I wonder how on earth was I able to give birth seven out of eight times, in a hospital safely without any major medical intervention? It is nothing short of a miracle. I remember being told that I was high risk and needed to be induced with six of my eight times giving birth. I later learned that I never had the condition they suspected, Lupus. With each conception, pregnancy and birth, I learned something. I carry those very dear lessons with me and am grateful that I was able to learn them without losing my life in the process. Far too often this is not the case.
At the age of sixteen, I gave birth without any support. I was hundreds of miles away from the women in my tribe and completely unprepared for the gravity of childbirth. The only thing I remembered was the pain and feeling helpless. I was determined to never feel that way again, so I began to try and understand from a spiritual perspective the ins and outs of birth.
The second pregnancy brought me the lesson of following my own instinct, as I spiked a very high fever early in my pregnancy, my mother suggested I go to a hospital to make sure that everything was okay. At the hospital, I was told that there was no viable pregnancy, just an empty sac. As I was being prepared for a DNC, something told me to run out of that hospital, and I listened. I went to get a second opinion days later that confirmed through ultrasound my daughter’s beating heart.
The third pregnancy helped me to understand that the energy that you carry while pregnant, manifests in the spirit of the child. I struggled with depression, and it took a great deal of inner work to create positive thoughts and loving feelings. I did it for the sake of my unborn child. I realized that the love and responsibility I felt for the human being growing inside of my body was greater than my outer circumstances. I did seek help, and get through the difficult times. In her lifetime, my daughter was one of the most loving people I have known on earth.
It wasn’t until my fourth time giving birth that I had the support of my mother, and realized the strength of her presence and support in the room with me. Having her support not only provided peace, but allowed me to relax and be present. I was able to harness so much strength, that with one push my daughter was born. I did not experience pain, I experienced spiritual femine power.
By the fifth time giving birth, I wanted nothing more than to give birth at home, but settled for a midwife and birth center that was connected to a hospital. It was the only way they would agree to take me on as a patient since I was labeled as high risk due to the Lupus (that I didn’t have). I was treated so well by the midwives that I first felt the call to do birthwork. With this pregnancy and birth, I learned that our babies are part of our body and when we effectively communicate with them, they respond. My son listened to my plea to come quickly. When he was born, he knew me. He knew my voice. No one else could touch him or communicate with him or he cried.
During my sixth pregnancy, I learned about the power that we have over our wombs. I was going through a divorce. My body responded by bleeding, I was four months pregnant. A woman who was close to me at the time, spoke with wisdom and told me that I was the one creating the threatened miscarriage of my baby because I was disgruntled with his father and had no desire to carry him in my body. She instructed me to meditate and pray. She instructed me to fight for the life of my child by speaking love and life into him. I listened and within a week the bleeding stopped.
I learned the patience while giving birth to my seventh child. I learned that babies come when they are ready. After weeks of doctors telling me how ripe and ready my cervix was, and to be ready to come to the hospital at any moment to give birth, that boy did not budge. I walked around for two weeks with a 4 cm dilated cervix. When he was ready, the doctor felt so bad that she planned to break my bag of water to get things “moving”. Just as she was prepping for that, it broke on its own.
With my eighth birth, I decided to get an epidural because I had never had one and I knew that this would be the last time I would give birth. I had been on the road traveling. I rode six hundred miles in a car and I was exhausted. When an epidural was suggested so that I could rest, I did not hesitate to get it. I was able to sleep, but I learned that what is good for one person can be a total disaster for another. I also learned the importance of making informed decisions. The after effects of the epidural were a disaster for me. I developed a spinal headache that left me ill equipped to care for my newborn.
The birth that motivated me into becoming a Birthworker was the birth of my very first grandchild. With the birth of my grandchild, I saw up close and personal racial discrimination, medical negligence, and downright criminal activity. Although my daughter had the support of me and her sisters, our voices were muted. We were treated like a bunch of uneducated fools who had no knowledge of the intricacies of birth. We were helpless. We did what we could to support my daughter’s decisions, but each time a medical professional walked into that room they came with an agenda of their own. It felt like a war zone. I watched as my daughter was pressured each time someone walked into her room to get an epidural. Each time she refused, she was treated harshly and shamed. I witnessed nurses hold her legs while a male doctor forced a cervical examination on her as she cried and pleaded for him not to. I witnessed nurses attempt to undermine her decisions to give birth how she felt was best by attempting to guilt her and into considering their experience and not her own. I was so repulsed by what I witnessed. I wondered what would have occurred if my daughter didn’t have me and her sisters with her. What would have occurred if she didn’t have the support of us in her very reasonable wishes for the birth of her child. I knew that I had to respond to the call of being a birthworker. I knew I had to be an advocate and source of support and guidance for the women, who like myself once were forced to give birth feeling alone and in pain.
Today I shed tears. My heart broke, and I cried tears of frustration, knowing that shedding tears is not enough. Once again I learned of a pregnant black woman who lost her life and the life of her unborn baby. She didn’t get the opportunity to write her birth story. She didn’t get the opportunity to share the invaluable wisdom she gained through bringing forth life. That was taken from her. There are countless stories of how recklessly black women are treated from the moment they conceive precious life, until that life manifests through birth. We are not valued. We are not listened to. We are not believed. We are not cared for. We are not appreciated. One life lost is far too much of a cost. We desperately need to create a safe space for black women to create, carry and bring forth life in a compassionate and supportive environment. May those of us who are black women, and have been called to do birthwork have the strength to continue to uplift our sisters. May we have the strength to fight through the prejudices, and create environments of healing and acceptance so that we can live on.
Ifayinka 