Even though we had hoped everything would happen naturally, we were all excited that the day had finally arrived. Victor would finally make his appearance, and I would finally get to hold the baby we had waited so long for.
I had carefully thought through what made the most sense for everyone involved, and our plan looked something like this:
When we first arrived at the hospital to check our gestational carrier in, the staff had no idea this was a gestational carrier birth. As you can imagine, it made for a very awkward introduction.
Once we got everyone familiarized with our unique situation, they began the cervical thinning process and we decided to leave for the evening.
There were two reasons for that decision.
First, we didn’t have our own room at the hospital, and it honestly felt like a lot emotionally to remain in the same room with her while nothing significant was happening yet. Second, our hotel was only about 13 minutes away, and it seemed healthy for all of us to have a little time and space before the big day ahead.
Needless to say, sleep didn’t come easily that night.
I remember waking up feeling terrible because I had missed her messages around 3am, but thankfully they were only small updates letting me know things were progressing slowly.
Since her cervix still wasn’t ready by morning, they decided not to start Pitocin until after 10am.
We arrived at the hospital around 11am, and from that point on, we stayed for every minute of the roller coaster that followed.
Because I had already experienced childbirth myself, I was honestly shocked by some of the decisions and approaches I witnessed throughout the process.
The first thing that surprised me was that she was offered an epidural at only 4 centimeters dilated. Looking back, it felt extremely early, especially considering what followed. Eventually she would end up on the maximum amount of Pitocin while simultaneously being heavily medicated for over 15 hours.
The second thing that stood out to me was how disconnected and disorganized some of the hospital’s methods felt overall. Even some of the cervical thinning approaches and communication from staff felt off to me from the beginning.
Hours later, contractions had intensified, but she was still only around 7 centimeters dilated. Progress was painfully slow.
Every time things became more uncomfortable, she understandably asked for additional pain medication. Of course I respected her decisions entirely, but each time more medication was administered, her contractions seemed to slow dramatically. Then the nurses would increase the Pitocin again to restart labor.
It felt like a constant cycle that wasn’t truly helping her body progress.
With Logan, I had personally chosen an unmedicated Hypnobabies birth until an emergency c section became necessary because his oxygen levels were dropping. So while I fully respected our GC’s choices, I also couldn’t help becoming increasingly concerned as hours passed with almost no progress.
Eventually she reached 9 centimeters.
Then 9.5.
And then… nothing.
At that point, even the nursing staff started expressing concern. It became clear complications were developing, and the doctor was called in to attempt practice pushing.
BEWARE: Some parts moving forward may be graphic for some readers. If that feels overwhelming, feel free to skip ahead toward the ending.
The interaction between the doctor and our GC was honestly heartbreaking to witness.
The doctor barely acknowledged her at all. It was one of the coldest interactions I had ever seen between a laboring woman and the physician meant to guide her through one of the most vulnerable moments of her life.
Ironically, the doctor herself was pregnant.
The nurse on duty was also very emotionally distant, and it was mostly the nurse guiding our GC through pushing.
For 30 minutes they attempted practice pushes, and as this was happening, it genuinely looked like the doctor was forcefully pulling and stretching her cervix apart. Rich and I sat there in complete agony watching everything unfold, feeling helpless.
After about 30 minutes, the doctor stopped, removed her gloves, and simply said:
“This isn’t working. I recommend a c section.”
Then she walked out of the room without another word.
Our GC desperately wanted to avoid a c section, so we discussed giving her another chance to push in 30 minutes. But by that point, she was so heavily medicated that her body seemed completely exhausted.
The nurse eventually allowed another attempt, but the doctor never returned.
Our GC asked to try a different pushing position, but because her legs were almost completely numb from the epidural, the nursing staff didn’t feel comfortable repositioning her.
At that point, nothing was progressing.
The nurse gently told us the only remaining option was a c section.
Still, our GC looked at me and asked for one more hour to try.
By now it was after midnight.
The nurses returned carrying paperwork stating that if we chose to continue pushing, it would officially be considered “against medical advice” and we would be assuming all liability.
That was never our intention.
Our contracts specifically stated that our gestational carrier was required to follow medical recommendations for both her safety and the baby’s.
The nurses then shut off the Pitocin and explained that the baby’s heart rate was beginning to struggle.
I had a very difficult conversation with our GC explaining that things no longer felt safe, and we needed to follow medical guidance.
We asked the doctor to return.
That’s when, for the very first time in nearly an hour and a half, she casually informed us that during pushing she had already seen significant meconium throughout the cervix and believed the baby had likely inhaled some already.
I was stunned.
How was this the first time we were hearing this information?
I genuinely could not believe it.
At that point, we immediately agreed to move forward with the c section, and our GC asked if I would stay in the operating room with her.
Being in that room with her was one of the most emotionally conflicting moments of my life.
I was deeply aware of her pain and fear, while simultaneously knowing that within moments I would finally meet my baby.
What shocked me most was how casual the environment felt around us. Throughout the entire surgery, the doctor and nurses chatted about the doctor’s upcoming baby shower while our GC lay there exposed and vulnerable beneath the drape, which had practically slipped over her face.
Having experienced a c section myself, I found the treatment incredibly unacceptable and emotionally detached.
I held her hand the entire time, while using my other hand to help keep the surgical drape away from her mouth so she could breathe comfortably.
Then Victor was born.
At first, he wasn’t breathing.
I know now that brief delays can sometimes happen, but given the concerns about the meconium and his heart rate, those moments felt absolutely terrifying.
The NICU team immediately rushed him across the room.
And then, after what felt like an eternity, though it was probably only around two minutes, we finally heard him cry.
I cannot describe the relief that flooded my body in that moment.
A few minutes later, they finally let me see him, and I even got to cut the umbilical cord.
Baby Victor Alexander.Born 12/14/2023 at 1:00am.8 pounds, 9 ounces.
Unfortunately, the chaos didn’t fully end there.
Even while taking his footprints, one of the nurses accidentally scraped and peeled skin off the bottom of his tiny foot with the clipboard. When I questioned it, she casually responded:
“It’ll grow back.”
I was honestly speechless.
But eventually, I was finally able to bring him into the room so Rich could meet him.
And for the first time all day, everything became quiet.
Peaceful.
Our family of four was finally together.
Rich and I held him in complete disbelief and joy, overwhelmed by the feeling that he was finally here and finally safe in our arms.
There’s honestly much more I could say about our hospital experience, but I’ll save that for another post. I’ll also share more about how our GC met Victor afterward and where things stand today.
Looking back now, the entire experience felt chaotic and emotionally exhausting, but I also know that his birth was never defined by the difficult moments alone.
Victor entered this world surrounded by love, sacrifice, support, and incredible effort from so many people, both near and far.
And through all the chaos, we felt every bit of that love.
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