Written by JJ Bloomfield:
We often hear what birth looks like from the perspective of the birthing person. But what does birth look like through the eyes of a doula?
As doulas, we often feel and see more than we let on… from the moment we walk into the birthing room, our instincts become heightened. Many of us entered this work because we are incredibly sensitive individuals who understand that someone’s birthing experience is one of the most impactful rites of passage in their lives. How they feel during their birth will impact their postpartum experience, their relationship with their children and partners, and how they relate to themselves. It will be something they remember during their child’s birthday every single year.
As doulas, we see the invisible moments, the nuance of a glace, a word cut off, the tension between family members… we can pick up on misunderstandings and translations lost in the void between care providers and patients. We silently read the energy of the room, pensive and observant, picking up the moments that would have fallen through the cracks. In all of this, we bring together the varying roles, skill sets and personalities that all contribute to the birth, so it doesn’t fall on the birthing person and their family to navigate it all during labor. We go way beyond non-medical comfort measures that we’re so often known for. But what does birth look like to us, really? None of us have had a birth that has looked the same. Often, and ideally, it looks like the incredible joy of helping our client manage the pain, and seeing them go far beyond what they thought possible. The tiny moments of intimacy between the birthing person and their partners, the incredible bond forged through such an intense experience, seeing them fall in love with each other in a deeper way.
It looks like the moments we walk into the birthing room and having to see if the nurse likes or hates doulas, smiling through it all to win them over and help them fall in love with us for the sake of our client. It’s being ignored by medical professionals and winning them over by the end without the family even being aware of what’s happening. Birth to us looks like processing all of the options when a left turn appears, conversations had after the doctor leaves because our client is still confused. It looks like teaming up with the nurse to help our client have the absolute best chance at a vaginal birth, navigating the push and pull of recommendations. It looks like making it seem like we are serving everyone… It looks like us hiding our shaking hands when their care provider says something fear mongering and inappropriate. It looks like being 3 steps ahead, knowing that if labor doesn’t change in the next 2 hours, interventions are going to be recommended, and doing everything we can to help our client progress. And, it sometimes looks like sunken heartbreak when their care provider recommends forceps, knowing that if this doesn’t work, the birth will result in an emergency cesarean, and the feeling in our chest when we have to explain that to them because their care provider failed to mention that part. It looks like our client being whisked away into the OR as we run with them, glancing over our shoulder at their partner’s frightened and helpless face, as they stand in shock all alone. It looks like looking into our client’s glazed eyes as they dissociate from their bodies during an unexpected cesarean, holding their hands as they shake uncontrollably, doing everything we can to bring them back. It looks like us sobbing in the hallway when we aren’t allowed in the OR, knowing our client is enduring it all alone and there isn’t anything we can do but wait.
Birth to us looks like miracles that forge families together, deep relationships made with nurses and care providers, conversations had through tears, sharing a piece of intimate reality when our client’s experience is truly seen. It’s time standing still, warped time, seeing the sun set when we only saw it rise, taking notes and tracking the day and getting the family food while texting our partners that we aren’t going to be home for dinner. It’s the superstition of thinking we’ll be home in time and being 5 hours later than we thought. It’s holding everyone’s physical, emotional and mental states and being calm and nurturing through it all.
It looks like triumph, love, courage, endurance, elation, heartbreak, regret, anger, frustration, lifetime bonding, mothering, counseling, crying, catching our breath in the breakroom, brushing our teeth in the staff bathroom and washing our armpits with paper towels because it’s been 18 hours. It’s chaos, and moments that change our lives FOREVER, pouring everything we are made of into each moment because we truly believe in the beautiful futures of these new families birthed before our eyes.
