The Best, Hardest Thing I’ve Ever Done

November 25, 2025

After a couple of blood pressure readings at the doctor’s office that were on the higher end, I was told to begin monitoring my blood pressure at home. Thankfully, I already owned a cuff, so I began checking it once a day as well as any time I felt off.

Being 34 weeks pregnant, feeling “off” happened quite often, and most of the time I simply brushed it off as one of the many oddities of pregnancy’s affect on one’s body/mind/spirit. Though my pregnancy was quite an uneventful one, there were still so many changes that occurred in my body that it began to feel like a new one entirely. This particular week, I had been fighting off a virus. It had made its round through the ER I work in, and practically everyone could be heard stifling coughs and sniffles. Josh was in the final weeks of a college math course he was taking for a certificate he’s obtaining through work, and I was at home by myself. I started feeling “off,” but couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Having dealt with the sickness for the better part of a week, I presumed the headache I was experiencing was related, but for the heck of it, I decided to check my blood pressure anyway.

When the glowing screen flashed 180/105, I did my best to quell my panic. Working in healthcare is often a double edged sword. It means that I know too much to brush off a reading that high. I focused on my breathing, switching the cuff to my other arm. The reading was a bit lower, but still higher than it ought to be. 160/112. I knew Josh was in the middle of an important exam, so I kept my fear to myself. I began checking my pressure every 15 minutes, hoping that it would come down on its own, though I had a strong feeling how this would all end.

Every part of me wanted to pace the room, or run upstairs and begin packing a hospital bag. I knew, however, that it was of utmost importance to stay calm and not push myself. If my pressure was going to come down, it would need to be done through rest. Anything more risked driving it higher still. After an hour of checking my blood pressure every 15 minutes, it was still reading 160s/100s. Josh finally texted me, informing me that he was finished with his exam. I asked him to call me, and I explained the situation. I wanted him to be prepared to go directly to the hospital once he got home. I then called my OB office’s triage line, where a nurse told me that I should indeed head to Labor & Delivery to be monitored. It was then that I allowed myself to begin packing a bag.

I had already started planning what I would want in my hospital bag, but I’d intended to pack it in a much more intentional, thorough way. Instead, I found myself haphazardly tossing everything I could need into a red duffel bag. I was going from room to room, racking my brain for the list I hadn’t quite written out yet. Certainly I’d need clothes, a phone charger, and a fan. My mind was blanking on what else I should bring. I didn’t have too much time to ponder. Josh got home and we were off. The time was approximately 8 p.m.

Upon arrival to the hospital, it went pretty much how I’d expected it to. I was checked in by a nurse, given a gown and a cup, directed to the bathroom to change and provide a urine sample. Then, I was hooked up to monitors that would watch baby’s heart rate, my uterine contractions, and of course, my blood pressure and other vitals. My blood pressures at the hospital were thankfully lower than they had been at home, but they were still considered high. It was a busy night for laboring moms, so it took some time before the Laborist (the doctor taking care of the Labor and Delivery unit) was able to meet and assess me.

When she came in, my blood pressure had just cycled and came back at 164/96. The doctor did her assessments, asking me all the pertinent questions. At the time, my only possible symptoms of preeclampsia were my blood pressure, and I had a headache. That being said, I kept telling everyone that I didn’t know if the headache was just because I was fighting a virus. The doctor essentially told me that as long as my blood pressure came down and my lab values came back okay, that they would likely admit me for 24 hour observation, but after that time I would likely be okay to go home. Just after she said that, my blood pressure cycled once more

175/104

The doctor kind of chuckled and said, “I hope you have your bags packed. Don’t be surprised if you deliver tonight.” She then walked out of the room.

I laughed along with her, brushing off her comment as a joke, yet I was still compelled to look at my husband with a little worry in my eyes.

After the doctor left, the nurse returned. She gave me some IV blood pressure medication and prepared me for transport to the actual room I’d be staying in. Up until that point, we were hanging out in a triage room, which was tiny. It was a relief when it was revealed the room we were staying in not only was more spacious, but also had a much more comfortable bed. We settled into the room, and the nurse promised me she would only come in when necessary to try to allow us to get some rest. Unfortunately for me, my baby was a pro at evading the heart monitors, which meant the nurse was in there every 15-20 minutes adjusting the belly bands so that the heart rate would show up on the monitors again. Rest was not to be had.

I have access to my chart, which means I was getting my results in real time. I was relieved when my labs showed no signs of preeclampsia. There was no protein in my urine, and my liver and kidneys were functioning appropriately. At this time, my blood pressure was also in a much better range. 130s/80s. I felt assured that we would be safe to do the 24-hour observation and be discharged the next night.

