Updated: Jul 8, 2020
On the eve of Sunday, March 22, I had already experienced two false alarms at this point. Thinking that Braxton hicks and a little cervical pressure would be the start of the birth of my children. Truth is I had been experiencing Braxton hick contractions weeks before I even knew. Carrying twins was not for the faint of heart or lungs and I was just about to enter the chapter in my reality and witness that. Through my pregnancy, I found myself even more passionate about my work as a birth worker. I would catch myself daydreaming, wondering how much of what I was experiencing, especially spiritually, was spoken of amongst women or shared amongst birth workers. It was safe to say that during this journey no matter how many friends or family or co-workers I had rooting for me, I felt very alone physically but not spiritually.
The weeks and days leading to the birth of my son Yasiin Maleek now seem hazy. I remember each week I had a prenatal appointment with my midwives. I also kept sharing the updates on Instagram of who lost the bet of the date they thought my babies would be born on. Every other day became harder and harder to walk because my belly had grown beyond heavy. My sciatica nerve was extremely painful on my left side halfway through pregnancy but stretching often helped. Lunges here and there, butterfly stretches, pigeon poses on my bed, and even a good ole frog pose with pillows offering me space between my poke belly and my bed. But in the last weeks of pregnancy, the left sciatica pain subsided while my right sciatica started to debilitate me. Now it was “muscle, joint, and shyt! my hip hurts.” But living in a two-story house required me to go upstairs for my bedroom and bathroom so whatever happened later was clearly inevitable.
Over the weekend I began to think about what my good friend Maritday said about counting my moon cycle after conception to see if my baby's birthday will land on the 10th full moon after I had conceived them. Since I knew the exact date and time I conceived them I figured why not see if this is when they will be born. I realized though that counting ten moons after their conception would have placed me at almost 42 weeks’ gestation and there was no way I was going to carry these twins to 42 weeks. Somehow my body and mind said, heck nah! So, I decided what about counting the new moons. Perhaps I conceived them closer to a date of a new moon and sure enough 10moons later I was possibly going to birth new moon babies.
That weekend came and my prenatal appointment with my midwives went great. A+ like every other appointment babies' heart rate was once again consistent. Each baby was steadily still rocking to their own beat since month 4. Labs were excellent. No swelling of any part of my body, not even my ankles, and during the abdominal palpitations both my midwives and myself felt babies' heads were still down below towards my pelvis racing to see who will come first. Baby yin who we now know was as I suspected the boy, Yasiin always laid closest to my vagina. And baby yang who we now know was the girl, Dessaline, my hyperactive baby who laid a bit higher up on my left side and often poked my fundus, the upper part of my abdomen with what felt like the back of her heel all the time. I was excited, I knew I was just days away from meeting my youngs. And while everyone was betting on their favorite days I had a secret. I felt my babies would be born or begin their transition into the earth on this new moon coming up on that Tuesday.
As the weekend flew by I quietly prepared for this marathon I knew my body would soon endure. I began to make sure my room was in order. My birth supplies were organized and I was drinking all the water, wheatgrass shots, and nettle teas. There was no question in my mind that I was ready for the birth of my children. Monday came and shyt was calm but then Tuesday evening crept in and I finally saw some cervical mucus come out and I began to feel pressure down under. I started my labor of love.
I felt excited after I realized that my body was beginning the birthing process. I started to review in my head my list of things I wanted to do to stay calm and encouraged during labor. The first thing I did was go downstairs sideways, (heard somewhere that it helps to open up the hips.) I updated my sister and brother in law,
“I am not trying to be the false alarm kid but I know this is the real deal. I am finally feeling contractions down there not just at the top of my belly and I finally saw a bit of my mucus plug release.”
The anxiety and excitement were like getting ready to go on a really scary rollercoaster.
