Doula Profile: Martha Heymann

by INELDA

Martha Heyman is an INELDA Certified End-of-Life Doula who lives in Corpus Christi, Texas. She is deeply passionate about normalizing the narrative around death, and companioning individuals through their own dying journey. She can be contacted through her website at Together Forward Doula. 

When and why did you decide to become an end-of-life doula?

In 2018 I was visiting a much more metropolitan city than my own, answering someone’s question about my grief-coaching business. With so many nuances to grief, I clarified I provided services to those with a terminal illness and/or their caregivers. 

‘That sounds like a death doula. Have you ever heard of a death doula?’ was her rather easygoing response. I had not. Before nightfall, my laptop-battery draining, I knew quite a bit. I was drunk with euphoria. ‘Hey! Hey! This is me! This is the name of what I could not name.’ 

I waited for the next NYC training in the spring of 2019…because, well, it’s NYC. I fell in love with INELDA and what had been so masterfully curated.

The reason ‘why’ I became a doula is simple. In 1992, I was a mom of babies not yet walking (twins), away from home and temporarily living in an apartment near MD Anderson Cancer Center while my first husband, Eddie, received treatment. Periodically he would be released from the doctor’s care for a few days to join us at the apartment. I would stand back and look at my world from the edge of the rental’s tiny kitchen. Our chubby-cheeked boys were learning how to walk along one sofa, as my husband laid on the opposite sofa, as silent as I, dying before our eyes. 

We were offered no support groups or guidance. I became his personal nurse when I wasn’t being a mom. Eddie shut us out– the pain, I understood later, too staggeringly great, but at the time it made me mad. Who can tell a dying person you’re mad at them? Not me. Why wouldn’t he look at his children? Why wouldn’t he talk to me? Neither of us knew how on earth to grab each other dearly, desperately. We were both broken but shattering alone.

I am now, who I cried for in the dark of the night, all those years ago.

How long have you been doing this type of work?

A couple of years after Eddie’s death, I began volunteering in the oncology department of a local children’s hospital. Now, quite fluent in the language of cancer, my grief sought solace within those walls, much to the utter confusion of my friends. Eventually the chaplain suggested I apply for the CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education) certification, taught at our county hospital, and was soon accepted into the year-long program. 

Afterwards I returned to the children’s hospital as a staff lay-chaplain, assigned to the NICU and cancer floors. I suppose that was the beginning of who I really am.

What type of environment do you work in? 

During my certification, I worked in different surroundings; hospice residences, nursing homes, private homes. Since then, even through COVID-19, my work continues to take place at my client’s homes. I keep a collapsible chair in my car and have spent plenty of time in backyards and driveways when being indoors is not necessary. Fortunately, I live in a part of the country where it’s possible to sit outdoors any time of the year.

What do you do before you meet with a new client?

By the time we meet, we have already spoken by phone at least once, and perhaps begun a text or email stream. Word of mouth usually brings me into their precarious world. What I offer is still difficult to understand. It is an anomaly. It does not settle in at first. 

After I listen to what is usually an abridged version of their story, I do what I did with all the clients I met during my INELDA certification; I begin to write and draw. I use those thin, tan Moleskine journals because I like the way they feel in my hands. It is a soft and gentle place where I can hold the stories. I enter thoughts, notes, musings, and doodles.

I arrive at a new client’s home a few minutes early. I tell them I will be doing this, so they aren’t perplexed seeing me sitting in my car for another five minutes. (I once had the wife of a client come out because they were concerned I was having a stroke. Frankly, I almost did when she tapped on my window.)

The few minutes I take there, I move through a visualization of placing all ‘my stuff’ in the backseat. When I feel sure it’s all there, I close my eyes and begin a breathing mantra; ‘I am here for you,’ on the inhale, as well as the exhale.

When meeting via Zoom or by phone, I add to that same practice, lighting a candle and making sure my husband, of now 7 years, knows he and our dog have to be entirely self-sufficient for a while.

Can you share a short anecdote or insight that changed you?

It might be tough to marry ‘short’ and ‘changed you,’ but I will try.

In 1993 I was standing next to our bed, having just tucked our babies in for the night. I looked at what was left of Eddie, my beautiful husband. In the few minutes I had been down the hall, the noise of dying had found its end. I was as fragile as the sudden silence by then, and felt I was breaking. I crumbled into bed, laying down beside Eddie. I wept apologies for not knowing what else to do, for becoming his nurse instead of remaining his wife. Something told me I had to hurry, that even though his breathing had stopped, he had waited for me to be next to him. I kissed his sunken cheek, still warm, and whispered into his ear that it was alright to leave us, we would be ok. It felt like such a betrayal though. How could we possibly be without him? I said it so quietly, through the shame of suggesting he wasn’t necessary– had someone been in the room, they would not have heard me. Then one last bit of air pushed from his mouth upward.

By that time in my life, both my father and little brother were dead. Unexpectedly and far from me. I had cradled beloved pets, resolving it was time for goodbyes. But this had been the first time I had watched death consume a life. It did change me. It rearranged who I was forever.

Not long afterwards a friend with cancer, taking control, summoned five of us to her bedside and I easily agreed to be part of her support team. For the next 6-months we did for Virginia what I had no name for then. 

Death changes the living…I have no doubt.

Who has been one of your teachers or guides?

Many know so much more than I do. It is my responsibility to be open to gaining their knowledge though. Curiosity leads, and discernment steadies. Ultimately, a sense within feeds self-transformation best when I am in balance and grounded. It took many years, but I have finally come to know this solely through a practice of meditation. May it be walking-meditation (grounding), an early morning listening-meditation, a sitting-meditation or yoga-meditation. Stillness of mind teaches me I suppose. 

“I am still learning.”  – Michelangelo

What were some challenges you experienced when you started as a doula?

During my certification, when I was asked to help a Jewish family, I quickly felt the need to do better than simply being open-minded about other faiths. I needed to have at least a basic understanding of different religions themselves, most especially around death beliefs/rituals. The timing of that realization and Amy Wright Glenn’s, World Religions class, was perfect. The required text continues to be a valuable resource. 

The Illustrated World’s Religions: A Guide to our Wisdom Traditions  by Huston Smith. 

At least where I live, this work has never been heard of. As an introvert, propelling myself into situations where I was the educator, was uncomfortable at first. I started hosting Death Over Dinner Game Nights with girlfriends–my safe group–and wine helped. Now I speak to small groups with much more ease…and no wine.

Do you have any words or encouragement for fellow doulas starting out?

Everything that is, has a beginning.

Try to go easy on yourself. 

Remember your ‘why’ of this marvelous journey. 

What is your dream for your practice or doulas in general?

Personally, I dream of not being the only INELDA certified doula in a 200-mile radius someday soon. Committing pro bono time to our VA clinic, I hope to never hear again on the local news that a veteran has died alone. I am training with SAGEcare now, so those in my LBGTQ+ community feel more comfortable reaching out to me. And I am also training with MIDEO (My Informed Decision on vidEO) because I believe strongly that people should have accessible and clear Advance Directives.

For all of us, I look forward to ‘end-of-life doula’ being as natural a phrase as ‘let’s grab lunch.’

 

The opinions expressed in this article are those of the authors. They do not purport to reflect the opinions or views of INELDA or its staff.