18/05/2025
A photo of a father leaving the hospital with his newborn is a classic heart-melter. It captures pride, joy, one of life’s happiest moments. What it doesn’t show is what it took to get to that walk — and how many of us carry something heavier in it.
Our hospital exit was a happy moment — we’d spent five long days there and couldn’t wait to show our baby that the world was more than blood tests and stuffy, sunless rooms. But by the time we reached the doors, I was in tears. Partly ‘baby blues’, sure… but mostly because those eight minutes held the weight of the last two years.
It was late, the hospital quiet. We passed the postnatal and special care units — where my baby spent her first days, sleeping on me, with my cannulas poking her every time I held her.
Then past the induction unit. I teared up, unconsciously - while brain memory is a blur, my body probably remembers. My ‘natural, unmedicated birth plan’ didn’t last. Hyperstimulation right after the first gel - contractions hit every minute, 40 seconds long. I was in shock, trying to use all the hypnobirthing techniques learned — before the breaks between contractions disappeared completely. Three hours later, epidural — something my ‘birth plan’ said “No” to. And oh my body obeyed old commands: epidural barely worked.
Ah yes…here we pass the theatre, where, after nearly 24 hours and c-section, I finally saw my perfect, healthy baby. I couldn’t hold her as I was shaking, exhausted, and unable to move. The guilt of not giving her the ‘welcome’ is with me to stay.
I was sobbing, following Sam and Lily in her little car seat, capturing each moment…
We passed EPAU… where less than a year ago, I arrived with my second miscarriage.
➡️Part 2 ➡️