Autumns birth story

Content warning: Birth trauma, emergency cesarean, fetal distress. Read with care.

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I hesitated to share the details of my birth. Not because I’m ashamed, but because I know how many of us are still untangling our own stories in silence. But I wanted to write her story down before the details blur. For my own processing, for her story to be honored, and for the mom who might be scrolling through a sea of perfect birth stories wondering if she’s the only one who’s still shaken. The one trying to make sense of what happened to her. The one wondering if she’s the only one still replaying it all. Birth stories (yes, even the hard ones) deserve to be told.

I wish more people understood that trauma isn’t about how things looked from the outside. It’s about how your nervous system experienced it. If your birth felt overwhelming, scary, or out of control, you’re not broken. You’re human. The fact that your baby is here doesn’t cancel out what you went through to bring them earthside. In my work, I see so many moms minimizing what they went through because their baby is “okay.” But I want to say this clearly: Your body and mind did something massive. Your story deserves space.

The final weeks.

Between weeks 38 and 41 of pregnancy, I had a few frustrating rounds of prodromal labor. Enough to get my hopes up, but never quite enough to send me to the hospital. I was scheduled for a routine non-stress test and biophysical profile once I passed 40 weeks. I wasn’t too concerned going in, but that appointment changed everything.

She barely passed the NST, and I was diagnosed with polyhydramnios - no idea how that happened, but it did. Suddenly the risks of cord prolapse and placental abruption were too close for comfort.

My induction, which was originally set for 41.5 weeks, got moved up. It was no longer about scheduling convenience — it was about safety.

Things picked up on their own.

The days that followed felt like one long, drawn-out version of early labor. But nothing ever pushed me over the edge into “go time”, until Friday 7/11 (40 weeks and 5 days at that point).

We had just put our son down for his nap when my contractions picked up to 3–4 minutes apart and lasting a minute and a half each.

At the hospital, I was dilated and effaced enough to stay, but baby was still very high up in my pelvis. Because of the polyhydramnios and some late decelerations on the monitor, I was placed on continuous monitoring, and the OB team agreed it was a relief that my water hadn’t broken at home.

My Water Broke!

They wanted to do an artificial rupture of membranes to control the flow and manage any risks. Initially, I cringed at this, but then I agreed because it was the safest option for us. But, just before the procedure, my water broke on its own, while the OB was right there in the room.

There was meconium in the fluid, so the pediatric team was notified. Thankfully, this time, someone told me there would be a lot of people in the room at delivery. That transparency meant everything to me — especially after being blindsided by the same situation during my son’s birth.

Somethings not right.

I labored to full effacement and 8cm of dilation. But baby still wouldn’t come down into the pelvis. Then her heart rate dropped — into the 60s — and stayed there for five minutes. The room changed. Fast. The OB returned wearing a scrub cap, and the team swarmed in. I knew.

The shift.

They flipped me into different positions. I distinctly remember being on my hands and knees when they gave me a shot to try to stop contractions, as they verbally went over the risks of a c-section in order to obtain informed consent. At this point, I was terrified and completely surrendered. There was a lot of poking and prodding, and I just didn’t care. Labor-wise, I was also in transition at this point.

My mind completely shut off. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. I was mentally & emotionally numb. Thank goodness my husband was there to advocate for me, giving consent I couldn’t voice. I was frozen in fear. My husband consented to an internal monitor, which they said was more accurate.

The reading confirmed what we feared: “fetal bradycardia”.

She wasn’t tolerating labor. This was quickly transitioning to “terminal bradycardia” as time went on.

The scariest part.

I was wheeled into the OR, with my husband trailing behind. They scrubbed him in, but ultimately decided things were too urgent & chaotic for him to be in the room. That’s something I’ll never forget. Neither of us will. He had to sit outside and listen to me yell behind closed doors, helpless, in the scariest moment of both our lives.

Within minutes, the first incision was made. I felt everything physically, but was emotionally numb and disconnected from it all.

She was born before I could even register I was in surgery.

Her first moments,

She came into this world needing immediate resuscitation. She had aspirated a significant amount of meconium, and the umbilical cord was wrapped tightly around her neck and body — twice.

And somehow, somehow, she still adjusted to extrauterine life like a fighter.

They medically stabilized her on my abdomen while I lay there, arms strapped down, not yet comprehending what had just unfolded.

I didn’t see her. I didn’t get to hold her. I didn’t nurse her. And still, I find peace in knowing her life was being saved while her body rested on mine. She was then placed on oxygen for a little while.

Finally.

Eventually, they let my husband in.

I’ll never forget the way his hand found mine, or how sturdy it felt after so much chaos. I don't know how long it had been, but the moment he touched my hand, it was like I came back into my body.

A moment of steady in a room that had spun out.

He was the first to hold her.

The first calm in all that fear.

She’s already so deeply loved.

And by some miracle, she’s here with us.