It can be daunting to try and show the world how you differ from other doulas -- and this can often set us up for competition. In Day 4's selection, Natasha Longridge shares her feelings about the race between doulas, and how we can realistically shape our ideas about competition.
I've been a doula for over 10 years. I've seen a lot of doulas come and go in this profession for many reasons, but the one reason for leaving doula work that always hits at my heart, is when other doulas say "There's too much competition". I wish to flip that perception.
Take a step back, and think of where you heard the term doula. Was it from a friend? You're own birth? In the news? Chances are, it wasn't a common discussion, no matter where you heard it.
Statistically, in the US (because nothing is coming up for Canadian doula stats) only 6% of birthing families chose to have a doula. If we are talking about over saturation in the job market, that number would be a lot higher! It also goes on to mention that another 27% would have liked to hire a doula.
I like to look at that as a challenge. Obviously, we know that the word doula is still relatively unheard of in most mainstream circles. For as long as I've been a doula, I still run into people that say - I don't know what that is.
How do we change this? How do we get the word doula to roll off the lips of every beautiful birthing person? This is the challenge; to make it part of everyday conversations. The way for it to make it into more conversations, is if it becomes the norm, and a way to make it the norm, is if there are more doulas! Abundance.
I often share fellow local doulas info, blogs, etc on my business page. I have people ask me all the time why I do this. Why should I share and promote the "competition". To that I say, until every family on this vast planet knows what a doula is and does, I will keep sharing. I share because I'm not the right doula for everyone. I share because my doula sister has some great info, I share because even if I don't get the client, I know they are getting who they need and now one more family has doula support. One more family can now share the word doula with honour and love. Abundance.
I'd like to change the word competition (rivalry for supremacy) to abundance (overflowing fullness). If we believe that we do this work out of love, then we need abundance. The world we raise our children in, that we bring future parents into, needs more love. By believing in abundance of love and support we all win.
When we flip the idea that other doulas are competition, we lose the fear, we start to see how strong we are. We start to see the tribe of support that stands around us, holding the space for big things to come. That there is strength in numbers, and with those numbers, we have the power to create a birth world revolution.
Natasha is the mother to 4 spirited children who, along with their dogs, cats, and reptiles reside in Spruce Grove Aberta, Canada.
Natasha has been a practicing doula for over 10 years, and has worked in all Edmonton area hospitals, along with the local Lucina Birth Center and home births.
She takes her role as doula very seriously, and in doing so she is forever upgrading her skills. Natasha has taken training through DONA, Stillbirthday University, and GK University. She is currently enrolled in The Cultured Doula Program, and has recently completed her Masters Rebozo with GKU. As a placenta specialist she trained with PBiU.
Natasha can be found at Supermomma Doula & Placenta Edmonton, and her Facebook page.
Pursuing your passion once you've found it isn't easy. Often a lot of time and growing pains come with becoming a doula. Most of us have gone through this, or are going through this, or have to go through it again and again when other life changes occur, such as a move or having a baby of our own. Darby Morris shares her struggles in Day 3's post -- and I'm sure many of us can relate.
I sat next to one of my closest friends from college in the hospital room. Her husband and I were desperate to help. The nurse came in to the room: “you seem to be in pain, you should really get some pain medication,” she said for the fifth time with one glance at my friend. It was only a few more hours until my friend agreed and the nurse sent us out of the room while an epidural was administered. Her husband and I went to get some food from the cafeteria. He returned to the room with her mother for the birth of his firstborn. I spent the first few nights postpartum at my friend’s home doing all I knew to help her and her newborn. I was obsessed. In love. Infatuated. Though my friend would go on to be buried in postpartum depression, she saw my passion and suggested I become a doula.
I took as many classes as I could possibly find and attempted to create my own company. My first potential client was excited to hire me. I was petrified. How could they put me in charge of their birth? I had never attended a birth before. Was I crazy to want to be a doula? What if I just wanted to be a mom?
With that thought, my career as a doula ended. The answer was a resounding: yes. I did want to be a mom. With that I turned my back on the birth world and continued my pursuit for a career path, eventually getting two masters and starting my journey towards a PhD. In 2015, I had to drive two hours round-trip to get to work every day. My boyfriend had recently introduced me to podcasts and, in an attempt to find a new podcast to listen to, I decided to punch “birth” into the search bar. The Birth Hour, Birthful Podcast, Longest Shortest Time, and Mom and Dad are Fighting. (Today I have some new favorites: Fourth Trimester Podcast, Informed Pregnancy Podcast, Sprogcast, and All Things Breastfeeding Podcast.) I would come home from a full day spent collecting field notes only to spout birth facts -- until my boyfriend begged me to stop talking about birth.
A year and a half later, in November of 2016, my boyfriend found a job in California, we moved across country, and I decided to be a volunteer doula instead of immediately starting my own company. Volunteering as a doula is a unique opportunity. There are not many hospitals nation-wide that have volunteer programs. What I did not realize back in North Carolina in 2009 was that the University of North Carolina had its own volunteer doula program. Had I decided to volunteer the first time around my life would have taken a very different path.
San Francisco also has volunteer programs at San Francisco General Hospital (SFGH) and St Luke’s. SFGH’s volunteer doula program is well established. It took me five months to get into the program after applying and another month to get my badge so I could work there.
SFGH is primarily shift-based doula work. We were required to do one twelve hour shift once a month at the hospital’s labor and delivery ward. I did not enjoy it. There were times when I would sit for hours in the staff break room with nothing to do, staring at a screen trying to decipher the abbreviations that at the time meant nothing. When I was asked by the nurses to help a patient out I would find myself in a situation like this: a woman had barely acknowledged her desire for the epidural that was administered. It was explained by several hospital staff how it worked. Once we were alone she turned to me, “what is this?” she asked, pointing to the epidural button.
If I had been there earlier, I could have helped her understand all of her options, cope with her pain, have the birth she wanted, or at least explained to her the confusing birth hospital system she had been thrown into: all things I was able to do while on call with families at St Luke’s. Instead, the women we serve in shift-based work at SFGH only get support from a doula midway through their births, and at that point I was little better than the drugs the hospital had set her up on: another unexpected, confusing intervention to a natural process that modern medicine has somehow turned into an esoteric exercise for medical technicians.
I no longer do shift-based volunteer work and no longer volunteer at St Luke’s. Instead I work at San Francisco General Hospital for their small on-call program where I help with high-risk births: substance abuse survivors, rape victims, women whose babies will need surgery immediately postpartum, etc. I also started Sweetbay Doula as a doula who works to nurture the relationship between birthing individual and their partner that I believe is so important. And I love my job.
