I never expected to write this story. I had spent years preparing my body, mind, and heart for pregnancy and birth — educating myself, nourishing deeply, and learning to trust the way God designed the female body to bring forth life. I planned a home birth. I believed I was ready. But pregnancy has a way of humbling us, and birth has a way of revealing just how little control we truly have.

What followed was a journey I didn’t anticipate: a sudden medical diagnosis of cholestasis (ICP), a rapid shift in plans, a medical induction, days of labor, an emergency C-section, and a deeper lesson in surrender than I could have imagined. This is the story of how fear gave way to faith, how plans fell apart — and how God met me in every moment of it.

Backstory

I grew up with a fear of pregnancy and birth. My mother had very difficult pregnancies and felt quite ill throughout them, and her four pregnancies all ended in C-sections. We are all shaped by the stories of those who come before us, and growing up with this lens or filter gave me the impression that pregnancy is scary, that you lose all control over your body, and that birth is a dangerous medical event.

Needless to say, I had to work through a lot of fears prior to my own pregnancy. There were a few times in the first few years of our marriage where I thought I might be pregnant, and the level of panic that came out of me was truly eye-opening. I realized how unprepared I felt to deal with this world and even how unqualified I felt to be a mother.

My heart carried so much fear. I was scared… of pregnancy, of birth, of becoming a mother, of raising a boy, of losing my freedom and independence, of losing a version of myself that I loved, of disappearing into motherhood and forgetting who I was. And the Lord so kindly and patiently unraveled these fears over the years, speaking truth to my heart and preparing me for the next big adventure of my life.

Over time, my thoughts and journal entries evolved from “Am I ready for this?” to “I think I’ll be ready for this soon, that’s crazy,” to “God, I’m ready whenever You are — I pray for the blessing of a child.”

The Lord gave me specific visions which encouraged me and brought me hope. In one of them, I was standing on a cliff overlooking the ocean. I wanted to jump, but I was scared of what looked like sharks circling below in the water. But I didn’t realize that they were actually dolphins.

I heard the Holy Spirit say to me, “You’re so scared of what might go wrong that you haven’t stopped to think about how beautiful it would be to swim with dolphins.” I understood that He was telling me to stop being so afraid of everything. If I never jump, if I never take the leap of faith because of what might go wrong, I’ll never experience the beauty and the joy on the other side.

And so I realized it was time to jump — to fully enter this new era and trust Him. My story is one that I never expected and though so much was not what I’d hoped for and did not go according to my plans, God’s faithfulness was so present throughout this process. I hope that as you read this, you’ll be amazed and filled with wonder at the miracles of the Lord and His kindness, and that you’ll be encouraged in your own journey. God is so good, and He is always at work for the good of those who love Him.

Preconception

As I waited, I focused on my health, knowing how significantly our nutrients, gut health, microbiome, and stress levels affect the health of babies and pregnancy. I tend to be an overthinker and detail-oriented. It was very important to me that I did everything I could to ensure the healthiest start possible for my child. I created a spreadsheet of nutrient needs for pregnancy, tracked my food intake, and designed a careful supplement regimen.

(If you’d like to learn more about supplements generally, I have a deep dive blog post all about them!) I’d definitely recommend Lily Nichols’ book, Real Food for Pregnancy, as a great resource for learning about prenatal nutrition. Her blog is also extremely helpful, as well as her other books, Real Food for Fertility and Real Food for Fertility.

I have struggled with OCD since I was a child. It’s not something I have talked about much because mostly I have just accepted it as a part of my life and have been able to manage it. But I struggle with a high level of negative emotions (“neuroticism,” as a psychologist might call it), and I experience a baseline level of worry and anxiety regularly.

Slowly this entire journey forced me to release my grip of control. I had to make peace with the fact that there was only so much I could do within my own power. God was the one creating this baby, not me. And although I could do my best to fuel my body with adequate sustenance and nutrients for building blocks, I was not the designer of this process.

Pregnancy

When I conceived Ezra, I knew I was pregnant. I experienced different symptoms than I ever had before, and over a period of several days I felt a distinct cramping sensation that I’m fairly certain was his little zygote self implanting in my uterus. During the early days, I had vivid dreams and I knew he was a boy.

My pregnancy was a blessing. It was definitely not without its challenges, and the first trimester experience was full of nausea and sickness. But thankfully after that, things leveled out and I experienced a mostly uneventful pregnancy. There was what felt like a normal amount of fatigue and some aches and pains of growing a human, but nothing extremely noteworthy.