However, rather suddenly, the doctor came into my room around 12 a.m. She told me that due to my blood pressure readings that were higher than 160/90 earlier in the day, I met the criteria for “preeclampsia with severe features.” She informed me that the recommendation would be delivery of the baby. She said that if I were to come in with the same symptoms but was only 31 or 32 weeks, they would hospitalize me until I reached 34 weeks, at which point they would deliver my baby. Apparently 34 weeks is that magic moment where the risk of keeping the baby inside when you have pre-eclampsia outweighs the risk of getting them out.

My stomach sank, and I felt like I was going to throw up. I thought things had been improving. I expected to be discharged the next day. Suddenly, I’m being told that my baby needs to come NOW and that they will likely need to spend time in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) once born. I was 34 weeks and 5 days. My expectations of a natural birth, with skin to skin and breast feeding felt as if they were being ripped from me. I knew that if she had to go to the NICU, I would not get those moments the way I had been dreaming and planning

I broke down crying, and my husband was crying, too. It was the most scared I’ve felt in a very long time, if ever. The doctor told us to take a moment to think about it, but emphasized how important she felt it was. When she left, Josh and I collapsed into each other, fear abundantly clear on each of our faces. I had this sense of being a failure. I was failing my child, and I was failing my husband by failing our child. I had to get up to go to the bathroom, so the nurse told me to call her when I was ready to be hooked back up to all of the monitors. I took a beat, just sitting with Josh and processing what had just happened. Our minds were racing with the possibilities.

On one hand, I had been very much looking forward to meeting our child. I couldn’t wait to see their precious face, touch them and smell them. At the same time, there was an immense fear. What if they couldn’t breathe on their own? What if they’d need to be tube fed? The idea of seeing my baby connected to wires and tubes broke my heart. I know that parents deal with this kind of thing all the time, but there is grief involved with your plans going out the window. All of this was not to mention the fears that I had for myself regarding having a c-section. It’s a major abdominal surgery. I feared losing too much blood and dying. I feared any number of complications that could take my life or my child away from me. I saw all of these fears mirrored on my husband’s face. Seeing him scared made me even more afraid. I couldn’t stop the tears at this point. I couldn’t believe this was my real life.

When the nurse did return, I noticed that she was giving me a look. The best way I can describe it is as if she knew something that I didn’t. Being a nurse myself, I know that there are times when the nurses may not necessarily agree with the doctors’ decisions, but it really isn’t our place to speak out against them (unless it’s something blatantly dangerous.) I asked my nurse to level with me.

“Could you please talk to me like I’m your sister or friend right now?”

“If you were my sister or friend, I would tell you to try to get some rest. You are safe, your baby is safe, the decision can wait until the morning. I would also tell you that I really like and trust the doctor who will be coming in at 0600.”

I took a deep, steadying breath. The nurse was telling me, without using these words, that the night shift doctor could be acting in a rash way, and that the morning doctor could give me a second opinion. She reassured me that it was safe to wait, and that was all I needed to hear. I told the doctor that we would be holding off, for now. In the meantime, she still recommended that they start IV magnesium to prevent the seizures that can sometimes occur with pre-eclampsia. The nurses warned me that it would make me feel like crap, but I knew that I needed to prioritize mine and baby’s safety. We started the medication, and it did indeed make me feel like crap. I tried to rest as much as possible, but by the time morning had rolled around, I had maybe slept a couple of hours.

When the morning doctor came in to talk with me, their attitude was a complete 180 from the previous doctor. They told me that with the information they had, they did not feel it was necessary to deliver my baby immediately. They did say, however, that I would need to be hospitalized until the baby did come, whether that was in a day or a few weeks. They gave me the first dose of a steroid medication to mature my baby’s lungs in case early delivery did become necessary. I sent Josh home to grab some things for us. We came as prepared as possible, but it still wasn’t nearly prepared enough.

These days in the hospital were quite boring. I sat around being monitored, watching TV, and eating hospital food (which wasn’t as bad as I’d been expecting.) At noon the day after my admission, the doctor talked about discontinuing the magnesium, because my blood pressure had been completely stable for hours. It was beginning to look like there was a possibility of being discharged instead of having to stay in the hospital. Still, it was a long process to get to that point. We had to be sure that it was 100% safe for both myself and the baby.

Thankfully, everything ultimately worked out. My blood pressure stabilized, and the baby looked great on all the monitoring. They wanted me to spend one final day to get a repeat set of labs, but the plan was to discharge me the next day, on Thanksgiving.

I cannot express how grateful I am that we opted to wait things out and did not rush into delivery. I was able to go home on Thanksgiving, with a few strict rules.

