PUSH! The Sequel is finished!
Here are some juicy parts, pre-publication:
Dedication
This
book is dedicated to the brave, revolutionary young families of the Muntele
Rece district of Cluj-Napoca, Romania. Against all odds they are taking back
control of their lives and the lives of their children after Communism all but
dictated their very existence. They are choosing to have their babies at home,
later home schooling them, and discovering autonomy for themselves.
I
have only the highest respect and regard for this tiny movement among them.
They are slowly winning midwives, doctors, and others over to their side. It
reminds me so very much of the 1960s and ’70s in America when radical hippies
like Ina May and Stephen Gaskin began to question the status quo. They deserve
our deepest respect and support.
Preface: What my books are and are not about
They are about the courageous men
and women from across the planet who have fled war, torture, famine and
genocide. They come here with hope. They dare to hope that they can once more
live in peace. They dare to fall in love again, dare to make babies again and
dream of providing a better life for their families.
They come from
every country and background imaginable; from Africa, Asia, the South Pacific,
Mongolia, Burma, the Far East, Europe and South America. Against all odds they
have landed here, bringing absolutely nothing with them... but hope.
My books are about
these amazing survivors starting over, from scratch. They invite me to witness
some of their most intimate moments, like the birth of their babies. My job is
to help them navigate the impossibly complex world of the American medical
system. With each one I try to create a safe environment for them, so that they
can access their own power and wisdom from within in order to birth this
particular child.
My books are not
about me. Yes, I get to be part of their lives and
rejoice with them. I often get to visit their homes, eat their food and kiss
their beautiful babies, but this is not about me. Sometimes I also cry with
them. The last time was when I accompanied a woman from Ghana into the
operating room for a C-section. Her twin babies were showing signs of distress.
They needed to be born NOW. Two plump
beautiful brown baby girls who both carry a rare genetic syndrome--the
incidence is only 1 in every 15,000 births—and they both have it. The rest of
their lives will be challenging, but their brave parents love them dearly.
Above and Beyond
the Call of Doula
I had been given
her referral a few days earlier. It painted a grim picture: homeless, FOB (father
of the baby) involved, one living child, one stillborn, due in September,
single birth. This would be my third homeless mom in four months. As a doula my
job is to accompany and support low income women during their pregnancy, birth
and postpartum time with education about birth, labor, delivery, breastfeeding
and newborn care, and emotional and physical support. This often spills over to
include helping them find services in their community like free clothes, food
shelves, employment agencies, social services, subsidized housing, counseling
and treatment facilities, etc.
“The knowledge of how to give birth without outside interventions lies
deep within each woman. Successful childbirth depends on an acceptance of the
process.” ~ Anonymous
Some facts about
homelessness in Minneapolis:
The
shelter where Shavonne was staying is the largest in Minnesota. They served an
average of 1,187 homeless families a year for the past several years. 59% of
guests were children and 34% are under the age of five years old. The average
age of a child there is six years old. The number of families rose 18% in 2011,
with an average of 347 guests per day. 37 days was the average length of stay
for a family in 2011. 250,398 meals were served at this facility in 2011. 24-hour
front desk service supplies diapers, formula, warm clothing and other basic
needs. And a bit of trivia about homelessness in Minnesota: During the winter
of 2002 - 2003, 70 homeless people died of exposure. That same winter, the Twin
Cities Winter Carnival spent $5 million that was privately raised on the Ice
Castle, an extravaganza built out of huge blocks of solid ice complete with
light show, turrets and a drawbridge, but roped off and patrolled all night by
local police so that no one would go inside of it, much less attempt to sleep
there, the reason being that they didn’t know if, during a thaw, before it was
disassembled it might create a hazard and someone could get hurt. The Dorothy
Day Center across the street from the Ice Castle didn’t have enough beds to
accommodate all the homeless. Each night they would have a lottery: take a ticket
and wait in line and at eight p.m. sharp they would call out numbers, like at a
Bingo game. Some got in, some didn’t. I wanted to know why the city couldn’t
put some of that $5 million toward adding another floor for a dorm above the
one story Dorothy Day Center? I even staged a one-woman silent vigil there for
several nights that winter, in protest.
“People
who say they sleep like a baby usually don’t have one.” ~ Leo J.
Burke
The
lobby was alive with kids that morning; kids with knapsacks waiting for school
buses, kids crawling under the bench I was sitting on, kids running in circles
around a mom or dad who was waiting in line at one of the numerous desks lined
up against one wall where staff were issuing free bus passes or other services
for that day. The noise level was up there with my memory of the last rock
concert I attended almost thirty years ago. I looked at Shavonne and asked if
she could leave with me for a couple of hours. She signed out and we took off.
We
found a nice coffee shop nearby. I asked her if she had had any breakfast. She
hadn’t. She had missed the half hour time slot to go down and get cold cereal
and milk and couldn’t take anything back to her room anyway. So we ordered
breakfast. She kept telling me how good it all was as she was eating. I
wondered at the quality of the food at a huge shelter like hers. Fresh fruit?