I had chosen my midwife and interviewed her a year before getting pregnant. (Yes, in many ways I can be an extreme planner.) I really enjoyed my prenatal care with her, and my labs and health markers were pretty normal, aside from slightly low vitamin D. I was very intentional with my diet throughout pregnancy and remained active (including hiking halfway up the Mist Trail in Yosemite about halfway through my pregnancy).

Preparation was very important to me. I wanted to learn as much as I could to arm myself with knowledge; I read books like Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth, and Eric and I attended a birth class together at our midwife’s birth center. The more I learned about birth and the natural physiological processes involved, the more I understood it and was less afraid of it. I realized my body had been perfectly made to do this, that it is a process so instinctual that women often don’t need much intervention. In fact, the unnatural interventions performed at hospitals, including unnecessary inductions, can actually increase the risk of further complications.

I was so thankful for my health and actually looking forward to giving birth at home, which was significant for me considering how scared I used to be. And yet at the same time, when people asked me about my birth plans, I felt prompted to say open-ended things like, “We’re planning a home birth, but we’ll see what happens!”

I kept it to myself for the most part and didn’t share about it on social media. In my conversations with our midwife and her team, I often felt prompted to say, “I tend to struggle with control and wanting things to go a certain way, but I’m trying to have an open mind and to be prepared for whatever happens.”

I researched hospital policies and decisions I would need to make around birth. We talked about what the plan would be if I needed to go to the hospital, and I overall tried not to think or speak about the hospital in a fearful way. I worked on having a neutral mentality because I didn’t want to be afraid if I did end up needing to go in.

I believe the Holy Spirit was at work in me, preparing me for what He knew I would go through. It’s wild to think that I had no idea He was fitting me for the armor I would need to walk straight through the fire, through one of the exact circumstances I was most afraid of.

As the birth month approached, I was in full nesting mode, but not expecting to go into labor until after 40 weeks, as this was my first pregnancy, and the average time frame to go into labor for first-time moms is around 41 weeks and 5 days. We had a beautiful baby shower thrown by dear family and friends, and we felt so excited as we prepared for this new life.

I enjoyed having a smooth belly until around 35 weeks when stretch marks started to appear. I was a little sad, but I knew that these marks were something to be proud of — an outward sign of the expansion of my soul into motherhood. As we entered October, I noticed that my belly was getting itchy and irritated. My stretch marks were starting to look red and raised.

I thought at first that it was normal skin irritation from stretching and growing. But as the weeks went on, it started to spread — angry bumps covering more of my stomach as well as my upper legs and arms. They started to merge together into large, patchy welts which were tender and inflamed.

My mom confirmed that it looked like what she had during her first pregnancy — a PUPPP rash, or Pruritic Urticarial Papules and Plaques of Pregnancy (sounds lovely, eh?). According to what limited research there is on this topic, the cause is not fully understood, but it seems to be a combination of genetic predisposition and the hormonal changes of pregnancy, along with the stretching of the skin, which trigger immune system dysfunction as a sort of allergic response in the skin.

It’s difficult to put into words the excruciating nature of the itching I experienced over the next few weeks (which felt like an eternity). Imagine that your blood or your bones themselves itch deep in your body, and no matter how much you scratch, you cannot scratch the itch away. I tried so many topical remedies to relieve it, the best of which were only brief respites. It felt like torture.

I would place my feet in ice baths and press ice packs on my rash, and felt like I was going out of my mind trying not to scratch my skin and make everything worse. This was not only physical, but it was psychologically exhausting and was one of the most intense physical challenges I’ve gone through (aside from the birth itself). I remember joking, “Hey, maybe this part is so bad that it’ll make labor and birth seem easy by comparison.” I laugh at the thought — what little I knew then.

At a little baby shower dinner celebration I’d had with some girlfriends, I had talked to a friend about her experience dealing with symptoms of cholestasis during pregnancy. I believe it was all part of God’s plan and that He used that conversation to keep it fresh in my mind for what I would go through next.

One night I was awake itching, and I was thinking about how sometimes my palms and the soles of my feet itched, which can be a sign of cholestasis. I had done some research about steps to take if you suspect cholestasis, and that night I had such a strong feeling that I should ask my midwife to run some liver function and bile acid labs for me.

I wrestled with it, not wanting to be overly anxious or “that person,” but decided I’d rather have the peace of mind, and my husband Eric reminded me that’s what my team is there for — to support me throughout my pregnancy.

So I texted my midwife and she quickly ordered the labs for me. She told me later that it was amazing my intuition prompted me to do this, because she doubted it was cholestasis and assumed it was just the PUPPP rash. Again, I believe the Holy Spirit was guiding me through every step of this journey.

If you’re unfamiliar with cholestasis of pregnancy, it also is a woefully understudied condition which is not fully understood, but the consensus is that a genetic predisposition causes the body to react to the excess hormones like estrogen during pregnancy, and the result is that bile flow is hindered in the liver.

