[1]Cori Bush

John, before
Mother’s Day tomorrow, I want to highlight and uplift the maternal health
care crisis Black people face in our country.

That’s why this week I testified in Congress about my own experience and
the challenges my babies faced to survive.

Every day, Black mothers, birthing people, and our babies die because our
doctors don’t believe our pain. My children almost became a statistic. I
almost became a statistic.

[ [link removed] ][IMG]

I’m a single mother of two. Zion, my eldest child, was born at 23 weeks
gestation versus what is considered a normal pregnancy at 40 weeks.

I had hyperemesis gravidarum which was severe nausea and vomiting for the
first four months of my pregnancy. Around five months, I went to see my
doctor for a routine prenatal visit. As I was sitting in the doctor’s
office I saw a sign “If you feel like something is wrong, something is
wrong. Tell your doctor.” I felt like something was wrong. So that’s what
I did.

I told my doctor. I told her that Iwas having severe pains and she said,
“Oh no you’re fine, you’re fine, go home and I’ll see you next time.”

I went home and one week later, I went into preterm labor. At 23 weeks, my
son was born one pound 23 ounces. His ears were still in his head. His
eyes were still fused shut. His fingers were smaller than rice and his
skin was translucent — a Black baby, translucent skin. You could see his
lungs, he could fit within the palm of my hand.

We were told he had a 0% chance of life. The Chief of Neonatal Surgery
happened to be in the hospital that morning and saw my case on the
surgical board, and decided to try and resuscitate him. It worked, and for
the first month of his life, Zion was on the ventilator fighting to live.
For four months, he was in the neonatal care unit. The doctor who
delivered my son apologized. She said, “You were right and I didn’t listen
to you, give me another chance.”

Two months later I was pregnant again so I went back to her. At 16 weeks I
went for an ultrasound at the clinic and saw a different doctor who was
working that day. I found out again I was in preterm labor. The doctor
told me that the baby was going to abort. I said “No you have to do
something.” He said, “Just go home, let it abort. You can get pregnant
again because that’s what you people do.”

My sister Kelli was with me, we didn’t know what to do after the doctor
left. In desperation, my sister picked up a chair and threw it down the
hallway. Nurses came running everywhere to see what’s wrong. A nurse
called my doctor and she put me on a stretcher. The next morning my doctor
finally came in, placed a cerclage on my uterus, and I was able to carry
my baby — my daughter, my Angel, who is now 20 years old.

That chair flying down a hallway is what desperation looks like. This is
what being your own advocate looks like in our broken health care system.
Every day Black women and birthing people are subjected to harsh and
racist treatment during pregnancy and childbirth. Every day we die because
the system denies our humanity. It denies us simple care.

I'm writing to you as a single mom, as a nurse, as an activist, and as a
Congresswoman committed to doing the absolute most to protect Black
mothers, to protect black babies, to protect Black birthing people, and to
save lives.



[ [link removed] ]If you want to help power this fight ahead of us, make a donation
today to show support for our movement as we continue legislating and
organizing for change.

[ [link removed] ]Contribute $5



Thank you,
Cori


 


This email was sent to [email protected]. Email is the most important way for us to reach you about opportunities to get involved. If you need to remove yourself from our email list, click here to unsubscribe: [link removed]

Paid for by Cori Bush for Congress
Cori Bush for Congress, 75 North Oaks Plaza, St. Louis, MO 63121