Babies' mommas and racialized trauma

I didn’t want to have kids. I liked kids, especially the part where I can play with them. When they started to cry, I could give them back to their parent. I was the best auntie ever.

I was career-focused and then 30 hit me. I watched every baby documentary and thought kids were cute. What happened to me?! I was in the midst of writing my dissertation. I am a logical person and I knew this would deter my attention. But what the heck?! I told my husband that we should make a baby.

Being pregnant for the first time brought all kinds of emotions, thoughts, and changed behaviors. I wanted to do all the right things for the human growing inside of me. I became obsessed with epigenetics so that I wouldn’t pass on my condition to my baby. I spent a lot of money to get genetic testing before even becoming pregnant. Now reflecting on this that seems normal. I like to plan after all. What I didn’t expect was how others perceived me. I caught people looking at my ring finger to make sure that I was married. Could I be one of those typical black welfare mothers cheating the system? I also received looks of pity because I was walking with a cane. How could it be possible that a woman with different mobility issues can be pregnant? Well, my uterus works just fine; I am married; I am employed, thanks! What really infuriated me about my road to becoming a mother was the delivery of my daughter. We had planned a natural birth a local birthing center. I was 7 cm dilated when the midwife made the call to rush me to the hospital. I went into shock. I was taken into a room that looked like a circus. There were nearly 20 people in the room. It was almost as if I was on exhibit and they never attended a breech birth before. I was belittled and spoken down to because I wanted to deliver vaginally. I was even told by that doctor on staff that he would “allow” me to push for only two hours. He would be off and the next doctor would take over. He was kind enough to share that the next doctor is C-section happy. With all the trauma, my cervix closed to 3 cm and I was taken to the OR. My husband was by my side the entire time. When the epidural did not work (they only gave it 5 minutes to go into effect) and I screamed because

I could feel being sliced open, he was there. The doctors gassed me and I woke up with a red little human on my chest. This may seem like a horrific and extreme example, but it is not. Prenatal and postnatal care for black mothers is abysmal. Even if we have high-ranking positions, comfortable livelihoods, and familial support, we are still treated like second-class citizens. We are treated like our ancestors being operated on to advance science. We are not seen as fully human or capable of experiencing pain. Black mothers die at a high rate during pregnancy and delivery. This is due to racialized stress. That stress affects the body and mind. There are several steps that could be taken to support black mothers and babies: 1) See black women as human

2) Treat pregnancy and delivery as natural parts of life and not a disease

3) Recognize your own biases and work to address those

4) Provide mothers with emotional, spiritual, and community resources during and after pregnancy

5) Regulate the insurance machine so that C-sections are not performed like doctors are doing moms a favor. It is really about the doctor’s time and wallet. I am a black mother. I am tired. I am tired of being on all day and night for my family. I am tired of being judged and treated differently. I am tired of the inability of people to see the evidence and come to a realization that we have a major problem. Black mothers are not dying; they are being killed by willful ignorance and dutiful disregard of our humanity.