I’ve only shared this picture with a few people until now, and while I LOVE it, it also makes me sad. See, I don’t remember this picture being taken. I don’t remember this moment. I don’t remember the first time I met my sweet Islah.

•Let’s back up. My “due date” was August 9. I changed doctor’s at 37 weeks, because I felt like I was being pressured into having a C-Section. Islah was reading on their ultrasound as a “big baby,” which is why they wanted to do the CS…only they wanted to do it at 38 weeks.Here’s the thing, “big babies” is not an evidence-based reason to give a mom a CS, especially that early. In fact, there are very few evidence-based reasons for inducing a woman early. (If you would like my sources, let me know)…ayway…

•I have never been the biggest fan of western medicine, but let me tell you…doctors who lie are at the top of my list of reasons why. There is evidence that shows induction and epidurals lead to more complications during labor and delivery, such as fetal heart rate and blood pressure changes, additional baby weight gain, ect. And don’t get me started on the risk of CS…but this is a fact: the majority of emergency CS are preluded by pitocin and epidurals. The two drugs on their own have negative things associated with them, on top of the risk of a CS. Needless to say I wanted to avoid all three of these things at any cost.

•I got SO much pushback from my doctors and the hospital I was SUPPOSED to deliver at for wanting an all natural labor and delivery. It enraged me. That should be the STANDARD. Interventions should be just that–INTERVENTIONS. Especially if that’s what the patient requested.

•Already on edge about my doctor and the hospital, I then got news…because of COVID-19, if for some reason I were to test positive, they were going to make me deliver wearing a mask, not allow my husband in the room with me, and they would take the baby from me until we went home. UHM NO. Again, there was no evidence based practice behind their reasoning, but there are thousands of medical journals explaining the benefits of skin-to-skin within the first several weeks of life, as well as the benefits of BFing FIGHTING VIRUSES. In fact, medical professionals tell you, if you get sick, keep BFing as it provides antibodies to the baby…

• So, I switched doctors, in fact, I switched to the birthing center in my area!
It was the most fantastic experience. In fact I wanted to go from the beginning of my pregnancy, but I conceded to the wishes of my husband at first. I had an ultrasound at the birth center’s partnering doctor’s office, which confirmed I was having a bigger baby than average, but not nearly as big as my previous provider said…and I was cleared to have the water birth at the birthing center that I’d hoped for since finding out I was pregnant.

•Fast forward to August 9, my due date…I wasn’t feeling any signs of labor, in fact, I rarely had Braxton Hick’s contractions, when I did, they were weak.Five days later, Friday, August 14th, at 4:15 am…something changed.My husband got up for work, and kissed me goodbye at 4. Then I felt kinda like I peed my pants right after he left…shit.Was this it? Did my water just break? I thought to myself. Unsure of whether or not to call him, I decided against it since I didn’t really feel anything else. Throughout the day, I felt kinda off, but still nothing major. No contractions, nausea, nothing. So, I went to Trader Joe’s, Costco, and on a mile walk with my older brother. Later that evening, around 5:30 pm, I felt my contractions now…so I hung up with my parents and started to do my pain management exercises…such as bouncing on my ball, taking a shower, ect.Around 9:30, we called the midwife on call. My contractions were 3 minutes apart, lasting about a minute, for almost two hours at that point. (You’re supposed to have already headed to the hospital at this point according to all of the literature on the topic.)

•BUT she asked my husband: “Is the pain unbearable?” Me being who I am, thought about it for a moment…unbearable? That was a strong word, but no, it wasn’t UNBEARABLE. I spent the next 5 hours pacing my bedroom, getting in and out of the shower, bouncing on my ball, doing anything I could to manage the growing intensity…but my water STILL had not broken, so I was more than confused. At 1:30 I decided it was time to go.

•We got to the birthing center at about 2 a.m. and explained to my midwife that the contractions had been 2 minutes apart for the past 5 hours, and they all lasted over a minute. She reassured us that everything was fine, and decided to check my cervix to see how dilated I was. To her surprise, I was 7 cm! (For those of you who don’t know, you push at 10)…She told us she was impressed, because most first time moms who show up are only 2-3 cm dilated. I felt proud and was excited; it seemed that in a few short hours, we’d have our sweet baby…we were all wrong.

•My labor continued like this for HOURS. 12 more to be exact. At this point, my water broke, I had progressed to 8 cm, and had been stuck there. I went back and forth from the bathtub, to the shower, to the bed, to the toilet, to the exercise ball…nothing was helping the baby descend so I could push…But I could FEEL her wanting to come out. Turns out, her head was stuck. I flipped over so many times, did hip-opening exercises, squats, took a walk…you name it, I did it. I was exhausted, and legitimately felt like I couldn’t do it anymore. I hadn’t slept in over 24 hours, and I was drained both physically and mentally. My midwives, who I trusted dearly (which when it comes to medicine is huge for me), told me there was nothing more they could do, that it was time to head to the hospital…that maybe an epidural would relax me enough to help my body do its thing and get the baby out…so reluctantly, I headed to the hospital.

