My Birthing Experience As A Black, Queer Parent Was Traumatic And — Against All Odds — Joyful

I've always wanted to be pregnant. I wanted to love someone else just like my mom loved me and my siblings. There's no other way to describe it; I felt the need to give this love back and return it to another being. But after being diagnosed with breast cancer in 2014, I did not think that it was possible. And then, of course, there are all of the roadblocks for queer and trans people to get pregnant. My partner Ebony is trans. I thought, How was this even going to happen? When I found out I was pregnant, I was overwhelmed with emotion. Ebony and I had tried intrauterine insemination (IUI) three times before, but this time before we took the pregnancy test, it felt different — like we had conjured this child up. 

I'm a sex educator, so I'm constantly inundated with a lot of information about birth. I'm well aware of the rates of maternal mortality for Black people who are pregnant. So I knew that since I live in New York City, which has some of the highest rates in the country, I was absolutely having a home birth.

From there, it became a challenge to find a Black midwife, especially a Black, queer midwife. New York state has some of the most racist laws against midwives, so it was incredibly challenging to find one. There are plenty of white birth workers in New York, but not necessarily Black, queer, and trans birth workers or folks who are Black, queer, or trans-affirming.

We found our midwife Racha Tahani Lawler Queen, CPM, LM, through another birth worker. They said, “You know, if I'm ever pregnant, I would only give birth with Racha.” I thought, Well, that's a strong recommendation. She was based in L.A. at the time, and I live in Brooklyn. I didn’t know how it was going to work. But I ended up having a work trip in L.A. so we were able to meet up with Racha and we just hit it off. Ebony is very protective of me and he can be skeptical of a lot of service providers. He often looks at them with a little bit of side eye. But our meeting with Racha was like talking to an old friend. The consultation was supposed to be an hour, but it lasted for three because she just made us feel so comfortable. 

It just so happened that Racha was moving to Virginia. Moving to Virginia made her closer to us, but she could not get licensed to practice in Brooklyn, because of the aforementioned racist laws. We were already planning a move to New Jersey, so Racha got licensed there so we could deliver in New Jersey. That was just the beginning of how much she cared for and supported us through our birthing experience. Finding a Black, queer midwife, and specifically Racha, was the best decision I've ever made.

At 33 weeks pregnant, I went upstate with some friends for a writing retreat. I didn't really eat much and I just felt super nauseous and uncomfortable. One day, my face was completely swollen, but I thought it was another pregnancy symptom (my hands and feet were already swollen). When I got back to New York, I had an interview with a pediatrician and  that afternoon, I went to my general physician and my blood pressure was 150 over 100. The next morning, Ebony kept asking me if I was okay, and by the time we got to an oncology appointment and they took my blood pressure, it was 165 over 110.

The oncologist said “You're pregnant, and your blood pressure is not good. I want you to go to the ER today. You need to call your midwife and get confirmation from her — but I'm just telling you, I really think you need to go to the ER.” By now, I'm freaking out. I had Ebony call the midwife because I just was so scared. Racha said “Yep, Ericka needs to go to the ER, and you need to pack a hospital bag.” On the ride, Racha called to console me. I still didn’t understand why Ebony had to bring a hospital bag. The whole ride there I’m thinking, I’m just gonna be on bed rest, so I didn’t understand. And then when I got to the hospital, my blood pressure was around 176 over 110. I had developed preeclampsia, a very serious pregnancy complication. Extremely high blood pressure is a telltale sign, but untreated, it can be fatal for both the baby and the person who is pregnant. 

When we got to the hospital, the doctors immediately started saying that I was likely going to have to give birth that same day and asked how I wanted to give birth. I told them I wanted to give birth at home, vaginally, and they said “Okay, let's see if you could give birth vaginally.” We had already decided on our baby’s name, which honors three Black femmes: my mother, Ebony’s grandmother, and Alice Coltrane Turiyasangitananda. Because my mother was from East Baltimore, we decided on the first name of East. 

The doctors explained to me that East was transverse, laying across my belly, which is a dangerous position for the baby to be in during birth, so we had to move to a Cesarean section. At that moment, I realized the birth plan I had envisioned was not going to happen. I felt like I wasn't even in the room. I know that my body was there, but my mind was somewhere else. My mom is deceased and I was communicating directly to her. As I was talking to my mom, I said, ‘I don't know what's going on but this is not the plan, and I'm gonna need your grandchild to get through this.” I was in Brooklyn around 2 p.m. By the time I got to the hospital, it was 3 p.m., and I had the baby at 7:11 p.m.. It was a whirlwind.

