Postpartum Mom Needs Help (homeless, infant loss)
Donation protected
This isn't the way I'd planned on telling the world that we were growing our family. I'd planned on posting a birth announcement soon after our baby was born, like the delighted, happy family I'd imagined us being.
We were close- so very close to doing that.
I'm a private person- a lot of people are surprised when they hear me say that because I'm also pretty social and generally charismatic, but that's not to be confused with me wanting to keep my beeswax to myself. I'm also not a huge fan of social media, I think it breeds contention among otherwise perfectly civil people, but I have seen it work for good, and that's why I'm here, laying out my personal life for everyone that I know (and don't know) to see. In the end, my family's privacy has become less important than the potential good that can from telling our story.
Before we get too far, I want to make sure you understand that this is not the complete story. There is so, so much more I've chosen to leave out- the most heartbreaking details are still held gently and not for public consumption. As tragic as the events are that are written here, I assure you- the reality is far more tragic. I'm not here to craft a voyeuristic image of trauma porn for readers or to prove that this is the saddest story on gofundme...but know that you are receiving a version of this story minus about a thousand heartbreaking details.
My husband and I are trying to adopt.
Just that sentence alone and what it entails is so much greater of a story, but this is not about what lead Griffin and I into this situation, it's about the woman who chose us to parent her child- who chose us to be mom and dad to her flesh and blood. The woman who referred to the baby in her womb as, "our baby"; her name is Amber.
Amber lives in Georgia. She's 31 years old, and an amazing mother to three young children. A little over nine months ago, she became pregnant with a baby girl. She chose a beautiful name for her child but she knew she wouldn't be able to parent the baby without it creating significant challenges for her other childrens' survival. Despite having a longstanding relationship with the father, he chose not to take responsibility for the child, revealing a side of her partner she had never seen throughout their no-drama relationship. Amber knew that as a single mom, now with a single income that she couldn't possibly raise another child. Her entire community encouraged abortion. She chose to carry out the pregnancy for reasons that are completely hers and hers alone.
Amber wanted an open adoption, wanted to be involved in her child's life and growing up, wanted to create a sort of non-traditional family with the baby's adoptive parents. Griffin and I had hoped for the exact same things, so when she reached out to us to talk about the possibility of moving forward as a team, we were thrilled. Amber is funny, open-minded, big hearted- we loved her instantly. We began planning our trip across country to unite our families.
I told my husband that we needed to be prepared to get to Georgia fast- Amber had complained of some symptoms that were troubling to me and made me doubt that she was getting good enough prenatal care; swollen legs that were painful to walk on, very high blood pressure, severe headaches, and a nasty "asthmatic" cough and wheezing that just wouldn't go away. Her last child, who was a year old, had to be resuscitated when they were born and had a partially calcified placenta. Amber had a planned cesarean for this pregnancy and was considered "high risk" after her last birth. As a doula, I knew what these symptoms pointed to.
"I just don't understand why they haven't delivered the baby yet," I told my husband. "We need to be ready to go immediately because there is just no way a doctor is going to let her stay pregnant- it sounds like preeclampsia to me." [The only way to cure preeclampsia is to give birth.] Amber's symptoms seemed extreme, but I pushed my fears aside. The doctors had been seeing her regularly, and she had had three ultrasounds in the past month-surely they would have been closely watching such tell-tale symptoms. What did I really know? I was just a doula on the other side of the country listening to a mom tell me about her pregnancy troubles.
...but then again, I'd spent years doing that exact thing- listening to moms. Advocating for them. Uneasiness settled in. I began to express some of my concern to Amber but she assured me that no one had mentioned anything about her pregnancy being in danger. Not to worry; we could plan all the details as soon as her 38 week appointment was over- and that was on Monday, only 2 days away!
There was something else I knew that Amber didn't:
The fact that she was a black mother made her 4x more likely than a white woman like me, to die from pregnancy complications.
The fact that the baby was black doubled her risk of infant mortality.
Even when black moms do everything "right" we know that they are treated differently in the world of obstetrics. Recently, Serena Williams almost died after delivering her child and the aftermath caused a bit of a bump up in media coverage of the disparity that black mothers face when giving birth, but in general, most people, including those in the most danger, don't really realize that systemic racism in obstetrics is a national crisis.
I knew, and it made me extremely nervous.
We had stayed up late Sunday night; Griffin, Amber and I- talking for over three hours, all the while the sweet baby bounced around in Amber's belly, kicking and happy.
On Monday morning, I woke up to videos on my phone that Amber was taking while she was in the ultrasound.
