Dr. Danyell K Samassa
My Story: First becoming a Doula, then starting the second only (at that time) prison-based Doula program in the Country, then two miscarriages in one year; to finding myself being childless NOT by choice, and now coming full circle with building my organization for justice-involved pregnant and parenting women to become future Doulas, has truly been a journey through my passion, my purpose, my pain, and my hope.
In 2006, I accepted a position that would forever change my life. I was blessed to be offered a lifetime opportunity to build a maternal and child health program for incarcerated pregnant and parenting women at the local female jail in my city. Along with providing case management services, advocacy, and maternal and child education, two years later, I decided I could do more for these women. These women were invisible and arguably one of the most vulnerable populations within our prisons and jails throughout the country. When people think of inmates, a mother rarely comes to mind. I wanted to change that and give a voice to the voiceless.
So, with the support of the agency that gave me this tremendous blessing and responsibility, I got trained as a Doula and then created a one-of-a-kind, first-in-the-county, full-time, on-site Doula initiative for incarcerated pregnant women. At that time, my sole focus was on making sure my staff provided our clients not only the services that come with having a Doula but also becoming an extension of a family (including the father) that could not be with Mom during the most intimate and vulnerable time of her life. I didn’t have the time to think about having children, and naively thought when I was ready- it would happen! Being a Black woman and a seventies baby, I cannot remember “seeing” women who were childless. Miscarriages were not ever discussed, and the assumption was when I got older, I would be a mother. I remember my cousin and I would be so excited when her mom got a new Sears catalog; those things were almost the size of telephone books! We would skip to the “nursery section” to pick out furniture and dream about what our nurseries would look like. Unfortunately, years later, only one of our dreams became a reality.
By 2011, the program was flourishing, and the Doula initiative had already touched countless women and babies. Along with my now-trained staff as Doulas, I continued to attend births, each one forever imprinted on my soul. I cannot explain what it is to witness a woman giving birth while incarcerated. I witnessed women not being seen as mothers but as inmates. I witnessed women bring LIFE into the world while shackled to the bed by their wrist or ankle when trying to breastfeed. I have seen a woman with swollen bellies and belly chains on as she was transported to the hospital to give birth. I saw new moms mustering up the strength to say goodbye to their babies after two to three days because they had to return to jail. These women needed me and my staff to be there for them amid extraordinary and heartbreaking circumstances. But who would be there for me during my pregnancy journeys?
My first miscarriage happened at the start of 2011. I miscarried at about six weeks and was told, “It’s normal” for first pregnancies and “there was nothing to worry about.” Miscarriages weren’t discussed in detail while I was being trained as a doula. It wasn’t addressed by any women in my private and professional circles, the organization I worked for, or general society. So, I listened when people told me, including doctors, that I had nothing to worry about. When the Fall came, I was once again pregnant. To be honest, I was nervous as hell as soon as I tested positive. Something just didn’t feel “right.” Then, the day of my first ultrasound came, and again, my life would change, but this time, my passion and my purpose were shaken. As a seasoned therapist, I can say that on the day of the ultrasound, looking at a monitor that didn’t show a viable fetus, I had a nervous breakdown right there in the office. I would not have made it home if my partner were not there with me. I was told I had what appeared to be a “molar” pregnancy, and therefore, I had to get a D&C (medical abortion) to remove what they now called a tumor.
One week after my D&C, I returned to work, labeled a habitual “aborter” by my insurance carrier. I only took a week off because there was only so much Paid Time Off, I could take. Although I worked for a maternal and child health agency, there were no existing policies at the time regarding the loss of pregnancies. A couple of weeks later, after what felt like losing my baby, I am now helping another mother bring her baby into the world. I say “baby" intentionally; I was two days shy of my second trimester, and the pain and grief I experienced felt like I lost a child. I remember having to step outside of myself to get through the birth. As with all the women I accompanied as their Doula, I knew my client needed me, that she would soon also be experiencing grief and loss when she had to be separated from her baby after giving birth in 2-3 days. So, I sucked it up, and my client and I made it through. That was until I got to the bus stop to go home and broke down on the corner of my City street. Then I went to work the next day.
I attended several more births after that, but the loss has changed me. To be a Doula and to be Childless Not By Choice is a dichotomy I am still trying to understand and fully accept.
