In today’s world, having a birth partner is often seen as a necessity during labor. Most women expect to have their partner, a doula, or a friend by their side for support. Our generation recognizes that there are many paths to childbirth, and having someone there can provide comfort and help navigate communication with medical staff. However, I chose to take a different route—one that harkens back to a time when fathers waited in the waiting room. My own mother had never even heard of a doula until I was having my own children. So, when the time came to welcome my second child, I opted to leave my husband and toddler at home.
Preterm labor played a significant role in my decision. It began unexpectedly after a family swim on a hot July day when I was 33 weeks pregnant. After showering and slipping into a loose pink maternity gown, I recalled my last prenatal visit where the doctor mentioned my baby was breech. In a desperate attempt to encourage the baby to turn, I had even attempted summersaults in the pool. Unfortunately, the slightest movement drained my energy, and I wasn’t keen on leaving the house again that day.
Then the cramps hit. I knew dehydration could trigger contractions, so I downed a glass of water and propped my feet up. After multiple glasses, I had to face the reality that what started as cramps had turned into regular contractions. It was time to head to the labor and delivery unit.
With no family nearby and friends not yet contacted for emergency childcare, I reassured my husband that the doctors could likely stop the contractions and I would be home by morning. Deep down, however, I knew that was wishful thinking. I had already experienced a preterm birth at 32 weeks due to a partial placental abruption, and despite being under the watchful eye of a high-risk OB and receiving progesterone injections, I feared I was facing another early delivery. A few weeks prior, I had confided in my mother about the possibility of going through labor alone, and she had reacted with concern.
Before leaving, I helped my toddler select a bedtime story for Dad and slipped out the door. I took a ride service to the hospital, where I was admitted. The contractions became increasingly intense, leaving barely any time to breathe between waves. An ultrasound confirmed the baby was still in the breech position, and then my water broke. At that moment, I realized there was no going back; I was not going home that night.
As I was rushed to the operating room, I was signing consent forms amid the chaos. When asked if I had called my emergency contact, I replied no. Everything was unfolding so rapidly, and I didn’t want to alarm my husband with my screams of pain. A staff member offered to call him, and I provided my husband’s number. “Your wife is having an emergency C-section,” he relayed, and just like that, the call ended. My husband later confessed he was left speechless, muttering sounds of confusion.
It was around midnight, and sleep was out of the question for my husband. He searched online about “emergency C-sections” but wisely decided to close his laptop to avoid spiraling into panic. Instead, he busied himself with laundry and tidying up our home—an admirable choice, as he knew from our first preterm delivery that there’s little control for either of us in the hospital. Ultimately, he supported my decision to go it alone.
The surgeon assured me that she would have my baby out in ten minutes, and she delivered on that promise. I heard my son’s first cries and caught a fleeting glimpse of his face before he was whisked away to the NICU. As I lay there for the next hour and a half while they stitched me up, a sense of calm washed over me.
During our first son’s birth, my husband had put on a brave face, but I could see how exhausting the experience had been for him. This time, with our toddler safe at home, I could solely focus on the task at hand. Being an introvert, I find comfort in solitude, and I needed that space to process the intense experience. As I stabilized and eventually moved to the maternity ward, I was able to check in with my husband over the phone and ask the nurses for updates on our newborn. Without a birth partner by my side, I felt more at ease to absorb everything happening around me.
Going solo isn’t the right choice for every mom, but it’s important to know that you don’t have to have a sidekick to feel supported during childbirth. For some, delivering with just the medical team or a midwife can be perfectly suitable based on personal preference and circumstances.
For those interested in exploring more about home insemination, you can check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and fertility. If you’re looking for tools to assist you, consider visiting Make a Mom for their authoritative at-home insemination kit. To learn about privacy while navigating your journey, visit our privacy policy.
In summary, my experience of going through a C-section without a birth partner was a unique journey. While it may not be the ideal route for every mother, it allowed me the space to focus completely on my experience and my baby. Embracing solitude can be empowering, and knowing that you have options is crucial.