Tag Archives: childbirth

L’s birth story

39745114_10217350126411587_1642003359181307904_nOn July 8th, 2018, my partner T and I invited my grandpa (L’s Great Grandpa Hunt) out to an early dinner. Since I was 40 weeks pregnant and had felt indulgent in the final weeks of my pregnancy, I decided to keep it going with an all-you-can-eat buffet at Chuck-O-Rama—a nice new one in nearby Lehi. We sat for quite awhile eating and talking. Grandpa and T could eat very little, but I indulged, especially on the mini cinnamon rolls. The conversation was slow and pleasant. In my last weeks of pregnancy, I was incredibly pleasant, and slow, and calm, and docile like a cow.

That evening, I felt a little excitement, but it was indiscernible from other excitement I’d had in previous weeks. That weekend I had the urge to tell my mom to drive to Utah from Oregon, but I brushed it off thinking I was still days or maybe even a week or more away from delivery. My mom had the same impulse that weekend as well.

Earlier in the day, I’d walked my usual, daily walk along the lake path and listened to my childbirth affirmations—which had been my daily routine for weeks. After summer school was over, and I was mostly alone in Utah and keenly aware that this was the last time I would be alone for a very long time. T arrived the week before my due date in anticipation of L’s arrival. The days were hot. I was still happily mowing my new lawn weekly with my new electric mower.

After dinner with Grandpa and T—it was a Sunday night—I went to bed as usual. Relatively quickly, I felt crampy and unsettled in bed. Soon, I realized I was having real contractions. I’d had a few very mild Braxton Hicks and some aches and pains earlier that I’d timed on a childbirth app. So, I began timing these contractions a bit, but also trying to sleep. If this was labor, I wanted to rest up in the early stages. If it wasn’t labor, I still wanted to try to stay rested. The contractions intensified, and, for the next 2-3 hours, I had to breathe and focus to get through them. I let T know that I was in labor, but told him he should still try to sleep. I texted my midwife, my doula, and my mom to let them know. Though it was late, my mom began preparing to drive to Utah. My midwife, Rebecca, told me to contact her when my contractions established a pattern. My doula, Robynne, was attending another birth, but began making arrangements to have a backup take over, so she could be with me.

My water broke a little after 2am on July 9th (L’s “due date”). There was a dark greenish tinge in the amniotic fluid. (While it looked like meconium to me, my care providers weren’t so sure.) Everything intensified, and I immediately woke T for support. We had not yet installed the car seat, so I asked him to install it in case of an emergency. He also brought me towels to put between my legs when resting in bed and a small table to lean against while laboring on the toilet. My contractions were two minutes apart, and sometimes closer, and I began to vomit into the toilet because of the intensity (and I do not throw up easily!). On one hand, I felt calm. I knew what was going on and felt that I was managing the pain effectively. On the other hand, I recognized that I now I needed support, and so I texted my doula and my midwife to let them know. Things did feel a bit chaotic during that time. My contractions were erratic. They’re supposed to establish a pattern. In fact, in all of my time birth education, I’d never heard of them not establishing a pattern. They can speed up, slow down, or stay consistent, but they’re always very measurable. Mine seemed all over the place. I also continued to leak amniotic fluid and vomit. I felt the need to move back and forth between the bed and the toilet, and I also felt the need to sop up my messes with a towel, while crying, but staying calm, and also feeling very excited and ready to meet the person who would be my son.

I labored mostly alone through the early morning hours, and my doula arrived around 7 am or maybe later. It was such a relief to have her there. Her counter pressure was so comforting. My contractions began to ease up. I felt restful. But, I also started to feel some worry. I’d labored pretty intensely all night, but I could feel that my body wasn’t changing very quickly. As a doula, I had supported women, especially first time moms like myself, who had labored for days. I knew that if I was fated for such a labor, I would probably want the support of a hospital and an epidural. That had been my “Plan B” all along. If I my labor progressed steadily and I could deliver in 8-10 hours or so, I wanted to give birth at home. If it extended much beyond that, I knew I wanted more medicalized support. I expressed this concern to both my doula and to T. They both reassured me I was doing great, that I didn’t need to transfer, and that we should stay at home. So, I continued to rest and to labor, with support, and wait for my midwife to arrive.