My sister and brother in law got excited. Everyone seemed to be chill but they secretly organized their thoughts and the house. During my very purposeful evening snack, I decided to press play on Beyoncé’s Homecoming documentary on Netflix. I said Early on in my pregnancy that this would definitely give me the energy and motivation I needed to begin to experience the longest marathon my body has had to endure. There I was 7 something pm. Enjoying some ice cream and dancing to Beyoncé from my exercise ball while texting my doula and my midwives’ updates about my cervical mucus. But I knew this was only the beginning of the first stage of labor so I chilled and timed my contractions. I used one of those fancy apps, only to ensure I knew exactly how far apart contractions were and when to expect things to get real.
The night settled and I was gradually progressing and my brother in law, sister and I said our goodnights and went to bed. I went with my trustee app timing my contractions throughout the night. By the time the afternoon came and I began to wake up for the day around noon or so, I updated the midwives and told them my contractions had gone from 12mins apart back to 20mins to half-hour apart. One of my midwives said,
“Stop counting and just give yourself permission to just be and go on about your day normally.”
So, I did just that. Somewhere many hours after that I just remember it being night time and my sister telling me to let my doula know that she should start heading over to my house. I decided my doula would be more aware of where I was in my labor since I began to feel the feeling of checking out mentally. In my work as a Doula, there has always been this sacred time during a woman’s labor when she begins to cross into another realm of reality. This realm I believe is that of the spirit world where some can even argue woman go there to gather the spiritual strength she will need to endure the physical pain she experiences in the physical world. I began to feel I was quickly trying to go there mentally because I didn’t know at that point if I could handle the labor pains. I don’t remember the labor pains much but I do remember the psychological turmoil I was going through. Over and over I walked between my bedroom and the bathroom pooping and peeing a lot. Finding comfort on the toilet through every contraction but stopping at the walls of my room, reciting in my head “this too shall pass.” Excited to meet my babies none the less I knew this was the only way to do it. I even said I apologize to all my doula clients whom I coached through this if they ever felt like they wanted to just slap me during their transitions in labor because I couldn't take their pain away. I remember saying to my doula,
“Okay listen to me, I am leaving so look out for me because I feel like I am in two worlds right now.”
There was a part of me that was terrified because I was experiencing such a spiritual experience, what I consider a godly experience in a very undesirable way. I was giving birth and called to be vulnerable around people except for the one person I truly wanted. Ever since the young age of 13, I envisioned sharing this moment and experience with a partner someone who would know me inside out in an intimate way. Someone, who could hold space for me and nurture me in a very transformative moment. I wanted my man. A partner. But the truth was, 10 months earlier I laid in bed with a guy I had no business having a hot girl summer moment with and this was now my reality. At this point, I was even at odds with my children's father and had not spoken to him since the beginning of my pregnancy because he began to show a different side of himself. He was displeased with the only terms I had as a baby mother, let us be friends and cordial in order to give these children a drama-free co-parenting experience. He was upset with me for choosing not to be in a relationship with him even before I knew I was pregnant. Just days before their birth he surprisingly called from a different number, woke me out of my sleep, and decided to check in after months of radio silence on his end. Upon receiving his call, I felt the dreary feeling of shame and regret to have been in the situation I always dreaded as a young adult.
As a birth worker, I had a vision of what I wished my birth would be since I was a young teenager. But I had been heartbroken by my current reality. Here I was about to birth two beautiful babies as a single mother with a tainted baby father situation. While birthing around women I loved and trusted, there was still a heartbroken young girl who felt her fear slowly becoming a reality. I kept repeating affirmations of the power of my body and its ability to birth. I also kept reminding myself to stay the hell away from the emotional dystocia. This can cause a women's emotional state of mind to negatively impact her ability to progress in labor because of unaddressed trauma resurfacing during a very vulnerable experience.
I was gone. The shyt had all became a blur between moving around and squatting everywhere, pulling on the rebozo that hung from my bedroom door. I decided a shower would make me feel calm, all it did was make me feel clean. I ended up going inside the birthing pool which I had set up in a corner in my room. I don’t remember who set it up or when but I think I may have gone into it too early. Only to learn that later getting out the pool was the best thing I did. I began to experience a few strong contractions while in the pool as I remember praying to Yemaya to give me strength through her waters. I remember as background noise was the splash of buckets of water continuously being dumped in the pool. I thought this in a fleeting moment,
“Damn, how much water can this pool take.”
