This isn’t specifically about White privilege. It’s not specifically about gender based privilege. Nor is it about privilege in terms of sexuality. Instead, it’s a rumination on privilege from an event in my life, and my family’s, from August. Follow me below the orange glass ceiling and we’ll begin.
There has been a lot of discussion about privilege in the last few years- a terminology that has made its way from academia to popular culture. Often, that discussion has dealt with systemic privilege (and systemic discrimination). Because I have light skin, I’d commonly be called white, and going along with that is a series of privileges- I don’t generally need to be scared of the police, I don’t inspire fear in others or questions when I go out dressed in a hooded sweatshirt, I’m taken more seriously in job interviews, etc. Similarly, because I’m male, I receive a whole host of benefits- being considered the default is a great advantage in life. These things aren’t “bad”- they’re things that everyone should have.
There are also a whole host of individual privileges out there. I come from a family with two parents, as do most of my friends. That tends to be associated with class in the US, but it isn’t always, and it’s not something blindingly obvious to people who meet me for 15 seconds. I belong to a religious community, and that association gives me a number of benefits- again, some of them are related to class, and some of my acceptance is due to race, or to heteronormativity, but they’re not all part of being a visible group. They don’t fit neatly into “systemic privilege,” but they’re privileges nonetheless. Along the same lines, one might include having health insurance. That’s a class privilege, though with Medicaid expansion, it’s not as much of one as it once was, at least in some states. The ability to pay deductibles with reasonable ease, however, is a class privilege- but also something of an individual one.
At the beginning of August, my wife and I had a baby girl. We went to the hospital of our choice, having attended Lamaze classes there- a certain kind of privilege, both in the ability to pay for them and the knowledge that such things were available, because my wife had a good OB who told us such things, and we had the ability to pay for and have the insurance to pay for that OB. When my wife requested an epidural, we were taken seriously. It wasn’t forced on us, or even pushed incredibly strongly, and that again is a sort of privilege- as white, college educated folks, we had the privilege of the medical community taking us seriously. One of the anesthesiologists was the parent of a former student of mine- which comes along with class privilege and individual privilege, since I teach at a school in my community, and live and associate with a community of the sort to have doctors in it. When my wife needed an emergency Cesarean section, we didn’t worry about the cost due to having insurance and the ability to pay deductibles and copays, and we were able to pay for a private room in which to recover for the next few days.
When we hadn’t slept significantly for about a week, my wife’s mother invited us to her house for a few days. That’s an individual privilege- there are people who don’t have mothers interested or capable of caring for them (for example, my mother, who has severe disabilities due to MS these days, couldn’t have done it, not to mention living in a different city). My mother in law was interested in taking care of us and had the time to do so, and my father in law had sufficient seniority to take time off of work at various points during those weeks- again, another sort of privilege. When my wife had trouble with nursing, we not only had the financial ability to pay for a lactation consultant but also the communal connections to find one for the next day- another sort of privilege.
Later that week, we discovered a red spot on the baby’s chest. When it grew over the next day, we were able to text my wife’s old pediatrician- who prays at the same synagogue as my in-laws and lives down the block, which is again a certain kind of privilege. He told us to go to the hospital for IV antibiotics, and we called our pediatrician on the way, who agreed- again, having even a regular pediatrician, let alone connections to another, is not a given. When the baby was still in the emergency room, but we knew she was going to be admitted, my wife’s old pediatrician showed up (he has privileges- the medical kind- at the hospital) and helped switch the antibiotics towards something appropriate to the symptoms. Infectious Disease would have eventually gotten there- but again, we had the privilege of having that friend (who I should add arrived late, coming from shopping for a engagement ring with his son for that son’s engagement a few weeks later- a true gem of a person and a doctor). The same pediatrician would come 3 more times during the 9 days of hospitalization.
Since my wife was recovering from her C-Section, I spent 8 of the next 9 nights in the hospital with our baby- a curious kind of privilege, since the only reason I had the ability to do that is that I’m a teacher and it was the summer. The other night was my wife and her mother staying, which was something of a disaster- after that, they rotated in with me during the day and I would go to my in-laws in the morning to shower and nap. My wife’s siblings also stayed with my wife and the baby and would pick her up to go home at night- a significant privilege, since C-Sections disallow driving for 6 weeks.
One of the Residents we were dealing with was an elementary school classmate of my wife. Despite not having seen my wife for upwards of a decade and a half (unless you count at my in-laws’ synagogue, where they had maintained a connection), she spent extra time with us, explaining issues. When a culture from the baby went missing, she spent more than half an hour trying to find it, despite the fact that doing so wasn’t her job. We were again being taken seriously by the staff, and no one was questioning our ability to care for a baby- again, white and educated- but the respect we received from people on the team was heightened by having one of their own with a personal connection.
I mentioned the pediatrician stopping in 4 times before. But over the next week, 2 different neonatologists also stopped by- one a friend of my in-laws (again, religious community), the other a friend of my in-laws’ friends (those friends have a grandson three months older than our daughter, and “wanted to make sure our future granddaughter in law was ok- they were joking, I think). When we were worried about what to do over the Sabbath, friends of my in-laws on the local Bikur Cholim group- a Jewish group dedicated to visiting the sick- told us about a local apartment that they kept, and a room in the hospital that had kosher food. Chai Lifeline- another Jewish group dedicated to helping the sick- stopped by every day, and when they found, after an extended period of time, that we were well-taken care of, ordered us pizza, because they wanted to do something. Our synagogue’s clergy was phenomenal as well; we were contacted by at least one clergy member every day, and received one visit each from both the rabbi and assistant rabbi- despite it being an hour drive each way to the hospital we were at.
We were finally discharged from the hospital, 9 days after admission. They’d aspirated a culture about 6 days in, and it turned out that the aspiration and the antibiotics would do just fine. They sent us home with oral antibiotics for the baby and instructions to follow up with a doctor from Infectious Disease- and never questioned that we would do both properly. Again, a variety of types of privilege. When we did follow up, and no receptionist was to be found, the doctor just took us back anyways- luck, and perhaps individual privilege. Because we had insurance, the total billing from the hospital (about $85,000 including the doctors) was dealt with by insurance, and we could pay the deductible- again, a kind of privilege that exists in this country but which should be universal.
Finally, we went back to our own apartment, two weeks after going out to my in-laws. For the next 2 and a half weeks, we didn’t make a single meal. Friends, clergy, and even a few members of our synagogue who we didn’t know provided all of our meals. We also had friends who followed up day after day, making sure everything was ok.
None of the things that happened for us should reflect badly on us, I think. They were things that I would hope could happen to anyone- but both because of systemic reasons and individual circumstances, don’t. I’m writing this to remind myself of the privileges that we have, and both what we can be thankful for as individuals and what we can strive to allow everyone to receive in society. And finally, to remind myself that “we didn’t build that”- that we received a huge amount of help, support, and respect, and that we need to give back.