1. Absolutely no working. Maternity leave was to start immediately, no ifs, ands, or buts.
2. Strict monitoring of my blood pressure twice a day AND if any symptoms occurred.
3. Not necessarily bedrest, but a pretty significant reduction in activity while at home.
4. Return to the hospital to be induced if BP rises above 160/110.
5. Attend two doctor’s appointments per week for non-stress tests.

So that’s exactly what I did. I spent the next couple of weeks doing my best to make the final preparations for baby’s arrival. If anything, this experience showed me how unprepared I was. It also was eye-opening to what I actually needed when the time for delivery came. In between preparation, I spent many hours laying on the couch. I checked my blood pressure diligently, went to the doctor twice a week, and did my best to keep my wits about me.

On December 7th, I began to feel unwell again. I checked my blood pressure, and sure enough, it was elevated. Not quite to the point of induction, but getting there. Of course, Josh was at work. I kept him updated as I continued checking throughout the next couple of hours. I ultimately asked him to come home early, because the numbers were not coming down. He got home, and we packed up our bags. I sat down for one last check before heading in, and my blood pressure was completely normal! I felt like I was going crazy, like my body was playing tricks on me. I had a biophysical profile ultrasound scheduled for the next day, and baby’s movements were completely good, so I felt safe to stay home and continue to rest.

December 8, 2025

The next day, preceding my appointment, I had a feeling that the day would end with induction. I kept pushing the thought away. I told Josh to stay at home for my appointment. There were still so many things to be done around the house to prepare. When I got to the hospital, the ultrasound tech was running behind schedule due to new equipment. I waited in the waiting room for over one hour before she called out for me. We began the scan, and the tech kept making comments about the baby being sleepy, not wanting to move, etc.

With biophysical profile ultrasounds they are looking for key markers of the baby’s well-being. These include practice breathing, full body movement, movement of extremities, and amniotic fluid level. They want these movements to occur within 30 minutes, but it can end sooner if the baby meets them quicker. Your baby can score up to 8 points, which is a perfect score. At the end of the 30 minutes, my baby had yet to move or do the practice breathing. She was scoring a 2/8, which is very much not good. The nurse practitioner I was scheduled to see came in after the ultrasound. I was only a few short days away from 37 weeks, which we had already scheduled an induction for. She basically said that it was no longer safe to keep waiting until 37 weeks.

Of course, since I left Josh at home, I had to make the drive back to pick him and our hospital bags up. It was beginning to sink in that this was really happening. Our baby was coming, very soon. Maybe to you a few days doesn’t seem like much, but for me, it was everything. I thought I had a few more days to prepare. My entire world was about to change forever. By the time I got home, the doctor’s office was calling me to check on me. They stressed the importance of returning to Labor and Delivery as soon as possible. During this time, I still hadn’t really felt the baby moving, so I was extremely anxious to get back. We quickly packed the car and headed out.

As we drove to the hospital, Josh and I were a bundle of nerves. We couldn’t believe our child was finally coming. We spent all the months of pregnancy trying to prepare, but when push came to shove, we had no idea what to expect. I was nervous for labor. What would contractions feel like? Would my body know what to do, or would I need a cesarean? Would I be able to tough it out, or would I need the epidural? I was excited to meet my baby, wondering what they would look like. Would they have traits of their dad, of me, or a perfect mix of both? The future felt so uncertain, hard to visualize. I was embarking on a journey unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

We arrived, once again, to Labor and Delivery triage. They started my IV, sent off some more blood work, and connected me to the monitors for myself and baby. The plan was induction. The time was now.

The doctor told me that since the baby had failed the BPP ultrasound, they were concerned about how well the baby could tolerate labor. As a result, they didn’t want to give me the cervical ripening medication, because once it was in, they couldn’t take it back. With Pitocin, however, they could adjust the dose and even stop the medication altogether if the baby wasn’t doing well. So our induction plan was to use a Foley balloon to manually open up my cervix, and Pitocin to start contractions.

I had heard a few horror stories about the Foley balloon. I also was terrified of the epidural. I was expecting to be begging for the epidural during the placement of the balloon, but when the time actually came, it wasn’t as bad as I had been anticipating. It was certainly uncomfortable, but nowhere near what I was fearing. During placement, the provider told me that my cervix was very soft and I was probably 1-1.5 cm dilated. She seemed extremely optimistic that things would go quickly for me. She told me that the Foley balloon would come out when I reached 4-5 cm dilated, which she anticipated happening within a few short hours. This was a far cry from what I had anticipated, which was that it could easily take 12+ hours for my cervix to begin to ripen and open up. The talk of the doctor and nurse made me excited. It seemed like my body was ready, and maybe things would go well.

