A Postpartum Doula Story, but make it Historical Fiction
As I passed what used to be the outskirts of town, I marveled at how much the city has sprawled since I was a girl. I was probably older than some of these homes, but still, they looked lived in and loved. I came to a halt in front of my destination and prepared to meet a new mother in need.
I knocked on the door in case the baby was sleeping, and was let in by Yasmeen, with her little one in arms. After washing my hands I joined Mom and baby on the couch where they were finishing a feed. I listened as Yasmeen told me her story. It may sound simple, listening, but it is an art. Fostering connection, conveying empathy, not reacting too much, or too little. I practice this skill daily, knowing I will likely not master it until I am an elder myself. I am dedicated to this aspect of my craft.
I learned how Yasmeen’s transformation to mother of two had left her isolated by nursing staff and exhausted by the barrage of tests her little one needed. Her daughter had been born early, and was so much more fragile than her son had been. Now at home again, she was feeling better, but still filled with worry for her children. I set to work in the kitchen, knowing that fresh food livens the soul. While the babe napped, nestled close to the fire to stay warm, I baked apple muffins with oats for lactation and prepared a one-pot pasta dinner with zucchini and spinach for iron and vitamins.
Once the meals were prepared, we decided to bath the little one. Although she did wail through most of it, she had a few moments of wide-eyed wonder at the sensation of the warm water on her body. Those moments of awe are everything to me.
After she had been washed and dried, already exhausted from the whole ordeal, it was time to eat again. I finished preparing dinner and tidied up as much as I could before it was time to take my leave. I let myself out, stepping into a beam of sun that hadn’t been shining earlier.
Although I live in the 21st century, when I do this work I often feel transported to a time where there were no professions, there was simply care-taking of different forms. I give care to parents and their babes within the liminal space that exists after birth, the survival phase, the hibernation. Sometimes I am blessed to seem the family reborn, sometimes I must leave before the transformation is complete, but always I am honoured to be present.
