Page 30 of Anatomy of a Meet Cute
“Would you like to come in?” Kaiya didn’t actually wait for her response. Instead, she turned and chucked the coffee-laden towel in a nearby bin, then walked toward a small couch and chair situated at the end of the office, across from a massive paper-strewed desk. “Would you like some water?”
“That would be lovely, thank you,” Sam said, making her way over to one corner of the couch to take a seat. On the coffee table next to her were a few books titled things likeThe First Year,A New Dad’s Guide to Parenting, andBaby’s Brain,as well as one ominously titledIt’s Okay.
Sam was about to reach for the questionable book when a blue glass bottle appeared in front of her. With her own bottle in hand, Kaiya made her way to the chair across from Sam and settled in, her air managing to be both warm and no nonsense as she said, “So, Sam, tell me why you are here again?”
Be cool,Sam thought as she took a sip of water, followed by what she hoped was a calming breath. “Sure. So I might have mentioned over the phone that I’m a new research fellow examining community engagement with public health programs at San Francisco Central Hospital, and in just my short time there, I’ve noticed that there is a disconnect between the pregnant people we serve and what care the hospital and clinicians offer.”
“Right,” Kaiya said. The word was simple, but it packed a punch, as if she could have predicted what Sam would find but was trying not to show how not surprised she was for the sake of expediency.
“I’m sure you could have told me that; given all of your experience, you’ve probably seen everything under the sun. I mean, I read your article on the prevalence of the expectation in the medical field that new parents, particularly minorities, should magically be able to intuit the needs of their bodies and their babies, when we have spent—in some cases—literal centuries denying them access to their cultural frameworks for intuition and ...”
Sam let her voice trail off as Kaiya’s eyebrows shot toward her hairline. So much for a better second impression. For a moment, she debated trying to come up with a third fresh start, until the tilt of Kaiya’s head changed and Sam decided to just be honest. “Sorry. I get excited about this.”
“I can tell,” Kaiya said. Her eyebrows had retreated from her hairline, but her gaze was still laser focused on Sam.
“It’s just ... I know I’m new to the field, but SF Central is a good hospital. The care patients receive is top notch, if a little rushed. It’s not person-centered birth. It’s kind of transactional, but there are many of us who believe that our patients deserve the same kind of care that their rich counterparts can afford. Not just the one-hour visit to a lactation consultant that insurance will fight them tooth and nail over paying the fifty dollars for, or a quick tutorial from an excellent but busy nurse, or whatever they can google.”
“Of course they do. I’ve made a career working with these patients,” Kaiya said, gently cutting off Sam’s burgeoning rant.
“That is why I had to talk to you. I sought a grant from the Anjo Foundation to start a real, more holistic birthing program at the hospital. So that I don’t have to worry that my patients are getting questionable nutrition information from a social media influencer. Instead, they could have access to home visits and check-ins when they aren’t able toget childcare. They’d know that SF Central had their back. Everyone I spoke with said you were the only woman up to this job.”
“And what exactly is this job?” Kaiya asked, giving Sam a once-over that made her feel like maybe she did have mustard on her top.
“Good question. From a patient standpoint, you’d be doing what you do best. I don’t have any intention of interfering in your work. From a partnership standpoint, it would be recruiting and managing additional doulas. Working with me to get doulas and patients appropriately matched based on their needs, ranging from early pregnancy, abortion, miscarriage, birth, and postpartum, helping me gather and assess doula and patient feedback and getting it submitted to the funder as needed.”
Kaiya whistled low. “That’s a big job. You want me to help you establish this thing? Why on God’s earth would I do that when I have a block full of pregnant individuals who need me?”
Sam closed her mouth, trying to gather her thoughts. She wasn’t exactly surprised by the question. Three minutes with Kaiya had already taught her that while her words were never unkind, the termno bullshitperfectly described her.
“Everything about me has long been unwelcome in the formal medical establishment. I and my fellow birth workers who share this philosophy have built a world without your constraints, quietly helping people as unwelcome as ourselves without the crushing weight of bureaucracy hanging over our heads. We get to choose our clients, and the human being giving birth is already at the center of our work.” Kaiya took a breath, smiled, and then added, “Plus, I’m my own boss. I leave the office when I like.”
“I think ...,” Sam started slowly, then stopped. She wanted to make sure her next words were the exact ones she wanted to say. Kaiya was right, and Sam would be a fool not to heed her wisdom. Taking a breath, she started again. “Everything you have said is the reason I hoped you’d do this. Youhavebuilt a community. You did your work inspite of so many people—confident in the righteousness of your charge. I can’t tell you how many birthing professionals talked about you as a mentor and the person who taught them what community-centered birthing really means. With a partnership at SF Central, you could triple your impact.”
“Confident in the righteousness of my charge?” Kaiya smirked at her.
“Okay, I admit the phrasing is a little dramatic, but where is the lie? You made a home for the clients who no one else was making room for. People in recovery, those in poverty, sex workers, families struggling to find care during the early AIDS crisis—the list goes on. Before I was born, you were the kind of caring professional I want to be.”
“Okay, youngun, don’t rub it in.” Kaiya laughed. “You made your point. The face of medicine is changing. Blah, blah, blah.”
“I know I sound corny. But I think this could be a new model for community care. It would be hard work, but if we pull it off, this center could be the one that hospitals around the country try to emulate.” Sam sighed, then threw out her final pitch: “So yes. You could stay under the radar, doing the amazing work you are doing. Or you could make your legacy even bigger.”
Silence hung between them as Kaiya uncrossed and then recrossed her legs and looked out her office window, the act of thinking written in fine lines between her eyebrows. Sam ran her finger along the edge of her water bottle and held her breath in an attempt to keep her fidgeting small. She could feel nervous energy pulsing through her, and she was almost certain the anxiety would cause her to pass out when Kaiya turned to face her.
“I wanted to open a center when I was young. I had big dreams.” Kaiya shook her head. “I was naive back then, and the red tape alone was crushing. I could barely get a community center to rent me a gym. Do you know how hard it is to run programs for an underservedcommunity when you can’t even tell them where they will be meeting next week?”
Sam shook her head but didn’t dare interrupt.
“No, I don’t suppose you would know that. You’re too young.” Kaiya looked out the window again. Her voice sounded like she was talking to herself more than to Sam as she said, “But you are right; things have changed.”
“I can’t promise there won’t be red tape. But you have a set space, a group of people who are committed, and a community who needs you.”
The sound of Sam’s voice brought Kaiya’s attention back from the window. She pulled her shoulders back, and her expression was wistful as she said, “I was just too far ahead for my time.”
“But you aren’t now.”
“No, I’m not.” Kaiya’s tone was matter of fact. Looking Sam dead in the eyes, she said, “If I do this—don’t grin like that; I haven’t said yes.”
“Not grinning,” Sam said, doing her best to press her lips into a flat line. She was absolutely positive that she still looked excited.
