The Portal in the Hospital Lobby
The first birth I ever supported as a doula consisted of a lot of waiting in the lobby. My client’s baby was breech, and due to some medical indications the baby needed to be born sooner rather than later. So it was decided; at 37 weeks the medical team would attempt an External Cephalic Version (ECV) to flip the baby head down. If successful, they would immediately begin the induction process for a vaginal birth. If unsuccessful, they would perform a cesarean section that day.
While there is a lot to say about what I learned from that birth, recently I have been reflecting on what I learned in the lobby. This hospital had relatively strict restrictions on doula care, so I was not allowed in the room prior to or during the ECV. If I was ever in this situation again, I would most likely meet my clients at the hospital when I was able to give them in person support. I now understand that it is just as easy to wait at home as it is to wait in the lobby, but as a bright eyed and bushy tailed baby doula I wanted to be downstairs just in case they needed me. They did not need me for 9 hours.
Over the course of those hours, I kept busy by reading, writing, and falling down internet rabbit holes. More than any of that though, I watched. I watched countless nurses and doctors grab snacks from the cafe. I watched a new grandfather yell into his cell phone “IT’S A BOY” and heard the cheers from people on the other side of his call, which was apparently on speaker. Most notably, I watched the new parents.
One moment sticks out to me vividly. Around hour 3, two couples entered the lobby at the same time. One couple walked in from outside, a woman in a “In My Mom Era” t-shirt vocalizing through contractions and her partner frantically removing things from his pockets so he didn’t waste time at the metal detector. The other couple exited the elevator, a man pushing his partner’s wheelchair as she held their newborn, all three of them in coordinated outfits.
As the first couple walked towards the triage area and the second couple moved towards the exit, I saw the moment where the women locked eyes and smiled softly before passing each other. They didn’t say anything or look back as they continued on their way, but seeing that small interaction and watching them intersect was extremely profound from my perspective.
I don’t know either couple, and most of my imaginings about them and their circumstances are projections, but it inspired the ideas that made me understand what the birth space is and why it is so sacred to be invited into it.
Before this, I knew that birth is transformative for identity, but I didn’t understand that for people not birthing at home, the birth space is a kind of portal. When the second couple walked through the automatic doors into the hospital a few days prior, they were different people. They were partners arriving together, carrying bags instead of a baby, and existing in that liminal space where everything is about to change but hasn’t yet. As they crossed paths with the first couple, I imagine there was a quiet recognition there, of who they had been and how recently they had been them.
The first couple was still rooted in the before, but it was obvious it wouldn’t take much longer for them to enter the after. They were still just the two of them; figuring out the timing of contractions, moving through the small logistics of arrival, existing in that strange stretch of time where everything feels both urgent and suspended. In a few days, or maybe less, they would walk the same path the other couple had just taken. But for now, they were still here, on the edge of it, not yet divided into who they were before and who they would be after.
This realization has impacted my mindset when arriving at a birth center or hospital, because I recognize the symbolism there and the fact that symbols have power. A birthing location symbolizes a portal of growth and transformation, and as a doula, being invited into that environment means recognizing that the policies, checklists, procedures, all exist within that larger reality.
That day in the lobby also reminded me that there is meaning in the moments we might otherwise overlook. A glance between two strangers, a shared smile, and a silent acknowledgment of “I see you, and I know something of what you are carrying” might not stick out to most people, but they are part of the story too. Those moments are easy to miss if you are only focused on the clinical timeline of birth.
Now, when I meet clients at a hospital, I pay attention to the threshold. I honor the “before” just as much as I prepare them for the “after.” I understand that once they walk through those doors, whether it takes hours or days, they will not walk back out the same people, and it is my responsibility and honor to help guide them through it.