The term “cholestasis” comes from the Greek prefix chole-, meaning “bile,” and the Greek word stasis, meaning “standing” or “stoppage.” Thus, it describes the physiological condition in which bile, which is produced in the liver and is designed to flow out to the gallbladder and into our intestines to aid digestion and detoxification, is stagnant and does not flow as freely as it should. Because of this, it builds up in the liver to unhealthy levels and spills out into the bloodstream. Itching is one of the symptoms of this condition.

Cholestasis does not pose a significant threat to the mother, but it can be dangerous to the baby if bile acid levels build up to high levels in the bloodstream. These bile acids can rise quickly, crossing the placenta and affecting the baby. It is also difficult to get timely data on the condition’s progression, as bile acid tests are specialized and usually take a minimum of 2-3 days to get results. When levels are low the risk is also low, but in worst-case scenarios if bile acids are extremely high (especially above 100 μmol/L) this can result in stillbirth. (To learn more about cholestasis, definitely check out the ICP Care website.)

Obviously, this was a huge concern for us. My liver enzymes were elevated, and my bile acid levels came back at 9.1 μmol/L (the cutoff for a cholestasis diagnosis is 10). My midwife immediately ordered a redraw to keep an eye on it, and two days later, on the morning of October 11th, those results came back and my bile acids were at 12.5 — officially cholestasis territory.

Suddenly we were in crisis-aversion mode. I was spending time researching and trying to learn everything I could about cholestasis. My mom took me to Sprouts, and we bought a bunch of liver-supporting things like tinctures and dandelion tea. I also got dates because I was thinking that I’d better start doing the labor preparation things. I had another blood test done on October 11th, and that day was full of chaos.

But even in the middle of it all, there were so many sweet moments. I talked to a sweet older lady in the Labcorp waiting room; she asked when I was due, and said that when she was pregnant she had a “basketball belly” like mine. She was a retired RN and told me how she used to fall asleep with a stethoscope in bed listening to her baby in the womb.

When she was pregnant, she’d had to go on bed rest for a long time which was hard, but she told me, “I knew my career would always be there, but this sweet baby who I didn’t want to lose wouldn’t always be in my womb. I was willing to do whatever it took to keep my baby safe.” She told me she was a Christian so she would pray, and her friends would come and visit her to keep her company. It was a precious moment, and felt like a wink from the Lord telling me He saw me.

My husband had several video shoots that day and was finishing up an extremely busy season in our business. Our house was a disaster, as I was still in the thick of nesting and preparing, and there was much I hadn’t gotten to yet. Needless to say, we were completely unprepared for something like this, as it was completely off our radar.

We called our midwife to talk things through with her, and she told us that she had not had much experience with cholestasis in her decade of midwifery, as it is a relatively rare condition. She also told us that she takes it seriously and that it concerns her even more than preeclampsia because it can endanger the life of the baby. She recommended going into the hospital to get some testing and a second opinion, and my husband and I decided to do that.

My mom was at our house helping us get it cleaned up, and a dear friend brought us dinner and also helped us clean to get things in a less chaotic state. I was rushing to pack a hospital bag, trying to remember all the necessities. I remember telling Eric to bring a camera “just in case” but reassured him and myself that we were probably just going to get a non-stress test and then come right back home again.

But somehow, deep down in my intuition, I knew that we wouldn’t be coming back that night. I took a moment to let the tears of anxiety and overwhelm flow down my cheeks, and I took a quick picture of my belly in the mirror. That was my last breakdown until I was deep into labor. It felt like after that moment I was able to stay present and focus on what needed to be done, which was a blessing.

What followed was a flurry of logistics — stopping by my mom’s house to print out my documentation and lab results from my midwife, driving down to the hospital, trying to find our way around, checking in, signing forms, et cetera.

Finally, we made it into triage around 10 p.m. and got set up with a non-stress test. A series of nurses came in to talk to us, take us through protocol, ask questions, do an ultrasound to check the baby’s position, and check for dilation. Ultimately, after considering all the factors of my case, they recommended induction out of concern for the baby.

We were reeling, and yet God’s peace already surrounded us. A family member worked in the labor and delivery unit at that hospital a few times per month, and she happened to be on her shift that night, so she got to be our first nurse who checked us into our room (and she came back here and there to check on us during our time in the hospital), and it was so comforting to have a familiar person with us during such an unsettling experience.

The staff overall was amazing and, for the most part, very respectful and supportive. We felt truly taken care of, which made all the difference. When the nurses heard that we had been planning a home birth, they were so compassionate and advised that I write down my birth plan so they could support my preferences. They told me they would do their best to make the experience as positive as possible.

