Before I begin this post, it’s important to note that I started this blog entirely for myself. It was a way to cope after the miscarriage, and it has helped me process so many difficult emotions since. I’ve been happy to hear that this blog has also been a way for me to stay connected with friends and family about what’s happening in my life. The following blog, though, is really about me processing some recent events. It’s not meant to be insightful, a reflection on China, or anything beyond the experiences as I saw and felt them. It may be difficult to read for a variety of reasons, but it was therapeutic for me to write.
One
In the previous blog, I talked about the fainting episodes I experienced during the third trimester. These episodes have put Ben and I on high alert for anytime I’m not feeling well. In those moments, I try to find somewhere to sit down and breath before I fall down or pass out.
On the way to my 32-week appointment, I had my third experience. Unlike the first one where I was alone and completely unaware of what happened until I after I fainted, this time I was with Ben. He was able to catch me and put me in the cab we had called just a few minutes before. When I was fully conscious again, I was buckled into the cab on the way to the high-speed train station. When we got to the station, we needed to pick up my train ticket at the window. The line was fortunately very short, with only 2-3 people in it. Ben took my passport and the confirmation code he needed to pick up my ticket and went to the window. I leaned against a nearby wall and tried to breath. There are no seats in this area.
As I stood there, I felt another wave of disorientation, and I told Ben that I needed to sit down now. He looked around anxiously in an attempt to find anywhere nearby I could do that. The nearby part was important because I didn’t have the physical coordination or strength to walk very far. Ben saw an emergency box that probably contained a fire hydrant inside the open layout convenience store next to the ticket counter. It was the only thing within a reasonable proximity that I could perch myself on while waiting for him to get my ticket. He walked me over to it, and I sat down.
In the left most corner, behind the little green wall, is the red fire hydrant box. The woman in the photo was not involved in this story.
The moment I perched myself on it, one of the middle-aged women working at the store began yelling, “She can’t sit there! She can’t sit there!” Ben began explaining that I would only be sitting there for a few minutes while he picked up my ticket. I wasn’t feeling well, and there was nowhere else to sit. The woman continued yelling that I couldn’t sit there. There were seats inside the train station in the waiting area. Ben pointed out that you couldn’t enter the train station waiting area without a ticket. I honestly also couldn’t walk that far. It would only be a few minutes. Couldn’t she see that I was pregnant and not feeling well? She said it didn’t matter. I couldn’t sit there. There are cameras in the store. She could get into trouble.
As the woman continued to yell, I just held up a hand in hopes to stop all the fuss. I moved from sitting on the emergency equipment to sitting on the floor in front of it. I was wearing a brand new, red dress that was a part of my small maternity wardrobe. It’s not something I wanted to sit on the floor in at the beginning of a long day, but I was trying to be cooperative. And more importantly, standing wasn’t an option I could pull off. Since there were no seats, I sat down on the floor.
But she kept yelling.
Another middle-aged woman working at the store was yelling with her at Ben, who was still in line trying to get my train ticket. I was amazed that they didn’t let it go. They started talking about how my sitting there was interrupting their business, and when Ben offered to explain the situation to their manager, the most vocal woman responded, “Who do you think you are?! You don’t have the right （你没有资格）to speak to my manager!”
At this point, I moved from being light-headed and weak to pure adrenaline and anger. I said in Mandarin, “You’re still yelling?” I was amazed that they wouldn’t let someone who’s not feeling well, especially an obviously pregnant woman, sit on the floor for a few minutes to catch her breath.
In response, the woman responded, “Shut up! You don’t understand!” (闭嘴！你听不懂！).
I was even more amazed. I cannot remember the last time in my entire life someone told me to shut up in any language. She then continues to tell me that I don’t understand Mandarin, which made no sense since I had just spoken in Mandarin.
I responded, “I do understand! This is two people’s lives here! Do you have no conscience / feelings?” I was amazed by these two women, who I would bet were both mothers themselves having not even the least sympathy for a pregnant woman in physical distress. By this point, I’m standing up and walking toward Ben who finally has my ticket. He starts directing me toward the train station, and I’m livid. I say to him, “I’ve never met such unfriendly people in China. I’m pregnant. This is two lives we are talking about, and all this fuss about my impact to their ‘business’?!”
The irony was that there was a woman just then buying something from the store. She didn’t seem at all impacted by me. If anything, I wouldn’t have wanted to buy anything from the store because of the two women who work there yelling and making a scene.
It was a really powerful moment for me. It was incredible because I knew why this was all happening. I felt with great confidence that had I been a young, white woman under the same exact circumstances, the reaction would have been very different. They would have been curious to know what was wrong, maybe tried to find me a seat. They may have even brought me some water to drink. There would have been concern, compassion, and other kind human emotions.