Since May 2017, Darby Morris has been serving private clients, and volunteers at both San Francisco General Hospital (SFGH) and St. Luke’s Hospital as a birth and postpartum doula.
Darby believes in providing doula experiences based upon continuing education and spreading that knowledge to families. Her business, Sweetbay Doula, is named after the Sweetbay Magnolia tree. Magnolias are known for their strength, flexibility and beauty. They can be found in both warm and cold climates, and are either deciduous or evergreen, depending on the environment. Their blooms are not affected by frost so they are able to bloom into late spring.
In short, Sweetbay Doula, like its namesake, is highly-resilient, flexible, and open-minded in all of the ways an expectant parent needs.
Being a US-based doula, it is easy for me to assume the general ways we practice as doulas are similar around the world. This 31 Days project gives me a dose of reality and shakes up my US-centric thinking when I read stories from doulas like Nicci. I wish Nicci and everyone like her the strength to keep supporting families, the courage to continue the uphill battle, and the heart to handle so much pain. The title for her post is also the motto for her bereavement training program -- thank you, Nicci, for allowing me to share your powerful words here.
My name is Nicci and I am a Bereavement Doula from Pretoria (Gauteng Province, South Africa), dealing exclusively with miscarriage, stillbirth and infant loss. I have been a "death doula" since 2015 and I am currently one of the most experienced bereavement doulas in the country.
Death humbles you. It leaves many wounded and scared (and scarred!) but also just as many people are awakened to the miracle and the fragility that is life. It opens your eyes to the absolute gift it is to breathe (and have those you love breathe) every single day. I deal with indescribable pain and heartache. My job is not an easy one, in fact, it’s probably one of the most emotionally challenging professions out there. But it is made bearable by knowing that I could help a mommy or daddy carry the load, even if it’s only for a little while. There is something unique about child loss. Because you don’t only lose a child you love, you lose the promise of that child’s life. You lose the "could have beens". You miss their first day of school. You miss their 16th and 21st and 30th birthdays. You miss out on every little thing that would have made that child "yours".
Like the character in the book The Shack, I carry The Great Sadness with me every single day of my life. Sometimes The Great Sadness is quite satisfied to sit in the corner of a room or on the roof of my car and just leave me alone – sometimes even for a day or two. Other days, The Great Sadness would just not let go of me. It will cling to me whilst I brush my teeth, when I feed the dogs, when I pray, when I speak to a telesales agent and decline a cellphone contract for the umpteenth time. It will rear its sad head when I walk in a shopping centre and see something or someone that triggers a memory. Sometimes when I walk passed a baby store The Great Sadness would hug me so tight that I struggle to breathe. But the Great Sadness and I have come to an agreement: Whenever I am with a client, it will not show up for a while. But sometimes The Great Sadness breaks its word and all that I can do is be sad with them.
The parents I assist and I usually have a lot of time talk and cry and yes, even laugh. Sometimes it’s much easier to talk about your pain to a stranger – somebody that you don’t feel guilty over because you are "burdening" them with your pain. Someone that won’t judge, just listen – who may shed a tear or two with you but who will not fall apart.
As a bereavement doula I am learning more and more about life, death, loss and everything in between every day. I have seen that parents feel guilty because they are experiencing deep grief over the death of their child. Statements made by well-meaning friends may cause them to question the validity of their deep feelings of sorrow – statements like the following: “Just be glad you didn’t get to know her. This way you won’t have to suffer the grief.” Or “The woman down the street lost all her children in a fire, you are lucky compared to her.”
The fact is that grief cannot be compared – not even between parents. Grief will not lessen just because the grief of another person is perceived to be greater. Also, they may have given birth to another child. But this will be another child, not a substitute for the one who has died. I always say babies aren’t puppies who can fulfill a general need. And to be honest, not even a dog can be replaced, how on earth can people expect parents to "replace" their baby who has passed on with another!
Although primarily my focus, I don’t just assist with baby loss but also with other losses. I have assisted a mother who gave birth via c-section to a healthy, beautiful little baby boy. The reason she needed me though, was because her husband was brutally shot and killed in front of her. This woman was shattered and tears jumped in my eyes when I looked into hers. It was almost unbearable to look at her. But she needed a calm, collected and professional person to assist her during the birth. In hindsight, I was none of the above. I may have appeared calm and collected, and yes, even professional to the untrained eye. But I was falling apart on the inside. The moment the doctor lifted that precious little boy from his mommy’s tummy I had such a huge lump in my throat I couldn’t breathe. The Great Sadness won that day…
Because there is such a huge need for bereavement birth workers in South Africa, I have written an Online Bereavement Training Program to enable as many people as possible in South Africa with a heart for bereavement to assist parents going through loss. Students are equipped with the right information, tools and coping skills to guide families in South Africa going through the unimaginable.
It is my dream that my profession will be formally recognized and acknowledged in South Africa and that bereavement doulas’ services will be covered by all medical aids. The motto of the bereavement doulas trained by Nicci.doula Bereavement is “to serve with love in loss” – I hope to be able to do this for a very long time to come.
Ever since the traumatic birth of her firstborn, the subsequent birth of his brothers, 6 infertility treatments, 3 miscarriages and 1 adoption, it has always been Nicci's dream to make a difference in the lives of bereaved parents. She is Birth and Perinatal Bereavement Doula, and a certified SBD Doula®. Passionate about ensuring families of all kinds have the unique support they need, she is the former director at Voice of the Unborn Baby, and Managing Director of Doulas of South Africa. Nicci is an avid writer and has written many short stories on her experiences as bereavement doula. Nicci also wrote a book about her infertility struggles. Besides being a doula, she is also a professional stillbirth photographer. Nicci believes in the power of encouragement, and in building confident and empowered doulas to make a difference in South Africa. She also believes in dreaming big and working hard. She is passionate about people in general and more specifically about the doula profession. If you would like more information on the work Nicci does, please visit www.niccidoula.com or visit her Facebook page. For international bereavement training please visit www.stillbirthday.com.
Nicci lives in a leafy suburb at the foot of the Magalies mountains, in the Pretoria area of Gauteng Province, South Africa.
Recently I was asked to doula a fellow doula for her upcoming birth. A close member of her family, who supposedly knows what doulas do, asked, "So Stacie is going to deliver your baby?" This pregnant doula was exasperated by the question, because she has explained many times to her family members (who have been her biggest supporters) what she does when she is hired by families -- and that is always punctuated by, "we don't deliver babies." Erica shines a new light on the answer to this question, and the idea to me is lovely and accurate.
