My Birth Story

Hello, dear readers.

Every birth story is unique, and today I want to share mine with you.

My baby was in a breech position, so a C-section was scheduled. My due date was June 2nd, and the delivery was planned for May 25th. However, during my third trimester, my doctor informed me that I had low amniotic fluid and needed to stay extremely hydrated. Despite drinking large amounts of water, our frequent check-ups showed that the fluid levels remained low. We had ultrasounds every four to five days to monitor the situation.

On Friday, May 18, 2023, after visiting my OBGYN, I was told that the fluid levels had dropped dangerously low. My doctor explained that my baby was essentially “breathing through a straw” and needed to be delivered immediately. When I asked why the amniotic fluid was so low despite my efforts, he said there was no specific reason—it just happens sometimes, and it’s beyond our control.

He instructed me to go straight to the hospital to check in because there were limited rooms available due to a high number of women giving birth that day. I had gone for a regular check-up and didn’t have anything with me, not even my ID. I asked if I could go home to prepare, and he urged me to hurry. Fortunately, we live just 12 minutes away from the office and hospital, so we rushed home.

A month earlier, my doctor had advised me to have my hospital bag ready, just in case. But I hadn’t packed it yet, thinking I had more time. When I got home, I packed in a frenzy, my mind clouded with disbelief. The reality that I would meet my baby that day was overwhelming. I took a quick shower, left my hair wet (luckily, living in Florida, it’s always hot), and headed to the hospital with my husband.

During the drive, I sat in the passenger seat, stunned. It was happening—the day had come, and it was hard to believe.

At the hospital, I went to the delivery floor, but the desk was unattended. The only sounds were the beeping monitors, creating an eerie atmosphere. Eventually, a receptionist appeared and handed me paperwork to fill out. After some time, they prepared a small room for me with a nice ocean view, although I was informed it was temporary (spoiler: it wasn’t).

Because the delivery would be via C-section, and I needed an epidural, I had to fast, which meant waiting until the evening. The minutes felt like hours. Finally, around 10 PM, I was placed in a wheelchair and taken to the surgery room.

I was terrified. My pain tolerance is very low, and even with the epidural, I was scared. The needle in my spine particularly frightened me. The room was brightly lit, and numerous nurses were bustling around, introducing themselves, but I couldn’t focus on their names.

The operating table was thin and reminded me of a cross. Initially, I had to sit on it like a horse to receive the anesthesia. Being told not to move was challenging as the needle pricked my back. Then they laid me down, and I was positioned in a T-shape, which felt very strange and uncomfortable.

When they moved my feet into a frog position and began preparing, I felt like a specimen in a biology class—not the best feeling. Fortunately, they allowed my husband in, providing much-needed moral support. Lying there, exposed under bright lights with strangers around, having someone you love nearby helps to relax at least a little bit.

Once the surgery began, everything progressed quickly. Within 15-20 minutes of the doctor making the incision, my baby was out. I felt like a turkey being gutted. While there was no pain, the pulling and manipulation of my body were uncomfortable. However, I was grateful not to endure hours of labor pain as many women do. Despite my plan for a natural birth, this was the best outcome for us.

At 10:47 PM, my baby boy was delivered. Nurses quickly cleaned, measured, and took his footprints. I eagerly awaited skin-to-skin contact, but initially, I couldn’t even see him. Thankfully, my husband captured some photos, allowing me to see our baby.

I wasn’t able to hold my baby immediately; the nurse showed him to me briefly before taking him away. I was confused, having heard that mothers usually hold their babies right after birth. They explained that they needed to keep checking on him. After they closed me up, I was moved to a recovery room to wait for the epidural to wear off. They brought me his footprints, and the waiting began. Time seemed to crawl even slower than before.

After some time, a nurse informed us that our baby had been moved to the NICU because he couldn’t breathe on his own. He had respiratory distress syndrome. This news was devastating. I was moved to my room and couldn’t hold back my tears. Even now, writing this, I’m emotional and crying.

I was told I couldn’t see my baby yet and needed to recover, but my husband was allowed to visit him. Alone in my room, my thoughts were with my baby. I felt helpless and scared, wondering what I had done wrong.

A lactation specialist visited and advised me to start pumping to initiate milk production. Though I thought I hadn’t produced much initially, she assured me it was a great amount, as a newborn’s stomach is the size of a pea. To all new moms, don’t worry about having enough milk—our bodies are incredibly smart.

I had to pump every three hours to ensure my milk supply increased, and my husband delivered the milk to our boy. For 24 hours, I didn’t see him, which felt like torture. When I finally received permission to leave my room, my husband and I visited him.

The hospital was undergoing renovation, so reaching the NICU was a bit of a trek. Everything in the NICU is sterile; before entering the baby’s room, we had to wash our hands thoroughly. Seeing my baby again, so small and attached to monitors with tubes and wires, was heartbreaking. They fed him through a tube in his nose because he had a breathing tube in his mouth. To every mom who has gone through similar challenges, I send my prayers and best wishes. This was the hardest time of my life, and the image of my baby in the NICU will never leave me.

We were later told that our boy had pulled the breathing tube out himself and was breathing on his own—a huge relief. However, he also had high bilirubin levels and a high blood cell count, so he needed to stay longer.

Five days later, I held and breastfed him for the first time. I had taken online breastfeeding classes, which emphasized immediate skin-to-skin contact, but no one prepared me for not being able to hold my baby for so long. It was truly heartbreaking.

I spent days next to him, and my husband was there day and night. His support was incredible. When I went home to rest, he delivered milk every three hours and stayed with our baby, sometimes until morning. Leaving my baby in the hospital was difficult, but I needed to focus on my recovery and producing more milk. I’m so grateful for my husband’s support during this time.

Finally, after nine days, we received the wonderful news that we could go home together. It was the day before my birthday, and it felt like a gift from God. I can’t express the joy I felt.

My heart is full of gratitude to all the nurses who cared for my baby. Their dedication and love for their job were evident, and I am forever thankful.

Thank you for reading my story. I wish every mother an easy labor, the joy of holding their baby right away, and a smooth journey home. For those facing similar difficulties, you are strong. This challenging time will pass, and you will be home with your baby soon.

I pray for YOU.