“Because of the lack of care that I received that day, I almost miscarried three times,” said Grigsby. “After hours had passed, and they finally attended to me, they stabbed me in the back over 13 times with an epidural needle in the back while I was in labor because they were trying to ease me out of the pain. They told me that they had to poke me so many times because I would not hold still.”

Shamare Grigsby, owner of Alluring Array Doula Services by Shae. Photo courtesy by Shamare Grigbsy

In the aftermath of the epidural, Grigsby struggled with back issues that lingered for years.

“I felt that I was dismissed that much because I was young and inexperienced, and it hurt,” she said.

Shortly after her experience at Spring Branch Medical Center, and the delivery of her twins, Grigsby became interested in the birthing process and ultimately found her passion as a doula. She was determined to be an ally for other Black women who could find themselves in similar situations. Grigsby now owns Alluring Array Doula Services by Shae, a doula company that caters to clients who live in Houston and Austin, Texas.

“I feel like I made it out alive for a reason, and I wanted to be able to use that reason to help drive the outcome of disparities that Black mothers face during labor by giving them confidence and peace of mind throughout the birthing process,” said Grigsby.

Although multiple studies have shown that Black women in the United States have experienced tangible improvements in healthcare during the last century, the health disparities they endure remain. These health disparities are mostly a substantial reflection of the inequalities experienced by Black women on an array of socioeconomic factors.

According to the CDC, Black mothers are three times more likely to die from childbirth or pregnancy-related causes than white mothers. About two-thirds of maternal mortality numbers in the U.S. are preventable.

Doulas say that empowering clients to advocate for themselves through coaching and emotional support leading up to pregnancy and delivery can significantly improve their birthing experiences and health outcomes.

For Jessica Easter, a Certified Birth Doula and owner of Tennessee-based Abounding Grace Birth Services, LLC, a doula is essential to the birthing process, especially when the birthing mother feels a high level of stress and anxiety.

“In my work. I try to make sure that my clients feel well-supported and informed about the entire process. I give them evidence-based information to make sure that they feel ready and confident for the birth,” said Easter. “By doing this, I hope to help them to be able to advocate for themselves when they are in labor.”

Easter’s current client base is 95%, African-American women. She said her passion for her work is rooted in her determination to prevent women from having traumatic birth experiences. She believes that all women, especially those of color, need the proper maternal support before, during, and after birth. For Easter, her work’s mission is to mitigate maternal health disparities by educating, encouraging, and empowering women to make informed birth decisions while maintaining the necessary physical, mental, and emotional support that they need to have a positive labor experience.

“Through my work, I feel like I am making a difference in the lives of women who may feel as though they are not being heard or taken seriously as far as their pregnancy and delivery are concerned,” said Easter. “So far, I have not had any incidents of clients being ignored or dismissed because I try to make sure that they have all the tools and emotional backing that they need.”

Like Easter, many Doulas are committed to giving their clients and their loved ones peace of mind by educating them with evidence-based techniques that can set them up for success. Many of them serve as unwavering allies to their clients by encouraging them to ask probing, critical questions of their medical providers when they do not understand a situation and remaining firm and relentless in their quest for an accurate and reasonable answer.

Black doulas like Shonte’ Terhune-Smith, a health educator, International Board Certified Lactation Consultant, and founder of YOLO Breastfeeding Services, say that having the presence and guidance of a doula in the delivery room can be significantly soothing. That calming presence, according to Terhune-Smith, can also be empowering and liberating to Black mothers, especially those who have experienced discrimination in predominantly white medical spaces in the past.

“I feel like most Black women seek out the help of a Doula because they have felt mistreated in the past, and this has left them feeling helpless and without a voiceless to the situation,” said Terhune-Smith. “That is why I try not to advocate for them, but instead, I try to amplify their voices so that they can feel heard. By doing this, I feel like I am empowering them.”

Before becoming a lactation expert and Doula, Terhune-Smith worked for WIC, the Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants and Children, but she did not like the government program’s approach to addressing the needs of Black women.

“I created what I thought should be out there by starting my doula business,” said Terhune-Smith. 

Despite the bleak reports about Black births and historical healthcare disparity, Terhune-Smith believes there is hope and that Black doula services are more important now than ever.