Looking back on this terrifying birthing experience, I realized the ancestors were really looking out for me. The thing is, I never have back-to-back appointments like that. Usually, I'll have a doctor's appointment one week and then another one two or three weeks later. If I didn’t have those appointments with my general physician and oncologist, I honestly don’t think that I would be here right now. The oncologist — who was pregnant as well — and my midwife had my full health in mind, and I think that is what absolutely kept me here.

My experience at the hospital proved why so many Black people are distrusting of the medical system, and why our maternal health is in crisis. One example of this happened during my epidural. When doctors do an epidural, you have to be hunched over. So I was hunched over and there was a doctor in front of me, holding me. And they were on Instagram! I could see her scrolling Instagram while I was receiving an epidural, which is incredibly dangerous. It was so bizarre. Also with the anesthesiologist, I kept saying that I was really nervous. He showed me a little vial of lidocaine and just said, “You're a big girl.” I understood that comment to be in relation to how much anesthesia I would receive. We experienced homophobia, queer phobia, transphobia and now also fat phobia — and it was entirely too much. 

After my c-section, our six-weeks-early baby East was taken to the NICU and I was brought to a hospital room. I had to stay there for three days to get my blood pressure lowered, then after that, I got to see East. While in the hospital, I dealt with a real lack of humanity and a complete disregard for how scary it was for me and Ebony. Luckily, Racha, our midwife, who lives in Virginia, was sitting in front of us in what felt like two hours or less to give me the emotional support I needed. I don’t know how she got to us that fast, but she was there when we needed her. Overall, I think the least the doctors could have done was be way more concerned for me and my mental health. Hospitals do not focus on a holistic approach. They're focused on fixing one thing — in this case, the delivery of my baby — and they're not focused on anything else about you. 

There was also a disregard of Ebony as my partner because he is trans. They were very focused on me, rightfully so, but they needed to check in with him as well. It also felt like we had to keep reiterating that we were in partnership — that we were together and that Ebony is the dad, which was an exhausting thing we had to do on top of everything else. 

Some of our time in the hospital was a blur, and I felt like I was just in a business. It might as well have been a Starbucks. It just felt like, “Oh, this is just run of the mill, you know, get in and get out,” and your baby is whisked off to the NICU. From not being able to hold your kid after they're born, to being pregnant one day to not being pregnant the next (six weeks before your due date), these are traumatic events. My trauma was not taken into consideration at all. 

I was discharged four days after East was born. I had to keep checking my blood pressure and take blood pressure and pain medication. Now, I'm much better and my blood pressure is back to normal. We don't know the reason for preeclampsia. We can assert that it's common in Black people who give birth because pregnancy is already a stressor on the body, then we also are all carrying so much stress due to systems of oppression, but we really don’t know. 

Bringing East home was surreal. I always thought parenting would be my own made-up creation, not a regurgitation of what my family did. I wanted to rewrite a lot of the parenting that I received, but some of it I wanted to keep — like a lot of the ways that my mom showed up for us. I think my parenting stance around gender is to not have anyone place a bunch of notions about gender on my child, or put them on a pedestal because they are assigned male at birth. The misogyny we live with on a daily basis really exalts boys and men and people presumed to be boys and men, and I'm not interested in that. I don't have a household like that. The patriarchy does not live here.

For Black queer folks who want to be parents, there needs to be a lot more resources that explain what it looks like to become parents, including the legal aspects of it. How do you protect yourself legally when you have a kid, especially in a queerphobic country? How do you make sure that you and your child are protected? Also, hospital staff need to be well aware of using affirming pronouns, not assuming people's relationships, and asking questions. After you've asked, “Who is this person to you?” and they say that’s their partner, don't forget it. The next time you come in the room, don't forget that's their partner and don't disregard them as such. Birth workers also need to be familiar with how to work with queer and trans people. There are so many people training to be midwives, but so many of them do not have the training on how to support queer and trans folks. I shouldn’t have to educate a birth worker on how to do an IUI, or where to get the supplies or the things that are needed for the sperm. And it's not just queer trans people that do IUI! Birth workers should be familiar with the alternative methods of getting pregnant. 

Finally, I want to get to the joy of being a new parent. Joy is an important part of parenting. East and I have a cuddle session planned every morning around 6am. We just cuddle, and that brings me joy. I took a picture of East and Ebony sleeping the other day because they were sleeping the exact same way, and I thought that that was so cute! It brings me joy when we’re all together with our dog, Baguette. We’ve always been a family, but now, it just feels so much bigger. I’m so excited to see East grow. Whether it’s Blackness, gender identity, or sexuality, I want my child to know that none of these things are a barrier. The world is the barrier, but with love, affirming care, and genuine support, my goal is to ensure my child can always feel joy in celebrating who they are.