At last, I opened my eyes after what seemed like hours and almost days of asking where are my midwives I saw a glimpse of them coming in while I was in the pool. All excited in my mind thinking, “Yes! This means I am progressing so let's get this show on the road!”
I ain’t know shyt about how real the show was about to get. The babies' heart rates were happy and healthy and once again consistent with Yasiin being in the 130-140s and Dessaline 140-150s. Not so long after being in the pool, I felt it wasn’t comforting me much and went to the bathroom. I went to the bathroom and thankfully my doula never left my side. She sat on the tub as I pleaded for help. I wanted to give up because my body felt so beat up. I remember telling her I was going to throw up and there it was the famous labor vomit. The nearest thing to me was the bathroom sink. I couldn't do the toilet because that was gross to me and I couldn't do it in the tub because what if I decided to go in for a shower right after. I was conscious enough to clean the sink after throwing up. Labor is a very interesting experience, to say the least. Often you can find a woman in labor doing the most random activity which can look strange at the time but it may be helping her cope through her transitions.
I began to feel the urge to push and decided I finally wanted to be checked to see how far along I was since I felt so much pressure down there. Not only did I have the feeling to poop but also felt as though my hips could not widen anymore. I squatted down and began to push. All I heard was a voice that said,
"I feel something. It's soft. Wait, it's squishy. It's balls. TESTICLES! It's a BOY."
There I was heart beaming and sinking at the same time knowing that this was not what I expected. I knew exactly who the balls belonged to it. It was my sun. The little boy I knew I had created but never got a sonogram to prove it. This little boy hung out in the lower region of my pelvis throughout my whole pregnancy and often times wouldn't move as much as my other young so I'd poke it on purpose until it moved in there. He'd been head down for almost ten months and now he was to be born BREECH! Butt first. I wasn't scared nor was I worried about pain or the baby's well-being. I had seen a frank breech baby be born without issues as long as mum took her time breathing and allowing her body to do what it needed. So, I began to talk myself through it, following all the instructions of the elder midwives I learned from for years, in person and in books. I was envisioning myself opening up like a flower, I was ensuring that I did not tense up and it worked. The letting go of the tension down there worked. My baby boy Yasiin Maleek was born balls first then butt, then one leg and then the other. After that, his head quickly followed and I reached down and grabbed him and put him on my chest. I rubbed him and called him by his name and he let out his first cry. I was exhausted. I officially did it, I thought I survived birthing my first child into this world. As I held him on my chest while I cleaned him off a bit I noticed his two tiny little hands, two middle fingers up. He came into the world sending a clear message already. He was not here for no bull-shyt.
Shortly after I realized I could not hold him up higher towards my heart because his umbilical cord seemed too short and the placenta had no intention of coming out anytime soon. I didn't bother to think much of it because I had read many cases of twin births that said a placenta could take a little while longer to birth. So, dismissing my wish of lotus birth, I settled for the delayed cord clamping. I started to stare in awe of what I had just created and done and held him near my boob as he began to explore the world around him in search of nutrition. He quickly latched on and I had realized I had just experienced an orgasmic birth with my baby. I held close the message of midwife, Pamela Hunt from the Farm in Tennessee who once said, “Don't hold back with tension just release and enjoy the pressure.” And that worked for me as I birthed him and once he came out, none of the pain or anxieties mattered. I was feeling high. The hormone trip everyone always spoke about was completely true.