My midwife Rebecca arrived in the late morning, and began setting up. It was around midday when she checked me, and, after over 12 hours of labor, 10 of those hours were intense after my water had ruptured, I was still only dilated two centimeters. This information did not surprise me necessarily. While my contractions felt very intense, I felt that my body was changing very gradually. After some internal worry, I finally told my doula that I was really considering transferring to the hospital. My doula and T reassured me once again, but I began to feel a certainty. Finally, I told my midwife that I was thinking about transferring to a hospital. She seemed a bit surprised. She told me my options. I could stay, and she could give me something to help get my labor going. Or, I could go to the hospital. This exchange was a bit awkward. My midwife, whom I’d had a somewhat strange relationship with up to this point, was supportive, but she also said, “You’ll pay for it now, or you’ll pay for it later,” regarding my pain in a labor at home vs. my pain and an epidural in a hospital setting. I became increasingly sure of my decision. I felt peaceful. It was an early act of mothering where I was the person in the room who knew the right answer for me, my baby, and my body.

After a bit more deliberation, I finalized my decision to go to the hospital. I had heard good things about the AF hospital—it was nearby, and I knew it was compatible with my insurance. So, I transferred there. The midwife called the hospital to let them know I would be arriving shortly. I stepped into some gray leggings and pulled on a loose dress with the help of my doula. Then, T drove me in my car. The car ride was manageable, although I had to breathe through a contraction every time he hit a bump in the road.

Throughout the morning, T had been in touch with my mom as she drove to Utah from Oregon. Shortly after we arrived at the hospital, my mom arrived at my house to drop off her dog, Jaxn, and a few perishables before coming to meet us at the hospital. She arrived at the hospital not long after we did, and I was so glad she would be there for the birth.

The intake process was fairly fast. T gave them my name, birth date, and insurance card, and we were whisked away to a birthing suite with a bathtub, which I knew I wouldn’t use because at that point I was there for the epidural. I got settled into the room. I was feeling some relief because we had arrived safely, and I could focus my attention back on to my labor. The midwife provided information about my transfer to the nurse on duty and then bid me adieu.

I contemplated whether or not I should get the epidural right away because contractions had slowed again. However, with (very little) encouragement, I went ahead and ordered the epidural. After about over 14 hours of active labor, and 12 hours after my water broke, I got the epidural. It was probably another hour before the process was complete, and the pain relief kicked in. While I was still sitting up from having the epidural placed, and the anesthesiologist was cleaning up my back, I felt a strange suction feeling travel up my spine from the site of the needle to a piercing pain in the back of my neck. It then immediately moved on to my head, where it stayed in the form of the worst headache I’ve ever felt in my life. That pain was still far less than the pain of contractions, which was already decreasing thanks to the epidural. I told the anesthesiologist, and everyone in the room, about the headache, and the anesthesiologist got a little defensive and immediately said that it wasn’t because of the epidural. I found this comical. Of course it was because of the epidural! I said I wasn’t mad at him, and the pain relief was helping with the contractions. At the staff’s instruction, I leaned back in the bed, and, after a time, the headache began to fade and was much more manageable within an hour. I had a dull headache on and off throughout the rest of my labor. The epidural meant I also needed IV fluids and a catheter. That was all set up.

When I was admitted to the hospital, they found that I was still dilated to a two. After a few hours with the epidural in full force, the on call doctor, Dr. H came in to talk about my options. He wanted to start Pitocin, and I agreed. Since I had an epidural, I was less afraid of the intensity of Pitocin contractions. Since my labor was going so slowly, I knew I would be at a risk of an c-section if I labored too long. (Most hospitals won’t let women labor for over 24 hours after the water breaks.) So, we started Pitocin and continued on and off with it until I delivered. When it intensified my contractions, I needed more pain relief from my epidural. Whenever I’d push the button, the pain relief was effective, but it would also cause an uncomfortable numbness that sometimes lasted several hours. When L didn’t handle the Pitocin well, they turned it off, trying again a few hours later. We continued like this through the evening, and all of the following night. I hadn’t eaten since Sunday afternoon. I hadn’t slept since Saturday night. And yet, I was alert. I wasn’t hungry, and I sipped the water that my doula offered like a champ throughout my entire labor.

