Story #86 - Postpartum Pandemic Stories - Juliane, Saint-Paul MN (USA) - COVID Pregnancy, Birth & Postpartum, Mental Health Care, US Politics, Systemic Inequalities
At the beginning of the pandemic, I asked expecting mothers to interview them about their pregnancy, birth, and postpartum period. We talked several times to unveil what it means to have a child during COVID19. The interviews I've collected reveal a wide range of emotions, between fears, griefs, and hopes. They redefine what it means to welcome a child into a hostile world and reaffirm that when it comes to childbearing, support—in its every form—is key.
I met Juliane in 2010 at Penn State University. She was a German Ph.D. candidate in the Department of Comparative Literature, where I was also attending as a Visiting Scholar. We kept in touch when I went back to Canada, and eventually, we both decided to come back/stay in the US to become citizens—and spend the rest of our lives with an American (no one's perfect!). Juliane is German in the best way possible: rational, fair, thoughtful, swift, and she doesn't stand—nor does she sugarcoat—current American bullshit. (As I said, we share a lot.)
Juliane keeps me in check and challenges my doubtful ways of experiencing the world: she is uncompromising when it comes to what's right, and is one of the strongest and loving women I know.
[3.25.2020 / 34 weeks pregnant]
I'm watching the Governor speech. He just announced a stay at home order for the next two weeks. It will give us the peek of COVID in eleven weeks and not six, as we expected. It's good because my due date is in six weeks, so we'll hopefully see less infected people at the hospital.
I'm lucky because I'm supposed to deliver in a facility that doesn't accept COVID cases. It's one hour away from my house, and I'm having second thoughts because of this virus, so I'm looking into different options: birthing center or home birth. What's hard is that I really like my doctor. He joked that he's a midwife with a medical degree. I was looking forward to delivering my baby with him. I am. But COVID is making everything more stressful.
I currently have two main worries (and a half).
My "half" one is that I hate hospitals in general.
My first is that I'm concerned that the hospital setting will put us in contact with too many people. Will there be a crowd when we arrive? Will they move people back and forth in the maternity ward? It's a city hospital, so we're supposed to avoid general hospital exposure, but people can still be very sick.
Second: my care team. As of right now, only one visitor can come, and I can't do it without my partner, Jake. But that means that my doula, with whom I prepared so well, won't be able to attend. It sucks. It shouldn't be that way. She's actually the one who suggested I go with my current doctor; that's how much he is loved among the birth community. But now, even he is suggesting I look into midwives and birthing centers who take patients "rush." Chances are they'll be full if I wait. It feels like a lose-lose situation.
There's also a chance that the state will change the law regarding doulas. Hospitals are saying, "It can change tomorrow!"—for the better (doula and Jake) or the worse (no one.)
It's stressful because it's all beyond our control. If someone decides tomorrow that we're going in full lockdown, I'll be giving birth on my own. Delivery is already full of unknowns, and I'd rather stay with my current provider. It's all "wait and see," and I hate "wait and see."
The narrative is also incredibly stressful; I mean, I'm getting ready to give birth, and hospitals in MN tell us, "We'll reevaluate what the state is doing regarding the number of deaths on the day you're supposed to come in." It's not something you want to hear when you deliver a baby.
My partner will go along with whatever feels good. I, on the other hand, don't know if I could deal with all the changes that switching providers would imply: financial, medical, the environment, and rearranging expectations. If I have to transfer during a home birth, I'd have to go to the weirdo hospital three minutes away from my house, not the one I'm supposed to deliver to, which is an hour away. As an organized person, it's a challenging place to be.
Before COVID, I had no concerns about being pregnant. As Germans, we are taught that our bodies know how to do it. There is no fear in our birthing culture, midwifery is part of the medical system, and women are free to choose what they think is best for their babies and themselves. Not here. So it adds up to the usual "make sure my baby is ok" worries.
But in the end, it's all about the people who will surround me at birth. Currently, my doctor is the only certain variable, and my guts are telling me to go with him. Because even if Jake can't be present, my provider will, and I trust that he can make things better.
I guess that, for now, the "no-prep" approach is the way to go. And as you can imagine, I'm not stoked about it. Not stocked at all.
(Family photo)
[06.06.2020 // Two months postpartum]
Freja arrived on April 26 at 5:23 am.
For two weeks before her birth, my doula and I explored the different options I had mentioned: home, birthing center, or hospital. Home births were too expensive, and I was worried about my dog, who's not the friendliest with strangers.
I mapped every possible ending and, of course, over-prepared for each one. In the end, I chose my provider and decided to go with him.