•At this point, I’m a bit fuzzy on the time, but I believe it was around 5 pm by the time we got there and got into the room. The epidural was given, and did what of course I knew from all my reading it was going to do…it slowed down my progression. I was having less contractions and stopped progressing at all…(that’s one of those negative effects I was mentioning earlier)…so then they had to give me pitocin…which made my body contract again, although I couldn’t really feel them…four hours of me dozing in and out of sleep, my midwife came to check on me…still no progress, baby was still stuck, and I was still only 8 cm dilated…and the worst happened. These horrible drugs caused the baby’s heart rate to plummet as well as her blood pressure.

•Meanwhile, I was in transition for so long and now hopped up on pain meds, my heart rate was at 170 resting, and climbing. Then the news came…baby had pooped, and there was meconium in the fluid (the fluid around the baby was black, which is toxic for mom and baby). I had to do what I was dreading the most, have an emergency C-Section. My heart rate shot through the roof at this news, and they were doing everything they could to calm me down. My heart rate is always high in medical settings, because truth-be-told doctors and hospitals give me anxiety. They are the opposite of everything I love and believe in…But it was bad. Within the hour, I was prepped and ready for surgery.

•There is something humbling about having a CS. I was laying there, freezing cold, stark naked, in a room with 20+ strangers, strapped down (yes, strapped down) to a table waiting for my husband to come in. I was shaking violently, and felt like my heart was legit going to explode. I can only imagine that is what having a seizure is like. I was shaking so violently that they used three straps on each arm and one across my chest. What was the worst though was as much pain medicine as I was on, I could still feel them probing my abdomen…which is not normal. I was going to have to be put under for this surgery.

•As I was closing my eyes, I remember the tears flooding from them. I didn’t say goodbye to Aaron because I thought I would see him soon. The very last thought I had before falling asleep was: I’m going to die before I get to meet my baby.•When I came to, they let Aaron bring her to me…they put a diaper on so we could find out the gender together. Aaron said the minute I saw her, I knew…he said that the first words out of my mouth before this picture was taken were: “Oh my sweet girl…my baby Islah.” They gave her to me to hold, and to feed. But I don’t remember. I don’t remember the first time she was out in my arms, the first time she latched…both of which I have been looking forward to for as long as I can remember. Aaron held her first. All of these things I am still trying to get over.

•For the longest time I was mad at my body for not getting pregnant like it was supposed to be able to do…now I couldn’t even deliver my baby the way I was supposed to? These feelings have been bubbling within me for months, and I know it’ll be awhile until I finally accept them for what they are. •I am blessed for such a supportive partner who advocated my wishes when I could not. Who prevented them from giving my baby the shots, formula, ointments, baths, and pacifiers when I specifically asked them not to. He advocated for me and for Islah when I could not, and for that I am grateful. Because I could have died, and apparently almost did.

•When the doctor’s handed Islah to Aaron, they didn’t attempt to block him from seeing me splayed on the OR table, organs out of my body. They didn’t shield my vitals from him that told him my blood pressure was on the floor while my heart rate climbed to almost 200 bpm. I was told to take an iron supplement for the next few months as I lost a lot of blood during surgery. I felt it too…when I finally came to for real, I felt as though life had been sucked from my body.

•The following weeks were horrible for me. I soaked up the time with my sweet baby, and was blessed to finally have her. But I was mad. I cou;dn’t pick her up on my own. I couldn’t carry her. I couldn’t get up to check on her while she was sleeping or when she needed a diaper change. I couldn’t shower by myself…and I was left with an ugly scar reminding me of all that my body could not do. While I realize this is a negative way to look at things and “I should just be grateful my baby is here and healthy,” I am here to say it isn’t that simple. I felt and still feel as though my body betrayed me…I look in the mirror and don’t recognize the strength and endurance I used to see. I look in the mirror and see failure. Am I glad and blessed for Islah? OF COURSE. She is all I have wanted for so long. But I am still sad, disappointed, and angry that my birth didn’t go how I wanted it to.

•I’m hurt, because I don’t remember. I know this was God’s plan, and I am trying still to see the reasoning for enduring all of the hardship it took to bring Islah earth side. I did learn a lot through the experience, especially to be an advocate for yourself and have a partner who will advocate for you when you’re unable. I’m blessed to have had an amazing team of midwives supporting me through this process, and to have great doctors and nurses at the hospital, but I’m still glad I chose to educate myself and not rely on policies and the “professionals” alone. I listened to my body and am glad I tried to deliver naturally instead of just conceding to the surgery from the start. If there is one takeaway I want people to keep with them is that: advocate for yourself and your child first and always.

• Islah is my pride and joy, and as crazy as it sounds, I would do it every time for the same outcome.