Pretty quickly after placement of the balloon, I began having contractions, only I didn’t recognize that that was what was happening. I had some cramping, and I was extremely uncomfortable. Yet, I’d look up at the monitor that shows contractions and it was a flat line. I began to get worried. The amount of pain I was in wasn’t unbearable, but I thought to myself, “If I’m not even having contractions yet, what will it be like once I am?”

The nurse came in and adjusted the monitors on my belly. As soon as she did, I saw the hills and valleys that are contractions on the monitor. Turns out, I was having contractions every 3 minutes. I immediately felt relieved. The pain I was experiencing were contractions, and as soon as I was equipped with that knowledge, I was able to breathe through the pain. It was predictable. Each contraction started with a wave of tightness that began in my back and made its way to my lower stomach. There was a peak, when the pain became almost too intense to handle, and then as swiftly as it came, it began to fade away. I found myself bracing for the next contraction. There was some level of fear involved. From my limited research, I knew that that fear was not beneficial to me. I tried my best to completely let go and allow my body to do what it needed to do.

Throughout this process, probably one of the most annoying things was that I was still pregnant, which meant I still had to pee every 5 minutes. Any time I’d get into a comfortable position and would try to get some rest, my bladder would laugh and say, “Yeah, right.” Each time I went to the bathroom, I mentally prepared myself for the contraction I’d have while on the toilet. For whatever reason, they were much more intense there. On my 3rd or 4th trip, about 2 hours into having contractions every 3 minutes, I got up and went to the bathroom. I did my business, and I noticed I didn’t have any contractions that time. I walked back into the room, getting prepared to settle back into the bed. Still no contraction. I hooked myself back up to the monitors, and sure enough the valleys and hills had disappeared and were replaced with a flat line. Apparently my body had had enough.

With the Foley balloon in place, the hospital has a policy that you cannot go above 7 mcg of Pitocin. It was probably 9 or 10 pm at this point. The nurse kept adjusting the monitors, thinking that maybe the contractions just weren’t getting picked up by them. I assured her that any and all pain I had felt had completely disappeared. The only option we had was to sit and wait until 1) the balloon fell out on its own once I dilated enough or 2) 12 hours since the placement had passed, which is when it’s required to take out.

I kept expecting the contractions to pick back up at any moment, but as the night went on, nothing was happening. At 4 am on December 9, it was time to remove the Foley balloon. I was about 3 cm dilated, but everyone was quick to remind me that it wasn’t really dilated, just forced open by the balloon. They were trying to limit my expectations, which I appreciated. After the removal of the balloon, we were able to start upping the dose of Pitocin again. Their parameters were that they can go up 1 mcg per 30 minutes, so long as myself and baby were tolerating contractions and labor. There was a maximum limit of 20 mcg. So, we began at 7 and bumped up one little bit at a time, every 30 minutes.

By the time I reached 15 mcg, my body began having some contractions again. I remember feeling so relieved. I thought that there was something wrong with me because my body wasn’t responding to the medication. I was happy to be experiencing the pain again, because it meant I was getting closer. Breakfast time came, and I was able to order clear liquids. I had some Jello, a frozen Italian ice pop, and some chicken broth. To pass the time, Josh and I played some cards. I liked swaying back and forth while standing, so we set up my bedside table so that I could do both at the same time. I asked the nurse for a birthing ball, which she happily brought to me. I did some hip circles while the plastic ball made obnoxious noises against the wooden floor.

After a couple more hours of contractions, they again abruptly stopped. At that point, I was on the maximum dose of 20 mcg of Pitocin. I felt so defeated, and the reality was slowly dawning on me. I was not going to have a natural labor and delivery. I was trying to go without the epidural, mostly because I was so afraid of it. The idea of having someone messing around your spine freaked me the hell out. It was easy to avoid, because I wasn’t having any pain. The doctor came to see me around noon. She was shocked to see me laughing with my husband and sister, just rolling around on the birthing ball. She told me that she expected me to be far more uncomfortable at that point. I gestured to my belly and the monitor.

“Well, nothing’s happening!”

She didn’t seem all that concerned. She told me that early labor was usually done in the comfort of your own home and that it can sometimes take days. We were trying to rush a process that normally takes a lot of time. She told me we were just going to stay the course, and that she would come back around 5 pm to check on me again. It had been over 24 hours since my last real food, so she also gave me the heaven-sent gift of allowing me to eat real food for lunch. I ordered a baked potato and chili from Mcallister’s Deli. It was delicious, and it was exactly the boost in morale that I needed.