We consulted with our midwife again over the phone, and after considering all the various recommendations, we made the decision to stay and have an induction. This was already so far from what I had desired for my birth experience, but I still had no idea what was to come. I took a deep breath, said goodbye to my dream, and pressed the call button so that we could tell the nurse that we were staying.

Birth

It felt like we were in that tiny triage room forever. Finally, we got checked into a room around 3:00 a.m. Although I had been experiencing intermittent Braxton Hicks contractions, my body was not near natural labor at this point. So after inserting a dose of Cervidil (which helps to ripen the cervix for labor), we hunkered down to try to get some sleep. It felt like we had entered a strange dream state or alternate reality, and it was difficult to process in real time the sudden and complete 180⁰ turn in our plans.

I’ll never forget that night hearing the sound of a crying newborn somewhere nearby and getting emotional realizing I was about to hear my own baby cry for the first time. I also heard a few wails of women in labor which was intimidating to me as I imagined what I might be facing. But I tried not to focus on that too much. Eric and I felt loopy after getting no sleep all night, and we also felt thankful for everyone’s love and prayers as we had been keeping our families updated and we knew many people were praying for us.

During our stay I tried to take notes so that I could remember details later. This was the note I wrote before falling asleep (typo and all):

Day 1: Saturday

After getting a few hours of sleep, I ate some food (gotta love that standard American hospital food) — and thankfully family members brought in some other food for us as well. It was nice to have a few visitors stop by to check on us and bring us some things. That day (Saturday) was pretty relaxed… There were lots of texts and phone calls, and I mostly focused on resting, eating, and saving my energy for the work to come. Our doula came and sat with us for a while, and we talked and laughed and shared stories.

Side note: I had been on the fence about whether or not I should hire a doula. Let me just say, I am SO GLAD I did. I cannot recommend enough choosing a knowledgeable, experienced doula to support you in labor and birth. As a Christian, she was able to send me encouraging Scriptures, read the Bible over me in the hospital, pray for me, and serve me in ways I hadn’t even anticipated before, during, and after birth. She was a Godsend — and we became dear friends through the process!

Somewhere around 4:30 pm, they took out the Cervidil and confirmed that it had done its job — my cervix was softened, although we were still a ways from active labor. I was only 1 cm dilated, 30% effaced, with a -4 station. Baby was very comfortable in there. They put in a Cook catheter to continue the dilation process with manual pressure, and the placement was extremely uncomfortable. After that my contractions slightly increased in intensity, and I started to need to breathe through them and focus my energy on relaxing as the waves gently came over me.

Whenever the doctors or nurses came in to discuss something with me, they shared information and education and then ultimately asked what I wanted to do, which I really appreciated. Although I knew ultimately the decisions were mine to make, it was so encouraging not to feel like I was fighting an uphill battle. It felt like we were a team and I was the one in the driver’s seat. I believe this along with my prior self-education and preparation really helped to minimize trauma for me. I could follow and understand what was happening and I wasn’t just passively receiving decisions made for me — I had the agency of choice.

They suggested also administering low-dose Pitocin at this time, but I declined as I didn’t want to rush the process or go too fast for my body. I really hoped to avoid it as I knew that the contractions brought on by Pitocin are more intense than natural contractions, and it can cause stress to the baby. We had a fairly uneventful night and I was thankful to get more sleep.

Day 2: Sunday

Early the next morning, around 5 am, the Cook catheter was removed and I was checked at 2 cm dilated and 50% effaced, with station -3. Things were moving in the right direction, which was good news. I got ready for the day (it’s crazy how fixing your hair and brushing your teeth makes you feel like a new person) and we walked the halls, which felt good.

They recommended further cervical ripening so a few hours later I started on doses of Cytotec/misoprostol. I also took some Actigall/ursodiol (full name ursodeoxycholic acid), a treatment for cholestasis which binds up some of the more toxic bile acids to reduce the toxic load and also reduce itching symptoms.

That day was also fairly uneventful. I felt a sort of “game time” energy and excitement, and things weren’t too intense yet. Trying to move things along, I did some “curb walking” on a little step stool and bounced on the labor ball. I continued dosing misoprostol and that afternoon my contractions had fizzled to an abdominal tightening. I wanted to use the wireless fetal monitor so that I could move around freely, but it was having technical issues so we went back and forth between that and the wired external monitor with cords.

My father-in-law brought one of my favorite foods — breakfast burritos for lunch — and we enjoyed them with our doula who had returned that afternoon. I was checked around 3:30 pm, and had progressed to 4 cm, with the same effacement and station. They discussed Pitocin and artificial rupture of membranes, but I wanted as minimal interventions as possible and to go slowly, so I preferred to wait a bit longer.