"She's trying to bring me into this pregnancy- make me feel welcome and a part!" I thought as my heart soared.
The ultrasound technician had mentioned how much the baby had grown.
I began to text her back, my screen filled with all the heart emojis possible, but before I could hit "send", Amber was calling.
She was frantic.
I could hardly make out what she was trying to say, until I heard it:
"There's no heartbeat."
(Have you ever been the first one to console a mother after her child has died? That sorrow will shake you. You will never forget it.)
Amber had no childcare, so all three of her young children with her. All three of them watched the scene unfold as they learned their sister was dead. It was a short scene with little compassion and not even a, "Can I get you a tissue? Please stay for as long as you need." I heard a nurse or an assistant say, "Go home. We will call you later today to tell you when to come in tomorrow for surgery."
Then they sent Amber home with her dead daughter inside of her.
Legs swollen like balloons, blood pressure soaring, headaches so bad that her vision was blurry, wheezing.
They sent her home.
For Amber, her home was a motel room.
During her pregnancy, Amber had worked as long as she could at her job, which was tending to the elderly and sick in their homes, but the heavy lifting was impossible after about 5 months. So she poured herself into her side job, dressing hair and braiding. Closer to the end of her pregnancy the 8+ hours of standing on her extremely swollen and painful legs became too much, and the headaches made it hard to concentrate. Her body screamed to stop, to rest. She couldn't make rent. Her car transmission had gone out a couple months ago. The adoption attorney moved her into a motel and bought her some Uber cards to get her to her doctor's appointments and the store. The motel didn't have a fridge or microwave to make food for her or the kids, but it was shelter during a chilly winter. She was grateful. It was safe.
The revelation that the baby would be stillborn overcame Amber completely. Additionally, it was an emotional trigger that brought to the surface a past trauma from years ago, when another daughter of hers was found lifeless in her bassinet from SIDS. That baby's death had sent her and her husband down a dark path, one that he never recovered from.
Without the baby yet outside of her body, walking into her motel from the doctor's office, Amber realized that next week, she would be burying her second lost baby.
"I chose life!" Amber sobbed, "I chose life and I still got death."
The doctor called and scheduled Amber to come into the hospital the next morning. I urged her to go in sooner- to force them to monitor and watch her, to do whatever it took to make them care for her. Without wanting to bring more stress into the situation, I shared how urgent I felt it was that she not spend the night in a motel without any medical attention. So she went.
Her blood pressure raced at 185/115, and her vision was so blurry she no longer could read my texts, her eye sockets burned as her head throbbed. Pre-op bloodwork came back showing Amber had preeclampsia, the first time she had heard any of her caretakers utter the word. She went into the OR to surgically give birth to her deceased child.
I was beyond anxious and felt helpless- I had not been able to get to her in time. Fortunately for me, I'd found two doulas in the birth community near her who had both volunteered to be with Amber and to help watch her children. These ladies were my eyes and ears and I am forever grateful.
We messaged the entire day:
"Baby is here."
"How's Amber?"
"Still in OR"
Then later:
"3 lbs 14 oz"
"I'm sorry- did you mean 3 lbs 14 oz?"
"Yep"
"OMG"
The baby was tiny. Far below where she should have been at 38 weeks. Fetal growth restriction had clearly been an issue despite Amber being told less than 24 hours before that the "baby has grown so much!" How? How had all of this been overlooked?
During recovery from surgery, Amber's BP got up to 220. I feared for her life. And that's the state I lived in for the next weeks:
When she was sent home despite her BP still not being regulated.
When they told her, knowing she was living in a motel and had not a cent in her pocket, to hire an in-home medical professional just to make sure she was okay.
When she came back from the hospital and her hotel key didn't work and the hotel staff insisted that she had not paid. (She had and they later reactivated her key with no apology.)
When she showed up at her OB's office the Monday after her release, and he was too busy to see her.
When she was mourning and dark and engulfed by overwhelm at 2am...day after day.
When she was kicked out of her motel because they are not, "an extended stay", cesarean scar still aching, breasts leaking, unable to carry her own luggage much less her 14 month old.
When my husband and I virtually attended a funeral with the tiniest coffin you've ever seen.
When one of her kids took her phone and sunk it in the toilet.
When she developed an ear infection so severe that her whole face became swollen and she was unable to chew anything due to nerve pain.
When she went into the ER to have the infection treated and was prescribed an antibiotic that she turned out to be allergic to and vomited multiple times a day from it.
