Mariel

Mariel was laboring loudly.  She is Haitian and speaks French with a few Spanish words.  The Haitian women are not seen as a priority at this hospital and I could tell as I started to rub her back and provide counterpressure that the Dominican women were looking at me like something was wrong.  I always thought it would be hard to doula a woman in labor who didn't speak my language.  While it was hard, it wasn't impossible.  Mariel immediately responded to the counterpressure, the cold wash cloths, and just the constant companionship of having another woman there with her.

When you enter the labor ward you can pick the Haitian women out immdiately; they are loud, REALLY loud.  They have the vocalization part of labor down PERFECTLY.  They often are lifting their arms up praising God during contractions or singing during an intense labor pain.  I am sure it gets annoying to the staff and I found even one doctor imitating them in a very mocking way (I later told him that making noise HELPS a woman laboring naturally; he was annoying).  Of course, it is very distracting to have a woman moaning loudly, "Ohweeeeeeohhhhhhhhhh!".  But I also found it beautiful.  The Haitian women aren't crying or thrashing about.  They have just found their rhythym in labor and are not letting all the on lookers stop them.  One doctor told me "The Haitian women give birth easily.  One push and the baby is out!".  Maybe this has something to do with it.  They weren't afraid to move, make noise, shoo the doctors away, and tell the doctors to stop touching them.

During Mariel's labor I took heart tones, did cervical checks, and provided any support she needed.  At one  point she even shooed the OB away and insisted that I check her instead.  It's no wonder when some of these doctors are incredibly rough.  When Mariel's baby was born I was there assisting the doctor. I pulled the baby right up to her chest, all fresh and perfectly wet.  She pushed the baby away; not a totally unheard of response for any woman exhausted by just giving birth.  But what she did next surprised me.  She shot straight up in bed, grabbed me, and kissed me on both cheeks.  And she said the few Spanish words she knew to me "Muchas gracias!  Muchas gracias mi amiga! Estas bendiga!" (Thank you!  Thank you my friend!  You are a blessing!)

This is what makes the ugliness of birth here truly beautiful; to see a woman supported during labor and taken care of gently.