Medicine

How I took control of my birth

America’s maternal care system dehumanized me. I became a doula to change it.

Essay by MaryNissi Lemon

Photos by Elizabeth Robertson

July 13, 2022

What I remember best from my first prenatal appointment is the multitasking nurses, their many questions and their glares.

As they collected my blood and measured my body, I felt their judging eyes profiling me.

To them, I was just another young Black woman who possibly didn’t know anything. I left what should have been a celebratory appointment holding back tears. The doctor hadn’t answered my questions. Instead of leaving the hospital with more confidence about the journey to come, I felt less sure of myself.

I knew I didn’t want to return to this dehumanizing place, but I didn’t know where else to go.

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The call from nurse Rachel

Later that week, I received a voice mail from a nurse named Rachel who had somehow gotten my number from the OB-GYN clinic. Curiosity more than anything else compelled me to call back.

When Rachel picked up, I discovered that I qualified for a program that connected eligible first-time parents with support from nurses.

After my experience at the clinic, I was skeptical. I had no idea how Rachel got my number. Still, when she told me that she would come to my home and I didn’t have to return to the OB-GYN office, I agreed to meet her.

Seven days later, Rachel walked into my house and asked if she should remove her shoes. It was as if she was giving me back the power robbed from me in my first prenatal appointment.

I told her how that experience had made me feel small and unseen, how I didn’t even recall giving consent for the hospital to share my information, and how they hadn’t mentioned the program at all.

Our conversation helped. Finally, someone was able to acknowledge my feelings and began to educate me in a way that felt good. I learned I could choose a different place for my perinatal care and even use a midwife. I had options.

Navigating the unknowns

I remember the elevator ride to meet the midwives at Pennsylvania Hospital for the first time. I was nervous yet hopeful. Quickly, I realized working with a midwife would not change the judgments or the terse responses to my questions.

I saw a different midwife at every appointment and discovered that I wouldn't know which one of them would deliver my baby until it was time to push.

I took copious notes in effort to compensate for a system that made it difficult to establish a relationship with any single birthing professional. When I met a midwife who didn’t have the best mannerisms I’d worry about their presence in my labor room. The anxiety of it all overwhelmed me.

Thankfully, I had nurse Rachel to help me navigate this bureaucracy that seemed so impersonal and complicated. I took charge of my birth. I chose a doula to work with and labored at home as much as I could.

What I needed as a Black mother

As soon as we arrived at Pennsylvania Hospital, I made sure to advocate for myself to move the way I needed.

I didn’t let them strap me to the bed. I refused to be hooked into an IV. I didn’t give consent to check my cervix.

I was on a mission to allow my body to do what it was meant to do, and on a Friday evening in April, our baby boy was born.

Ironically, the incredible midwife who delivered my baby was the only one I hadn’t met at any of my prenatal appointments.

I knew right away that I wanted to help other Black mothers and families have the same opportunity I had to birth in a way that felt true to my body. If I could do it, others could, too.

From mama to doula

Today, I am one of a growing number of Black American doulas and childbirth educators working to transform a maternal care system wherein Black mothers are three times more likely to die of childbirth complications than white mothers.

I give my clients what I needed as a Black mother: compassion, knowledge, support, and advocacy.

My mission is to help change the narrative of my fellow Black mamas and families with holistic childbirth education. It’s an uphill battle working around systems that are clearly not set up to support us. A system that UNICEF estimates costs the United States an estimated $111 billion each year — more than any other nation in the world.

MaryNissi Lemon is a childbirth educator, certified doula, breastfeeding educator, and founder of Lemon Life Doula & Birthing Services.