Image by Nathan Dumlao

by Dmitry Felix (they/them) | Edited by Megan Ross (she/her)

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 As a queer person, I had my concerns about having a child. When I first found out I was pregnant, which I doubted was possible given my PCOS (polycystic ovary syndrome) being that — due to my PCOS, I was unaware that there was even a possibility of me having any children of my own. So it never crossed my mind.

Discovering my pregnancy was a shock. Aware that ovarian cancer may sometimes show up as a positive pregnancy test, I immediately asked if the nurse was joking. 

“Can I abort?” I asked, fearful for my health. I’d never wanted kids of my own because of this. This was in October of 2024. As I climbed into the Uber I called Pathcare, and headed straight to the lab at the Netcare Blaauberg Hospital. There, the sweetest nurse (MTF) handled me with the utmost care. One week later and my results were back, positive… 

Dululu as I was, I told myself, “Nope, let me go for an ultrasound.” Which I did at a Baby City Store. There, in the store in Cape Town’s Sable Square, I saw the result: nine weeks pregnant.

It took me some time for everything to sink in. Luckily, I had a lot of support from my friends, family and my ex-partners family (he is not involved in our child’s life, but his family has been there for me every step of the way). But I attended the appointments, took my meds, stopped drinking and smoking, ate properly and tried to rest when I could. At the time, I was living with friends but we fell on hard times financially and so I moved back to my mother’s home in December of 2024. All the while I wasn’t really feeling any real “connection” to my unborn child. I felt like I was unnaturally optimistic in general, as though my depression had magically been cured. Looking back, perhaps it was a bit of a manic episode. As someone who has struggled with my mental health for years, I found the whole experience odd. I didn’t feel like myself at all.

Around my birthday, in February, my pregnancy symptoms had set in: exhaustion, nausea, heartburn, headaches. Though it was nowhere near to how bad others have described it to be – I think I am lucky in that sense.

As my body began to change, I thought it would make me feel out of place in my body, or make my dysphoria worse. But, if anything, I was fascinated by the changes I was going through, by what I could feel, and I documented the process as though it was a science project. Perhaps that was my way of processing it all.

Overall, throughout my pregnancy, my health was unusually good. As someone who had lived their entire life in physical pain and mental distress, it felt out of place being… happy? And even healthy for once. That being said, it didn’t last long. By the end of April 2025, my pelvic groin pain had significantly increased, and it had become difficult to sit or walk. I had also developed Carpal Tunnel Syndrome – something I wish I’d known sooner.

Around the start of May 2025, I had another ultrasound. This time it was through the government clinic. I was having a girl, and she was already 2kg, and her head was the size it needed to be at birth. This meant I may have needed to have a c-section as she was in the 90^th percentile. In other words, she was a big girl.

This is around the time I discussed my birth plan with my birthing partner, Yentl. We talked through possible scenarios, and what kind of pain management I wanted, and, if I had to have a c-section, what to do if the baby left the room or something happened to me. I gave them the password to my phone and bank, made a group chat for updates as only one person could be there for the birth, and chatted about how I wished to be spoken to during childbirth.

Towards the end of May 2025, I began to feel a new, almost-debilitating pain, accompanied by hypertension and proteinuria. I was at the Du Noon Clinic, and without hesitation, the nurse observing me requested an ambulance to transport me to the New Somerset Hospital. 

Until the ambulance arrived, I rested in the maternity ward. Upon arrival at the hospital, the gentleman from the ambulance escorted me in a wheelchair to the labour ward, where I saw a few doctors, and it was established that I was having false contractions. I was kept in the labour ward and monitored for changes. Later, my mother brought me some items, and Yentl brought me water and snacks. About 12 hours after my arrival I was moved over to the antenatal ward to monitor my proteinuria.After two days, I was released, and scheduled to return on the 9^th of June for a check up. My initial due date was the 28^th.

On Saturday the 7^th of June, the contractions returned.

They weren’t yet consistent so I continued to binge watch ‘The Umbrella Academy’. Then I slept. On Sunday, I was woken by intense pain, around 8.30am, but had by that point gaslit myself into believing that it was a false alarm. But as the day progressed, they became more frequent, around every 20 minutes. Close to 1pm I gave my mom a call — she’s been a nurse for 30 years, and told her about the contractions. She told me she’d come home and do her documents there, and would check if I were dilated yet. 

I watched the show, timing my contractions, and by 4pm, they had become much worse, with a stabbing pain in my rectum. We started packing, but I told my mom not to bring my bags because I didn’t think it was time yet. Despite this, I texted Yentl that I was going to Du Noon Clinic. When I arrived, the doctors mentioned that because I’m asthmatic, they couldn’t check my cervix, and I was to go directly to New Somerset Hospital. This was owing to the fact that if they were to check and find that I was in fact in labour, they would have to do my birth there, and they were not equipped in the event that anything went wrong. My mother and I took to my mom’s work premises so she could do her handover for the next person, then drove to the hospital.

It was 6.30pm on the 8th of June when I was admitted. At 8pm, I was at 1cm. Based on my previous experience, I decided to walk around to quicken the process. I grew hungry and texted Yentl to ask if they could please bring me something to eat as I wasn’t allowed to leave the ward, and didn’t take any physical cash with me for the vending machines. At around 9.45pm, they arrived with the food, just as I had to be hooked up to the cardiotocograph (CTG) machine again. After the CTG machine, I went back to my sleeper couch and decided to eat and hydrate before attempting to walk around again. 

I had been awake for almost 14 hours. I took a nap before the pain became unbearable. I had just fallen asleep, and then my water broke. I thought I’d peed myself, and immediately called the nurse.