Through almost a decade of discussions with friends and family, this has been the most frequent question asked: what DO doulas do? A loaded one. In the few instances where someone does know the word doula, I typically see generalized notions picked up from media, college, or that hippy-dippy aunt of yours that had her baby at home, such as labor and delivery support, birth assistant, maid, personal assistant, stand-in for unsupportive partners, etc. And while I could speak on the subject for days, I often find myself explaining over and over again how integral a doula can be in any birthing experience from a planned cesarean to an unmedicated home birth, even a high-risk pregnancy and loss of pregnancy. Doulas wear many labels, often times several: birth doula, postpartum doula, antepartum doula, bereavement doula, etc. This led me to find out what the leading experts say about the modern-day doula.
In the fourth edition of The Birth Partner | The Complete Guide to Childbirth for Dads, Doulas, and All Other Labor Companions, Penny Simkin states:
"The [birth] doula is on call for you, arrives at your home or the hospital when you need her, and remains with you continuously, with few or no breaks, until after the baby is born. The doula is trained and experienced in providing emotional support, physical comfort, and nonclinical advice. She draws on her knowledge and experience as she reassures, encourages, comforts, and empathizes with the mother."
Ann Douglas, in The Mother of All Pregnancy Books, writes:
"[Postpartum doulas] offer a similar service [as birth doulas] during the postpartum period, providing hands-on assistance to new parents during the first few days or weeks of parenthood. Postpartum doulas are “jill of all trades,” who bring a range of different skills to the table."
The Doula Book, written by Marshall H. Klaus, MD, John H. Kennell, MD, and Phyllis H Klaus, MFT, LMSW, explains:
"…a doula needs specific skills and insights. A successful doula is comfortable with giving of herself and is not afraid to love. She also can enter another’s space and be highly responsive and aware of another’s needs, moods, changes, and unspoken feelings. At the same time, she is able to be flexible in this process, adapting herself to each mother’s needs, and has no need to control or smother."
Clearly, there are a wide-range of definitions available for a doula, and often times doulas vary in what they offer to clients and their families. I’m reminded of a term I learned while watching animated films with my husband and son: Inbetweeners. In animation, these are assistants to the animators that ‘fill in’ drawings around the key frames to maintain smooth evolution from one to another. Just like a doula, they do not control the story line (that’s left to the writers, directors, editors, etc.), rather they assist progression to accomplish the end goal of a successful film. In birth, doulas are the Inbetweeners.
Doulas do the inbetween work – applying counter pressure on mom while she leans on her partner, managing meal prep and household upkeep while mom, dad, and baby adjust to their new life together, offering words of encouragement during a challenging transition. She does not control your birthing experience. You may not see her in birth photos (just like we rarely notice credits for Inbetweeners), but she is there, assisting progression to accomplish the end goal of each mother.
Her face isn’t what you’ll carry with you. A birthing experience void of confusion, desperation, frustration, or regret is the ultimate service of a doula, and this is a passive one. She is dedicated to facilitating an experience as close to the wishes of the mother as situationally possible.
What DO doulas do? Everything inbetween.
Erica Verbeck, born and raised in Southern Indiana, is the owner of Doula the Damn Thing. She earned a Bachelor of Science in Communication and Culture with studies in Anthropology, Family Studies, and Early Childhood Education from Indiana University.
She values homeopathic restoration of our natural bodies through healthy diet, minimalism (work-in-progress), and unschooling her toddler. She works to balance her traditional upbringing with the ancient methods of our predecessors to enlighten her journey through pregnancy, birth, and motherhood.
When not playing with her young son or discussing birth and babies, Erica enjoys wire-wrapping jewelry and reading the latest research on pregnancy, birth, and parenthood. Through a mother's most intimate and primal journey, she hopes to build a trusting and informed birth experience for all who desire one. You can find her through her Facebook pagedoulathedamnthing.com, or her website, Doula the Damn Thing.
Recently I was watching The Labyrinth, that incredible movie of my early teenhood. I watched that VHS tape so much it started to warp. I know just about every line, I sing every song, and I am ALWAYS ready for it to have a different ending, even though I know that never really happens.
I was struck by the opening credits -- when the words "It's only forever," play. This one day, when we birth our babies, stays with us forever. Shouldn't we do all we can to improve our experiences so the memories bring us happiness instead of disappointment? Enter, the Labyrinth...
The basic premise: Sarah is an imaginative girl who loves to dress up and pretend play. She has to baby-sit her half-brother, Toby, and she dreams her story to be that of having a wicked stepmother and she being forced to work and have no life. Her brother begins to cry from his crib. She accidentally sends Toby off to the Goblin King, Jareth. She then has to rescue him, through the maze of a huge labyrinth, or he will be lost to her forever. Ultimately she has a few choices -- live in her pretend world forever and forget about Toby, become Jareth's queen and live happily ever after with him, or fight to get Toby back -- and of course, that's what she does.
But did I mention who Jareth is?
Um, yeah -- that's why I was always Team Jareth...but I digress.
1. This is a piece of cake!
Often labor starts out so small, we work up confidence and think, like Sarah after making a good choice, "this is a piece of cake!" That's right before she falls into a hole with nothing to stop her except a bunch of "helping hands."
While early labor is often something we can handle on our own -- occupying our minds, resting, bouncing on a ball, relaxing in a tub or shower -- as things progress, our bodies will demand more from us. Instead of worrying that this is a predictor of how hard labor may be (at some point in the future -- I call this 'catastrophysing,' and in real life, I am pretty good at it), we need to enlist support from those around us. This is where partners, doulas, midwives, mothers, nurses -- whoever is there to fill that role, come in.
Labor WILL get more intense -- that's the nature of the process. With support, we can be lifted up by those caring people on our birth team, those helping hands.
2. There can be a lot of waiting!
There is an average amount of time women will labor. For first time pregnant people that is 12ish-24ish hours. Be mindful of that when you start telling people you are in labor, people forget birth is a marathon, not a sprint. It may only be an hour of time that has passed and well-meaning friends and family can start to ask if your baby has been born yet!
Some families consider sitting with this information for a while until there is something more exciting to report. Often the invitation (or expectation) that people will wait happily in the lobby can be a lot of pressure to the laboring person! I have been at more than one birth when a guest pops into the laboring person's room, unannounced, and either there was nothing going on, or the person had to be shooed out quickly because it was pushing time or naked time or toilet time -- this doesn't have to happen to you! You can decide where your loved ones will bide their time, and it doesn't have to be at the hospital.