“More Black women are starting their doula businesses to partner with Black birthing mothers, and this is a plus,” said Terhune-Smith. “A lot of people are more vocal about the injustices that Black women face in healthcare and are pushing for doula services to be included in health insurance coverage plans, and the government is passing laws like the PUMP Act, so there is some hope.”

The Providing Urgent Maternal Protections for Nursing Mothers Act, also known as The PUMP Act is a Bipartisan Bill that was recently passed by the House of Representatives to ensure Breastfeeding Rights for Working Moms. Terhune-Smith also believes that while Black doulas contribute their quota to alleviate the healthcare disparity Black birthing mothers face, the government can also expedite the process.

“If the government is going to invest in Black healthcare issues, they also need to invest their resources in those who are doing the brunt of the work,” said Terhune-Smith.

The post Black doulas are challenging rampant healthcare disparity appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

On December 21, 2020, I woke up around 12:15 a.m. with a painful ache in my abdomen. This ache rapidly spread across every part of my body but managed to remain concentrated around my belly. At the time, I was nine months pregnant and nine days away from my due date. Months before that day, I had taken multiple trips to the OBGYN office and was informed that my baby was developing steadily. Towards the later months of my pregnancy, the process of carrying a baby became increasingly difficult. In the 28th week of my pregnancy, I got diagnosed with gestational diabetes, a condition that affects how cells use glucose sugar in pregnancy and causes high blood sugar. To avoid further complications, doctors encouraged me to measure my blood sugar with an AquaLance Lancets device four times a day. As the weeks continued to progress, I measured my blood sugar often and followed a healthy diet plan, but most of the questions that I directed towards my healthcare provider were either met with passive aggression or barely vaguely answered. 

As a Black woman and an immigrant of African descent, I was operating under the belief that the U.S healthcare system was second to none. I tried to ignore the dismissiveness that I was subjected to and tried to remain as healthy as possible throughout my pregnancy in the months that followed.

After four hours of tossing and turning in bed, I told my husband that the pain was beyond excruciating, and at about 4:30 a.m., we climbed into our Toyota RAV4 SUV and headed for the hospital, about 30  minutes away from our apartment in Allendale, Michigan. When we arrived, I was transferred to a wheelchair and wheeled down the halls towards a hallway whose entrance read “Admissions.” Three hours later, I was in the labor room, getting prepped for labor. The nurses injected me with an epidural to help me endure the stinging pain of childbirth, and seven grueling hours later, I gave birth to my son at 2:39 p.m., and he weighed 8 pounds and 3 ounces. I took a breath of relief as I was wheeled to another room upstairs to recover, but the worst was yet to come. Four hours later, at about 6:17 p.m., I finally held my son in my arms for an extended time, and I was immediately overcome with inexplicable love as he fell asleep in my arms. Before long, my husband came to stand beside us and immediately froze.

My bed was drenched in blood that I didn’t feel leaving my body, and my husband immediately called for a nurse who came into the room and calmly said she would call the doctor to come in and take a look at me. I never saw her again after that day. Later that night, another doctor came into the room to check on me, and she immediately went white in the face, calling for the other senior doctor on call to attend to me. By this time, my entire bed was soaked, and before I knew what was happening, nine people were in my room, three doctors and six nurses, all clamoring around my bed and asking me my symptoms. At first, I was unalarmed because of the lax way that the first nurse had approached the bleeding and because I felt no significant pain. 

The doctors informed me that I was losing blood at a dangerous and rapid pace,  and needed to go in for a dilation and curettage surgery, a surgical procedure in which the cervix is dilated so that the uterine lining can be scraped with a spoon-shaped instrument to remove abnormal tissues. The doctors gave me a general anesthetic through an intravenous line (IV) into a vein in my arm that caused me to sleep throughout the surgery. I woke up from the surgery feeling disoriented, groggy, light-headed, and lethargic. My tongue felt like rubber, and I felt excruciating pain as I struggled to gulp. The room had the smell of rubber gloves and hand sanitizer.  I tried to speak but could barely make out a word as one of the nurses flatly informed me that my baby was in the nursery and my husband was in the waiting room. Before the surgery, I had two blood transfusions, and after the surgery,  I had four transfusions, making it a total of six transfusions. I could barely move my body as I was wheeled back to the recovery room. 

As it turns out, I am not the only Black woman who nearly lost her life due to a lack of care from healthcare professionals in the United States. And racism, unfortunately, lies at the core of this malpractice. Millions of women have suffered my fate or, even worse, died.