That evening my mom came to join us, which was so nice. I took a walk around the unit with her and my doula, and it was nice to stretch my legs again. We were still in high spirits, laughing and feeling good. I felt sporadic contractions, but they were still mild. My goal was to continue to move around to keep the baby progressing in a good position. We settled in for another night, still blissfully unaware of what was to come.

Day 3: Monday

The next morning, I took a shower which was glorious, and then took another walk around the unit. I was still at 4 cm, although now 60% effaced. It was officially time to progress to Pitocin to keep things moving, so we started on the lowest dose at around 10:45 am. I changed into a lovely labor robe that my doula had thoughtfully brought me.

(There were so many personal touches like this that she thought of — affirmation cards and twinkle lights to hang around the room and make it feel cozy, essential oils to create a relaxing scent, a beautiful crochet piece of art to hang on the wall so I could visualize the stages of dilation, snacks and electrolyte drinks, a speaker to play worship music… It all was SO helpful.)

One of the nurse midwives came in to discuss my birth plan and she did some position changes and Spinning Babies exercises with me to relax my muscles and pelvic floor. I really appreciated this. (Another God provision — unfortunately our original midwife was extremely ill during my labor. Of course, she had a team and didn’t work alone, but this likely would have affected our experience and her ability to be present during my birth. We were thankful to have so much support at the hospital.)

Approaching noon, the contractions really started to grow in intensity. I was officially entering “labor land.” This was something that surprised me and that I really hadn’t anticipated. For all my preparation, this wasn’t something I could’ve prepared for, because I’d never experienced anything like it. I truly felt like I entered a dream state where I journeyed inward and wasn’t fully present or myself. I was only minimally aware of things going on around me; my sense of time vanished and it was like an out-of-body experience in many ways.

I ate part of another breakfast burrito, and this was pretty much when I stopped eating food (spoiler: I didn’t give birth until the next night). They made sure I kept hydrating, but I was too in the zone to even think about eating after this point.

I got down on the floor and leaned over the birth ball, and let the waves of contractions crash over me. I sang along to the worship music we played on the speaker, and my mom and doula combed through my hair and fixed it into a braid, which felt nice. At this point I felt sleepy and relaxed. I clenched my labor combs and I’m pretty sure they hardly left my hands for the rest of my labor.

My favorite part of my labor experience was feeling so uplifted, cared for, and supported in such a vulnerable state. My husband, my mom, and my doula traded off giving me massages and hip squeezes and just being present with me. I found touch to be profoundly comforting and reassuring during this stage, and it helped me to stay relaxed.

A small humorous note: During this time I was enrolled in college online full-time. I asked Eric to email my professors while I was in labor to let them know that I was busy giving birth and would need some homework extensions! Such a wild season.

Around 6:45 pm, I was squatting low when I suddenly felt a strange pop in my abdomen and a wiggling descent of my baby. I felt a gush of fluid and I started exclaiming, “Guys, I just felt something… Stuff is coming out of me. I think my water just broke!” This felt like a little victory, encouraging me to soldier on.

I labored through the night, vocalizing low and steady, feeling increasing pressure and intensity but still coping with contractions. We played the Christian Hypnobirthing tracks, and I remember the guided prayers and meditations moved me to tears. I felt the presence of Jesus, and my spirit called out to Him with emotions too deep for words.

My team encouraged me to keep moving, and I rotated between positions, utilizing the labor ball, peanut ball, squatting, etc. Ezra’s heart rate started to bring up some concerns, as it was a bit slower, with minimal to moderate variability, no accelerations, and occasional late decelerations. However, with position changes and IV fluids it was responsive.

There were multiple occasions of nurses coming into the room in response to baby’s heart rate decels. They helped me move to my hands and knees and change positions, which felt like a huge feat as I was so tired. At some point they gave me supplemental oxygen, and sometime before midnight they checked me again and I had progressed to about 7 cm. At some point I remember pleading with God and my body, willing my cervix to open.

Around 1 am I jumped to 9.5 cm, 100% effaced, and -1 station. I remember looking around bleary-eyed at Eric, my mom, and my doula as they all reacted with excitement. The doctor noted that I had a swollen cervical lip; they offered Benadryl to reduce swelling and IV Fentanyl to help with the pain so I could try to sleep before the pushing phase.

Normally I wouldn’t consider agreeing, but at this point I was so exhausted that I needed some relief. However, the Fentanyl didn’t relieve the pain of contractions — it only made me feel drugged, like I was stuck in a dream state. At this point I started having a panic attack.