And here is where we are now:
Still mourning. Still some really dark days for us.
For Amber, she is fighting to stay alive, to keep her children fed and happy, to heal her body and her broken heart. She's a wonderful mom and loves her kids deeply- she's trying to forge ahead for their wellbeing but the grief is still overwhelming.
For me, this white woman shrouded in opportunity and privilege, I have had a front row seat to what it really is like to be a poor, black mother in America. To make a vast understatement: it sucks.
But through the horror of everything, we have become the closest of friends, Amber and me; like family, despite us not both being mommies to our sweet baby girl.
I mourn this baby's death every day- the holidays were especially tricky. But, I now know that this journey was never about becoming a mom, it was always about becoming friends with Amber.
I'm going to keep fighting alongside Amber until she is back on her feet and out of the dark. Until food and housing insecurity are a thing of the past for her and her children. Until I am absolutely certain that she will survive the very delicate postpartum period. I'm going to keep using my privilege as an educated birthworker, as someone with a computer and unlimited internet access, as a person who has a lot of friends who won't miss $25.
$25 could add up to make all the difference in the world to the woman who was going to birth our daughter.
If you wish to help Amber's recovery- I'm extending the opportunity to you here. Amber's family needs the basics right now: food, shelter, and transportation.
One bright spot during all of this has been that after SIX YEARS of waiting, her section 8 housing voucher came through so we are looking at a more permanent housing situation! After a home is found that meets the state's requirements, she will need help moving, including deposits, rent, utilities, and transportation to appointments, interviews, and eventually work.
Once she gets settled, has secured childcare and a job, there will be 1-2 weeks until her first paycheck comes through and at that point we will begin to pull back financial support.
Job, home, and food security are the main goals.
If we raise more money than is needed for this "basic-survival plan", it will go towards bettering Amber's life and will be responsibly used to help her family get a leg up and out of poverty.
Regardless of your ability to donate or not- please commit to learning more about the national crisis of maternal and infant death, particularly how it affects families of color. Share your knowledge with others. You may wish to start with this piece that shares a shockingly similar story to the one you just read, sadly these stories aren't that few and far between...yet. The more people discussing this tragedy, and the more light shone upon it, the more likely the chances are for systemic and political change that will help eradicate unnecessary death as a result of birth.
Why America’s Black Mothers and Babies Are in a Life-or-Death Crisis
We were close- so very close to doing that.
I'm a private person- a lot of people are surprised when they hear me say that because I'm also pretty social and generally charismatic, but that's not to be confused with me wanting to keep my beeswax to myself. I'm also not a huge fan of social media, I think it breeds contention among otherwise perfectly civil people, but I have seen it work for good, and that's why I'm here, laying out my personal life for everyone that I know (and don't know) to see. In the end, my family's privacy has become less important than the potential good that can from telling our story.
Before we get too far, I want to make sure you understand that this is not the complete story. There is so, so much more I've chosen to leave out- the most heartbreaking details are still held gently and not for public consumption. As tragic as the events are that are written here, I assure you- the reality is far more tragic. I'm not here to craft a voyeuristic image of trauma porn for readers or to prove that this is the saddest story on gofundme...but know that you are receiving a version of this story minus about a thousand heartbreaking details.
My husband and I are trying to adopt.
Just that sentence alone and what it entails is so much greater of a story, but this is not about what lead Griffin and I into this situation, it's about the woman who chose us to parent her child- who chose us to be mom and dad to her flesh and blood. The woman who referred to the baby in her womb as, "our baby"; her name is Amber.
Amber lives in Georgia. She's 31 years old, and an amazing mother to three young children. A little over nine months ago, she became pregnant with a baby girl. She chose a beautiful name for her child but she knew she wouldn't be able to parent the baby without it creating significant challenges for her other childrens' survival. Despite having a longstanding relationship with the father, he chose not to take responsibility for the child, revealing a side of her partner she had never seen throughout their no-drama relationship. Amber knew that as a single mom, now with a single income that she couldn't possibly raise another child. Her entire community encouraged abortion. She chose to carry out the pregnancy for reasons that are completely hers and hers alone.
Amber wanted an open adoption, wanted to be involved in her child's life and growing up, wanted to create a sort of non-traditional family with the baby's adoptive parents. Griffin and I had hoped for the exact same things, so when she reached out to us to talk about the possibility of moving forward as a team, we were thrilled. Amber is funny, open-minded, big hearted- we loved her instantly. We began planning our trip across country to unite our families.
