I hate to be Debbie Downer, that is not in my heart at all. I hired a doula for what I thought were realistic reasons. Like so many others, I read the statistics:  shorter labors, lower uses of epidurals, happier feelings after the birth; those were the ones that stuck in my mind. I just didn't expect things to go the way they did, and when they went, they went fast. I felt like my doula went along with that, while I was left behind feeling alone.

I know one admirable quality of any doula worth her salt is good working relationships with the nurses and doctors at the place of birth. I was impressed by the stories I heard from my doula, the goings out to lunch with nurses, the sittings next to doctors at conferences. I will admit, it made me feel like she integrated well into the hospital process. What I didn't expect was that she might need to maintain that balance. When push came to shove in my situation, I did not feel she was with me, on my side. I felt like she was on their side, and it was her job to get me to feel good about coming to their decisions and preferences. 

In a way, this was the beginning of the isolation. I had heard hospital doulas who are provided by the hospital or volunteer/work for the hospital sometimes have a hard time being neutral. I did not worry about this, because my doula was independent and nonaffiliated with the hospital. She did have a family member who was high ranking on the infrastructure of the hospital board, but again I saw this as a bonus, not a deficit. In reality, I think it aligned her with the hospital's way of doing things. It made it seem like her job was to help me buckle to that agenda in a less threatening way than if it came from a staff member.

I had a complication when it came time to push. Suddenly I was being rolled over, yelled at urgently, and told to push, even without a contraction. Extra people came rushing into the room. I was hearing all kinds of instructions at once. I closed my eyes and tried to do what they told me. My husband was no where to be seen or felt. My doula was also lost in the haze. I had no clue what was happening. I needed the tiniest bit of an explanation. The one person I would have expected this from was not there. My doula.

After the baby came out there was an audible sigh of relief. She was taken to a flat table to be given air and make sure she was breathing like she should. I felt the smallest touch from my husband's hand, and I wanted to gobble it up and have it take me away. He was scared too. We watched as our baby was being poked and prodded, mask on her face, lights flashing and alarms beeping. I looked for my doula and she was talking to the nurse about how frightening that was, and how she was sorry the nurse had to get up on the stool to help move me because the nurse was pregnant.

I could have used the emotional support my doula was giving my nurse.

It took a while before anyone explained what happened. It took even longer before our baby was brought to us. I felt pretty insignificant. I felt alone and afraid. Soon after the bustle in my room went down and I was considered recovered, my doula announced she needed to go move her car before her meter ran out. She said she would be right back. 

"That's ok. I think we are ok now." She looked at me with a puzzled expression. "But the baby isn't back from the nursery. Do you want me to wait and see if we can get you nursing?" I let her know I was really tired, and I would ask for help from the staff if we needed it. She came over, gave me a hug, and said, "Thanks for having me as your doula." 

Really I just felt sad. I felt let down. I wanted more mothering, and I got what seemed like a bubble gum teenager who was only with me until the cooler kids came (her friends at the hospital). I am not writing off doulas forever. I still can't deny those statistics. But next time, I am going to ask different questions, and remember to be impressed by different answers. 

There was a woman who named herself after the mountains where she had communed with other women and wrote poetry. In the end she went berserk with agitation, climbed out of her hospital bed in an attempt to lie on the earth again. We covered her in blankets as her community of friends took turns sitting vigil. Her strong body and spirit would not give in to disease without a great fight. Back in bed, she lasted for weeks like that, feeding off the fuel she had accumulated over a lifetime until one day, the flame burned all the way to the core and released her free at last.

​There was a woman quiet and withdrawn, who only nodded yes or no. Yet when a dear one entered and approached, she open her arms to bring them in close. Her adult children had lost a father just two years before and her illness had mostly been a secret, a failed attempt at protecting her loved ones from pain. All we can do is be there to support and minimize suffering. The existential journey is their own. At a time when one can no longer deny death, loved ones gather with tears and smiles for all the healing that can finally begin. In the end, friends and family gathered in the chapel to acknowledge and honor her life. Then came a parade of flowers our way, grandiose bouquets perking up the solarium.  