Some nurses were fine. Some used unnecessary fear mongering. In the early morning, around 4 am, they stopped checking me. I think this is because if I was complete, they didn’t want to bother a doctor at that hour, and they didn’t want to be in delivery during shift change if at all possible. In the early morning hours, L showed some signs of distress, and I would need to shift positions to help him. Eventually, before I started pushing him out, the nurse gave me oxygen to help with L’s signs of distress. I liked having the oxygen and used it throughout the pushing stage delivery.

My backup doula, Ashlie, arrived and took over at around 6 am. After shift change at 7am, I was finally checked an hour later, and they found that I was complete. I think, based on the pressure and way I was feeling, that I had been complete and ready to push since maybe 5 am or so. After it was determined that I was complete, I was allowed to start pushing. Before giving birth, I knew that sometimes women had to wait for a doctor to arrive before they pushed. I thought I might be able to start pushing when I felt ready. However, as it turned out, I absolutely needed coaching to push out my baby.

The nurse instructed me to put my chin to my chest, hold my breath, and push. This is called “purple pushing,” and it felt very counter intuitive to me. I tried to push in other ways, pushing down through my throat and through my core (opposed to curling), and this felt more powerful to me. My mom thought it looked wrong though, and the nurse thought it was strange, so I tried it their way for awhile. But, that continued to feel strange to me, and I felt weak pushing in that way, so I shifted back to the way that felt strong and intuitive to me and continued to push that way until I pushed my baby out.

We started out using the hospital’s birthing bar. The nurse had never used it before, so my doula showed her how. My pushes with the bar were not very productive, but I also wasn’t very supported by the nurse, so we removed it and moved into a traditional lithotomy position, with someone holding each leg, and a nurse sitting between my legs, monitoring the situation, and telling me to push each time I had a contraction.

It did not feel like I’d pushed very long before the nurse said that L’s head was showing and that he said hair! (He had very little hair.) In a few more pushes, T and my mom were able to see L’s head starting to come out as well, but only during a push. Finally, as I neared delivery, the nurse had me stop pushing so that she could get the doctor. So, once again, I had to wait to push. And again I was surprised that I was unable to really push productively without external support.

The doctor arrived, Dr. A, the table was broken down, and the neonatal team arrived. I commenced pushing until my baby’s head was out, and not going back in between contractions. I reached down and felt him with my hand. My mom was able to see him. I became more aware of T’s presence in the room as he saw his son for the first time, and there was a noticeable shift as he instantly transformed into a dad.

Finally, I knew the time had come for my baby to leave my body. I pushed, and before I could catch my breath, was told to push again. I felt pulling and pressure, and, at 10:59 am on Tuesday, July 10th, the doctor pulled out my baby with the turning motion that babies make as they are delivered. The feeling of having my baby leave my body is one I hope I’ll never forget. I could feel his power and his energy and his spirit transfer out into the world. It felt inevitable, essential, and profound. That 9 lbs 7 oz comfort in my belly slipped to the outside world, coughing and sputtering, and them crying softly. I reached for him with outstretched arms and held him to my chest, skin to skin, with tears streaming down my face. Our spirits reunited on the outside.

L gave me so much power and strength throughout my pregnancy. He blessed me with some of that power that I still feel today. It’s the strength I had to lift my heavy baby when I was postpartum and no longer had any abs or a pelvic floor to speak of. It’s the strength I had to endure the ongoing pain and slow recovery from childbirth. It’s the strength I have to lovingly rise again and again and again at 3am to feed my baby. It’s the strength I have every day to show up and be a mother.

looking for signs

I’m pregnant, and before I was pregnant, I imagined that I would document the experience thoroughly in writing, since it’s my mode of processing, communicating, and creating. But, I haven’t wanted to write much about the experience, and I’m not exactly sure why. I think it’s because I have no words. I’m impressed with women who can write about pregnancy and the journey to motherhood. However, most of what’s written is more matter of fact or medical or humorous. To me, the experience isn’t entirely any of those things–it certainly isn’t medical and it isn’t funny. It’s a completely physical and spiritual thing. It’s so entirely unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced that, like I said, I have no words. I can say that I love being pregnant. I’m one of the lucky ones who actually feels better pregnant–warmer, stronger, more connected. There’s also a delightful and ongoing sense of celebration between me, my family, friends, and even with smiling strangers out in the world. More than that, though, I am awestruck. Constantly. Every day.

