On November 22nd, we had planned to induce labor. I was 38 weeks and 5 days pregnant. We headed to the hospital early in the morning. Parking, filling out endless forms, waiting for tests and assessments—it all took a long time.
Around midday, they gave me the induction medication and inserted a balloon to help dilate the cervix. A kind doctor reassured me, easing my nerves about all the measurements and paperwork. The nurse brought my husband and me to the room. I imagined this is where I would give birth. The room was large, filled with various items, refrigerators, but in the middle, only a single bed and an office chair. It felt very uncomfortable.
No one explained much, and we realized we’d have a long wait. The nurse came every couple of hours to check cervical dilation. As progress was slow, we planned an additional dose of medication in the morning. My husband and I stayed in the room alone, gradually adjusting, accepting the space, huddling on the small bed, watching films, and talking. Soon, everything around us disappeared—we were almost just the three of us. This time felt precious and strangely reassuring.
We slept until morning. Then the nurse came with another dose of induction medicine, but we found out I was already 7 cm dilated. It was time to give birth. Around 9 a.m., they asked if I wanted an epidural. Due to my autoimmune condition, everyone assumed I wouldn’t be able to give birth on my own. For unknown reasons, I insisted on trying myself. I got the epidural.
The new room was cozy and small, with a shower, a sofa for my husband, windows covered with matte film, and a huge clock on the wall. We arrived at 10:42. The staff was incredibly kind and attentive. It started to snow—the first snow of the year. We watched it fall dreamily through the slightly open window. I thought She was meant to come in winter, and now winter had arrived for Her. My husband managed to nap a little while my contractions picked up.
At 12:34, the nurse came running because I was screaming. My cries felt like those of a free, wild animal. I don’t remember feeling pain during the contractions—just a sense of immense strength. I felt confident in my body, amazed at how it seemed to know exactly what to do. By 12:57, the staff surrounded me, my husband held my hand. They encouraged me to push, then rest, while my body worked powerfully and purposefully on its own. Everyone was deeply engaged, and I joined in with my wild roars. Soon I heard, “Not the face, not the face,” and tried to process what was said, but by 13:07, I had my tiny purple little alien on my chest. Words and thoughts no longer mattered.