Josh and I kicked my sister out for a little while so that we could rest. I lamented to Josh that my body wasn’t doing its job. Throughout pregnancy, Josh and I would joke around about nipple stimulation sending me into labor. He decided the time had come to see if it was true. I was desperate for something to happen, so we gave it a try. Sure enough, the monitors slowly but surely began picking up some contractions. Only, these weren’t being felt by me. Or, if they were, they were super mild. Still, it was seemingly working. Josh kept it up for about an hour, forgoing any rest in favor of manually stimulating my labor.

When my sister came back, I gestured to the monitor. We were excited that things seemed to be moving again. These contractions were my shortest bout yet. They lasted maybe 30 minutes before tapering off yet again. 5 pm came around, the doctor once again brushed off the fact that my body wasn’t doing anything. She seemed sure that, eventually, it would begin to take off. Despite having largely no contractions for over 24 hours, my cervix “was progressing” according to the doctor. However, she wouldn’t put a real number on it, so I had my doubts. She did, though, break my water and give the nurses the okay to start raising my Pitocin. This time, the max would be 30 mcg. They would also be inserting an internal uterine monitor. Everyone thought that I must be having contractions, they just weren’t coming up on the monitor. I begged to differ, though, because I literally felt absolutely nothing.

From everything I’d read and watched about labor leading up to my own experience, the breaking of the water is when things intensify. I’ve heard of people going from 0-100 in a matter of a few hours. The breaking of the water allows the baby’s head to come down and put pressure on the cervix, which is ultimately what makes it dilate. I was hopeful that with the increase in the medication, and the pressure, I would be having my baby that night.

Later that night, contractions picked back up. The higher doses of Pitocin seemed to be doing the trick. Things got uncomfortable very quickly. I was having contractions every 2 or so minutes. I wanted so badly to get up and move around, but every time I would get out of bed, we would lose the baby’s heart on the monitor. The nurse offered me the option of an internal monitor for baby’s heart rate, but I really wanted to avoid it. It’s a screw that goes into their scalp, and I wanted to avoid that risk of infection. She basically told me that I would either have to suffer through contractions in bed, or get the internal monitor. Contractions while laying in bed were becoming unbearable, but I felt the need to protect my child, so I gritted my teeth and bear it.

Each cervical check seemed to be making tiny amounts of progress. It was enough to make me feel like things were going in the right direction. At 8 pm, I was 6 cm and 80% effaced (thinned out.) The nurse asked me about epidural. I told her that I’d love to go without it, if possible. She was totally supportive, but also realistic. She told me that there was only one anesthesiologist on after 7pm, so I should let her know if I wanted it within an hour of when I could no longer bear it. That was such a difficult thing to judge. I felt like the way I was experiencing labor was liable to change minute by minute, how was I supposed to anticipate how I would feel in one hour’s time?

The staff tried to let us rest as much as possible, but they were coming in to check my cervix every 4 or so hours. At midnight, I was 7 cm dilated and still 80% effaced. Contractions were getting more and more intense. It felt like it was endless, and there was no break in sight. I was having contractions every 2 minutes, but I could barely move in the bed due to the monitors. I was exhausted, having slept maybe 4 hours in the past 36. My resolve was wearing down. The nurse also told me that sometimes, the epidural is what allows women to relax enough so that they can progress to 10 cm. I decided that after the next cervix check, if I wasn’t fully dilated, I would get the epidural.

The nurse reassured me that I was making the right choice. She said that they’d put in the epidural, I would finally be able to get some rest, and I would wake up from my nap, ready to push out my baby. I was hoping beyond hope that that would be the case. At 4 am, it was time for another cervical check. The nurse said I was around 8 cm now. Progress was happening, just very slowly. I told her to call the anesthesiologist. I was terrified of the epidural, but I could not keep going on without it. My body and my mind were wearing down.

The anesthesiologist was absolutely amazing, but before he could insert the epidural I had a full on panic attack. I was sobbing uncontrollably, hyperventilating. I didn’t even have a rational reason for feeling so extremely. I simply was scared. Josh did his best, holding my hands and reassuring me, but there was fear in his eyes, too. I’m usually the one that can hold it together, especially in medical situations. It’s rare that he sees me in such vulnerable positions. Still, he was everything I needed in that moment. I pushed through the fear and let the doctor do his job, and do his job is what he did. My epidural was placed perfectly in the first try, and it worked extremely well.

Within minutes, I felt the contractions melting away. My legs became numb and heavy. I could still move them, but it took a lot of concentration and effort. The nurse assisted me into a side-lying position with one of my legs in a stirrup so that I could get rest while hopefully helping the baby engage into the pelvis. The plan was to switch sides every hour or so. In the meantime, she was also ramping up the Pitocin each time she came in. I was able to get some much needed rest. Josh slept on the couch, somehow sleeping through even when the nurses came into adjust me. The nurses let me rest as much as they could, so we skipped the 4 a.m. cervical check.