 In the United States, Black women are two to six times more likely to die from pregnancy complications than white women, depending on what part of the country they live in. This rests on many factors, including the racial divide in healthcare. When data obtained from 1979 to 1992 was analyzed by medical experts, the overall pregnancy-related mortality ratio was 25.1 deaths per 100,000 for Black women, 10.3 for Hispanic women, and 6.0 for non-Hispanic white women. According to the American Medical Association, these rates have not improved, and the leading causes of maternal death are hemorrhage, pregnancy-induced hypertension, and embolism. Black women have almost three times the risk of death from hemorrhage than white women.

Although the data exists to measure the maternal mortality rate in Black women, it wasn’t until recently that there has been national attention given to this issue. According to Dr. Neel Shah, an Assistant Professor of Obstetrics, Gynecology and Reproductive Biology at Harvard Medical School, medical professionals did not systematically measure the mortality rates in childbirth until relevantly recently.

“It was only in 2018 that we discovered that the maternal mortality rate of Black women in our country has been going up for 25 years, and the only way to try to understand that is through the lens of racism. A Black person, on average, is more likely to die from childbirth than a white person, and that disparity is even larger when you are in places like New York City where there is a lot of segregation not only geographically but in terms of opportunities to thrive,” said Shah.

He also said that racism in healthcare also affected the outcome of many Black women’s births.

“When it comes to Black birthing experiences, in particular, there are structural causes of racism, and there are also interpersonal stories of racism that we see play out in the media sometimes when people don’t get heard and feel dismissed,” said Shah. “There are systemic traces of racism that are built into this practice, and the way doctors are trained and some of that has roots that go back to slavery.”

Kimberly Sallers, the owner of Irth App, a nonprofit organization where Black women can find prenatal, birthing, postpartum, and pediatric reviews of care from other Black and brown women, said that education and status do not protect Black women from racism in healthcare.

“We can look at what happened to Serena Williams as an example. She had some complications during her childbirth and had her white millionaire husband was by her side, but still, she was dismissed,” said Sallers. Sallers also said that despite the stories of Black women who have died during childbirth or experienced traumatic birthing experiences and experience traumas, there remains hope.

“Although the narrative around Black birth is often painted as doom and gloom, we can’t just let this be a fear-based event,” Sallers said. “Using fear has been used as a tool to control Black people from time, but we should not allow Black births to be a solely negative event because there is hope for the future of Black births.”

The post Racism in Healthcare: A Black woman’s childbirth story appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

Perhaps it is Fernweh: “far-sickness,” the longing to be somewhere else, the opposite of homesickness.

Or maybe Heimweh: homesickness.

For me, Germany is neither a far-away place nor my home; it is both. I was born in the United States to a German mother. I have two passports – one blue and one red. For most of my life, I’ve lived in the United States and I’ve held that blue passport close to my heart. America has always had its problems – and until recently, I’ve been able to convince myself that the pros outweigh the cons. But now, in the midst of a pandemic, I find myself questioning my choice to stay here.

As the U.S. federal government continues to bungle this crisis, from President Trump’s clown show press briefings to the inability of Congress to pass a relief package that would make up for our utterly failing social safety net, Germany’s promise of a level-headed social democracy and fact-driven leadership is compelling — maybe even a matter of life and death. I yearn for a politics devoid of showmanship and filled instead with boring facts and common sense. To put it bluntly: I am grateful that my mother, who is healthy but 61, is not in this country — and I wish I wasn’t either.

The crisis responses of the two countries could not be more disparate. While the U.S. has the most coronavirus cases in the world, and is currently on track to see more deaths than even Italy and China, the coronavirus death rate in Germany is the lowest in the world. With 63,000 confirmed cases and only 560 deaths as of March 30, Germany has a death rate of 0.9%, only half the current US mortality of 1.8%. My mother tells me that patients from other parts of Europe are seeking care there, and as of now, there is still capacity in their ICUs.

The likely reason for this is Germany’s early, persistent, and widespread testing. And what enables that widespread testing is obvious: we’re talking about a country with a functioning healthcare system. Even if its citizens complain about some aspects – long-ish wait times, the option of private insurance that creates a tiered system of access to the best doctors – it functions. Maybe not perfect, but functional, covering the basic needs which our system ignores: everyone is insured; hospitals are accessible and staffed. In a pandemic, functional is preparedness. And Chancellor Angela Merkel is nothing if not prepared.