Instead, there was vitriol. There was a focus on their business and their own well-being (not getting into trouble). This vitriol was evident when I moved from sitting on the emergency equipment to sitting on the floor. They were not appeased. I did not have the right, it appears, even to the ground beneath me. When Ben offered to speak to the manager, they made it very clear that he had no rights either.
Once we both stopped being angry, Ben and I both became apologetic. He was sorry that I had to deal with these kinds of situations as a black woman. He was sorry that I had yet another story I could write about in my blog. He was sorry that I got to see the most discriminatory side of people, in this case, people from his home country. He was sorry because he felt, just as I did, that this reaction was triggered by the color of my skin, by the negative stereotypes people associate with it, and by whomsoever these women thought I was. He was sorry because these women couldn’t see my basic humanity and that of the child I was carrying.
I was sorry because I hated that Ben had to deal with such ugliness so often with me. If he had married a white or Chinese woman, he wouldn’t have to experience so much anger and aggression, whether micro or macro. When Ben walks around in China by himself, he doesn’t get stared at. He doesn’t get intrusive questions. He doesn’t have to have his guard up so high. He doesn’t need to worry about protecting me from the gaze and insensitivity that I deal with so often. When he’s with me, there’s so much struggle. The rare time he gets a benefit is if my US passport is involved.
Maybe I should wear a hat that says, “I’m a US citizen.” This knowledge seems to significantly impact the way people to treat me, if they decide to believe it’s true.
Of course, some people could get to this point in the story and argue that this wasn’t about race or culture or the other experiences I’ve had in the past with the same tone and venom. It was just these two particular middle-aged women who were, in that moment, not very compassionate. You could argue that no one isallowed to sit on those emergency boxes, even in the case of emergencies, like a pregnant woman feeling like she might faint. You may also, if you are yourself a considerate person, think about how these women must feel working in a store where they have to stand all day. Maybe their vehemence comes from being yelled at for perching on that very same box at some point in the past. There were no chairs in the convenience store, not even a stool for them to sit on. So, why should I be able to sit when even they cannot? Not having that convenience day-in and day-out would probably make you irritable too.
I thought about all of those things, and they are all part of the picture that frames this story. At the same time, sometimes you just know in the way people express themselves—in the tone of their voice, in loudness and anger of it—that this isn’t really about the rules or their job. It’s about me not having the “right” or esteem in that person’s regard to be seen simply as a human being in need of a moment’s rest.
It brought to mind how a homeless person might be treated if they walked into a coffee shop with a cart of all their personal belongings. I could see someone going over to them immediately and saying, “Sir, you’re not allowed to be in here with that. Seating is available for customers only.” It was a humbling experience, not because the woman could not see my humanity, but because it made me think about the opportunities I’ve missed to show compassion to others.
Two
And this question would return two weeks later when Ben I went for my 34-week prenatal appointment. My prenatal appointment was scheduled for 9am on a Monday, so Ben and I went to Shanghai the Sunday afternoon before and spent the night in a hotel near the hospital. This was to help avoid another fainting episode; after all, I did normally feel worse in the morning. Also, traveling to Shanghai in rush-hour traffic on a Monday morning was less than appealing for someone 8.5 months pregnant.
This was a simple appointment. No ultrasound. They checked my vital signs, my fundal height, my urine, and the baby’s heartbeat. All came back normal, with the exception of a persistently low blood pressure. My obstetrician (OB) and I talked about my heart and the possibility of having a cardiologist available during labor. Normally, your OB and a pediatrician are involved in giving birth, but other doctors may be recommended based on the mother’s health situation leading up to the birth. My OB was still concerned about my heart’s ability to handle labor, and she scheduled to have a cardiologist join our 36-week prenatal checkup. Ben and I then talked to the head nurse for some time about our questions regarding labor and our stay in the hospital. Even so, we finished our appointment around 10am.
When I left the medical center, I felt fine, despite 10 – 10:45am being the time of the day my heart tends to feel the most distressed. Unfortunately, I only felt fine long enough for us to leave the doors of the main hospital. Here, it’s important to mention that I’m giving birth at Shanghai East International Medical Center. It’s the international section of a larger hospital, Shanghai Oriental Hospital. The medical center was a bit of a walk back into the hospital, and I knew I wouldn’t make it that far to have a seat. Ben and I were standing just outside the doors of the main hospital, and he suggested going back inside and finding the closest seats available.
Interestingly, when you walk back in the doors, there’s an escalator right there, and we could see my OB on the escalator headed up to the second floor. I took this as a sign, and we went in her direction as there were no seats in the first-floor lobby. When we got off the escalator and turned around, we saw there was a department there that had some empty chairs. Ben helped me get to one of the chairs. I was so relieved to be sitting down. I just sat there and focused on breathing.