A volunteer angel drops in every now and again, effortlessly singing A cappella, opening the portal within the spirits of the dying, attempting to free them of blocked emotional meridians and move them forward on their individual path, on the labyrinth of existence.  

​An emaciated woman already a skeleton slowly turned to look at me and offer a weak smile, appearing to wonder about my treatment or judgement of a lifelong multi-drug abuser lying on her death bed before she was even old. She is estranged from all family. I offer reassurance that she will be cared for with kindness and respect. She replied "thank you". I suggest that she has experienced a lot of trauma in her life. She replied "scary". Perhaps at birth, or in the mother's womb, she was already addicted. Maybe now, in a time as vulnerable as birth, she can finally just receive love and care without having to do anything to earn it. She seeks to have her pain and anxiety resolved, just like any other human being. And in a couple days, after a week hiatus in the desert, I will return to this work, wondering if she survives still. As a death doula, I will either care for her with kindness and compassion, or if she is gone, I will care for the others who come next to this house.

When did you train as a doula? Six years ago I became a doula. I have always been fascinated with birth. I witnessed my first baby born at age 12. For years, my work centered around supporting women becoming mothers, and also their new babies. Becoming a doula seemed a likely next step.

Did your own experiences of birth and being a mother factor into wanting to be a doula? Yes, I had amazing "birth plans," and used midwives, and my mother and sister -- I relied so much on their support. When everything about my plans went out the window with my first birth, I understood the power of that extra support person to speak to me, to help me navigate my options. 

What is it you like about doula work? Witnessing the birth of the mother...her power. With each birth, I am always humbled to my core to be there as a supporter, to have been asked to help in this intimate, sacred space. The first gaze of mother to child is the most precious of moments for me.

How did you hear about Carry the Future? Carry the Future came to me through a text from an amazing mentor, Debbie Pierce. She casually asked if I thought helping fit refugee mothers with baby carriers was a possibility for me. When I answered that it sounded like a life goal, I quickly was put in touch with a group of mothers in a non-stop Facebook chat that was inspired by a woman's Indiegogo campaign to collect carriers. Two months later, I was traveling to Greece with nine strangers, who have changed my life.

We hear about human tragedy a lot, and wish we could help -- what motivated you to actually take the steps to travel to Greece? My children are a little older now, but I also have been practicing saying "Yes" more, and almost without too much thought, I committed, and it felt like something bloomed in my heart...it was right, and I have never been the same since.

How did you feel when you finally saw for yourself the situations these families faced? The refugee families were MY family! I was these mothers. I felt the fierce protection they had for their precious children. I saw the men holding their families tight, offering support to their wives, and often being the person to carry the babies on their chests. I was so taken by the grace of the families as they arrived, coming through the shock and unspeakable loss many (most) had endured. I was able to see how they could teach us, in solidarity, how connected we all are -- how the same we all are. 

How safe is it for volunteers like you? I have never felt in danger on my trips. I have been to Athens two times, and Lesvos once. We would arrive sometimes at 4 am and stay until past midnight. There are eyes on everyone, caring for and keeping everyone safe. The situation has become slightly more volatile with the terrible EU deal with Turkey and the boarders closing. There is desperation, but I am returning June 3 to do the work, sit with these mothers, share and hold space like some do for each other. [A true doula's heart~SB]

Can you describe a typical day? As a group, we created jobs for ourselves, like a mama bear to make sure everyone was eating and crying and laughing enough, ferry trackers to watch the ships come in on a boat, watch apps on the phones, and photographers and journal writers to record this work. We would be up most days around 4 am, shovel a protein bar or an apple in, and taxi to the ports. The ferries carry 1000-2500 refugees at a time, and some days, we received 6 boats. These are the large boats bringing all the people from the islands after they made it from being smuggled overnight from Turkey. We would maybe take a nap at the cafe or back at our apartment if there was time between arriving boats, or travel to the short term camps to distribute aid and carriers, or even just sweep the floors. We spend time in the warehouses collecting specific needs for the camps we are going to that day, and organizing if there is a ferry strike. Many late nights, we would gather to decompress, cry it out, and share a plate of pita or Greek salads. The next day would often start 5 hours later. I have never been so glad to be so tired. It was like having a newborn child, you just "do it" and love hard. 