Meanwhile, the coronavirus pandemic has laid bare deep flaws in American society that go beyond an inadequate healthcare system. Our safety net is virtually invisible — unemployment and benefits programs are gutted, states have refused to expand Medicaid, widespread reliance on the contractor and gig economy bars many from benefits and unemployment insurance — and an invisible net will not catch us. Twelve hundred Trump dollars will not catch us.

My stomach dropped when I saw that Germany’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs had extended their Rückholprogramm – a program for Germans to return home from crisis-stricken countries  – to citizens currently in the United States. It’s unprecedented to make such a recommendation for another first-world country – but it’s also unprecedented to be a first-world country without universal healthcare. Germany has issued warning to its citizens: Get out while you can.

Of course, the brokenness of America’s infrastructure is not a new revelation. Just as the 2016 presidential election of an outlandish reality TV show host was the result of a slowly simmering pot of societal stew, so the coronavirus outbreak has only reflected the fragments in a system that has evolved that way over time — by valuing entertainment over truth, fiction over fact, “likeability” over policy. Maybe if we didn’t view politics as entertainment, we could escape the sick reality show nightmare this country has fallen into.

It’s hard to remember now but we’re still technically in the middle of a two-year election cycle that has spawned almost as much petty drama on the Democratic side as a typical Trump rally.

Concurrently, the Trump administration continues the buffoonery at briefings that some major media outlets, such as NPR, refuse to air due to the rampant falsehoods.

On March 18, in between several of Trump’s mind-boggling circus events, Angela Merkel sat down, alone in front of a screen showing the Bundestag, and gave her first nationally-televised address since her 2005 election. Viewing her speech from this frenzied side of the Atlantic, Merkel’s measured, calm cadence seemed to come from an alien otherworld. And to the American psyche, perhaps she is somewhat of an alien. We call America polarized, but the Chancellor grew up in a country not just polarized but physically divided; this temporary period of lockdown pales in comparison to the controlled existence of Merkel’s childhood behind the Iron Curtain.

Even in her monotone, the message Merkel delivered to her people was one of leadership: Together, we will get through this. It was a balance of facts and reassurances. She emphasized that, perhaps even more so than in other countries, placing Germany under strict, draconian government control is a decision not to take lightly. “Es ist Ernst,” she said – this is serious.

“Lassen Sie mich versichern,” she said — let me assure you. “For somebody like me, for whom travel and free movement were hard-fought rights, these restrictions can only be justified by absolute necessity.” (Translation mine).

When Merkel offers her nation reassurance, I trust her in a way that is anathema to the current landscape of U.S. politics. I trust her without falling into a cult of personality; I’m able to take personal opinion and partisanship out of the equation and to believe what she says at face value. It’s refreshing.

The point is not that I approve of all her policies, or would necessarily even vote for her. The point is that in this moment, Merkel’s particular style of fact-driven composure is exactly what we need from the leader of the free world. And exactly what we are missing here in the U.S., where facts fall by the wayside to make room for white lies meant to mask the grimness of our current reality. The daughter of a Lutheran pastor with a PhD in quantum chemistry, Merkel has always been cool, calculated, and scientific —  sometimes even awkward and uncharismatic, known for her dry speeches and frumpy hair. With her awkward lilt and straightforward manner, Merkel is the anti-Trump.

If she sought office in America, the headlines would label Merkel as “unlikeable” long before she’d ever get the chance to unceremoniously pick at a Bratwurst at the Iowa State Fair. Not only is she a woman, she’s a boring — and highly intelligent —  woman. She is calculated and resolute, trained in data and untrained in showmanship. The story goes that on the day the Berlin Wall fell, Merkel wandered over the border from her chemistry lab in East Berlin for a quick look, and then went back to get back to work.

I asked my mother what she thought of Merkel’s speech, which was making headlines here.

“No big deal,” she said. Politics are not a big deal there, at least to her.  My mother amuses herself from afar with the Washington Post coverage of our American political pony show, but finds the Bundesregierung humdrum. Dull, but reassuring.

“But do you feel safe there?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, without hesitation.

“Aren’t you glad you are there, and not here?”

“Oh, definitely.”

