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One of Many: A Black Woman’s Birth Story

Black mother looking at her baby

By Tasha Chambers

Note: Mission Partners is honored to share this guest blog post by Mission Partners’ senior strategist Tasha Chambers, in recognition of Black Maternal Health Week.

There are moments in life you never forget—a graduation, a wedding, the death of a loved one, and the birth of a child. By the time I was 34 years old, I had experienced all of these moments but to me, there was nothing more momentous than having a baby.

After about a year of trying to conceive, my husband and I were blessed with that experience.  

This baby, which was baby number two for us, would be the experience that I didn’t have with baby number one—a natural childbirth.

A historical lens on Black midwives

Explaining to my husband that I wanted a natural birth was not the easiest.

“Dou who?” he asked. “And, how much did you say her services cost again?”

The lack of knowledge on midwives and doulas, in my own community, is easily a result of the erasure of Black midwives and the appropriation of midwifery as many of us know it today. Black midwives brought with them, to birthings, the traditions of the African diaspora – community, singing, music, food, herbs and physical touch. It was truly a sacred experience.

Years later, that same sacred experience would be largely erased from Black culture. Black midwives, acting as both midwife and doula, would be forced to get permission from licensed doctors to perform their services. Black midwives’ homes were inspected, and they were required to take trainings for a service that was inherently their own.

Enforcing these terms was yet another low moment in this country’s history in the way it devalues Black women’s experience and knowledge.   

Struggling to find a Black midwife, many Black mommas I trusted referred me to a non-Black midwife who came highly recommended. She was the only option at that time.

Unfortunately, I was not able to move forward with her: She specialized in home deliveries, which was ruled out for me because of my previous Cesarean section. So, I went with the next best thing—selecting a doula to be my natural birth advocate in a hospital.

Yes, I am magic. And, my pain is also real.

Exhausted from Google searches and referrals, I selected a doula, a person who was not Black, who seemed to have a huge following and years of experience. With my due date rapidly approaching, I felt like she was the best option.

On April 5, 2016, my birth experience began. After about 50 hours of labor, my husband and I made our trek to the hospital for our natural birth. (Take a lesson from me: A natural birth at a hospital is not an ideal birth environment.)

Baby number two had not dropped low enough into the birth canal for delivery, and my water had not broken. My doula suggested that I forcibly break my water to speed up the process. I agreed with her recommendation, and she jetted off to another client. She sent a surrogate doula, another person who was not Black to stay with me while I labored, a disconnect from our agreed-upon birth plan.

Fast forward a few eventful hours and baby number two was delivered via a second C-section. My birth plan was disregarded. As if things couldn’t get worse, my blood pressure fell drastically and I spent two hours in surgery to stabilize.

After my blood pressure normalized, I was rolled to my room. When I arrived, the nurse began pressing on my stomach, which is not uncommon after a C-section but should only feel slightly tender with anesthesia.

This time, the pain from the nurse pushing on my stomach was so bad that I felt like I had jumped out of my body. I grabbed her hand and pleaded with her to stop. My OB-GYN tried next, and I did the same with him. I questioned why they would keep pressing on my stomach when I alerted them that I was in excruciating pain. I nearly blacked out from the pain.

The anesthesiologist came in next. He whispered: “They authorized me to give you the cheap [medicine]. It wears off quickly. I’ll give you something stronger.”

This was one of those moments I have never forgotten.

Even as a Black woman with quality health insurance, my medical providers made decisions and assumptions for me. They assumed my pain could be tolerated. They made a decision that I couldn’t afford to be comforted like others.

My pain didn’t matter. My birth plan didn’t matter. My motherhood didn’t matter.

Fighting for our birthright

While my last and final birth experience was traumatic, I was one of the lucky ones. In the US, 4 in 10,000 Black women do not survive complications before, during, or after birth.  

Data reveals that the United States has one of the worst maternal mortality rates among developed countries. Additionally, black women die from pregnancy-related issues nearly four times more often than white women.

Learn More. Join Mission Partners on Monday, May 20 for Hear Her: A Call to Action on Maternal Mortality in the U.S.

Black midwifery is resurging in our community helping to change our narrative. It is a joy to see that Black women have the opportunity to go through a birth experience with a midwife or doula who shares lived experiences, an understanding of the Godly work of our ancestors, and who sees their humanity. Hopefully, it means that other Black mothers won’t have to endure an experience like mine.

As a Black woman in America, my story is all too common. But in this year of 2019, it shouldn’t be. And it’s why I hope you’ll join me and the Mission Partners team on Monday, May 20 when we’ll bring maternal health experts, community leaders, and community members together, to help drive momentum towards creating change.