3. It may help to lose your head
Whether it comes as a loss of control, or a needed suspension of reality, staying in our left brain where logic and reason try to make sense of things isn't always productive in labor.
As labor progresses, we need to move to our right brain and listen to what our bodies are saying. Linear flow of time, labor math, and trying to make predictions according to what we know and what has happened all need to go by the wayside. Our team should help protect this state of mind by moving with us, going at our pace, finding another place for their fears besides our ears, and knowing how to help if we are truly lost -- like getting into take-charge mode. Labor is challenging, and we are working hard enough to keep our own heads straight -- partners and others can respect this and flex to it as long as we are feeling safe and moving forward.
4. Ultimately, birth isn't fair
We learn. We read. We immerse ourselves in information and do our best to plan for our births. But in the end, there are so many things that aren't in our control. Does this mean we shouldn't even try?
What can we really plan about birth? We'd like to think we can plan a lot -- hospital, support team, safety. But we've all seen videos of women birthing unexpectedly in their cars (as a doula I had that happen once). So what's a pregnant person to do? I'll tell you: take a comprehensive childbirth class where you'll learn your options in a nonbiased way. Understand the labor process, how to cope, and what to expect. Build your dream birth on a foundation of sound evidence-based information -- this will ensure if your Plan A becomes a Plan B, you will know exactly what your new set of choices are -- because you ALWAYS have choices. Birth, like life, may not be fair, but you can adjust the scale in your favor with knowledge and options.
5. "You have no power over me."
I recently had a conversation with a pregnant woman who shared: "I know no one can make me do anything I don't want to do. I can always say no or ask for other options. That's my right."
Not sure what your rights are? According to the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG), pregnant people:
This is what ACOG is laying down that many physicians aren't picking up: no one can guarantee the outcome for you and your baby -- and because of that, the choices we make during pregnancy and birth are ultimately our own. This doesn't mean you have to be contrary out of the gate, this simply means when you have researched, thought over, pondered, prayed about a decision which may differ from that of your medical provider, no one holds more power than you.
On December 18, 2014 I wrote this with a sick baby in my lap. Ezra was 8 months old and had his first doctor-worthy illness -- croup. I had been talking to a former doula client about her second birth, which I wasn't able to attend as her family had moved. After that phone call, coupled with the inability to leave the house or put my baby down, The 12 Hours of Labor was born. I made some visual updates because I was never happy with the quality of the print -- hopefully this helps!
This is my step sister's story of her first baby's pregnancy and birth. Noah touched down and lifted off sooner than any of us wanted. And I am so amazed to see how this family has pulled every good thing from that painful experience.
We were expecting our first baby and we were very excitedly awaiting the upcoming anatomy scan so we could get another peek at our baby and give them an identity. The appointment finally came. We sat anxiously in the waiting room. Finally, it was time to go to the back. I had invited my cousin to come along and witness the appointment with us. I got all set up, pulled my shirt up and the jelly was squirted onto my belly. We were finally seeing our baby.
We asked questions as the technician took pictures. “what’s that?”, “Is that a leg?” I recalled that a friend who went to the same office for her pregnancy had gotten 3D pictures at the anatomy scan. “Will we get some 3D pictures of our baby?” Silence. And then, “Normally we do that, but there’s not very much fluid so we won’t be able to.” Collin and I exchanged nervous glances and squeezed each other’s hands. I decided to be positive and not let what the technician said worry me.
Then she attempted to get the gender. That took our focus off of what had been said. Our baby was not cooperating. So the technician told us that she believed it was 70% chance a boy. Then she said that the doctor needed to come in and talk with us. Again, Collin and I exchanged nervous glances and squeezed hands.
Our doctor came in and said that after reviewing the images taken by the technician, it did not appear that our baby had developed kidneys. However, he wouldn’t say anything definitively. He instead referred us to a specialist for us to be able to get the final word. He briefly explained what it meant if our baby did not have kidneys. “Not compatible with life”. We were numb. I nervously looked at my cousin, who had tears in her eyes.
After that, we went out to lunch. Before going into the restaurant, I swallowed the lump in my throat and made a phone call to my aunt, my sister and my in-laws. I told them what was going on. We agreed to all pray and fast before the next appointment, which was scheduled for a couple days later. Then we went into the restaurant.
Collin and I were talking about what the doctor had said. I realized that my sweet husband had still not connected that our baby could not survive birth without kidneys. I gently told him. I watched the realization hit him. Then I quickly began talking again about the things we would do in the meantime while we waited for the appointment.
It was an agonizing couple of days, full of tears. I recall saying “There’s no way I could lose a baby. I can’t handle something like that.” The day for the next appointment came. We felt positive that morning. A sense of peace for whatever was going to happen in that appointment. The doctor used fancy ultrasound tools that gave him a clearer picture of our baby. First, he got the gender for us. We were due to have a baby boy! After about 45 minutes, and several different ultrasound tools, the doctor finally confirmed that our baby had not developed kidneys.
We were devastated. We tightly gripped each other’s hands for strength. Our doctor began to explain what to expect. Our baby would swallow the amniotic fluid, which is meant to stretch the lungs. Then it’s supposed to continue a cycle where it gets filtered through kidneys and peed back out. However, without the kidneys to filter the fluid, it wasn’t able to finish the cycle. Eventually he would get to a point where there was virtually no fluid around him. As a result, he wouldn’t be able to swallow any fluid to stretch his lungs. This meant that his lungs would no longer be developing and as a result, he would not be able to get a sufficient amount of oxygen upon his first breath after birth and he would pass soon after.
This was difficult for us to hear. We both put on strong faces as the doctor continued to talk. At this point, he said that as a doctor he has to go off of the facts and those were that there was no way for our baby to survive. Then he said that as a person, he believed that there was absolutely room for hope. He said that he had seen many things in his career that could only be explained as miracles. He told us that he had to ask if we wanted to continue the pregnancy. Without hesitation, we both agreed to carry him as long as possible.
After the appointment ended, we went back to our car in the parking lot and we both lost it. We were both crying and hugging and holding each other. I remember this feeling of “why me?” and I felt like it was so unfair. I had already been through enough hard things in life, right? We composed ourselves enough to start making the phone calls to update family. Those were very hard. We called my aunt and uncle, Collin’s parents, and my sister. We cried more with each phone call. We left 2 hours later, once we felt composed enough to travel home. It was about a 30 minute drive back home.