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a crop of my bump from my maternity photo shoot

Now that I am nearing the end of my pregnancy, I finally (after a busy move, and travel, and prepping a house and nursery, and work) find myself with long days of solitude. These are perhaps the last days I’ll have to myself for a very long time, and certainly they are the final days as my old self–the self before I am a mother and before I am always and forevermore caring for a child on the outside. I am savoring this time. I’m enjoying long quiet days, where I can indulge my whims moment to moment. And in these moments, I find myself looking for signs. First, what day will the baby arrive? Do I inherently know? I find myself looking at the dates on the calendar, each neutral and blank. One of these days will be the day that I experience childbirth for the first time. One of these days will be my son’s birthday. One of these days will be recognized now for the rest of my life.

I try to walk for a few miles on a beautiful trail that skirts the lake each morning before it gets too hot. Each day, I become more familiar with the route. I watch as new wildflowers bud out and bloom. I see new animals: birds, cows, horses, and deer. I notice plants that I think are sunflowers. After a few more days, I confirm that they are sunflowers. Then, I hope I will be able to see them bloom. I wonder if they will bloom before the baby is born. They begin to bloom. I step out of the shower and rub lotion over my belly. I put on a pair of underwear that I like. Will I be wearing these underwear when I go into labor? Will they be ruined?

Each day, there are more signs and questions. If I am to examine my intuition closely, I would say that I still have time, that birth is not exactly imminent. I still have a “to do” list that I’m working through slowly, but steadily. For now, I am satisfied to remain pregnant. I feel big and hot, but good and vital and very alive and still very comforted to have my son growing safely inside me.

Misconceptions by Naomi Wolf

For whatever reason, I haven’t been able to bring myself to read much about pregnancy since I got pregnant, which is a surprise because in the past I’ve enjoyed reading and pregnancy and reading about pregnancy. It might have to do with the fact that I’ve been working on an article that *to a degree* has to do with rhetoric and pregnancy. So, most of my reading in the past few months has been toward that end.

I read Misconceptions: Truth, Lies, and the Unexpected on the Journey to Motherhood by Naomi Wolf, and I loved it! It’s a hefty tome, and I pretty much just sat down one day and read it. I read it for the article, yes, but I’m including it here because it became joy reading as well.

I’ll admit that, throughout the entire reading, I had her confused with Naomi Klein, who’s The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism, which I read in 2008, at the beginning of my doctoral program, deeply informed my thinking about political economy. I thought Wolf’s work was more accessible, but I read it voraciously, thinking it would provide the deep intellectual analysis that Klein’s work is known for. I’ll admit that Wolf’s work was far more accessible, less hard hitting, but a nice blend of journalistic blend of smart analysis and storytelling. Wolf’s book is stark and honest, but not so dark that it doesn’t also include the bright side (which I need at this point in my pregnancy).

Wolf’s book is about mourning the previous identity as women change irreversibly to become mothers. The deep estrogenic surge in my body now is physically changing me. I’m aware that I’ll never look the same again. Those hormones are also making more compassionate toward people, toward their stories. I’m aware that this is a biological imperative that will help me have compassion and provide good care for my new infant, even when it is hard. And Wolf says it will be hard. She outright states what I already knew, and what few people can bring themselves to say aloud: that my body will be different, that the hormones will take me to the lowest low, that my love for the baby will be more like an addict’s obsession that any kind of consensual love, that I’ll have less power in my relationship with my partner, that I’ll be less respected as a professional, and that I will spend many sleep deprived months deeply mourning these loses. That sounds about right. And yet, I chose this still. And I’ve enjoyed a beautiful, healthy adult woman’s body for several decades. I’ve earned the highest degree available. I’ve had a professional career that is fulfilling and well-respected. And while I hope I am still able to have a fulfilling professional life, and I hope my body is fit and healthy, I am so ready for something else. For me, the timing feels absolutely perfect. I’ve checked a lot of boxes on my life’s “to do” list. This one’s next.

