At the intersection of being, fat, black, pregnant, and uneducated on birth, in America

I have always been overweight, the biggest of all the children in my family. I can remember going to the nutritionist and dieting in elementary school. I remember taking medications that I desperately hoped would help me to lose weight when I was young. Sadly, none of those things worked and I type this today as an obese woman. Secondly, I’ve always been black and female, these two inherent characteristics have been problematic for me, society’s view of my worth, doctors’ racist practices, just to name a few. let’s fast forward to what I’m really getting at… ok.

So I always wanted to be a mother, drive a station wagon or minivan, be president of the PTO, and all those homemaker things that I saw my room mother do in elementary school. Surprisingly I never thought that my weight would keep me from doing those things, because I did what average kids, teenagers, and young adults did. Yes being overweight made me overtly conscious about many things, but I also wasn’t held back because of my weight.

When I became pregnant for the first time in 2012, I was 26, this came about after months of ovulation testing and trying to get pregnant with no luck. I don’t think many people who know me personally even know this. I gave up and gave it a rest and threw myself into my work for a while and in the next few months, I was pregnant. Talk about being overjoyed and scared shitless all in a matter of seconds. I’d been so busy with work that when I finally realized I missed my period I was about six weeks pregnant, the moment the stick turned positive the morning sickness hit. This morning sickness, I don’t even know why it’s called that because I was sick all day until about 25 weeks.

I lived in a different city from where I’d grown up, so I called this ob-gyn group that I researched on google and made an appointment, they saw me a few weeks later and confirmed my pregnancy. My fiance and I were elated. The first appointment and most of the first half of my pregnancy they didn’t mention my weight, which was a sigh of relief because as a fat woman that’s all I ever heard from doctors. I was about 260 pounds at this time. I had an Asian male doctor and he was fabulous, I thought then anyways. my weight constantly went down due to my morning sickness, which he assured me was normal and I had no other problems.

Twenty weeks is when you get the anatomy scan, but it is more popularly knows as when you find out the “sex” of your baby. He referred me to a perinatologist. This is a high-risk sort of place where they can do more in-depth testing etc, I was slightly confused as to why I needed to changed doctors. I was assured that I would continue to see my doctor, but go to this group for extra attention. When I read my referral paperwork while waiting for my appointment a few weeks later the only box that was checked was BMI over whatever the number was. My heart dropped and my anxiety went through the roof and stayed there forever. I suddenly started to wonder what harm I could be doing to my unborn baby because I chose to become pregnant knowing I was overweight. I was so stressed and anxious all the time. Looking back this stole my joy! I should have demanded more of an explanation, maybe asked them to give me articles or books to read. I had announced my pregnancy to my immediate family at Christmas with a card, etc, but this was before the February doctor’s appointment and before I had knowledge that I was “high risk”. After this time I shut down a little more as the months went by.

For the remainder of my pregnancy, I went to see the perinatologist and my regular OB. I never had any issue nor did my baby fail any NST’s. They constantly fussed about my lack of high blood pressure and whether I was diabetic, which neither of them I ever had. They couldn’t believe I did not have those issues at my weight and being predisposed to this as a black woman. One nurse who was doing one of the numerous ultrasounds I had, told me that it was a possibility that my baby could die because of my weight or have issues. Unfortunately for me after hearing her say that, I was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. Google made the situation worse and my goal from that point was just to bring a healthy baby into the world. My fiance and I attended a hospital birthing class, which now as a doula I know didn’t teach me shit about what I needed to know about labor, delivery, etc. I researched and planned perfectly everything that I needed to purchase and have for my baby. The joy of being pregnant is no where in my memory. I didn’t share with the world/ socially that I was pregnant until my daughter was born that July. I have over 100 ultrasound pictures, but only two or three pictures of me pregnant.

Fast forward to my labor and delivery. I was induced at 40 weeks exactly. My doctor informed me the week before that persons with a high BMI like mine were not allowed to go over 40 weeks at their practice. I said ok, hell I was a little bit happy because I was tired of being pregnant and my anxiety was at an all-time high. I went in on Monday in July at 6 am and they started IV, and Pitocin. I was pretty much confined to the bed and the Pitocin was turned up frequently. I wasn’t progressing as they would like so after lunch my doctor broke my water and the contractions became intense as the Pitocin was continually being turned up. Next, I got an epidural, it only numbed one side, the anesthesiologist complained that it was hard to place because of the fat in my back. 6 pm comes the baby was still high, I’m not progressing. Doctor comes in and says they’ve done all they can do I’m not progressing, and I should think about c-section because my water had been ruptured a long time and nothing was happening. I was distraught and asked them for more time they said 2 hours. 2 hours came and went no change they start prepping me for a c-section. I felt so defeated, my fat body let my baby down, this is what I get for being fat and pregnant. Why did I ever think things would work out the way I wanted. Now I am educated enough to know that, I had no agency in this labor or delivery process, I was dictated to and decisions were made on my behalf. They tried to cheer me up by saying I would meet my baby soon, at the time I focused on that because a healthy baby was my goal. All I wanted from this whole pregnancy was a happy, healthy, normal baby girl.

Looking back this is where my trauma as a parent started. I doubted myself, my body, and its ability to do what countless birthing people before me had done. I was labeled and counted out as a fat, black, pregnant woman. Evidence about my pregnancy and how healthy/ unhealthy I was, was constantly overlooked. I was judged by biases and statistics and scared to death. I say this is one of the most dangerous times of my life because I believed what they said about me, I was uneducated on all things birth, care surrounding labor, and the need to advocate for myself. Things really could have gotten out of hand and I don’t know how I would have handled it.

In the end, my baby was fine, but this infant-centric care is very damaging to parents. My newborn would have been better off if her mother was not full of self-doubt and guilt. I was broken before I even had a chance to experience motherhood. I probably could have labored and had a vaginal birth if it wasn’t forced to be induced. my baby wasn’t ready to be born. She wasn't overweight, distresses or any of the other things that warranted induction. I could have breastfed better being less anxious and knowing that my body was capable. I could have benefitted from a lactation consultant and not a can of formula. I wished my baby didn’t come back with a pacifier in her mouth after testing. The nursing staff was more concerned about if I was married to the father of my child and constantly asked me. Just a friendly face during this process could have made me feel more human. A person of color in the whole unit to talk to me maybe could have made me more comfortable. Unfortunately, there I was with no one who understood what i was like to be me, no one who care about me personally except my family but we were all uneducated on these things.

I want to end this blog by saying my experience taught me that I am no longer just accepting survival. I want everything I’m entitled to, my agency, pride dignity, being listened to, respect, just to name a few things.