A few days later, I remember feeling like I needed to do something. I had heard about a Washington senator who had experienced the same diagnosis with her daughter. They ended up finding a doctor who would inject saline into her uterus for her baby to swallow and develop her lungs. When her baby was born, she was put on dialysis and had to wait at least one year to get a kidney. I did not feel like this was what I needed to do. One reason being that most doctors did not find it to be ethically okay, so it would be hard enough to find a doctor that would agree to do it for us. And another being that dialysis is already hard on an adult, so it would be even harder for an infant.
As I tried to figure out what to do, I came upon another story of a woman who had a similar experience. She had been told her baby did not develop kidneys and would not survive. Well, near the end of the pregnancy, the baby suddenly had kidneys. It was a miracle. That baby survived. After reading that story, I realized that the best thing I could do was have hope. To believe in my son’s ability to receive a miracle. I started talking to my husband about it and trying to raise his hope. We decided to continue shopping for our son as if he would survive. It was very therapeutic for us.
Here’s where people began to misunderstand our choice to have hope: Family and friends that we shared our son’s story with began to think that we didn’t recognize the reality of the situation. They confused our hope with denial. They thought that we fully believed our son would survive birth and that there was no chance of losing him. This was false. We absolutely understood the reality of the situation. We knew it was more likely that he would pass than survive, but focusing on that did not uplift us. We did not want to look back on our time with him and only see ourselves gloomy and waiting for him to die. We wanted to look back and see the hope and see that we did SOMETHING to cherish that time with him.
This misunderstanding made things awkward. I had a sister who was pregnant at the same time as me. I would hear family excitedly talking about her baby and her pregnancy, but when I brought up our baby and my pregnancy, it usually was a short and awkward conversation because nobody wanted to focus on the baby that was going to die. It was an incredibly lonely feeling. Collin and I could only talk to one another about it.
About 2 months before my due date, we decided to move back to home so we could be near family when our son was born. We got a new doctor set up quickly and got a tour of the hospital that recently had upgraded it’s NICU to a level 4. About a month later, I went to my 34 week appointment. I asked the doctor what to expect when I went into labor. I wanted to know if I would even have a “water” to break since there was virtually no fluid left around our baby. He assured me that I would not experience a “water breaking” moment because of the lack of fluid.
A couple days later, my water broke. I had noticed earlier in the day that my tummy seemed to have “dropped’ quite a bit. My husband was working potato harvest, so when he came home that evening, he commented on how low my belly looked, too. We went on a date that night since he wouldn’t be working the next day. We went to Red Lobster for my first time and then we decided to do some more baby shopping. We bought a car seat, and a baby chair.
When we got home, I sat down to snack on some pineapple. When I got up, I felt a pop. I told my husband to continue to the bedroom without me and then I went straight to the bathroom. Fluid was flowing out of me. I quickly went downstairs to my husband and said “We have a problem. I think my water broke.” He went into a panic and told me to call my sister and ask her if that’s what was going on. I laughed and told him we could just go upstairs and ask my aunt, who had delivered 7 babies herself. We were living with my aunt and uncle during that time.
My heart was pounding. I was so worried about our baby. I needed to hear his heartbeat, I needed to know he was still alive. I had bought a Doppler for this very purpose, weeks before we found out about his diagnosis. I quickly grabbed it and started searching for that familiar thump thumping. After a few quiet seconds, I finally located it. So we went upstairs to let my aunt know what was going on.
Things got exciting at home. Collin gave me a blessing. Then we headed to a 24 hour urgent care. We wanted them to test the fluid and confirm if my water had broken. I found myself continuing to worry about our son. I was so nervous as they set things up for an ultrasound. I was terrified I wasn’t going to see his heart beating. I didn’t want to ever have to experience that. As soon as I saw the flicker, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. He was doing just fine.
The litmus paper test for the fluid was inconclusive, but the doctor at the urgent care had talked to my doctor and they both had decided that I needed to go to labor and delivery. At first they were going to send me in an ambulance, but then we were able to talk them into letting us go in our own car. They just made us promise that we would go right there and we would not stop for food on the way.
It took us about 20 minutes to get to the hospital. There was a security guard waiting for us at the ER entrance. He took me in a wheelchair through the maze of the hospital to Labor and Delivery. I was put into a triage room. A nurse came in and did a more official test to clarify if my water had broken. We waited about 45 minutes for the results. It was positive.
They moved me into an official delivery room. A doctor came in to speak with me and to start going over all the details. My sister in California began getting her things together so she could quickly make the drive to Washington to be there for me and my husband. We were told that I could have a day to let my body naturally go into labor. The next evening they would induce me if I didn’t start labor.
One thing that sticks out the most to me is that as soon as I got checked in as a patient, I was told that I wouldn’t be leaving the hospital until our baby was born. All of this happened on a Saturday. The next day, Sunday, we played the waiting game to see if I would go into labor. We also had to make some big decisions regarding our son. I still was very hopeful at this point, but I also had the weight of reality pushing down on me. We had to decide if I would have a heartbeat monitor for our baby during labor, and if we were going to sign a “Do Not Resuscitate” order for our son in the event that he would pass away. We took some time to discuss these important matters. We chose to not have the heartbeat monitor and we signed the DNR order.
Signing that paper felt like one of the worst things I could do as a mother, but I knew that if he did pass away, it would have been torture to watch them revive him again and again only to watch him pass again and again. The rest of the day we mostly talked with family that stayed at the hospital with us, but I also walked the halls and tried to do whatever I could think of to help my body. No luck! So I got induced with cervadil.
They told me it probably wouldn’t be enough to throw me into full labor, but they would evaluate things as we went. Well, 2 hours after administering the cervadil, I was in full on labor. Contractions on top of contractions. I did nothing to prepare myself for that misery! I did my best to keep moving since that seemed to help. I sat at the end of my bed with my legs apart, my hands on each leg, and I rocked back and forth with the contractions. It seemed to help the most, but I was still miserable.
My nurse kept giving me pain meds to try and alleviate the pain. I think she didn’t believe I was in as much pain as I was. After the second dose of fentanyl and the second reaction to it of throwing up, she finally checked me and decided to offer me an epidural. I gladly accepted it. Once I got the epidural, I could finally relax and go to sleep.
I woke up hours later, with the urge to poop. I told my nurse. She checked me and told me I was fully dilated. The current doctor on call made me very uncomfortable, so I pleaded to the nurses to not let him deliver our baby. They said that because of the circumstances we were in, they would do their best to get the other on call doctor for the next shift to come in earlier to deliver our son. So we played the waiting game as the nurse worked hard to get the other doctor in.
