I’ll fill in the details later, but for now, I want to talk about the 48 hours leading up to the birth of my daughter. It was an intense, emotional whirlwind that I’ll never forget.
My daughter was due on February 8th, 2024, and I had an appointment with my OBGYN that day. If I hadn’t already gone into labor, I was scheduled for a membrane sweep to help things along. At the appointment, they advised me to walk around afterward to speed up labor. Eager to meet my baby, I did exactly that.
That night, things took a turn. My water broke—or at least, I thought it did—and I began to have strong contractions. But it wasn’t your typical labor pain; it was all in my back, the dreaded back labor. I was in so much pain that I called my partner, who was at work, and told him to come home immediately to take me to the hospital.
Once we arrived, the staff told me something I wasn’t prepared to hear: my water had not broken. They said I had just peed my pants. I couldn’t believe it. I felt like I was going crazy. I knew what it felt like to pee myself, and this was definitely different. Yet, they insisted I go home.
Back at home, the pain was unbearable. I was throwing up and getting dizzy from the intensity of it all. Still, I tried to be strong. The next day, on February 9th, the pain was even worse. I knew something was wrong, so I went back to the hospital, determined to find out what was happening. Once again, they told me I wasn’t in labor and that I wasn’t having contractions. Was I really losing my mind? How could this much pain not be labor?
I was about 5 cm dilated, and yet they wouldn’t admit me unless I wanted an epidural. I had always planned on having a drug-free birth, so I declined. I pleaded with them to let me stay, telling them I was in so much pain I could barely function, but they insisted I would be more comfortable at home. So off I went, still throwing up, in agony, barely able to walk.
On the way home, my boyfriend stopped by McDonald’s, grabbing me a milkshake and a Spicy McCrispy to help distract me. But as the night wore on, the pain only worsened. I tried distracting myself by scrolling through TikTok, but soon, the pain became unbearable. I called out to my boyfriend, telling him I needed the drugs after all. He came rushing out to help me.
And then it happened—something I never expected. I couldn’t move. I felt paralyzed. I was in such shock that I didn’t realize her head was already out. I was giving birth right there, on my couch, just hours after being sent home from the hospital.
In the end, my daughter was born in the most unexpected way—without the drugs, without the hospital, and right in our living room. Those 48 hours leading up to her birth were some of the most confusing and painful moments of my life, but they taught me just how strong I could be when it mattered most.
The journey was not what I planned, but the moment I held her, everything else faded away.
The Fourth Trimester 