I told my husband that we needed to be prepared to get to Georgia fast- Amber had complained of some symptoms that were troubling to me and made me doubt that she was getting good enough prenatal care; swollen legs that were painful to walk on, very high blood pressure, severe headaches, and a nasty "asthmatic" cough and wheezing that just wouldn't go away. Her last child, who was a year old, had to be resuscitated when they were born and had a partially calcified placenta. Amber had a planned cesarean for this pregnancy and was considered "high risk" after her last birth. As a doula, I knew what these symptoms pointed to.
"I just don't understand why they haven't delivered the baby yet," I told my husband. "We need to be ready to go immediately because there is just no way a doctor is going to let her stay pregnant- it sounds like preeclampsia to me." [The only way to cure preeclampsia is to give birth.] Amber's symptoms seemed extreme, but I pushed my fears aside. The doctors had been seeing her regularly, and she had had three ultrasounds in the past month-surely they would have been closely watching such tell-tale symptoms. What did I really know? I was just a doula on the other side of the country listening to a mom tell me about her pregnancy troubles.
...but then again, I'd spent years doing that exact thing- listening to moms. Advocating for them. Uneasiness settled in. I began to express some of my concern to Amber but she assured me that no one had mentioned anything about her pregnancy being in danger. Not to worry; we could plan all the details as soon as her 38 week appointment was over- and that was on Monday, only 2 days away!
There was something else I knew that Amber didn't:
The fact that she was a black mother made her 4x more likely than a white woman like me, to die from pregnancy complications.
The fact that the baby was black doubled her risk of infant mortality.
Even when black moms do everything "right" we know that they are treated differently in the world of obstetrics. Recently, Serena Williams almost died after delivering her child and the aftermath caused a bit of a bump up in media coverage of the disparity that black mothers face when giving birth, but in general, most people, including those in the most danger, don't really realize that systemic racism in obstetrics is a national crisis.
I knew, and it made me extremely nervous.
We had stayed up late Sunday night; Griffin, Amber and I- talking for over three hours, all the while the sweet baby bounced around in Amber's belly, kicking and happy.
On Monday morning, I woke up to videos on my phone that Amber was taking while she was in the ultrasound.
"She's trying to bring me into this pregnancy- make me feel welcome and a part!" I thought as my heart soared.
The ultrasound technician had mentioned how much the baby had grown.
I began to text her back, my screen filled with all the heart emojis possible, but before I could hit "send", Amber was calling.
She was frantic.
I could hardly make out what she was trying to say, until I heard it:
"There's no heartbeat."
(Have you ever been the first one to console a mother after her child has died? That sorrow will shake you. You will never forget it.)
Amber had no childcare, so all three of her young children with her. All three of them watched the scene unfold as they learned their sister was dead. It was a short scene with little compassion and not even a, "Can I get you a tissue? Please stay for as long as you need." I heard a nurse or an assistant say, "Go home. We will call you later today to tell you when to come in tomorrow for surgery."
Then they sent Amber home with her dead daughter inside of her.
Legs swollen like balloons, blood pressure soaring, headaches so bad that her vision was blurry, wheezing.
They sent her home.
For Amber, her home was a motel room.
During her pregnancy, Amber had worked as long as she could at her job, which was tending to the elderly and sick in their homes, but the heavy lifting was impossible after about 5 months. So she poured herself into her side job, dressing hair and braiding. Closer to the end of her pregnancy the 8+ hours of standing on her extremely swollen and painful legs became too much, and the headaches made it hard to concentrate. Her body screamed to stop, to rest. She couldn't make rent. Her car transmission had gone out a couple months ago. The adoption attorney moved her into a motel and bought her some Uber cards to get her to her doctor's appointments and the store. The motel didn't have a fridge or microwave to make food for her or the kids, but it was shelter during a chilly winter. She was grateful. It was safe.
The revelation that the baby would be stillborn overcame Amber completely. Additionally, it was an emotional trigger that brought to the surface a past trauma from years ago, when another daughter of hers was found lifeless in her bassinet from SIDS. That baby's death had sent her and her husband down a dark path, one that he never recovered from.
Without the baby yet outside of her body, walking into her motel from the doctor's office, Amber realized that next week, she would be burying her second lost baby.
"I chose life!" Amber sobbed, "I chose life and I still got death."
The doctor called and scheduled Amber to come into the hospital the next morning. I urged her to go in sooner- to force them to monitor and watch her, to do whatever it took to make them care for her. Without wanting to bring more stress into the situation, I shared how urgent I felt it was that she not spend the night in a motel without any medical attention. So she went.