After I expressed out loud that I had experienced an orgasmic birth I had to prepare for the birth of my next baby or the placenta. After a few hours, the placenta didn't come out. Throughout the next twelve hours, I remember contractions come and go and pooping a whole lot as I laid in bed and occasionally walked to the bathroom. I even remember showering at some point. Then it came! The urge to push again. At this point the pressure was different, my animal instinct just said, just keep moving and swaying. According to my sister, I probably spent almost a good 24 hours doing consistent squats. This time with the urge to push my baby #2 I squatted and swayed my hips in ways I don't even want to remember. One knee down, one knee up, one foot planted on the ground and sways left to right. Then it came. A medium-size sack of amniotic fluid-filled with meconium. Whose sack was it? We had no clue yet. Then came another sack with a foot! NO! I thought to myself! Not a footling breech. This is not as rare as some may think. The good thing was that I was a student of traditional midwifery who knew exactly how to birth a footling breech. This meant I, as the birthing mum had to stay calm, fearless, remain breathing, and ensure that my cervix stayed open for my daughter's head to come through.
Suddenly there was foot number two. Through every contraction, I had to push. This time intentionally to ensure baby came out quicker than one can hope to ensure her well-being. Her legs came out then her body followed. Quickly then came her head. It's a Girl! I immediately put her on my chest and felt a sunken feeling. My sun began screaming in the background but my attention was fully on my daughter. This time I knew something was wrong but I persisted in keeping a positive mindset, hoping for the best. I rubbed her body, spoke life into her, and as I been trained I began to administer mouth to mouth. She had a heartbeat but wasn't showing signs of breathing. It was as if she was here but not here. I said, call the ambulance and within 5 minutes EMS was in my room administering oxygen to my daughter and getting ready to take her to the hospital.
The ambulance asked who will be going with Dessaline Yaslene to the E.R. and I told my sister to go so that I can clean up, get dressed and meet her over there. My sister left. As I tried to get up I felt light-headed. My doula felt something wasn't right and tried to take my vitals but I was so exhausted I just wanted to disappear and rest for a second and laid my head on the floor where I had just delivered my daughter. Minutes later I came back to my conscious and loudly said, "I cannot breathe. Someone give me mouth to mouth." I began to look pale and someone, a voice at the back of my mind said, "She doesn't look good. Call the EMS for a transfer." Struggling to breathe, I agreed and said out loud, "Call the ambulance." I began to feel myself leave my body and out of this world. I knew I had to survive for my children and go find my daughter wherever they took her.
EMS showed up to my room minutes later. I could still hear everyone talking around me but I began surrendering to the creator. I spoke to whoever gave me life and asked if it was time for me to go.
"Why was there so much blood on the floor after they took my daughter. Did I hemorrhage? I thought to myself."
I was in and out of consciousness and just remembered telling myself I need to stay alive. I just gave birth to two children, this is not how my story ends. There are still so many people’s lives I want to positively impact. This is not how my story ends. I don’t even have true love right now. My story is not over. I kept hearing the young handsome EMS guy with his southern accent asking me what my name was and to stay with him. I tried to speak but nothing would come out. I spoke and only heard myself in my head. Soon as they took me outside my home I felt a cool breeze pass through my body and my lungs expand with hope. As long as they give me oxygen and administer an IV, I will be able to pull through. They began the oxygen machine and my body began to get warm again once I felt the saline running through my veins.
I blacked out again in some kind of restful state of mind where I spoke to my people, my ancestors and spirit guides.
“Please protect me because there is no one with me that can advocate for me."
I gained consciousness again once I arrived at the hospital. Unable to open my eyes, and still unable to speak yet I became fully aware of what was being done to my body. I heard a load of people approaching my bedside in the emergency room, “Somebody page cardio! Can we get a neuro consult?” All shyt I done heard for over 10 years being an avid watcher of “Greys Anatomy” and my experiences working in medical settings. I knew exactly what was happening and couldn’t advocate for myself. I realized then that my sister and my doula were not there. They kept asking me my name and I could barely find the strength to talk as they continue to administer yet another IV. The neurologist came in and asked my name while checking the dilation in my eyes to see if I had suffered a brain injury. The OBGYN began to talk about what should be done to me with her attending physician and hear them discussing something about an O.R. In my mind I was discussing my own plan of action and how I would handle this situation to keep me alive but I never got my doctorate degree so these ass wholes are probably going to let me die because of their need or wish to want to play God in these moments. I didn’t need the operating room to have a C-section for my placentas. The babies were already out what I needed was someone to massage my belly and let me deliver my placentas naturally. They administered Pitocin and then all I felt was a hard press on my abdomen and a gush of blood squirt out of my vagina as I yelled out loud and my whole head and chest went forward lifted in reaction to this bitch pressing on my uterus.