Here were some lines from the book that I liked:

  • “The medical establishment too often produces a birth experience that is unnecessarily physically and psychologically harmful to the women involved” (6).
  • “[W]omen carrying babies must be nurtured and supported intensively” (114).
  • “I heard comparable ordinary traumas among many women I talked to–what I have come to call “ordinary bad births” (145).
  • A typical sentiment from a woman who recently gave birth: “Nothing happened according to what we had wanted or planned. And we had absolutely no say; the institution just took over” (147).
  • “A number of women who had given birth described a moment at which they felt the medical institution simply took over; oblivious to the mother’s wishes, experience, or concerns” (149).
  • “Midwives working on their own terms do not try to guide births along a path determined by unnecessary medical interventions. Rather, midwives wait, encourage, and prepare the way, successfully keeping medical intervention to a minimum” (151).
  • “I have never yet seen a physician show the respect of informing a woman of waht is required–‘I need to do this procedure’; instead they just cut, often without even telling the woman–sometimes when the baby is just about born; sometimes the husband is shouting for the doctor to stop. Many women find this cut the most traumatic part of the birth. Yet episiotomy is seen in the same light as taking a temperature–it’s that routine,” remarked midwife Elissa March” (193).
  • From Wolf’s doctor during her second pregnancy: “You had to be sectioned last time. You probably have an unusually narrow birth canal. Maybe your body just is not made to have babies.” And, “[M]y doctor wanted to be right about my being in need of his surgical help more than he wanted to heal” (278).

 

The First Forty Days by Heng Ou

When I first found out I was pregnant (yes, pregnant!), The First Forty Days: The Essential Art of Nourishing the New Mother by Heng Ou was the first book I ordered. Over the years, as part of my doula training, I’ve read many books about childbirth (my favorite probably being Ina May Gaskin’s Ina May’s Guide to Breastfeeding: From the Nation’s Leading Midwife).

So much is written about the pregnancy and childbirth, and rightly so, but relatively little has been written about the postpartum period, now sometimes referred to as the “fourth trimester.” So, I read this book to learn more about that period, and I’m glad I did.

My only criticism of the book is that it is quite repetitive and the content is better than the writing. Through the first half, and then again at the very end, it reads more like a book proposal, like she’s still trying to sell the reader on the idea, than like reading the body of a book.

However, it’s absolutely still worth reading. In fact, I highly recommend it for pregnant people, new parents, and their caretakers. The highlights of the book are in the information provided about the postpartum period in different cultures, how to care for a new mother in the first 40 days or 6 weeks after a baby is born. The novel recipes are inspiring, and I found the thoughtful commentary that goes along with each recipe to be  interesting. The images of the meals and ingredients are also gorgeous. I’ve been craving so much junk food that seeing lovely pictures of “real” food has helped me out a bit.

Even if I don’t end up making or eating any of the meals from this book, I think just reading about this postpartum philosophy would help new mothers recover, heal, and adjust. At the very least, I think I’ll probably drink broths and soups and try to stay cozy and warm during this time. I’m always cold, and so I loved the emphasis on prioritizing warmth. I felt like the book gave me permission to do so in general, and I appreciated that.

My doula just recommended Mindful Birthing: Training the Mind, Body, and Heart for Childbirth and Beyond, which is another one I haven’t read yet. I think I’ll try it next.

work lately

In March I had the chance to present at one of my field’s preeminent conferences, the Conference on College Composition and Communication. (Here’s a link to my panel: http://center.uoregon.edu/NCTE/2017CCCC/cfp/speaker_datasheet.php?id=V3339376 ) For the past several years, I’ve been presenting at this, and similar, conferences with a (slightly rotating) group of scholars who are doing work in reproductive rhetorics. While this hasn’t exactly been  my area of expertise in the past, my recent work as a doula has changed all of that. Feminist rhetorics has always been one of my subject areas, so I’ve gone to feminist panels since I first started attending these conferences years ago. (In fact, I’ve been largely disappointed in my field’s lack of work in this area.) Increasingly, I’ve noticed that feminist panels have dealt with issues of reproduction through a rhetorical lens. For a long while, I thought this was interesting, though not personally relevant. All of that changed once I began working a doula and particularly once I began volunteering as a doula at the university hospital.

My first presentation on this topic of rhetoric and childbirth was about the rhetorical function of narrative in childbirth as a means of learning. Next, I presented on how women use their own birth stories empower and educate each other. This year, my presentation was entitled, “Rhetorics of Consent in Childbirth: Doula-Supported Birth Advocacy in Rape Culture.” After working on this stuff for the past few years, the work is finally worthy of a publishable article. This last presentation was about how the patriarchy (and it’s bureaucracy) take away women’s choice and ability to consent during the childbirth process. In the article, I point to new legal cases that demonstrate doctors acting against the wishes of the mothers/patients, I share some of my own experiences/interpretations of how consent works (or doesn’t work) in the childbirth settings and (and here’s the hard part), I theorize this and place the work within the field of feminist medical rhetorics.

