On the day I was due, I went for a morning check-up. After the examination, the doctor sent me home to wait for any signs of labor. I felt a light ache in my lower back in the car. My husband and I assumed it was just my body reacting to the check-up (later we realized this was a naive guess). On the way home, I stopped at the store to pick up some food I wanted to enjoy. When I got home, my husband had to rush back to work, and the backache gradually grew stronger and more frequent. I never got to eat the treats I bought—after following my body’s signals for a few hours, we realized it was time to return to the hospital. Traffic was heavy, so we couldn’t rush, which maybe explains why I don’t remember panicking like in birth scenes from movies.
At the hospital, I was admitted quickly. They asked me to sign some documents. I felt strange—technically, I should have read them carefully, but in pain, I couldn’t focus enough to understand what I was signing. I signed something, but even now I don’t know exactly what.
Later, I was taken to the delivery room with my husband. I remember receiving a light drip of pain relief, which allowed me a brief chance to rest—though “rest” might better be described as dozing with my eyes closed. The doctor checked me again: my cervix was quite dilated, but my waters hadn’t broken yet. We decided not to wait. The doctor used a tool to break my waters.
I didn’t want to lie down anymore, and the contractions had become very intense, so I moved to the birthing ball. Being upright and moving made the contractions slightly easier to bear. Once my waters broke, I soon felt it was time to push. This was the hardest part for me: during one push, the baby barely moved, so I had to gather all my strength, focus on my whole body, and push effectively through the remaining contractions.
I kept telling myself in my mind: I am strong, I can do this. And finally, around 9 p.m., with one last push, my warm little daughter was placed on my chest. I don’t remember her first cry, but I remember my wonder—how real and warm she was. My husband cut the umbilical cord, and we were left to quietly be together as a family of three.
I remember the rest in moments—at some point, the nurses checked the baby; the doctor stitched me up (she made a small cut during one push to prevent tearing); I got to bond with my daughter and introduce her to her new world; and at one moment, the nurses and I discussed which of the two names we had chosen would suit her best. Throughout the birth, I felt genuine care from the nurses and doctor. Even in the hardest moments, I saw their smiles, for which I am deeply grateful.