Family started showing up to the hospital so they could be around once our baby was born. The nurse was successful in getting the other doctor to come in early, which was a huge relief for me. Everything went so fast after he showed up. The bed was broken down for delivery, the doctor gowned up, and everything was set in place. Finally it was time to start pushing.
We actually had a pretty pleasant conversation while I pushed. I was so relaxed because of the epidural. The doctor had to be extra careful because our son was breech, so he was delivering our baby butt first. This was only allowed because of our son’s chances for survival. They said that it made no sense to perform a c-section on me and put me at risk, if our son’s chances of survival were non-existent. I was very comfortable having a breech, vaginal delivery.
At 7:48, our son was born. Noah Austin Pound. As they brought him to my chest, I heard my little boy struggle to take a breath. And then he quietly passed. In my head I was begging him to come back to me. Then I felt a peace overcome me and I knew that my little boy had completed his life on earth.
The next several hours were spent taking him in. Looking at his sweet little body and how perfect it looked. You wouldn’t have known there were no kidney’s in that little body. I gave him a sponge bath, we dressed him, we took pictures. We cherished the moments. Then there were the tears. Lots and lots of tears shed. Lots of thinking “This isn’t fair. He’s so perfect”.
We stayed another night in the hospital. Anytime I wanted Noah, the nurses would bring him to me. When they took him back, they put him somewhere that made him very cold. They would always wrap him up in a warm blanket when they brought him to me.
Each time I would hold him again, I would lose it. I would experience all the emotions again until I landed on acceptance.
The next day, I dragged the day out as long as I could. Then came the time to have the mortician come take Noah’s body. That was very difficult for me. I never wanted to stop holding him. I knew our time together was coming to an end. After spending every moment with someone for months, especially someone who was inside you, it makes a difference when they are suddenly gone.
Noah was the best thing to happen to me and to us. I would never wish this experience on anyone, but I have seen so much growth in me and in mine and my husband’s relationship as a result. I continue to learn things from this experience.
I love to talk about Noah. There is a new stigma we face where people get uncomfortable when we mention him or tell them his story. That makes me sad. The best thing anyone could do for me is say his name and acknowledge that he lived and that he meant something to us. I know it seems difficult to talk to somebody about the child they lost, but you will not hurt them by mentioning their child. Ever.
Noah would have been 3 this year. He has 2 sisters now, Lucy who is 2 and Ellie who is 8 months. They will always know they have a big brother looking over them. I will always cherish our memories with Noah. I’m a better mom today because of him. Happy birthday, buddy!
This woman had it all covered! Not only did she bring her own lighting to the hospital, she had a diffuser, and her own Tupperware rolling pin, the one you an put cold or hot water in! She was, in just about all ways, prepared. And she did it in a way that made sense to her.
Pink was the theme! She beautified my suggested birth plan template and framed it -- setting it on the counter in her room. Every nurse that came in stopped, ooohed and awwwwed over it, and took the proffered chocolate treats sitting next to the frame.
Knowing her husband might need important information to be easily accessed, she put a list of must-dos on the back of the front door, so nothing would be overlooked or forgotten before leaving the house. She also had a small photo album full of ways to support her, phone numbers, and small self-care steps he could take for himself.
A packing list was created so all items this woman wanted would be included. Then it was broken down even more to specific location, so others would be able to find what she was needing or wanting without digging into the wrong place.
Another photo album was filled with calming images the woman could look at during labor.
Does this seem like a lot of work? Or does it sound like your style? You don't have to be this thorough! The key is to make your plans in a way that speaks to your own sense of organization. In labor, we can utilize comfort measures that we are familiar with and turn to during times of stress or discomfort -- we don't have to learn a lot of new-fangled coping measures that might feel unnatural or hard to remember. It works the same way when getting ready for labor and birth -- rely on an organizational strategy that feels good and works for you!
Anne is one of my most favorite doulas in the world. I wish we still lived close to each other so we could work together. She has a different way of looking at things, which makes them more memorable and easy to understand. I thought this post was a great one to end on -- it shows how we can let go of the discomfort that might normally accompany us when it comes to being around and touching others -- as doulas, this is what we do. Enjoy, as Anne shares how she bursts her bubble.
I worked with somebody once that had a definite “bubble” of personal space. It was kinda fun to subtly test the limits of those boundaries. I finally determined, through months of occasional observation and experimentation, that the space was 3 feet. Step, even 1-inch, into that invisible 3-foot force-field, and my subject would move away to reestablish the 3-foot bubble.
I, too, have a bubble. When it comes to supporting a woman in childbirth, I temporarily deflate my bubble to support my client AND the rest of her support team. Conversely, I understand that my client may also have that bubble. So, how does that work in such a short amount of time and in such an intimate setting?
In a combination of ways. Conversation, empathy, care-taking, simply being, and sometimes, sleep deprivation.
Conversation and sleep deprivation Labor room conversations, at least the ones influenced by my quirky personality, can be hilarious. The people in that labor space learn things that –- well, let’s just say that things that happen in the labor space, stay in the labor space. Humans are social. Somebody has a story about skunks, everybody else has to share their story about skunks or some other wildlife interaction, which leads to some other topic like nudist colonies and the technicalities of furniture cleanliness in regard to naked rears. Sleep deprivation just makes it all that much more entertaining. People start shlurring theyr wors an mis..misum.... an people don hwere tings wite.
Empathy I have huge amounts of empathy. The people that have chosen, or have been chosen, to be in the labor space care about the mama in labor. We all want to make the experience easier in whatever way we can. We cheer her on, we give her water, we massage tense muscles, and tell her how beautiful she is. We acknowledge her perception of her experience and help her to see the big picture. We all get giddy when her efforts culminate in 10 glorious centimeters of openness. Pushing is the best. Everybody breathlessly tells her that is the way, just like that, good job…and we grunt and we hold our breath and we push too!
Care-taking The bubble slowly deflates with a soothing of a brow. Light massage. As labor intensifies, the bubble deflates completely. It becomes all hands on deck. Time for position change; one person holds IV lines, another person holds the blankets for privacy screen, another person changes the chux pad, another person physically helps mama roll, the person holding the IV line passes a pillow to the person helping mama roll, the person holding the privacy blanket then wipes mama’s brow with a cool washcloth, and the nurse readjusts the baby monitor-ducking under the person giving the mama a sip of water. All bubbles deflated, we are all up in one another’s business!