Luckily, my partner was allowed to come in. I was incredibly sad my doula couldn't be present, but since I'm a private person, Facetime calls were ok. I thought we would need her to know when to go to the hospital, but in the end, I called the shot and trusted my body.
Freja's birth went as well as I could have imagined.
According to the medical staff, it went fast, and I was "speeding through the birthing process," whatever that means because each birth and birthing person is unique. Before going into labor, I was freaked out by a couple of things: tearing, placenta getting stuck, etc., but none happened. I did it without meds, and I didn't get a tear! The after-cramps were not my favorite, but her head smelled like heaven after delivery. Funny enough, I smelled the same odor when she was crowning—holy three rounds of rings of fire! I thought I wouldn't have the strength to push her out after two and a half hours, and I don't know if I could have kept going. But she came out at the perfect moment. She cried right away, and the placenta came out whole.
We went in at 11 pm on Saturday, and she came at 5:43 am on Sunday. By 5 pm on Monday, we were out. We had to wait that long because she failed her hearing test twice. Same for two urine tests that were messed up. We forced them to let us leave because the cost of the room is insane. Same for a urine sample ($1500 for pee?)
I can't wrap my head around having to take into consideration money when you receive care. It's something I'll never get used to. There were also little things that truly bothered me, like the nurse who kept pulling her mask down or the fact that they took her away for hearing and PKU tests without me, and brought her back with a pacifier in her mouth. I was about to lose my shit.
We didn't have any visitors for the first two weeks. I quickly feel patronized in life, and I didn't want to rumple our bubble by bringing other people into the mix and feel grumpy because someone told us what we should or shouldn't do with our daughter. You have to quarantine for two weeks anyway after leaving a hospital, so it gave the three of us time to figure out what needed to be figured out. It was lovely.
After the initial two weeks, Jake's parents and sister came down. My parents, who are teachers in Germany, had also planned to come. This year is the Pentecost, and they have a school holiday that lasts two weeks instead of one. They'd scheduled to fly on May 18 to do a little road-trip the first week and then come by after. My parents are very much the "whatever you need, we'll be here—or not" type of people. It's nice that we give each other space like that.
But obviously, their trip didn't happen.
We are doing FaceTime, and until two days ago, it was good enough. But as time goes by, I'm feeling more and more homesick. I want to hang out at my house for everybody to see her... but they can't. It feels unfair. Technically, I guess they still could come because I'm an American citizen, but they're older. They would have to self-quarantine for two weeks before visiting us, and they don't have time for that now that school has resumed.
My mom is very non-emotional and practical. She said to me the other day, "Don't feel bad about it. When we see Freja, she'll be walking and interact with us more." It's true that if we only get to travel next summer, it'll be more engaging. She might even talk a bit. I love it.
I'm glad my mom is like that because I believe that emotions are worth being shared, but only if there's a practical and logical reason. I have a hard time if someone gets overly emotional for something that makes no sense. It feels whiny, so I'd get angry at her if she were any other way. I love that she provides practical pieces of advice that make me feel better instead of being part of the problem. My dad is also quieter, so it's really helpful right now.
I try to tell myself that they'll get to see their little munchkin when she's older. Of course, none of that means that I'm not crying because they can't come and visit. But there's a good reason for that, and overall, it will be ok.
(Family photo)
I have to say, though, that having a kid makes things more complicated.
For example, yesterday was hard. Nothing really triggered the emotions, but I sat down and texted my partner, "I feel sorry for myself today."
I'm mainly jealous of people who can travel and do things. In July, it will be the longest I've been away from Germany. Jake's parents can see her but not mine. It is what it is. And it's also unfair.
In my hometown, they haven't had a new case since April 25. The government there is doing a really good job, and people can meet again. Because of this virus, Freja can't get her passport—the US won't deliver any that isn't an emergency. To add insult to the injury, I'm stuck in this fucking country with a president who's a fan of Hitler.
The news and social media don't help. I read a lot, and the current political and racial environment is ridiculous: You idiot white people! Have you looked up German's history?
This morning I saw a photo-op that reminded me so much of The Handmaid's Tale. Minneapolis looks like a war zone. Whiteness is so problematic. I want to be held accountable if I make mistakes, and the current events are helping me be ok with being called out. We just had a zoom meeting for academic mamas about white accountability. It felt a bit like a club of blinds leading the blinds, but as white people, we have to do the work on our own. Black folks don't have to educate us; it's our job to find the sources and train ourselves to be better.
Nothing feels good enough right now.