"I JUST HAD TWINS! This is not how you treat a woman!" I screamed in my head.
There was no one there looking out for me. Then the attending suggested the obgyn do a manual extraction of my two placentas. I was in and out mentally and my body had already begun to go numb, although I felt all the pain. It didn’t even matter. At that moment I wanted so badly to see my children. I just wanted her to do whatever she thought she needed to do to help me get out of there and on my way to my children. I heard splatter after splatter of my placenta being thrown to a bucket as one other doctor walked over to me and said,
“You’ve lost a lot of blood we will need to give you a blood transfusion or you can go into shock again.” “I am O negative, what kind of blood you trying to give me,” I said.
Finally, with my ability to talk coming back to my body. I was pissed beyond belief already knowing that of course now I needed a blood transfusion. This lady just pressed on my uterus like it was wet laundry ready to hang outside to dry. Then after her manually extracting my two placentas with her hand she stated I had some kind of minor tear and suggested she should stitch me up. I said,
“Girl do whatever you have to do but hurry up I am over this.”
I ignored the creepy old white man posted in the back watching over her shoulder as she did every procedure. And give me pain meds because I feel everything. I thought to myself, “Fuck! This is a teaching hospital.” This meant everything that comes into this hospital is a fucking experiment or trial of some sort.
Three transfusions later the room begins to settle as my body begins to stabilize. Most of the doctors had cleared out, my neuro check was good, my cardio check was good and the OBGYN was just finishing up her stitches. My eyes fully closed as they finished up and finally left my bedside. Giving thanks to still being alive I was even more grateful that I no longer had a bunch of white hands touching my body. A nurse finally came in and started to explain what had happened to me and began asking me all sorts of questions. She told me I had a phone call from my sister. It was then I realized I was in the ICU without my children, no doula, no family member, no advocate. During the height of the Corona Virus Plandemic. I got on the phone with my sister and asked,
“Where are my children, is Dessaline okay.?”
My sister was too busy asking me if I was okay and began crying. She said I wasn’t allowed to leave her with my two children. I didn’t think my situation was that bad and brushed off how severely ill I was.
“Relax, I’m not dying. Take care of the children and make sure nothing is done to them without my consent until I get there. Don't let them vaccinate them, don't even let them bath them.”
Little did I know I was days away from recovering and in a completely different hospital. EMS had taken my daughter to a specialized children's hospital and the social worker required them to bring in my son for suspicion of a sketchy situation.
It was only 11 am when I was admitted to the hospital and hours felt like days as I reminded myself over and over to heal myself. How ironic, I was in a situation where I just birthed two babies and almost hemorrhaged to death in the hands of white doctors who I tried to avoid by giving birth at home. My grandmother was once known in her community for laying her hands over people who were bleeding out and with her prayers and connection to the source she saved many lives. I knew I had the same power to heal myself through this situation if it’s what the creator wished.
I was stuck in my body battling the anxieties of wanting to run out of the hospital to reunite with my children. Often praying to my ancestors to protect my babies from any hospital staff with careless intentions. Something somehow told me to project the energy of a lion mother to ensure my children were safe while they were away from me. After a few hours, my sister made it to the hospital to visit me and see what conditions I was in. All I could do is ask her how the children were. She kept everything positive and short and I told her to leave my side and go ensure they are being watched by one of us. After a 15-minute chat with me, the nurse urged her to leave because visitors were not allowed during the plandemic. All I wanted to do is spit in everyone's face to piss them off with their stupid understanding of how germs and bacteria of a bull shyt ass virus can actually spread.