Simply being Probably the most important. The care team for my client become protective. We hold the space, her privacy, her concentration, her focus, her rhythm, her ritual, HER ever-evolving strategy for bringing forth her infant into this world. In the early stages of labor, a knock on the door is a welcome distraction. In the final stages, a knock on the door is met with looks of annoyance and protective aggression.
Birth is a short, intense, intimate journey. Some are “mush longer den udders.” Sleep deprivation joke, get it?!? Guffaw, snort! Emotional support begins long before labor begins. Physical intrusion into the bubble is typically a gradual process, becoming more involved as the intensity of labor calls for more support and the temporary removal of the bubble. Informational support never ends. Doulas aren’t medical experts, but we are quite familiar with the key terms to know in the chapter of life called the Journey to Parenthood.
Anne is the youngest of 6 children, which is probably why she gets along well with people. She also grew up on a dairy, which is probably why she gets along with animals. She has two daughters, and is a volunteer 4-H Community Leader. She was one of the original creators of the Chico Doula Circle, volunteered for a hospital-based doula program, and offers gratis support to expectant teen moms. Anne is currently waiting with bated breath to see if she passed the Lamaze Exam to be a Certified Lamaze Childbirth Educator. Find her at Happy Pushing or on Facebook.
This post was born from a Facebook comment Sejal made about not understanding why professionals are hesitant to share their knowledge. I asked her if she could think about it and share something for the 31 Days project. Sure enough -- she gives her back story, and then shares how fortunate she has been to be mentored by amazing, open IBCLCs.
A few days back while I was in the hospital visiting a friend of mine after their surgery, I saw a family with a brand new baby heading home from the hospital. As I walk past them, I see a lady walking next to them, pushing a hospital cart filled with a few balloons and flowers resting on top of a couple of Trader Joe’s reusable bags and a duffel bag.
This brought back so many memories of my own discharge from the hospital I gave birth at and how it was a cold December morning that we walked to the parking garage with our newborn daughter dressed in a red fleece dress and buckled up in her car seat. I don’t think we realized how cold it was for her tiny little feet to be outside in the breeze.
My baby girl was upset with the draft of the cold breeze and I was so upset with her crying as we tried to get her into the car. Fumbling through the seat belt and a bunch of other stuff to keep her warm, we managed to at least get out of the parking garage. I sat down in the front passenger seat (mind you this was the one time I hated sitting down because of the perineal pain). If I had known what I know about mother infant separation and how I could have been closer to her and kept her less stressed and more warm by being in the seat next to my daughter I would have been able to keep her calm. But what did we know as new parents, apparently nothing, but as they say ignorance is bliss and bliss we did feel when we had her in our arms after a long traumatic birth.
Here we were leaving the hospital, embarking on this journey as three of us instead of two of us, completely oblivious to what was ahead of us. The drive home was not too pleasant and every bump in the road was causing me pain. It felt like I was hanging on to the handle on the inside of car so I did not have to put any pressure on my perineum. At home my kind and loving parents were waiting for us to get home with our little nugget. I just wanted to lay down but the pain was too much and by the time I reached home, my feet had gotten half a size bigger. I still had no idea what was going on. I could not walk properly or sit properly and then the idea of breastfeeding my baby without any help from the nurses seemed daunting. My mom was really willing to help and she did try but somehow my daughter could not latch without a nipple shield. Also no one at the hospital had shown me how to breastfeed my daughter lying down and that was a completely foreign concept to me. Every time that my little girl needed to breastfeed I would sit upright in my bed, get my Boppy pillow ready, cover it with a receiving blanket to protect the pillowcase (mind you I was a clean freak back then) and have my mom bring my baby to me to feed, and every time she tried to latch, either the nipple shield would fall off or she would accidentally whack it out of place and then the whole saga of a screaming baby and flailing hands and crying mama would begin.
By Day 3, my breasts were getting engorged and my feet were super swollen. I could not walk to the bathroom, which was only 10 steps away from my bed. I called my OB's office and they said I needed to come in as soon as possible because they were not sure what was going on with my swollen feet. When my OB came in and saw my face, my feet, and my hands, she smiled and said, “You look like the Michelin Man”. I was unfamiliar with who the Michelin Man was but figured it was a character out of some movie. She gave me a script for diuretics and sent me home. She did not even tell me that the number of times I would need to get up to pee would be exhausting in and of itself. I came home and breastfeeding was still difficult for me and my baby. I kept using the nipple shield and having the struggles. I went to develop mastitis and had a really high fever which put me into a delirium. I kept telling my mom, that she should take care of my baby in case something terrible were to happen to me. The pain with breastfeeding was excruciating and I was feeling like I was going to die.
The doctor’s office called in a prescription for antibiotics and I started them immediately. They told me to use the manual pump that I had to relieve any engorgement. I ended up using the nipple shield for 3 months before I went in for a lactation visit at our local hospital where I met a lactation consultant who helped me breastfeed my baby for the first time without a nipple shield. I had never pictured myself not using the nipple shield.
Fast forward my life 10 years and now I was a veteran mom who has helped her friends through their postpartum journey, and my kids were growing up and I was doing the best I could to fit this mold of a supermom, partly created by the expectations of the society, the family and myself. Due to a life event, I had to make the choice of going back to school to get a vocational certificate that could get me a job and somehow I chose to go to nursing school. I became a CNA and then started taking my prerequisites to apply for nursing school. I was also working as a CNA at a private nursing home. I worked 4 half days and learnt so many things on the job as well. During my year as a CNA, my younger sister who was pregnant at the time sustained a fall and broke her leg. She could not move and had to have surgery. She had to stay in bed until her baby arrived and I left my job to care for her. She had her baby and I was there to help her during her postpartum recovery and so were my parents. She was having breastfeeding troubles, her baby was not gaining weight very well and had jaundice. The hospital lactation consultants came and helped as much as they could and then we went home.
The breastfeeding continued to be a struggle and she had to start supplementing with formula. We tried to look for someone who could come to her home for a lactation consult and finally found a lady who did. The lactation consultant started her visit and I was a mute spectator in the room, and all I could think was, who is this person who is so knowledgeable about breastfeeding and was able explain everything to us so clearly? Her name was Meg Stalnaker. Why did I not meet her when I had my first baby ? I absorbed and listened to everything she did and said, as did my sister and brother-in-law. I just had a lightbulb moment. I wanted to do what she does. That was it. I did not want to be a nurse. I wanted to be a lactation consultant. I talked to my sister and she told me that I should ask for the contact information for this angel who helped her. I don’t know why, but I did.