Before I had Freja, I used to care a lot about what people thought of me. Now that I have her, my focus is so centered on the bare necessities that I'm learning to not give a fuck anymore—or, more accurately, to give a fuck about the things that matter. I hope this motherhood thing will keep me in the right direction.
The Guardian (Family photo)
Jake's back at the office, and he's overwhelmed with work. Living up to clients and bosses' expectations must be hard in general (fuck the patriarchy,) but it's simply impossible as a new parent. He barely had enough time off to see her being born.
I had six weeks to look at her for three hours straight if I wanted. I didn't have deadlines and worked whenever or if ever I wanted. Academia is great for that: I have this freedom to sit down and walk around in the yard. I have quality and quantity time; it feels great to be in the present.
Jake, on the other hand, has to work his eight hours—11 on average if we're being honest—because he's a lawyer. Then he has to come back home to his family, calm down, spend time with his kid in a non-stressful way. But he also watches a lot of videos about Trump, and it's damaging. You want to stay on top of political events, but it creates distress. If you add that up to having to sleep—or being sleep-deprived—what is there left?
This country thinks that it's ok that partners don't get parental leave and free time with their children. He could maybe take time off for two more weeks, but his boss would lose a lot of business. He's fucked both ways.
And hear me out: it's not that I don't want to hang out with Freja all day. I surprisingly love this aspect of postpartum.
My problem is systemic. My problem is that people think it's normal to send a parent to work for half the day and expect him to forget about his daughter and responsibility for capitalism's greater good. It makes me so angry that it's what we expect of men, and keep repeating the same structure generation after generation.
Before I had a child, it was easier not to see how parents, especially mothers, were penalized on a systemic level. I love being a mother. To a certain extent, I love the work I'm doing for our home and as a caregiver. It makes me feel human. Jake's focus and job are less about "humanity" and care, and more on "providing": he puts a roof above our head and food on the table, just like in the 50s. His profession is not made for change. If he tries to work outside the structure in place, he'll lose his job.
Academia is more flexible in that regard. I make my schedule, I can zoom with students instead of in person. Our faculty allows a slower pace and personal changes. I often ask him why he can't stay home for two days and then meet with his clients for the rest of the week. But his boss is of the older generation.
It used to be incredibly hard on our relationship. The way I think of it now is that I don't clash with Jake, but I clash through Jake with the system. This way of thinking helped me shift my issues from personal to societal. Our partnership is better because of it.
But in the end, the reality remains the same: he's close to burnout, and that is personal. It affects all of us.
I like to think that I'm idealistic in a practical sense. Last year, I had a lot of anxiety. I was depressed. I told him, "If this is what my job will be like, I'll change it." And I did. I changed my ways: I asked for what I needed, and I'm not working 70 hours anymore. Had I not been able to do that, I would have left.
Jake can't. We live in Trump's country. He thinks that this is his only chance at having a good job in life.
I have a problem with that mindset because everything is up for modifications when you are so privileged. And we are. No job is worth stress or performance-induced depression. If it means we'll live in a smaller house or eat ramen more often, I'm willing to sacrifice. I don't need a lot. If I can eat, have shelter, go into nature and feel the sun, I'm ok.
This performing male image of the household provider is part of what keeps many people in a profession that hasn't their best interest at heart. And I'm not ok with that. It's 2020, and the United States still doesn't have parental leave that makes sense. We're talking at least a year, like other countries. Health care is shitty because it's tied to your work. This is all bullshit.
I know Germany is not perfect, and our healthcare system is fucked. But you know what? If I lose my job in Germany, I still have food, a roof, clothes, and health insurance. I'm still treated as a human; I have my dignity. Here, I don't have shit.
I can see how Jake's fear is real. He lives in a system that has taught him that it will eat him alive if it must. Sincerely, America can go fuck itself right now.
Jake is probably super tired of me talking about these problems, but I can't help it. Health and women's issues are things I care about so much. I thought by staying here after earning my degree that I would have more work opportunities. I thought, "This is America! Everything is possible." But to be honest, Jake would tell me that he wants to move to Germany tomorrow morning, and I'd be like, "Let's pack!"
Freja's arrival enhanced the feeling. It's not for her, it's for me. She's part of me, and wherever I am, she's safe. And right now, I feel that Germany is safer for me.
I love her to death. Of all the things that I didn't know I would feel, deep and intense love for my daughter is at the top of the list.
I want what's best for her and every day is her day. That surprises me because I'm somebody who lives in the future. Not with her. She'll be different tomorrow. And I love that.