Around 6 a.m., it was time to see what progress had been made. The nurse seemed to take a long time, and when she was finished, she said she was going to go get the doctor to come check as well. After the doctor examined me, she said that I was probably 6 cm dilated and 90% effaced.

“Don’t worry! It’s not like you went backwards, we just thought you were further along than you were,” she said it in a reassuring tone, but I immediately started crying. I knew exactly where this was headed. I had essentially made no progress in almost 12 hours. When the nurses were checking me prior to the placement of the epidural, I was likely too tense for them to properly measure. That, and I guess cervical dilation is subjective to whomever is doing the checking. Either way, I had been stuck at 6 cm for hours, and I knew what was coming. Just a few weeks prior, my coworker, who had been pregnant at the same time as I was, had been induced as well. Her delivery ultimately ended in cesarean due to stalled labor. Prior to my own induction, I learned that the rate of cesarean following induction of labor is as high as 33%. Still, I had hope that my body would kick into gear and do what it was supposed to.

Despite knowing what was coming, my heart still sank when the doctor suggested we start preparing for a cesarean. I was completely terrified. But I was also completely exhausted, and I just needed my baby to be here, safe with me. This time around, I didn’t fight it. I simply nodded to the doctor, and tried to rest as much as possible as everyone around me began to prepare.

December 10, 2025

The doctor told me there was one patient ahead of me that was currently in the OR. After her case was finished, it would be my turn. Josh properly woke up at this point, and he stayed steady by my side, despite his own fear coursing through him. The nurse shaved me, inserted a catheter, and monitored me while we waited for the surgical team to give us their okay.

The anesthesiologist, a different one from who placed my epidural, came to the room and began giving me the medication through my epidural to ensure I wouldn’t feel the surgery. He traveled with us to the OR. At the entrance, my husband and I parted ways. He was given a gown, booties, and a hat to put on and told to sit in the waiting room until they were ready for him. The anesthesiologist reassured him that he had performed thousands of these cases, and he never once forgot to grab the support person when the time came. Josh and I hugged and kissed.

“I’ll see you soon,” I told him, even as I worried that I wouldn’t.

This is when the shaking began. I could no longer feel my lower half at all, and I certainly couldn’t move my legs as I had been able to previously with just the epidural. My body, completely out of my own control, began to have full body shakes. I felt like my teeth were rattling in my skull. Every now and then, I would stick out my tongue to get some relief, but it wasn’t long before the shaking would start back up. As they moved me from the hospital bed to the OR table, the nerves really started to kick in. My heart rate jumped up to the 140s, and all they were doing was prepping me. They hadn’t even begun the procedure yet.

I felt the pressure of what seemed like a thousand hands grabbing, pulling, and pushing me here and there as they cleaned the surgical site and taped up my apron belly so it was out of the way. The anesthesiologist asked me to tell him whether the object he was touching me with was cold or not. After he passed my rib cage, I could no longer feel the temperature. Everything was ready to go, and as the OB doctor scrubbed in, someone grabbed Josh from the waiting room. He was suddenly there next to me, and I couldn’t stop the tears.

“I don’t think I can ever do this again,” I said.

(Dear reader, you may want to skip over this part if you’re squeamish around medical things)

He started crying, too, apologizing profusely. It was so scary for both of us. The time had come for the cutting and cauterization. There were a lot of noises, like the suctioning of my blood and body fluids. I still felt that bizarre sensation that some women have described as “someone washing dishes in your abdomen.” I felt like I was an alien experiment, being poked and prodded, tugged and pulled. The anesthesiologist was an absolute angel. He kept reminding me what I was feeling was normal. At some point, I began to feel like I was going to pass out, but I was afraid to say that. As my vision was turning to black, I told the anesthesiologist, “I’m feeling kind of lightheaded.”

My blood pressure had gone from the around 160/90 to 100/70 within minutes. The anesthesiologist began squeezing the bag of IV fluids so that they would infuse faster. As they got to the layer of my uterus, my body reacted by violently heaving and I proceeded to vomit, despite having had nothing put into my stomach for hours. The anesthesiologist acted fast with nausea medication. At some point, the pressure and pulling sensations became altogether overwhelming. I knew that my baby was on her way, finally. I heard the doctor say, “I want to show Brittany.”

(Okay, safe to resume reading now)

The anesthesiologist helped by pulling down the curtain, and above it came my beautiful, perfect daughter. I heard gurgles and cries. Her face was a grimace, her mouth wide open with a scream. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. She was here, she was safe. A lot of my anxiety immediately melted away. The shaking stopped. My husband suddenly felt conflicted: stay next to his vulnerable wife, or go be by the side of his newborn daughter. He went to meet her, holding her tiny little hand as they gave her her first vaccinations. They left the umbilical cord long enough that Josh could get the experience of cutting it. He came back to me, showing me pictures and videos. We were both crying freely at this point. Our entire world had just changed forever.