I wish I were too. Oh, how I long for leadership that is dull. That’s what I feel fernweh for: boring, folded-hands parliamentary politics; speeches that contain straight facts; healthcare as a right; a society where electing and reelecting an “unlikeable,” “unfeminine” woman to the highest office is routine. What a relief that would be.

There are no “Make America Great Again” hats in Germany. But on the website of the CDU, the party Merkel leads, you can buy a small orange heating pad with the words “keep cool” for ninety cents. And that, I think, is the point.

Serafina Smith is a NYU graduate journalism student in the Magazine and Digital Storytelling program.

The post Boring Politics is Good Politics – Especially in a Pandemic appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

 Samaritan’s Purse, a Christian relief organization, is the group behind the effort, bringing in multiple truckloads of beds, tents and gear, including much-needed ventilators, to support COVID-19 treatment in New York City.

 Lead Physician, Dr. Elliot Tenpenny, who treated patients in West Africa during the Ebola outbreak, will command a group of approximately 70 health care workers to tackle the pandemic in the satellite location. Additional volunteers will be on hand to assist his medical staff. Tenpenny and his team are expected to begin treating patients on Tuesday, March 31st.

This is a look inside the field hospital.

Workers lay down the flooring for a medical tent in Central Park’s East Meadow, March 30, 2020. Photo by Thomas Hengge

A person waits to assist with the building of another medical tent for the Central Park field hospital, March 30, 2020. Photo by Thomas Hengge.

Workers with Samaritan’s Purse inside the Central Park field hospital. March 30, 2020. Photo by Thomas Hengge

Workers and volunteers coordinate to build a 68-bed field hospital in Central Park, March 30, 2020. Photo by Thomas Hengge

A team two works to secure a medical tent in Central Park’s East Meadow, March 30, 2020. Photo by Thomas Hengge

A group unwraps equipment, getting ready to move it into medical tents. March 30, 2020. Photo by Thomas Hengge

Workers move equipment into medical tents at the Central Park field hospital, March 30, 2020. Photo by Thomas Hengge

Boxes of tents provided by Samaritans Purse, a Christian relief organization who volunteered to erect the Central Park field hospital, March 30, 2020. Photo by Thomas Hengge

A group of workers at the Central Park field hospital pose for a picture, March 30, 2020. Photo by Thomas Hengge

Central Park’s 68-bed field hospital, March 30, 2020. Photo by Thomas Hengge

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Cuomo said at today’s press conference that the two systems, which include the greater New York private voluntary hospitals and the public hospitals, need to work together to transfer and distribute the overload. 

“I just had a meeting with the entire statewide healthcare establishment, Cuomo said. “And the entire healthcare system will coordinate to work as one for the first time in decades.”

 Cuomo pleaded for a national response to help with New York State’s coronavirus crisis by undertaking a balancing strategy within the healthcare system. He said such action of distributing the load among public hospitals will be done “immediately, on a daily basis.”

“Anyone who says this situation is a ‘New York City only situation’ is in a state of denial. You see this virus move across the state, you see this virus move across the nation, there is no American who is immune to this virus,” he said. 

New York has been hit the worst. The outbreak has infected more than 60,000 people in the state as of Monday. Among them, at least 1,218 people have died, over 9000 people are currently hospitalized and 2352 ICU patients. 

Earlier today, Cuomo welcomed the arrival of The USNS Comfort Navy hospital ship that will help New York hospitals with the soaring numbers of coronavirus patients. 

Cuomo said that the hospital will provide roughly 1,000 beds and 1,200 personnel to New York and will be used to treat patients that don’t have COVID-19.

NYC also built an emergency field hospital in Central Park as the death toll climbs to over 1,000.

As New York approaches the apex of the crisis, Cuomo said that states should be building up stockpiles.

He also responded to President Trump’s accusation of supplies “going out the back door”, in New York City hospitals, stating that there was no evidence of this and that New York has been building up stockpiles in a warehouse in New Jersey.

“If you are not preparing for the apex, you are missing the entire point of the operation,” he said. “We’ve been behind this virus from day one”.

New York is still scrambling to obtain medical supplies, especially with the prices of ventilators rose to over $50,000, he said. 

Cuomo also agreed with President Trump and said, “this is a war.”

“The front-line battle is our health care system,” Cuomo said. “And our soldiers are our health professionals.”

“Whether it’s Detroit, it’s New Orleans, it will work its way across the country,” he said.

Catarina Lamelas Moura contributed to this report

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