Vegetables? Or government surplus institutional food—the sodium, sugar and MSG
contents would be just right for a pregnant woman, right?
Over
the next two months we met every Monday at the coffee shop. I often brought my
laptop and we would watch YouTube videos on everything from water birth to
natural birth in Russian tidal pools at the ocean, twin home births, animal
births (a great way to see how Nature intended birth to be), and the latest out
on breastfeeding (see UNICEF Breast Crawl on YouTube.) Most of this midwifery
or natural model of care was new to Shavonne. Our meetings became an oasis in the
midst of a very stressful period for her: a tentative relationship with the
current boyfriend, her homeless situation, a fragile relationship with her
family, a job she was struggling to keep right up to the time she would birth
this baby and the chaos of the shelter with its own dynamics of unstable, often
mentally ill roommates, and rampant theft. She was in a dorm room that housed six
pregnant women. Talk about drama!
Her
first birth had been a C-section after her baby began showing serious signs of distress
during labor. He is five and living with his dad in another city. Her next baby
was carried to term and unexpectedly died only days before his due date. With
this history, her present doctor was reluctant to let this pregnancy go to term
or attempt a VBAC or TOLAC, Vaginal Birth After Cesarean or Trial of Labor
After Cesarean. Neither precaution he suggested has been proven as “best
practice” or succeeded in avoiding a poor outcome, much less without carrying
their own multiple risk factors.
One
fun thing we did together was to make a belly cast just weeks before her due
date. Shavonne planned to bring it to her baby shower that a friend was hosting
for her and have everyone write blessings and messages on it.
We
continued meeting for our Monday breakfasts until she called one morning after
a prenatal visit. The doctor had scheduled her C-section for the following
week. She was not happy with this option at all, but her family insisted that
it was for the best. It is not my place to referee these events, nor am I being
asked to override a physician’s position. Shavonne knew by now how I felt about
natural birth and believed she could do that, but her last baby’s birth was
still painful enough to make her doubt her own reserves of strength. I also let
her know I would be there to support her no matter what she decided to do.
“This may be the hardest part of
being a doula: You have found that inner power and have seen it work a hundred
or more times, but you cannot make that journey happen for another woman, no
matter how much you love her.” ~ sss
Within
minutes little Ra’shon was wrapped up and in his daddy’s arms. He brought him
back to where Shavonne could see and kiss him. It was so beautiful. Only this
perfect little baby could make her whole world worth living in again.
“Babies are such a nice
way to start people.” ~ Don Herold
Shavonne
was overwhelmed with relief and joy that he was finally here and healthy. All
she had to do now was get stronger and hopefully the rest would fall into
place--a better place than it had been for the last several months.
Shavonne
asked a friend if she could bring the baby home to her house when she was able
to leave the hospital. That seemed like a better option than going back to the
shelter, so it was arranged for the following week. Within two days she called
me back. The “friend” was an alcoholic and the situation was impossible. In the
meantime, the housing advocate at the shelter had found Shavonne an apartment.
When she went to see it, she found it more than filthy: it was overrun with
cockroaches. She told the worker that there was no way she would bring her baby
there. The worker returned to the shelter and filed a report that Shavonne was
not cooperating with the shelter staff and had refused the apartment. The next
thing she knew, Shavonne received a notice that she could not return to the
shelter for refusing to cooperate within the program. She was homeless. And now
the shelter closed its doors, too.
I
often volunteer at another shelter for homeless pregnant women run by Mother Teresa’s
Missionaries of Charity in Minnesota. I fill in as “house mother” when the
sisters are invited out. I often make breakfast and lunch and hang out with the
women for the day. It is housed in a beautifully renovated building, bright and
immaculately clean. There was room there, so a friend and I picked up Shavonne
and little Ra’shon and brought them to their next home. Shavonne couldn’t
believe it when we walked in. It was very different from the last shelter she
had been in before the birth. Here she had her own room with a crib and the
nuns made hot meals, too. A bowl of fresh fruit was frequently refilled and sat
on the kitchen table.
“A
perfect example of minority rule is a baby in the house.” ~
Anonymous
So Shavonne
settled in and spent the next few weeks trying to access the county services
and find a more permanent arrangement. She could not stay with the sisters
indefinitely. Finally her time there was up, too. Friends outside of the city
had a room in their house and offered her that space. Her former employer let
her know he was holding her job open for her. Now she was just waiting for the
county worker to sign a voucher that would cover child care so she could return
to work. Finally things were coming together.
That was the last
time I heard from Shavonne. I don’t know if her phone is still working or if
she simply could not pay for the next month’s minutes. I think of her often,
another young woman whom I grew to love and had to let go. I never forget them.
I pray for all of them. I think that must be part of my job as a doula.
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