I have always been impressed by your mother's kind and gentle, generous nature. How has she shaped your desire to help others? My mother's kindness and amazing compassion has absolutely created the desire in me to help others. I saw her always welcoming a new neighbor with dinner, or helping to feed or clean for a new mother. I have always believed we are all neighbors and connected, because of my mother's nature. She inspires me every day to be more giving and gentle, even with myself.

​How many times have you been to Greece now? Are you planning to go back? What is required in planning a trip? I leave June 3rd for my 4th trip (I did a back-to-back trip in February from Lesvos, and then met and led a team in Athens six days later -- my first trip was in November last year). Buying a ticket is the first step. Everything for my personal needs has to fit in a carry-on. Each team member meets up at a distribution center (we now have three across the country) and picks up about 400 pounds of carriers to travel with. What is needed? A valid passport (not expiring within 30 days), an "anything-could-happen" team player attitude, and a desire to show love are all the requirements you need. Most of our trips are planned the same way until a situation changes, then we must be fluid and rearrange locations and accommodations -- the love and dedication stay the same.

This next trip will be more solo, and I will be working in the camps and directly with a female-friendly space for breastfeeding support, re-establishing lactation, and a place for mothers to bond with each other as they will likely be in camps in Greece for what may be a long time. I will continue to do this work, and I will return until I am no longer needed -- in Solidarity.

Every April is Cesarean Awareness Month.   Cesareans of course are sometimes necessary and in some instances can be a lifesaving procedure for the mother, baby or both.  In my work as a doula I have attended a number or Cesarean births and one of my favorite clients to work with are moms who are planning a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean) birth.

A lot of people assume that because I am a doula that I am anti-intervention and therefore anti-cesarean.  Believe it or not I am personally very thankful for Cesarean’s because my mother and I would not be here today without them.  I was born by an emergency, lifesaving Cesarean.

While my mother was pregnant with me she experienced a complication called placenta previa.  Placenta Previa happens when the placenta is low in the uterus and either partially or completely covers the cervix.  In her situation it completely covered the cervix.  This complication is a true medical indication for a Cesarean birth.  It’s dangerous for the mother to even go into labor.

My mother was told she wouldn’t go into labor but would start bleeding first and to come immediately into the hospital when that happened.  She had been hospitalized earlier in the pregnancy for bleeding.  On June 3rd (due date was July 14th ) she started experiencing contractions, as a first time mom who was told she wouldn’t go into labor she didn’t realize what was happening.

She was staying with my grandma while my dad was at work and in the afternoon my grandma noticed her stopping to breathe through contractions and took her straight to the hospital.  Upon arrival she was checked and was fully dilated.  Things really got busy at that point as the doctor came in to do an emergency cesarean on her.  The doctor yelled at her for eating lunch while in labor because they needed to put her to sleep.  The nurse insisted that I had no heartbeat as my mom was being wheeled into surgery.  She was put to sleep right after the nurse said “I don’t know where that doctor thinks he’s hearing a heartbeat at.  This baby is already gone.”

Needless to say we both made it though.  I was a preemie but did great.  I didn’t even need oxygen.  My mom still talks about what a frightening experience my birth was.  She woke up assuming that she had lost her baby.  She had a really rough recovery after and woke up many times asking what happened to me and being reminded that I was ok.

Now for what I learned from my mom about birth.  My mom was never afraid to talk to us about her birth experiences.  I’m thankful for that.  Even with the dramatic way I entered this world I was not fearful of giving birth when my time to birth came because of her.  She talked to us about her disappointment in never getting to birth her babies.

She went on to have two more children both scheduled cesareans.  With my brother the youngest she was thankful for being able to have a spinal and be awake to hear his first cries.  She searched for a provider to have a VBAC with my brother but due to the fact that she had a classical uterine incision they felt it was too risky for her to attempt.

She always talked to us about what birth was supposed to be like.  Empowering, amazing and beautiful.

She was present for 4 out of her 5 grandchildren’s births.  She says it was healing for her to experience those births.  With the births of my children she was so supportive and helpful I can’t imagine not having had her there.

My dream is that my daughter and someday maybe my granddaughter’s won’t fear birth and that they will embrace it as a life affirming, empowering event that my mother taught us it could be.