I asked my mom to help me up and I started pacing back and forth in the room with my IV stand. I kept repeating that I wanted to run away and that I felt trapped. My mind was filled with an overwhelming desire to escape this situation. They woke up Eric so that he could help calm me down, and he encouraged me that I was getting so close. I felt frustrated, like he kept saying that but the night would never end.

In hindsight, I think this experience may have been partially due to the fact that I was in transition and my adrenaline was high. At this point I changed my mind about getting an epidural and started asking for one. But I was checked at some point and we found that my cervical lip had reduced and that I was complete. It would soon be time to push.

Day 4: Tuesday

After some rest, I started allowing my body to push as I breathed through contractions, around 6 am. This went on for about three hours, until the nurse midwife came in again and did some focused coached pushing with me. This continued for about six more hours. (Yes, 9 HOURS total of pushing.) It was like a marathon, and I was pushing with all the strength I had. I remember at one point asking, “Is it supposed to be this hard?!”

At one point they wheeled in the delivery table and I remember feeling hope, like I must be getting close. Everyone was cheering and encouraging me. They could see Ezra’s head, and at one point brought in a mirror; I tried to watch but I couldn’t see much of anything. I pushed in so many positions — on my side, on my back, on all fours, squatting, doing tug of war with a nurse… Yet his head kept retreating after each push, and the top was coning but he wasn’t descending further through my pelvis.

Around 3 pm, the nurse midwife gently talked to me, telling me the situation. The baby was getting stressed, as he was continuing to have heart decels and there was now meconium in my amniotic fluid. Because he was only at a +1 station, it was not recommended to do an assisted delivery. So the options were to keep pushing or have a cesarean.

We decided to take a few minutes to think about it. The Pitocin was stopped and my contractions fizzled out. Everyone left and Eric and I had a private moment where the weight of this moment settled over us. I told him I couldn’t keep pushing and that we needed to do a C-section. I knew that I’d given it all I had, and that it was time to surrender. Eric was so sad for me. I felt numb.

After a quick shower, they prepped me for surgery. I was so cold and they covered me with warm blankets. Due to the pressure of Ezra being so low, every step was excruciating and I could barely move. This makes me smile now, but I asked if I would have to walk to the surgery room because I was worried about the pain. They reassured me that I wouldn’t be walking anywhere.

At this point I was just accepting each moment with little resistance. I was even laughing and making jokes at this point. Reality hadn’t settled on me yet. In a way I think it was a protective mechanism of my brain waiting to process until later, but in a deeper sense I believe the Holy Spirit was protecting me and giving me His peace.

I said goodbye to my family, and the nurse wheeled my hospital bed out the door and down the hall. As we entered the surgery room, I was struck by how bright and cold it was (I’d never had a major surgery before). Laboriously, needing lots of assistance, I slid from the hospital bed to the surgical table as the team coached me through what to do. I leaned forward and the anesthesiologist gave me a spinal block, which instantly took away all the pain. I felt a rush of relief and joked that I needed one of those every day until I recovered.

They laid me back on the table and I heard the beeping of his heart rate monitor suddenly slow down considerably. There were some concerned comments as his heart rate had dropped to the 70s, and they tilted the table to try to change my position slightly. I tried to tell them that the way they were turning me was the angle he hadn’t been tolerating well earlier, but I don’t think they understood. Later I was told by someone that I was having a contraction at the time (but of course I couldn’t feel it) and that it may have been compressing his blood supply. It’s also possible that it was a reaction to the anesthesia.

The next few minutes were a blur. A nurse picked up a phone in the room and said something like, “We’ve got heart decels and need the doctors in here now.” People rushed into the room and it was a flurry of activity. Questions and protocol and instructions flew back and forth, and they whipped up the blue curtain in front of my face.

The nurse came over and reassured me that they were getting my baby out quickly so he’d be safe. I lay helplessly staring up at the ceiling, my arms outstretched like a starfish under the bright lights. Suddenly I felt a great pressure and my body was shaking back and forth. I looked over at the door as Eric burst into the room (he had been waiting to be cleared to come in and they’d barely had time to alert him that this was a STAT C-section and would be much quicker than expected).

As he entered, the doctors were pulling Ezra out of me and we heard his first cries. My jaw dropped and I stared at Eric in shock, overwhelmed by everything happening all at once. They brought the baby over to us and I got to see him for a few seconds, and then they wiped him down and laid him on my chest. It was surreal meeting him and taking in his sweet features.

Eric held him as well, and then suddenly I was aware of the surgeon talking to me. She called out that she was noticing a large cyst on my ovary, and that she didn’t think it was cancerous but said it looked like a dermoid cyst. She palpated it and said it felt like there may be bones or teeth inside, and asked if we wanted her to cut into it while I was still open on the table. They took a picture to show me, and it was huge. 

