Member-only story
Lived Through This
My Daughter Was Born While I Was in Prison
This baby not only changed my life — she saved it
When people think of giving birth to their first child, they probably think of prenatal appointments with their doctor, watching the baby grow inside them. Maybe they think of gender reveal parties and family coming together to welcome a new life into the world. A happy couple smiling during an ultrasound. Beautiful pictures of a glowing pregnant person ready to embrace a new role as a parent.
My experience having my first baby, however, was much darker.
I went into labor on June 12, 2011, at 4:00 in the morning. I was surrounded by 50 other inmates waiting the call for chow, breakfast. I felt like I had a knife in my back, which wasn’t uncommon for me at the time. I’d been sleeping every night on a two-inch-thick mat my entire pregnancy. I had no idea what I was experiencing that morning was the start of back labor.
Prison guards did not like to be bothered by inmates. The only time I spoke to them was to ask for toilet paper, a commodity officers rarely liked to give out. As my pain worsened, I had no choice but to inform the guards. I was too afraid, so another inmate spoke up for me. I was terrified to have my first child. Not in the way most first-time mothers are scared, but as an inmate. I had no idea how the guards would treat me.
Once an officer was informed I was in labor, he told me to walk to the infirmary, the prison medical wing. They were not equipped to do much. They could give me Tylenol or check my blood pressure, but they certainly could not deliver a baby. I walked 50 yards to the medical wing, each step more painful than the last. When I made it to the infirmary door, I thought I was safe. I thought they would help me, that they would reassure me this was a normal and natural process. They would tell me that my body knew what to do and everything was going to be okay. I was wrong.
They sat me in a wheelchair with a puppy pad underneath me in case my water broke and because I was bleeding. No one asked me if I was okay. No one asked me about contractions. No one talked to me. For over three hours, I sat in a wheelchair alone.