I’m posting this here as an update, but also as a placeholder, a reminder, and a motivator for me to actually complete the darn article.

childbirth in rape culture.PNG

par for the course from Google Image

The Doulas: Radical Care for Pregnant People by Mary Mahoney and Lauren Mitchell

Awhile back, a colleague in the field of feminist medical rhetorics recommended The Doulas: Radical Care for Pregnant People by Mary Mahoney and Lauren Mitchell (though it must not’ve been too long ago because this book was just published in 2016). I finally got around to read it in preparation for a presentation I am giving on rhetorics of consent and advocacy in childbirth at a conference in March.

First, notice that the title is “pregnant people,” not “pregnant *women*.” We know now that it isn’t just women who get pregnant and/or give birth. I emphasize pregnant and/or give birth because this books also acknowledges that pregnancy ends in many different ways–some more socially acceptable than others.

For the most part, this book is politically sensitive to  the wide range of experiences people have as it relates to pregnancy and caring for the pregnancy and/or childbirth experience (aka doula work). Doulas provide people with support, especially in situations that are less socially acceptable. Of course, there are also doulas who hold intense, open biases. Some won’t work with gay couples (the legalities of which I question), and some are vehemently pro-life. It’s been my experience, though, that, in general, the doula community tends to be quite open to, and advocates for, variations of the pregnancy experience. (Still, the doula interview is crucial because pregnancy and birth work is incredibly political and contentious.) Unfortunately, the current cultural climate is one that is still obsessed with policing women’s bodies. Anything from choosing abortion to opting out of an epidural can be, and is, met with resistance.

Another approach I liked from this book is one of narrative medicine. Ina May Gaskin is notorious for writing childbirth guides that are full of childbirth stories. These stories work to help teach the reader about the many different healthy and normal experiences people can have in childbirth. This is important because when there is a very narrow definition of “normal,” and variations are treated as “abnormal,” interventions become the norm, and interventions too often mean trauma, surgery, injury, delayed bonding–the list goes on.

Back to the book: for my own purposes, I didn’t need or want to read most of the content. I wanted this to be a more theoretical work, but it mostly wasn’t. I also had a hard time understanding the relevance of some of the content.

Here are a few lines I liked (from the intro and forward because that’s where the book was most theoretical):

-“These doulas call it “story-based care” because they hear many stories of people for whom some choices are straightforward, while others offer extreme complexity” (x).

Since becoming a doula, I have been shocked by the number of *high stakes* choices that people have during pregnancy and childbirth. Navigating those choices and feeling empowered in through the process has been one of the most important aspects of my job as a doula.

-“Racism can distort a birthing or adoption experience. Transphobia can lead to the denial of vital healthcare. Prejudice against immigrants can divide families through deportation. Misogyny can reduce pregnant women to walking wombs without rights” (xv).

-“[Doulas] don’t sky away from naming oppressions–white supremacy, colonialism, xenophobia, homophobia, transphobia–yet they are not there to preach, but to serve” (xv).

Sure, some doulas might preach, but one unique aspect of this type of work is that, for doulas, activism is in the work–making political statements through actions, through work within the institutions and with the people most affected.

-“While much feminist and social justice activism was taking place online, the doula movement allowed activists to connect face-to-face with people confronting the realities of what the “spectrum of choice” really means” (xxi).

-On people during pregnancy and childbirth: “Worse still, they suffer the loss of personal agency as decisions that should be private become politically and bureaucratically charged” (xxi).

-On doulas: “People frequently refer to us as “advocates.” While we would not argue that point, we hope this book will show you how advocacy as a doula looks different from advocacy in other realms. Often it simply means this: we are “holders.” We hold space by creating safe, comfortable environments where our clients can be heard” (xxii).

-“Our practice as doulas is a daily expression of the union between compassion and advocacy” (xxii).

-“Though understanding systemic oppression is crucial to the way we approach doula care, we believe that individual stories have the ability to pierce the veil covering systems that affect millions of people; they are unique but universal” (xxiv).

-“So much of doula work is that transference of story and the transference of emotional burden that goes with it” (xxvi).