I kept doing my own research about what classes I needed to take and signed up for them at the local community college. I kept in touch with the Meg via email. After I finished my community college classes, I contacted her again and asked her if she could be my mentor. She said yes, but there was a caveat. I needed to wait until she finished mentoring two other students she had at the time.
I was really sad that there was not enough guidance on how to find mentors for the pathway I had chosen to become an International Board Certified Lactation Consultant. It also felt like there were a lot of negativity in regards to choosing to become an IBCLC as a career. I kept looking to see if someone would be interested in being my mentor and taking me on as a student.
During one of my lactation classes at the community college, we had a guest speaker by the name of Peggy Andrews, who was giving a lecture on the topic of jaundice and breastfeeding. I saw a tall woman with golden and white hair walk into our classroom with a smile. She had the brightest smile I had seen on someone’s face. She started the lecture and I was just mesmerized by her way of teaching and felt like I was back in India in my middle school, listening to my favorite biology teacher. At the end of her lecture she shared her email address with our class and something in my head said, “Sejal, you need to email Peggy and ask her if she could be your mentor.” I mean that was a spur of the moment thought and I acted on it by sending her an email asking if that was possible.
The next moment I thought, oh boy, have I made a big mistake by asking this guest speaker to be my mentor. I was hoping that I would get an email saying how inappropriate that question was. To my surprise, I hear back from Peggy saying she loves to mentor students. I was cooking and jumped up and down in my kitchen saying, YESSSSSS!! Wait that is not it, I actually got a call that evening from Peggy asking me if I wanted to go on a lactation visit in Washougal the next morning. I said, I most certainly would, but then I thought, where in the world is Washougal? Well it is in our neighboring state of Washington.
The next morning I meet Peggy at a designated location and she said to me that she will be driving me to the appointment since it is so far. I was so excited and off I went on my first official visit. I started learning about how to talk to a new mother, ask specific questions and give her plenty of time to tell her story. We were there for an hour and a half and I felt like I still made the right choice by asking Peggy to be my mentor. I have learnt so much about being a good listener from Peggy.
I never for one moment thought that Peggy was keeping any information from me when it came to lactation. I had asked a few other local lactation consultants and they said that they don’t mentor students and I was quite discouraged. I am sure other students like me were discouraged as well. Meg, also let me go on a few lactation visits with her and I kept learning from both Peggy and Meg.
One day I saw a class on hand expression at a local boutique taught by another lactation consultant named Bryna Sampey. I immediately signed up for it, and when I went to the class I was secretly happy that I was one of the two people in class, although I also felt sad that people did not sign up for this informative class. I felt like I had learnt so much about manual expression of breastmilk in this class and that little voice in my head said, “Sejal, ask Bryna if she would mentor you.”
After the class, Bryna asked if I wanted to have a bite to eat at the place next door. I jumped at the opportunity to hang out a few more minutes with this brilliant brain. I was practically salivating. We talked about what I did as a postpartum doula and how I was studying to be an IBCLC and she mentioned to me that she also mentored students. I almost wanted to give her a hug and say, where were you a year ago and why did I not meet you earlier. I did not want to be a total psycho so I did not hug her, but told her that I would love to be her mentee. She said that she would let me know as soon as a spot opened up.
What I learned from Bryna and her brilliance made me think critically about breastfeeding and the challenges that come with it and how she made breastfeeding a breeze with all the techniques and tricks that she shared with her clients. As I followed these three amazing women, as my mentors, each one of them taught me how to help with breastfeeding challenges in their own special ways. I feel blessed to have learnt from them and will be eternally grateful for them sharing their wisdom, knowledge and time with me.
I was talking to other lactation students like me one day, who were in the same boat as I was and one of them told me that when they asked a local IBCLC to mentor them, the local IBCLC said to them, and I quote, “Why would I let you shadow me ? You will take my knowledge and compete with me once you get certified.” I was so shocked to hear this. I have no idea who the IBCLC is and don’t even want to know, but it made me realize how fortunate I was to have mentors like Peggy, Meg and Bryna.
With the struggles I had in finding mentors, I had decided in my mind that if I ever become an experienced lactation consultant, I will mentor students. I am an IBCLC now, and I am a brand new IBCLC, but I hope to someday mentor students. I think it is our responsibility as professionals to mentor the future IBCLCs. My dad used to say, knowledge only increases by sharing. He is a brilliant surgeon and he has helped many other doctors become surgeons and I am certain he never thought this way.
So, why do some people have a hard time sharing their knowledge with others who are seeking mentorship in the field of lactation consulting ?
Maybe the experienced professional does not have the time or the resources to mentor someone. Maybe the experienced professional thinks that, sharing their knowledge with newbies will reduce their chance of personal success.
Maybe the experienced professional does not trust this newbie. Trust building does take time.
Maybe the experienced professional in the specific field is a knowledge hoarder.
Maybe the experienced professional wants to have monopoly in their field.
Maybe the experienced professional feels more powerful if they don’t share their knowledge.
Being a mentor and taking on mentees is also a huge responsibility and one that is not easy. I understand that it may be difficult to take on students, but in the field of lactation consulting, I wish we had more mentors. I wish students had access to mentors without having to wait for a long time. I wish experienced IBCLCs would be willing to share their knowledge and expertise with them.
Mentors are an inspiration. Mentors can connect you with opportunities. Mentors know ways to make you succeed professionally. Mentors keep you motivated. Mentors invest their time and energy in you to help you grow. Mentors teach you about finding a good opportunity. Mentors have been where you are and can empathize with your struggles and help you find your way through the obstacles and hurdles. I am so thankfull to have found such mentors who continue to be there for me and do not feel threatened by my success.
Sejal Fichadia, owner of Kindred Mother Care, is the first 31 Days participant to be featured four years in a row. In 2014 she wrote "Our Culture's Needs for Postpartum Doulas," in 2015 she added "Growing Happy, Healthy Moms." Last year she added "Hitting the Pause Button." She has a love for babies and mothers, and feels it is important to help families learn skills to help them on their parenthood journeys. Sejal works hard at expanding her education and working to improve her knowledge base so she can provide families with up-to-date, evidence-based information, which in turn gives them the tools to parent with confidence. This year she passed the exam to add IBCLC to her credentials. She has a caring heart, and as soon as she can, she will be mentoring others wishing to get to IBCLC.
♥ four young boys and a boy dog (offspring)