I understand that they were doing what seemed best in the moment, and that they wanted to save me the trouble of having another surgery down the line. But the pressure was overwhelming — they needed informed consent from me within a couple minutes before they had to sew me back up, and I was barely following the conversation. In fact, I was fighting to stay awake as the exhaustion was overtaking me. My eyelids were heavy as Eric talked to me in a serious tone, “Do you understand what they’re saying, Kailyn?”

I asked them to repeat it because I felt like my brain wasn’t processing the information and it was hard to focus. Ultimately I didn’t know how to make the choice and we both felt like we didn’t understand it well enough to make an educated decision. Since it wasn’t an emergency, Eric told them that he didn’t think I was lucid enough to give informed consent. So we decided to wait, and they sewed me back up.

Finally, they handed me the baby and I held him proudly, my little bundle in my arms, as they wheeled me back to my room. My mom got to meet him, they weighed him, and I did proper skin to skin for the first time. At last, he was here. Nothing else seemed to matter.

Postpartum

The next few days in recovery were challenging. That night was long and blurry, with people coming in and out and waking me up constantly. My adrenaline was still high and it was hard to sleep. Ezra slept in the little bassinet, and when he would wake and cry, Eric would bring him to me to nurse (which was a learning curve for us).

Wednesday was exciting — our first day with him. The family came to visit and meet him, and there was lots of activity. I had to learn how to walk again. My first shower was therapeutic as I washed off the blood and residue from surgery. It occurred to me that it was my first time being in another room away from my baby in 9 months, which was odd.

Thursday I crashed. The pediatricians were concerned about his very mild bilirubin levels and wanted to take him for phototherapy, which I didn’t agree with but was too tired to argue. I pumped and then fed Ezra every few hours, and in between I tried to sleep. Eric started to get concerned for me because I would wake up anxiously trying to talk to him but I couldn’t even form words, just slurred gibberish. I was delirious from exhaustion, lack of food and sleep, and everything I had been through.

Day two postpartum is common for a hormone crash, and I felt it. I cried in front of a lot of people who came in. It was overwhelming, and the emotional and physical exhaustion was catching up to me. I was trying to rest and recover while also figuring out how to breastfeed and care for my baby. My mom came back to visit, brought food, helped me fix my crazy postpartum hair, and stayed with us while we slept. I felt like there were many angels around me caring for me through the chaos.

Finally, at the end of the day on Friday, they approved us for discharge. We were SO excited. After a full week in the hospital, I was beyond ready to go home. Eric went out to install the car seat and I was left alone with my son to change him for the first time. They wheeled me outside, and at last we made it to the car. I sat next to Ezra in the back, and we listened to music and cried as we drove home.

Our house had been cleaned and sweetly decorated by our family, with snacks and teas set out, baby clothes folded, and my new robe hanging up. Looking around at how lovely everything was brought the tears all over again. I felt so cared for. A few more family members stopped by that night, and then they left and we were alone.

I took another therapeutic shower and wondered at all my body had been through. The blood and bruises, the surgical wound… I realized what I would go through to bring my baby into the world, the sacrifice into a type of death that motherhood brings. New life requires it, demands it. And I was reminded of how Jesus laid down His body and his very life for His children. What a gift, to enter into a fraction of that type of suffering and experience unity with Christ in that embodied reality.

Afterwards, I lay down in bed and had the strangest experience. I stared at the ceiling and the reality of the past week crashed over me. It felt like I was floating above my body, like I wasn’t fully present. I think I was coming down from the shock of it all, reintegrating into myself. It was a significant moment that I won’t forget.

The next few weeks were a blur — slow, tender, full of joy but also moments of grief. I had to let go of my dream, to mourn the loss of what I had dreamed. Of course, I have so much to be grateful for. There are so many worse stories and outcomes, and the health of both me and Ezra ultimately was a profound blessing.

Yet at times we all have to go through the process of grappling with a reality that looks much different than what we had imagined or hoped for. Something God has taught me is that when it comes to His children, He never allows the death of something without bringing new life — something better to take its place.

Letting myself feel everything was an important part of my healing. I felt sadness as I looked at my newborn and whispered apologies that his entry into this world was not what I had wanted to give him — instead of the benefits of vaginal birth and my loving arms to welcome him first, he experienced a cold, bright, surgical birth with strangers roughly wiping him down. And instead of the soft, peaceful, sacred experience I had longed for, the moments of bringing my child into the world were full of chaos, shock, and stress.