Her blood pressure raced at 185/115, and her vision was so blurry she no longer could read my texts, her eye sockets burned as her head throbbed. Pre-op bloodwork came back showing Amber had preeclampsia, the first time she had heard any of her caretakers utter the word. She went into the OR to surgically give birth to her deceased child.
I was beyond anxious and felt helpless- I had not been able to get to her in time. Fortunately for me, I'd found two doulas in the birth community near her who had both volunteered to be with Amber and to help watch her children. These ladies were my eyes and ears and I am forever grateful.
We messaged the entire day:
"Baby is here."
"How's Amber?"
"Still in OR"
Then later:
"3 lbs 14 oz"
"I'm sorry- did you mean 3 lbs 14 oz?"
"Yep"
"OMG"
The baby was tiny. Far below where she should have been at 38 weeks. Fetal growth restriction had clearly been an issue despite Amber being told less than 24 hours before that the "baby has grown so much!" How? How had all of this been overlooked?
During recovery from surgery, Amber's BP got up to 220. I feared for her life. And that's the state I lived in for the next weeks:
When she was sent home despite her BP still not being regulated.
When they told her, knowing she was living in a motel and had not a cent in her pocket, to hire an in-home medical professional just to make sure she was okay.
When she came back from the hospital and her hotel key didn't work and the hotel staff insisted that she had not paid. (She had and they later reactivated her key with no apology.)
When she showed up at her OB's office the Monday after her release, and he was too busy to see her.
When she was mourning and dark and engulfed by overwhelm at 2am...day after day.
When she was kicked out of her motel because they are not, "an extended stay", cesarean scar still aching, breasts leaking, unable to carry her own luggage much less her 14 month old.
When my husband and I virtually attended a funeral with the tiniest coffin you've ever seen.
When one of her kids took her phone and sunk it in the toilet.
When she developed an ear infection so severe that her whole face became swollen and she was unable to chew anything due to nerve pain.
When she went into the ER to have the infection treated and was prescribed an antibiotic that she turned out to be allergic to and vomited multiple times a day from it.
And here is where we are now:
Still mourning. Still some really dark days for us.
For Amber, she is fighting to stay alive, to keep her children fed and happy, to heal her body and her broken heart. She's a wonderful mom and loves her kids deeply- she's trying to forge ahead for their wellbeing but the grief is still overwhelming.
For me, this white woman shrouded in opportunity and privilege, I have had a front row seat to what it really is like to be a poor, black mother in America. To make a vast understatement: it sucks.
But through the horror of everything, we have become the closest of friends, Amber and me; like family, despite us not both being mommies to our sweet baby girl.
I mourn this baby's death every day- the holidays were especially tricky. But, I now know that this journey was never about becoming a mom, it was always about becoming friends with Amber.
I'm going to keep fighting alongside Amber until she is back on her feet and out of the dark. Until food and housing insecurity are a thing of the past for her and her children. Until I am absolutely certain that she will survive the very delicate postpartum period. I'm going to keep using my privilege as an educated birthworker, as someone with a computer and unlimited internet access, as a person who has a lot of friends who won't miss $25.
$25 could add up to make all the difference in the world to the woman who was going to birth our daughter.
If you wish to help Amber's recovery- I'm extending the opportunity to you here. Amber's family needs the basics right now: food, shelter, and transportation.
One bright spot during all of this has been that after SIX YEARS of waiting, her section 8 housing voucher came through so we are looking at a more permanent housing situation! After a home is found that meets the state's requirements, she will need help moving, including deposits, rent, utilities, and transportation to appointments, interviews, and eventually work.
Once she gets settled, has secured childcare and a job, there will be 1-2 weeks until her first paycheck comes through and at that point we will begin to pull back financial support.
Job, home, and food security are the main goals.
If we raise more money than is needed for this "basic-survival plan", it will go towards bettering Amber's life and will be responsibly used to help her family get a leg up and out of poverty.
Regardless of your ability to donate or not- please commit to learning more about the national crisis of maternal and infant death, particularly how it affects families of color. Share your knowledge with others. You may wish to start with this piece that shares a shockingly similar story to the one you just read, sadly these stories aren't that few and far between...yet. The more people discussing this tragedy, and the more light shone upon it, the more likely the chances are for systemic and political change that will help eradicate unnecessary death as a result of birth.
Why America’s Black Mothers and Babies Are in a Life-or-Death Crisis
Organizer
Amanda Schutt
Organizer
Los Angeles, CA