On and off I would daze out into a dream state praying and talking myself through only positive affirmations. Over and over different nurses will come in and poke me in the hand to draw more and more blood to check my vitals.
That night they transferred me to my own room when I finally became stable. I was now in the Postpartum ICU. With all the privacy I needed. I had a T.V. and a large window with a mother tree right beside my bed. All I could stare at was the wall and the clock right above the view of my feet. I had an IV in my right arm and a bag of blood transfusion on my left arm.
That evening I was still in a daze trying to process where I was and what had happened. My phone rang, it was one of the doctors on my children's case. With a disgusting attitude and pressuring tone of voice, she was calling to ask if I was the parents of my children. I told her who I was and that I did not consent to anything being done to my children without my permission. She stated that she will need to give my son who was only there overnight to be monitored, a HepB vaccine because it was protocol for newborns upon being born. I said to her that it was not necessary nor did I consent. She said she will be required unless she had my previous medical records that showed I was not HIV/AIDs positive. I had my midwife fax over records within the hour to ensure my child had no risk of being infected. Of course, this was something that was being pushed by a white doctor who saw a melanated baby and immediately discriminated and assumed he would be at risk for this autoimmune disease. I became so angry while in my bed unable to go and advocate for my children to not be vaccinated, stressing the fuck out telling her not to touch my kids because I am not there. The next morning my sister informed me that my sun had been bathed and the bitch ass doctor administered the vaccine at 10 pm WITHOUT MY CONSENT.
Each day I spent in the hospital all I could do is communicate with my sister over the phone and urge her to put her foot down and make sure they knew why I couldn't be there to consent. I don't know what I would have done without my sister during all of this. My daughter was admitted to the NICU and when they learned she was a twin just born at home the hospital staff contacted the hospital's social worker, once she laid eyes on my sister and asked her how and where the children were born she was the one who suggested to the doctors that the other twin baby my son be admitted as well.
This social worker turned out to be a racist white woman who made so many assumptions about our situation without fully questioning my sister or my brother-in-law about why my daughter had to be admitted in the first place. She racially discriminated against my sister and brother in law for having locs and seeming mentally drained and unable to answer such questions when they arrived at the hospital. After almost 3 days lacking sleep because they were supporting me through my labor process of course they looked tired in the face and now emotionally distraught hoping for the best of my daughter's prognosis.
Shannon Davis made it a point to report me to the Department of Family Services. Not knowing that I was in another hospital in an ICU recovering from postpartum hemorrhage and shock. This bitch reported me to be investigated because she thought the situation was sketchy. Without asking she assumed my children were born from a reckless mother who knew nothing about birth.
The next few days I spent in the hospital, mentally in shock. I had not cried not one tear since the birth of my babies. A warrior was born in me at that moment. Day 2 of me in the postpartum ICU I had a bit of relief because my son was discharged from the hospital after 24hrs because he was completely healthy. So, my sister was scrambling trying to figure out how to feed him and care for him since I had yet been able to produce milk of my own. Thankfully in our community, my sister was able to find two beautiful human beings that donated their breastmilk. One of them being my wonderful doula.
I was in the hospital by myself with no strength to talk to anyone, straight-faced, and counting down the hours to go home. The nurses checked up on me periodically and later that night an OBGYN on duty came to tell me I needed another blood transfusion because my hemoglobin was still too low. "Fuck!" I said to myself. If I don't get better fast I will be here longer. The longer I am here the more time I lose away from my children. One was at a home and needs my breast milk and the other that is in a NICU whose wellbeing I was not even clear on.
On and on in my head, I prayed to my ancestors. I told them I will be calm, I will stay level headed. I will answer what they are asking me to do which is to embrace the art of war and protect those children. I survived birth for them and now I had to live for them.
"Yeah, give me another blood transfusion if you are saying I definitely need it or risk going into shock without it," I said to the obgyn.
