Letter to my doula
I want you to be scared. I want you to be horrified. I want you to know how horrible the c-section was so the next time a woman starts heading down those tracks, you will throw yourself bodily in front of the train to save her.
I want you to know what it was like to be sliced open, raw to the world, my most secret and private spaces open for all to see.
I want you to feel the tearing of my flesh as they cut me, the sick smell of the betadine, the dull tugging that I was dimly aware of as they removed my child from the wound in my belly.
I want you to know the next time you shake your head sadly and say to a mom "it's probably for the best" that she will be crying, shaking, vomiting, yearning for her baby. She will likely not be having sex for a long time, because of fear and horror of getting pregnant, her relationship with her husband may for forever changed or damaged.
And when you comfort yourself with platitudes like "we are only there for support" and "it was ultimately her decision", I want you to remember the multitudes of women who will be sliced open today, that had doulas with them, that thought they were doing everything right, and yet when they were at their most vulnerable, no one spoke up for them, no one tried to shake a bit of sense into them, no one.
And yet their doulas stood by, silently, worrying about their reputation, or whether or not they'd get kicked out of the hospital for causing a fuss. They repeated to themselves things like "it's not my birth".
I'm sure that's very comforting to the women with gashes across their bellies. We're all VERY happy that doulas are able to step back like that and not make a fuss. Thanks for nothing.