Why I Became A Birth Doula: Sofia's Story

Sofia at a birth

It was 9pm at my brother's graduation when I got the text from Josie, my mentor I was shadowing.

"They just checked her. She's 5cm, 50% -2."

This mom was at a halfway mark, but seeing she was at a -2 station, I figured I'd go home, pack my things, and eat something before I left. I was bubbling with excitement--this would be my very first birth to witness as a doula intern.

I gathered my things and left home at 11pm, the hospital being half an hour away from me. My stomach was doing summersaults of anticipation, and truthfully, I had no idea what to expect, all I hoped was that I wouldn't faint at the scene.

It was 11:30 by the time I was pulling into the hospital parking lot when Josie text me again:

"We're pushing."

In a hurry, but unsure how to navigate my way around such a huge hospital, I miraculously found my way to Labor and Delivery.

"Birth is the sacred transition of welcoming another soul earthside."

As I entered into the labor and delivery sector, I asked for the room number. Almost instantly I heard screams coming from the hallway, which helped me pinpoint which room I was going into. I was met by a host of student nurses, doctors and medical staff upon entry. Josie was there, fanning the mother who was on all fours with her baby beginning to crown. The mother had chosen to do an unmedicated hospital birth, which explained the primal roaring. I distinctly remember feeling like the world around me became blurred and the only thing I could focus on was that little baby's head coming out. For a brief minute I felt shaky, like my legs were going to give out. The noise around me had all meshed and blended into one; the doctor instructing her, Josie encouraging her, and her relentless breaths and screams.

I will never forget the father's face as soon as he saw his baby slip out in a single swift motion, slick with blood and vernix.

"Oh my God, she's here!" he cried, and his face was ecstatic with tears of joy.

I was there in the corner of the room, witnessing it all and clenching onto my water bottle a little too tightly. I felt the overwhelming emotion rush to my head as my ears were graced with that baby girl's cries. But, I promised myself I wouldn't cry, at least, not in front of them. I wanted it to be fully their moment, and their moment alone. I simply had the privilege to observe.

The OBGYN, who had noticed me watching in the corner, invited me over to look at the placenta.

"Isn't it amazing?" she told me, "it looks like a tree of life."

And she wasn't wrong. I saw the intricate veins laced throughout the placenta, looking like the delicate branches of a tree produced by the brutality of birth. The OB's words had reminded me of a verse plastered to the church's walls I had seen at my brother's graduation. It said,

"The fruit of the righteous is a tree of life, and the one who is wise saves lives." Proverbs 11:30.

Was it irony? Or calling?

We stayed with the parents a little while longer after the birth, ensuring breastfeeding and latching were going smoothly. However, it wasn't the nursing but rather the fundal massages that the mom dreaded. In my naivety, I had thought that once birth was over, the pain was over too, but that wasn't necessarily the case. Fundal massages were performed in order to make sure the mother wasn't showing any signs of postpartum hemorrhage, but the massage was anything but relaxing. It consisted of rubbing the fundus, which essentially had a wound the size of a dinner plate after birth. I watched as Josie held to this mother's hand, providing the comfort and calm she needed as she braced herself for these massages every fifteen minutes.

When Josie stepped out for a few minutes, I was left alone with the mother, the nurse coming back in for another massage. I saw that mother grimace, could almost feel it too, so I quickly came to her side. I never had seen so much vulnerability in someone's eyes before as she trustingly took my hand when I told her "I'm here." She bravely and fiercely took on the next massage, her resilience something that has stuck with me even to this day.

"The fruit of the righteous is a tree of life, and the one who is wise saves lives." Proverbs 11:30

When Josie and I left the parents with their brand new little bundle, it was 2:30 am. I sat in my car in the hospital parking garage for sometime, finally allowing myself to cry. I felt a pounding headache emerge from the amount of bottled up emotion I had accumulated. However, I wouldn't have had it any other way.

I realized for the first time that day what the beauty of birth truly meant. Realistically, when we think of the amount of blood and bodily fluids and smells involved in birth, it's not exactly what you'd call "pretty." After all, there is never anything pretty about enduring excruciating pain, vomiting, bleeding, bowel movements and even tearing during the process of birth. Even the baby, born in all sorts of mysterious goop and swollen eyelids, isn't an exact picture of beauty. But when you finally see the meaning behind the mess, that's when you're truly able to marvel at the miracle of childbirth. Birth is the sacred transition of welcoming another soul earthside.

We're doulas because we see the meaning behind the mess. We see your full story; ups, downs, and everything in-between. If you or a loved one is seeking support, you've come to the right place. Birth wasn't meant to be a journey to take alone, but with care, support, information and guidance. We'll hold space for you because it matters.

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