The scary thing about going into shock is that if you go under for too long you are at risk for brain injury. A brain injury puts you at risk of your body shutting down. That will mean going into a coma and further damaging brain cells that can lead to bodily deficits. All the things I knew about my body was rushing through my brain and I had to call on everything I believed in to surrender to my healing process in the ICU. I could remember telling myself that at one-point months or even years after this I will learn the reason for all this. I will learn why I had to be admitted into this hospital in order to not lose my life, in order to experience how much a woman's intuition is ignored, in order to learn how much agency is taken away from a woman during labor and postpartum.
I always hated the business of hospitals but respected medicine and not having an advocate or someone I knew there to help me process all this was traumatizing. This right here experience was exactly why I was called to be a birth worker.
I had to surrender to yet another blood transfusion and as my good friend and birth worker, Maritday said,
"Now you have to allow your body to recalibrate with another person's DNA in your body."
This was another mind fuck for me. Five blood transfusions may have saved my life but it wasn’t something I’d wish on anyone. I agreed to another blood bag dripping in through my veins throughout the night and actually woke up with my headache slowly fading away. A kind melanated nurse was on my case caring for me since I had gotten admitted and she walked in that morning ready to give me the game plan of recovery. She said to me,
“We are going to try and get you to start walking today so you can get discharged and see your babies. I am going to help you walk to the bathroom now that your catheter is out.”
Every answer to her questions from me were,
“Yes I am ready. Yes, let’s try it.”
I had always been a person with a strong will but being a mother, having just gave birth to healthy twin babies I knew I had to ignore all aches and pains and discomfort and heal myself asap for my children.
By day 3 in the postpartum ICU, my vitals were finally looking good. I had my sister came to drop off some herbal tinctures the night before to ensure I was aiding my body back to health. It worked. My nurse came in and told me that I should take a few more laps around the floor to ensure that I do not get light-headed. If I did well as I regained mobility back in my legs I would be going home that night.
I got discharged from the hospital around 9:00 pm. I got home to my sun. Finally, being reunited with him and wanting to just lay down and hold him in my arms. I co-slept with him in my king size bed as he slept in his indigenous baby nook. So afraid of just doing anything wrong I slept while holding his hands the whole night to ensure I felt him if he needed anything from me. Angered to think that someone somehow made me question my ability to care for my child while recovering myself. Wombman did this kind of magical shyt for as long humanity has existed. Sadly, I lived in a society that makes wombman question everything about them. Even the magic that is biologically embedded in our DNA to birth life.
The very next morning after gaining some strength at home I got ready to go to the NICU to go see my daughter. I didn't know who my daughter was yet because each day went by as I forced myself to get into the car with my breastfeeding sun. I had barely begun to heal.
Between the NICU visits, I was at least able to find the strength to go to a chiropractor only to learn that my hip was dislocated during the birth of my babies and in order to walk properly again I needed to invest in self-care. I also was not playing about my sun. I made sure he got adjusted every week by the Chiropractor also especially because he was born breech. I realized how easy it was for me to have dislocated my hip after three days of laboring all around my house. I struggled to carry these two beautiful 6-pound babies each, not to mention how much the placentas weighed. I wondered then how many women continue to live with such ailments after childbirth and never take the time to get checked out by different practitioners such as Chiropractors. If not for my Chiro, I would have never known my hip needed to be popped back in place in order to walk normal again.
I was incapable of even noticing the days of the calendar. I felt as though I was still trying to catch my breath since the birth of my sun, daughter, and myself. None of the plandemic bull-shyt affected me directly because I was experiencing a loss myself. As days went by something new changed in the world news and the sheep followed suit to follow every recommendation to stop the spread of a virus. Trying everything but promoting a healthier lifestyle and a strong immune system. I was too busy facing racist ass doctors who wanted my daughter dead for potential organ harvesting. I had no time to worry about the outside world.
Too much of my warrior spirit was focused on protecting my home, my sanity, and my daughter’s dignity.
