melissa (Missy) left a voicemail; I called back, and we talked about doulas and birth work and the importance of having someone in the birthing space whose sole purpose was to advocate for me, my husband, my body, my wishes, and my baby. And I haven’t looked back.
Over the course of the next several months, I joined a daily virtual conversation on Zoom with other Black moms who were like me: stuck at home all day, every day, and only leaving home to go to doctor’s appointments. During that time, I learned about medical terms that doctors and nurses use when speaking to, about, and around pregnant and laboring patients. Melissa and the other doulas shared and taught us how to sit and prepare our bodies for labor, what we should pack for the hospital stay, how to pick out car seats, what we should add to our registries, and how to find and pick pediatricians. And while those were things we could have easily googled and asked others who had already gone through this journey, it was comforting that the doulas had the foresight to anticipate what we needed to know and when. They reminded us not to Google everything, not to overwhelm ourselves with birthing videos and/or stories because everyone wants to share their horror stories. I learned what medical interventions I had as options even when doctors didn’t share any information or say which information were options. I learned which signal (read trigger) words may be used to garner a specific reaction from me (scare tactics), and even more importantly, I learned from HOM doulas what terms and conversations were genuine terms of concern that meant I and my husband may need to consider alternatives because our planned labor was no longer progressing the way that was healthy and safe for me and our baby.
It was because of this HOM method of practice that I found that I went into doctor’s appointments armed with knowledge about the kinds of questions to ask, responses to give, and more. I learned to advocate for myself as a pregnant woman and not simply accept everything told to me just because the person speaking has MD after their name. As 2020 and COVID-19 became an increasingly horrific time to be black and pregnant (with a boy), a traumatic time when black male bodies literally began to pepper social media and the news, and we drew closer and closer to my due date, HOM chats became a place I could cry in fear, have my anxieties acknowledged, and could vent about the injustice I needed to learn to prepare my son for. As hospitals continued modifying their visitation policies, HOM became the place we mothers and fathers learned about patient advocates and our rights on the labor and delivery and recovery floors. HOM, not the hospital or our doctor, was where we first learned that partners were not allowed in labor rooms and that we would be alone and at staff’s mercy for allowing virtual options. HOM, not the hospital or our doctor, was where we learned HOM doulas were classified as hospital staff but being denied hospital access. HOM, not the hospital or our doctor, was where we learned we were required to COVID test upon admission. HOM, not the hospital or our doctor, was where we learned about hospital isolation policies for COVID-positive mothers and babies. HOM became the safe space we didn’t know we needed because we didn’t know what we should know. We didn't know what we should question. We didn't know what we should reject. We didn’t even know what we didn’t know.
But HOM knew and made sure we learned, knew, and understood it all. HOM doulas ensured we not only understood our power and rights, but they also helped create the space for us to meet and develop the parental voices we thought we had time to grow after we became parents with babies in hand.
By the time my husband and I had to go to the hospital for the induction of our son, we knew to eat before we arrived, to take our time getting to the hospital, to have the car seat in the car if not already set, to take only the necessity bag inside to L&D, to provide the birth plan immediately to staff, to tell our doula we’d arrived and where we were assigned, to have our signal words confirmed between each other and our doula, and to ensure all understood which interventions and medications we did or did not want to use. HOM provided us the space for months to prepare to be the best and most informed birthing parents in our hospital room. And, in that room, our HOM doula Dawn was the caring, gentle voice, ever present to encourage, to remind, to guide, to assist, to support us, and to advocate for us if ever we couldn't do it ourselves.
We had a smooth and "uneventful" labor and delivery, and for that I'm thankful and blessed. But I know that's not everyone's story or journey.
My Little is going to be four in several months, and I cannot fathom how I would have navigated such a vulnerable time if we hadn’t found a home with HOM. I know without a shadow of doubt that if given a chance and a choice, I would say yes to this HOM, again and again and again. Every. Single. Time.