The closing up of my abdomen took longer than I expected. Anxiety began to creep back in, as I wondered if there was something wrong. Maybe I’d been losing too much blood. Maybe there was some complication. But after a few minutes, the doctor called over the curtain to tell me they were almost done. As quickly as they taped me up and set up the curtain, it was all taken down and off. I still had no feeling in my lower half, so they hoisted me from the OR table to another hospital bed. They wrapped my little baby into a blanket and tucked her into the crook of my arm as they wheeled me to my recovery room.

As we were traveling down the hallway, I felt a heaviness in my right eye. It was like I couldn’t open it all the way. I kept scrunching my face, trying to make it better. I told the anesthesiologist, who immediately performed a stroke scale on me. Thankfully, the only thing happening was with my eye. No lopsided smile or strength deficits. He kind of just shrugged and told me it should go away with time.

The next moments of time feel like a blur. I was completely and utterly exhausted, and having lost a lot of blood, my brain went into a kind of survival mode. I remember my daughter being on my chest. I remember feeling so full of love and relief that it was over. I kept looking at her face, trying to convince myself that it wasn’t all some dream I was soon to wake up from.

After an amount of time, the nurse tried to help me latch baby to the breast. However, she was so extremely tired that she simply kept falling asleep. The nurse helped me hand express some colostrum, and we were able to feed my girl with a tiny syringe. I was over the moon that I was producing colostrum. I had a fear throughout my pregnancy that I would not be able to properly breastfeed, but this felt like a huge win after feeling betrayed that my body could not labor and deliver my baby on my own.

After the initial recovery period, we were all transported to a postpartum room, which unfortunately was much smaller than my Labor and Delivery room. I met my new nurse and reality was slowly setting in alongside the exhaustion. After she finished her nurse duties, she left us to revel in the new life we had brought into the world. This period of time is so sacred and special to me. I simply couldn’t believe our daughter was here. My husband was beaming at me with pride. He was immediately infatuated with her, wanting to hold, kiss, and cuddle her every waking moment. It all just made sense. I felt like we were exactly where we belonged, all together in our little bubble.

We stayed there in that bubble for 3 more days. The pain slowly crept in. I didn’t get out of bed until 16 or so hours after my c-section. The first time was excruciating. It felt like my lower stomach was being ripped open all over again. I quickly had to learn to use my arms and legs to brace myself rather than trying to activate my non-existent core. I was caught off guard by just how much assistance I needed to do everything. I could not use the bathroom or put on my clothes without help. I felt so extremely vulnerable and emotionally raw. Every now and then, I would just look at my daughter and cry. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. My husband and I would simply stare at her in awe, completely overwhelmed by how much love we had for her already.

Those days also passed by in a blur. I remember getting beautiful flowers from Josh’s mom. I remember my former nursing school classmate stopping by. She had her baby just days before I had mine, both little girls. We took a picture, side by side with our newborns in our arms. My co-workers from in the emergency room texted their congratulations. One of them in particular was there the day that my baby was born. She texted me when she heard the lullaby that signals the birth of a baby over the PA system,

“Did I just hear the lullaby for YOU AND YOUR BABY GIRL!!!”

I sent a picture, and I knew they were all excitedly gathered around the phone admiring my sweet girl. Looking back on this makes me smile so much. It was just such pure, unadulterated joy. I have never experienced anything like it. I’d heard other people talk about it, but to feel it for yourself is something else entirely. Every single contraction, tear, ache, and pain. Every single tug and pull on the operating table. All of the anxiety and fear. The sleeplessness, the sore nipples as we struggled to get a good latch. The pain of recovering from a major abdominal surgery. It was all worth it, a thousand times over, to have my perfect, healthy baby in my arms.

Two days after my baby was born, the nurses asked me what my plan was. I opted for one more day in the hospital, despite the fact that there was a huge snowstorm slotted to hit us the next day. As much as I didn’t want us to have to bring a newborn home in a snowstorm, I desperately needed the assistance of the nurses to have one more night of rest before venturing out into the world as new parents.

While in the hospital, our neighbor texted my husband. She said she noticed we hadn’t been home in a few days and wished us well. She told him that she wanted to provide us some home cooked meals for our first nights at home, and asked if there were any dietary restrictions or preferences. Every act of kindness like this brought tears to my eyes immediately. I was so overwhelmed with love and gratitude for the people in my life who showed up.