This photo was taken when my sister and my sun was allowed to come into the hospital and accompany me in the NICU because we were going to take off my baby girl's breathing tube. With hopes that she would breathe on her own. The doctors of course allowed them to be present because they figured she would die within minutes or hours of breathing on her own. She lived and we all said, "Fuck these doctors and their assumptions."
After endless calls from my support group those who were sent from the creator to be a family here on earth to me. I was encouraged to bring my daughter home once she stopped progressing on her own. I couldn’t bare the thought of leaving her alone each day. I bled more and more every time I stood over her bed in the NICU, crying over her and asking her what she wished I did to make things better. All I kept hearing was take me home and away from these strangers. That little girl was wrapped in an inhumane swaddle blanket and wires monitoring her lifeless spirit and nonflexible body. Every time I came in and saw her I would undress her, speak love to her, and change her diaper. I didn’t allow nurses to do much to my daughter especially while in my presence. I figured I was her mum, if anything needed to be done non-medical I should have the right to do it. I ensured she was held by me and loved every moment I was there until the doctors urged me to decide what to do about her life.
I know what they wanted. I see it all too many times on T.V. that quote on quote heroic shyt of family members signing off a paper for their loved one’s organs to be donated to help someone else in need. I wasn’t completely against this practice that I am sure has saved many lives. But this was my baby. This was my daughter and the way this hospital staff treated my daughter and myself I would not allow anyone to take her body for parts. The moment I asked the doctors if my daughter could go home with me with hospice care they arranged my daughter’s discharge within 24 hours. They figured they weren’t going to make any more money off of her so there you go take her and free up this bed for someone else. My daughter often laid in that NICU room all by herself since they had completely changed regulations of people visiting during the plandemic. First, it was the two parents who were able to visit, and then it was just me. My sister was seeing her most of the time to ensure someone was there. When I finally gained strength, I made sure I visited her every day even just for a few hours while my sister waited for me in the car with my baby boy who would need me to quickly get downstairs to breastfeed at any moment. The shyt was stressful and heartbreaking. I didn’t have time to grieve. I was too busy pushing through the days to ensure both my babies were well and protected.
Bringing Dessaline home was a huge relief. The day was beautiful and the sun was shining. Of course, I was a nervous wreck because the doctors made sure to give me a good two hours of prep talk about how she can potentially die on her way to my home in the ambulance. I wasn’t allowed to ride with her because she was in an incubator. I was only a 15-minute ride from the hospital so I rode back with my sister and Yasiin thinking to myself. Well, shyt my daughter has been with me all this time she is not going to leave us in an ambulance on her way home. But the doctors are inhumane in that way. Fear is all they speak and sugar coat it with the excuse of "We just have to be honest and prepare you for the worst." Well shyt, I don’t live at the mercy of fear. I believe in a higher power.
My daughter lived with me at home and transitioned on May 1, 2020. She lived for 36 days most of which she spent at home with me, surrounded by family and her brother. My parents got to meet her and say their goodbyes. My midwives got to come over and even hosted a ceremony of life for her which allowed me a moment to shed some tears and express my true grief, anger, and sadness about her leaving us. They granted me the opportunity to tell my daughter who she was and where she came from and even how she was conceived. I was able to tell my daughter who her mum was but barely anything about her father. I realized at that moment that my daughter told me even while I carried her in my womb that she wasn’t going to be with me for long. I figured it would break her heart coming into a world without her father and mother being in good terms. Knowing how much I would have hated for her not to have a healthy father-daughter relationship. The truth was her father was already a father to a seven-year-old little boy whom I had met once upon a time. And a vivid memory I had of her father was how often he spoke so badly about his son's mother. Now that was probably the same situation I was in. But nowhere in hell willing to entertain such behavior.
The most high and the ancestors gave me many signs before my children were born that something wasn’t going to be alright. I, however, didn’t focus much on the negative because I know how powerful manifesting thoughts can be and would immediately combat it with positive affirmations.
At the start of the year in January, I often created or updated my digital vision board. The year my children were going to be born I added a picture of twin babies held my two heavenly looking hands that cradled each baby. One baby seem