That’s when my pain, which up until that point I had I thought was about a six, (equivalent to breaking my arm) jumped up to what I’d call a 10. The nurse explained that I would need to be hooked up to the monitor again to make sure Baby was okay, and that I should call my birthing partner because active labour would soon start. 

At the time I was 4cm; I asked the nurse for something to puke into. The contractions came in waves: the start wouldn’t be so bad but would escalate quickly. Before midnight, the nurse administered morphine, and the pain dulled to a six. 

At 2am, my next check, I was at 6cm, and was moved to the active labour section. I phoned Yentl to let them know I was being moved, and that they could come in. I asked if it was time for my next shot, and they said that because I was in active labour, I could only get the gas. Let me tell you something: the pain came back with a vengeance! So severe that Yentl had the new puke bag at the ready, with me between inhaling the gas, puking and using my inhaler. The gas didn’t help the pain at all. If anything, it made me feel drunk, and like my head was spinning.

Whenever a new nurse came to check on me, Yentl would explain that I preferred being called Dmitry. The nurse, then, without missing a beat, would do so, and go on to check my monitor. This was the first time I had ever felt validated by medical staff in the government facility; they advocated for me when I couldn’t advocate for myself.

Close to 6.30am on the 9^th of June, I told Yentl that I thought I needed to pee, and I couldn’t hold it. Yentl had the nurse come, but I wasn’t allowed to go; instead, they brought me a bedpan. I explained that it felt like the baby’s head was on its way out, but they said it was too soon. I begged them to look. Shift change was at 7am. The doctor I’d seen was there, and checked; I was 8cm.

“It will still be a while,” they said. I felt like I was going to die, like at any moment my body would implode. I begged and begged the nurses just to look because it felt as though my baby was forcing her way out, while I was trying my utmost not to push. At 8am they did check: I was 9cm, but Baby was forcing her way out, and the heart rates of both me and her were elevated. The two nurses and doctor helped me push as I’d been awake and in labour for 24 hours. But my cervix wouldn’t open any further. 

 “We need to cut your cervix and vacuum her out,” they told me. My baby was simply too big to emerge on her own. By then, I was the only labouring person in the ward, so a different doctor and nurse stepped in. Two held my legs, one pushed my stomach, one vacuumed my baby out, and others stood to help catch the baby.

And like pulling out a dry, fat tampon, my baby was out! But she wasn’t breathing. At the time I was too dizzy to realise what was happening, all I knew is that Yentl kissed my forehead and told me they were going with the baby.

Not long after, Yentl returned, and continued to hold my hand. In the meantime, one doctor massaged my stomach while the nurse slowly wiggled out my placenta. This felt worse than childbirth, and extra-gross: like a plastic grocery bag filled with hard jelly. 

They asked me if I wanted to keep it. I said no.

Maybe five minutes later, they brought my daughter to me, but I told them I wasn’t ready to hold her because I felt too dizzy. Yentl did skin-to-skin with Baby, holding her to their chest, until I was cognitive enough to take her. While Yentl held her, another nurse stitched me up. I had torn in several places. She injected me with local anesthetic and began to stitch me up. Yentl fed me while I fed my daughter. Eventually, they had to leave; this was before they tested my daughter and my iron levels. I needed to feed her for longer as her iron levels were too low to move us to postnatal, and I couldn’t yet walk.

When I reached postnatal, I went to lay down and cuddle with my baby. The lunch cart arrived at 11am, and I ate and continued to feed. The doctor checked on us and told me that we would be leaving later that day, once my daughter had been given her shots and drops. Close to 2pm, my dad, his girlfriend, and my sister arrived (from over 100km away), alongside my mom, to meet the baby. 

At the time, It still hadn’t truly hit me that I had birthed a whole human being.

After my family left, the doctor asked me about my choice of contraception. I requested that I be sterilised, but she explained that I would need to fill out forms, and discuss it with the medical staff at my local clinic. This was because I wasn’t yet 30-years-old, and didn’t have five kids (this was my first), and so it would be difficult to motivate. She asked whether I would change my mind later on, and then said that she would provide the relevant documents and explain the process to me at my follow-up appointment.

At six in the evening, we were discharged. Only about two weeks later did it actually occur to me that I had a whole-ass baby. Wild, don’t you think?

Overall, birth was less scary than I had imagined, and both me and my daughter are healthy. I’m writing this one month after her birth, and I can officially say that I now feel like a parent. It no longer feels weird not being a vessel for a baby anymore.

What I will say, is that I am eternally grateful to Yentl, not only for being there for me through the hardest thing I’ve had to endure in my adult life, but also for handling me with care, listening to me, advocating for me and for putting my child’s needs first when I wasn’t able to. I don’t think I could’ve birthed this child by myself, or felt able to speak up for myself, or make myself heard, in that situation without them.

Our government might be shady about many things, but with all of my doctors visits, hospital stays and medical care, the only payment I made was for my travelling costs, for an EKG (because I had heart disease as a child). This cost me R90 because I’m unemployed and without medical aid. And R195 for the actual birth. I am grateful to our healthcare system. The only negative aspect is the waiting time at the clinics, but outside of that, the care is excellent, the medical staff listen and treat you properly; they took my health concerns seriously, and addressed me in a way that made me not only comfortable, but also made me feel seen and heard.

I returned to thank the staff who assisted me in person when I went to register Baby’s birth. They are such kind people: I’m glad I had such a good experience, despite the difficulty I faced.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. 

Warmly,
Dmitry your neighbourhood fruitcake <3

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