Our Birth Story

These days, I’m not sure which happens first – the burning pain in the incision or the terrifying flashbacks to the moment I wasn’t sure if I’d get to meet my baby.

For 10 months I kept him safe and healthy. “Any complications during the pregnancy?” they asked me repeatedly when checking into the hospital. None at all. We did a good job, me and him. I stayed hydrated, stayed active, and he kept growing leading right up to the day the contractions started.

August 1, 2022 around 10:30pm they began. Every pregnant woman hears “when the contractions are real, you’ll know!” and I never could conceptualize what that meant until I felt it. I knew. I started timing them. Every 6 minutes or so I felt my body start to climb a steep peak before descending and subsiding. By morning it was every 3 minutes. Climb, peak, OUCH, descend, subside, repeat. The pain got more and more intense and by 11:30am I told Ryan it was time to go.

We got checked in around 12:30pm and I was asking for the epidural within an hour. It was always a part of my plan to get one and boy did it deliver. I felt one of the most intense senses of calm I think I’ve ever felt. You wouldn’t expect that description of early labor…at least I didn’t. Around the same time, the nurses administered some medication to speed up the dilation process. They prepped me that some people need up to 4 rounds of the medication, so I should get comfortable. I did. I put on my noise canceling headphones and started one of the playlists I had prepared for myself. August by Taylor Swift was the first song that came on. “How perfect is this?,” I wondered as I drifted off to sleep.

As promised, the nurses came back 4 hours later to check on my progression. I remember the PA’s eyes widening as she told me I was already 6cm dilated. No more medication needed – we would surely be pushing within a few hours. My favorite doctor was on call so the pressure was on to deliver before she went home the next morning. “We’re having this baby tonight”, she told me with excitement. I was so confident…we all were. That was the last positive update we received.

The next couple of hours there were nurses in and out constantly. They kept switching my positioning and from time to time had me put on an oxygen mask. “The baby just needs a little help keeping his heart rate up”, they told me. I was still pretty zen at this point, so I just went with the flow. The zen was pretty quickly disrupted when all of a sudden the room was full of nurses and doctors. Were there 6 or 7? Was I losing count or could I not see clearly? Was it the drugs? Why are they putting me on all fours? What is going on?

Every time I contracted, Arlo’s heart rate was dropping. They didn’t know why, and nothing they were doing was fixing it. I told myself I had to breathe deeply because if I took care of my own heart rate, it would take care of his. It worked for the last 10 months…why wouldn’t it work now? Why couldn’t it be that simple? That was when they first mentioned a c section.

“It’s not an emergency yet, but we really don’t want to get to that point,” the doctor told me. I was on all fours at this point and all I could do was cry. I was so afraid. I wanted to trust my body – wasn’t it built for this? Everyone kept telling me it was built for this. After a couple of hours and countless more position changes, the room was full again. “Mom, keep breathing – baby’s heart rate is very low. It’s time to go to the OR.”

Keep breathing. Keep breathing. 10 months. Keep breathing.

I searched for Ryan but he was impossible to find through the sea of people putting me back on all fours, tugging at my stomach with the heart rate monitor looking for something, anything, to tell us baby was ok. Ryan could see the numbers on the monitor screen – thank goodness I couldn’t. Noticing my sheer panic, the doctor climbed onto my bed. Grasping both of my hands in hers she got close to my tear-drenched face and told me she promised it would be ok.

It's hard to believe that sentence when the last one you heard was that they couldn’t find your baby’s heart rate.

In less than 5 minutes we were outside the OR. Ryan squeezed my hand and all I wanted was to hug him and go back to two hours before with my playlist and my contractions and my excited team of doctors and nurses. When I wasn’t uncontrollably shaking. How did we get here? What just happened?

The next few minutes are a blur, yet I remember certain parts so vividly. The doctor tested to see if I was numb by asking if I could feel her pinching my stomach – I could. It became clear that we didn’t have time to waste when I heard various voices saying things like:

“Baby’s heart rate has been down for 90 seconds”

“I don’t have time to tie my gown, someone come tie my gown”

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK”

“Is dad in the room? Someone get dad”

“I’m making the incision in 3, 2…”

Pushing, pulling, pressure – so much pressure. My eyes closed as tears rolled down my face. I could hear everything. Things I will never be able to unhear. I could talk, sort of. I remember asking where Ryan was. “He’s here”, they told me. I remember asking what was going on. I don’t think they answered. Maybe they didn’t hear me, or maybe the words didn’t quite make it out. My eyes were glued shut…as if my brain had shut down my body but kept my senses in overdrive. Pushing, pulling, pressure – so much pressure. Until – “Congratulations mom and dad!” and what felt like the longest 5 seconds ever before that first cry. Why couldn’t I open my eyes?

I could hear Ryan’s voice and I clung to it with what little strength I had after 28 hours of labor and my abdomen being ripped apart. “Hi, I’m your dad! You’re going to meet your mom really soon.” All I could do was cry and turn my head to the side to vomit. What. Just. Happened.

The pictures of the moms and dads who get that immediate first moment with their babies hurt. We didn’t get that. His first moments were full of fear and trauma for both his mom and his dad. I hope he didn’t feel that. I know we will be feeling it for a very long time. Maybe forever.

The next few days were filled with the most intense pain I’ve ever felt, along with the most intense love. At first, the tears wouldn’t stop coming. I cried for myself and for baby but also for Ryan. I lost count of the people there to help me, but no one was helping him. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over that.

Arlo Lincoln Collins is here and he’s perfect. He has already taught us the greatest lesson that sometimes even deep breaths aren’t enough. Sometimes you just have to close your eyes and trust.