The trend of having a birth partner has become a norm in many parts of America, with the expectation that you’ll have at least your partner, a doula, or some form of support by your side. Our generation has embraced the idea that there are various ways to labor, and having someone there can provide both comfort and assistance in expressing your wishes to medical staff. However, I took a different route, opting for a more traditional approach reminiscent of past generations.
Not too long ago, many dads were left waiting anxiously in the waiting room. My own mom had never even heard of a doula until I started having children. So, when it came time for my second child, I made the decision to leave my husband and our toddler at home.
A significant factor in this choice was my experience of preterm labor. It began shortly after a family swim on a scorching July day when I was just 33 weeks along. After showering and squeezing into one of the few remaining pieces of clothing that fit—a comfy pink maternity nightgown—I learned at my last prenatal appointment that my baby was in a breech position. I attempted some poolside summersaults in hopes of convincing my little one to turn. Exhaustion set in, and I had no intention of leaving the house again that day.
But then the cramps began. Knowing that dehydration can trigger contractions, I guzzled water and propped my feet up. Several gallons later, I realized I needed to get dressed. The cramps had evolved into regular contractions, signaling it was time to head to the labor and delivery unit.
Without nearby family to help and having not arranged for emergency childcare, I told my husband that I believed the doctors could halt the contractions and I’d likely be sent home for bed rest by morning. Deep down, I knew that wasn’t likely. I couldn’t fully admit to myself what was happening—I was terrified.
Our first child had arrived at 32 weeks due to a partial placental abruption, and I feared I was in for a repeat performance, even though I was under the care of a high-risk OB and receiving progesterone shots. A few weeks prior, I had confessed to my mom that I was considering going solo for labor, and she found that notion quite sad and strange.
After helping our toddler choose a bedtime story for Dad, I quietly left for the hospital. Once admitted, the intensity of my contractions surged, leaving me in excruciating pain with hardly any breaks. An ultrasound confirmed the baby was still breech, and then my water broke—there was no turning back. I was screaming and writhing in agony, and the surgeon later informed me that the severity of my labor was indicative of a full placental abruption.
As I was rushed to the operating room, I hastily signed consent forms. When asked if I’d contacted someone, I said no, not wanting to alarm my husband with my frantic state. A staff member dialed my husband’s number and simply said, “Your wife is having an emergency C-section. She will call you after.” My husband later recounted his bewilderment during that brief phone call.
Around midnight, sleeping was out of the question for him. He frantically searched online for information about emergency C-sections but wisely decided to close his laptop and focus on tidying up our home instead. Having been present for our first preterm delivery, he understood that there was little we could control in the hospital setting and kept himself busy to manage his nerves.
The surgeon assured me that she would have the baby out in ten minutes, and she was true to her word. I was informed that the placenta had come out with the baby. I heard my son’s first cries and caught a quick glimpse of him before he was whisked away to the NICU. While they stitched me up over the next hour and a half, I surprisingly felt a sense of calm.
During my first son’s birth, my husband had to put on a brave face, and witnessing the chaos of that labor had taken a toll on him. This time, with both our children safe at home, I could concentrate fully on my own experience.
Being an introvert, I’m quite comfortable alone and often need solitude to process intense situations. I appreciated the quiet time while I stabilized and got settled in the maternity ward. I was able to talk with my husband by phone and check in with the nurses about the baby’s condition. Without a designated support person, I found I had the room to absorb everything happening around me.
While going solo isn’t the ideal choice for every mom, it’s essential to recognize that you don’t necessarily need a sidekick. Relying solely on medical staff or a midwife can be perfectly fine if it aligns with your personality and circumstances. If you’re interested in exploring other family-building options, check out this comprehensive resource at Resolve. For those considering home insemination, you can learn more about it here at Make a Mom.
In summary, my solo experience during my C-section was not only unexpected but also surprisingly empowering. It’s a reminder that every birth story is unique, and what works for one may not work for another.
Keyphrase: solo C-section experience
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