Member-only story
You Almost Killed My Wife
The state of Black maternal health.
I’m not sure that I want any more children. When I was young, I promised my mother a bunch of grandkids. I wanted a basketball team that my future wife and I could coach through all of life’s challenges. I was idealistic, naïve, and hopeful. I didn’t know how hard raising one human, let alone multiple could be. I didn’t know how difficult it is for many couples to even conceive and carry a child to term. I didn’t know that Black women are three times more likely than white women to die due to pregnancy-related complications. I didn’t know much. Having grown up in a home filled with people, a large family felt natural. I wanted to be surrounded by love and love my children as my mother loved me.
This isn’t a tragedy. This is a love letter to the Black woman that I married. It’s a love letter to the Black woman that raised me. It’s a love letter to every Black person that has, will, or wants to experience giving birth.
“Babe, can you come here for a minute? I need your help.”
Those are the words that I’ll never forget; the words that made me stop pacing our living room, hands in pockets and eyes fixed on our gray tiled…