Less than a minute later, one of the four nurses that had been standing by the reception desk came over and said. “Are you a patient here? You can’t sit here unless you are a patient.” Ben quickly responded that I had just been seen at the medical center on the first floor, but I was not feeling well. So, we found the closest seats nearby and sat down. She said that the medical center and Shanghai Oriental Hospital are two different hospitals, and these chairs are for their patients. Ben pointed out how very pregnant I was, that I was clearly not feeling well, and that we were only planning to sit there for a minute or two.
She went on about how we could see for ourselves how many patients there were, and they would need seats too. Ben responded that despite the number of patients, there were still empty chairs beyond the ones we were sitting in and again emphasized that we would only be there for a few minutes. She said she hoped we could understand the situation they—the nurses? The hospital?—were in, and she said we could only sit there for one or two minutes.
The nurse then returned to the station and reported Ben and I to the other nurses at the station, who had otherwise been talking amongst themselves. She kept nodding in our direction, and all the other nurses turned toward us, watching us carefully as if we might take out a weapon at any moment and start taking hostages.
That last comment may seem a bit dramatic, but I’m not aiming for humor here. Our presence had only disrupted this one nurse. None of the other nurses were originally concerned about my and Ben’s presence. There were no patients who were impacted or paying us any mind. It was just this one person who felt that she needed to make known that I had no right to sit down or be in that department.
This situation was a lot like the one two weeks earlier, except there was no yelling involved. I also didn’t move to sit on the floor, though I made sure to stand up once two minutes had passed. Ben sat there for a third minute—I think out of sheer anger—before getting up to assist me back downstairs. We had called for a Didi (a Chinese Uber) to take us to the train station, instead of taking the subway there as originally planned.
As we waited for our Didi, Ben was visibly upset and talked me through it. This scene was much more civilized than the one just two weeks earlier. The young nurse had not yelled, but she had shown no more compassion that the middle-aged women at the convenience store. Even though I was feeling unwell in a hospital, she was still communicating the message that I had no right to sit where I was sitting, no matter the circumstance. Even for someone in the health profession, whose job I assumed was primarily to care for people who are feeling unwell, she chose in that moment instead to act the security guard. I was not her patient, so I warranted no care or compassion.
My humanity and that of my child’s garnered me no basic hospitality, not even for 5 minutes, not even at a hospital.
Now, if Ben and I had been sitting in those chairs for 10-15 minutes without any real purpose for being in that department, I could see why she would come over and question us. If we had asked another patient who was sitting down to get up and give me a seat, I could see her coming over to figure out what the situation was. However, as soon as we walked in, she had already identified as not belonging, as not having the right to chairs not being occupied by anyone else.
It was a really powerful moment for me. It was incredible because I knew why this was all happening. I felt with great confidence that had I been a young, white woman under the same exact circumstances, the reaction would have been very different.
Too Many
But don’t get me wrong, there are places in China where women who are pregnant are meant to be given a seat. These are called the courtesy seats (爱心专座) on the metro. All throughout my pregnancy, I’ve been thinking about when I would take advantage of these seats on the train. Would I wait until I was clearly showing? Would I wait until 5 or 6 months, or until I was about to pass out to ask someone to give me the seat?
Well, I decided I was ready at 8.5 months, with fainting being a real concern for me, to ask young men on their phones to move out of the courtesy seats. I was going to tell them, “You don’t have to get off this train, but you can’t sit here!” I’m just kidding. I was planning to ask them nicely to move out of the seats reserved for the elderly, the disabled, and the pregnant so that I, the pregnant, could sit down. In reality, though, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to ask. I mean, with a belly as big as mine, I figured they’d stand of their own volition.
But they didn’t.
The afternoon of my 34-week appointment, Ben and I traveled from Shanghai to Suzhou for maternity pictures. We took the metro several times throughout that day, but not a single person stood up for me. It was funny. Finally, there are these seats that clearly state that people like me can sit down, and no one stood up. Now, with phone usage being what it is, you might think that no one noticed the black, pregnant foreigner, but they did. One guy in particular sitting in the courtesy seat, looked up at me 3 times before quickly cutting his eyes back to his phone.
Even though in the past couple of weeks, I was coldly, even angrily, being told where I could and could not sit, I didn’t have the heart to tell others. I kept hoping that they would have the compassion to let a pregnant woman have a seat without being asked.
It was a really sad day for me. It was incredible because I knew why this was all happening. I felt with great confidence that had I been a young, white woman under the same exact circumstances, the reaction would have been very different.
** The featured image is of the red dress I was wearing on the day of my 32-week appointment.
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