The morning of December 13 rolled around, and we spent the entire morning preparing to go home. We packed up our bags. Josh installed our car seat. The nurse went over our discharge instructions thoroughly, reminding me to stop at the hospital’s retail pharmacy for my pain medications before heading out. The nurse herself was trying to get us out of there as soon as possible, with the looming threat of snow. It was supposed to start around 11 a.m., so she sent messages to the OB/GYN and the pediatrician to urge them to see me first. As we waited, I dressed baby in her going home outfit. Fittingly, it was a snowman sleeper and her little bow hat. Josh made multiple trips down to the car to lug all of our things.

Unfortunately, doctors work on their own time. We didn’t end up getting out of the room until almost 2:30 p.m. The snow was already in high gear, and some had already accumulated on the ground. The anxiety was high. Josh has some level of driving anxiety even on a good day. Add this to 1) a snowstorm and 2) transporting a fragile newborn, we were both nervous wrecks. In the midst of the chaos and anxiety, we completely forgot to stop at the pharmacy before leaving.

We were already too close to home to turn back. I immediately began crying. I had dropped my cell phone on the floorboard, and due to my incisions, I couldn’t bend down to pick it up. I had to have Josh hand me his phone so that I could call the hospital and explain what had happened. The pharmacist was helpful, but told me she couldn’t send the prescription for the narcotic without approval from the doctor, which could take some time. After having taken the max dose of the pain medication every 4 hours for the previous 2 days, I was suddenly without it for my first night at home. I was filled with dread. I had no idea how I was going to do it.

When we got home, it was clear very quickly that once I went upstairs, there was no coming back down. Josh hauled everything into our room that we could possibly need. He made all of the trips up and down, whether it be for food, water, or entertainment. He brought our entire TV from the living room so that we could watch it from bed. The pain that first night ended up being pretty manageable. I took Tylenol and ibuprofen around the clock, and used ice packs on my incision. I got up as little as possible. I focused on feeding and loving my new baby.

We got basically no sleep this first night. She was up what felt like every 30 minutes. At 3 a.m., I was beginning to lose myself. Josh woke up to me crying, desperate for some rest. It was clear very quickly that us both trying to sleep together at night was simply not going to happen, at least not for a while. After that first night, we quickly made a plan so that we could both get some sleep. This ended up looking like Josh taking the first shift from 8 p.m. to 12 a.m. Thankfully, I had already started pumping some milk and supplementing because baby lost 10% of her body weight in the hospital. This allowed Josh to feed her while I got some proper rest. I would then take over for the rest of the night, giving him a big stretch. When he’d get up around 7 or 8 a.m., I would then take another stretch in the morning, sleeping until 12 p.m. Then, we’d both be up, sharing the afternoon and evening.

It was this rhythm that I think SAVED me. Even just a stretch as short as 4 hours was a god send. It was the difference between hope and hopelessness. This stage of life was so hard. I was exhausted. I was recovering from a major abdominal surgery. I was adjusting to life as a mom. I was attuning myself to my baby’s every needs. Thank god for my neighbor’s home cooked food. The baked spaghetti fed me for days, and then the Monday after my baby came home, another good friend brought me more food. Every meal that I ate was automatically the most delicious thing I had ever eaten. I found myself to be RAVENOUS. I wanted to devour everything in sight.

That first week at home was another span of time that passed in such a blur. It felt like I blinked, and suddenly my baby was a week old. Josh was simultaneously finishing up a college math course, so during his shifts with the baby, he was busy doing homework and studying for his final exams. It was hectic, emotional, and so, so precious. I am beyond grateful that he got that time off work. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without him.

This journey into parenthood has surpassed even my wildest dreams. Somehow, despite all the preparation, I still find myself caught off guard. I am humbled by how much there is to learn, how much cannot be planned. Each day brings something new: a lesson, an adventure, an invitation to loosen my grip on control. It has challenged me in ways I couldn’t anticipate, yet more rewarding than I could have imagined.

My daughter is a light I didn’t know I was missing. Watching her learn, discover, and slowly become who she is meant to be fills me with a kind of wonder that feels sacred. And while the transition hasn’t been without its struggles, it has, in many ways, drawn my husband and me closer. There is a deeper respect between us now, forged in shared responsibility, love, and devotion. Watching him love her makes me love him all the more.

The simplest moments have become the most meaningful. Our evenings spent reading, playing, and bathing our daughter are beyond words in their sweetness to me.

I never expected motherhood to be a part of my story. Yet now, I cannot imagine life without my sweet girl. She is everything and more. I have so much still to learn, but I’m grateful I get to walk this path alongside the two people who mean the most to me.

6 lbs 1 oz, 20 inches

My tiny, perfect, precious baby girl.