I felt betrayed by my body — I thought I’d been made to do this; it was crushing to get close to my goal and then in the end not be able to finish the job. I felt the significance of my wound, knowing that seven layers of my tissues had been cut through and stitched back together again, and would scar and never be quite the same.

All of it affected my ability to bond with my baby immediately after birth, as it took days for me to come back to myself fully. I felt guilt as I questioned myself — should I have done something differently? Could I have? If I had just kept pushing longer, would I have been able to give birth naturally? I asked one of the young doctors afterward why she thought my baby had stopped descending. She said although he’d had a nuchal cord (wrapped around his neck) it had looked like a normal length; ultimately she didn’t really know what to say but suggested that maybe my pelvis was too small.

That offhand comment got to me in such a vulnerable state. Although I’m sure she didn’t intend to, at least temporarily she instilled a sense of doubt in my body’s ability. This is a common suggestion that doctors will make when they’re not sure what answer to give — and yet they make this comment not based on evidence or examination, and it can make the mother blame herself or feel that her body is broken or at fault.

The truth is (as my midwife told me later) that there may be some women with pelvic abnormalities making them physically unable to birth a baby; but that is extremely rare and most women won’t grow a baby that their bodies are unable to birth.

The truth is that it was likely a combination of things. First of all, induction, even when medically necessary, can increase the risk of further interventions (as it did in my case and does for so many). My body was just not ready and was forced to start the process early. Then it was a long process and lack of adequate sleep, water, and food weakened me. Ezra might have been too high still, and it’s possible I started pushing too early and exhausted myself. There may have been pelvic floor tension and positional imbalances that made it hard for my baby to descend.

But whatever the case — we can never know all the “what-ifs” — God protected Ezra’s and my lives and brought him here safely. And He even used the C-section to reveal the presence of a large (6 cm) ovarian cyst that was never caught on ultrasound. If I’d never had the surgery, we wouldn’t have known.

Even deeper than that, He used this process to refine me and teach me, and even prepare me for motherhood. I struggle deeply with desiring a sense of control in my life. He stripped that away in this birth, waiting to see if I would still trust Him. I have more empathy and compassion for other mothers and their experiences now, and I understand hospitals and health challenges in a deeper way than I had before.

I also had to release any idolatry that may have taken root in my heart — of having a home birth or a “perfect” experience, of being able to do it all on my own, of my own knowledge and research and preparation… He took it all away and lovingly allowed me to walk through what I’d been most afraid of, and made me stronger for it.

As the weeks and months went on, I had to do a lot of processing. And even in that, the Lord met me. My doula said she could sense the Holy Spirit’s presence in my birth. One sign of it to her was that she’d never seen someone be able to talk through their story as soon as I was. For some reason, although the experience did feel traumatic, I was able to talk about it right away.

And the more I talked about it, the easier it became to deal with. Verbally processing was a way of orienting myself, working to understand what had happened, and peeling back the layers of emotions. It also helped me to be heard by and receive encouragement from others. We were meant to go through life and to heal in community and relationship with others.

Reflection: Where I Am Today

At the time of my writing this, Ezra just turned one. It feels so significant that we made it through the first year and the hurdles we had to overcome. For more context, during my pregnancy I was co-authoring a book, which was being finalized as I was in the hospital. I was also in a full-time online school semester. So hilariously, while I was in labor, I asked Eric to email my professors and let them know that I needed extensions, and he also had a phone call with the book team for me at one point. It was a crazy time.

So my postpartum was focused on healing for a few weeks, and then I had to jump back into an academic sprint as I rushed to catch up in time and not fail my semester. It was tough. Some days I just sat at my desk with Ezra on my chest and worked from waking to sleeping.

Then in February I had my second surgery to remove the cyst, which thankfully went well; not long after in the spring, Eric got seriously ill and tested positive for valley fever. That was an extremely stressful time — and it was during an insanely busy time in our business. We came to a standstill and didn’t know what we would do.

Yet somehow we pulled through. And although it has been the sweetest year of our lives, bringing our son into the world and watching him grow, it has also been one of the most challenging seasons. But in all the uncertainty — health crises, extended illnesses and slow recoveries, medical bills, financial difficulties, career disappointments, heavy workloads, and setbacks… He has been with us through it all, and He has provided.

I say that with absolute conviction and certainty. He has provided for us miraculously, and He always will. This season has refined and shaped us, and it has helped me to become more of the woman, wife, and mother I was made to be.

Months after Ezra’s birth, I suddenly remembered a moment I’d had with God the year before. I went back to look at old journal entries and found that the Holy Spirit had spoken to me prophetically, preparing me for what was to come.

June 25th, 2023. Seven months before we even conceived. My journal entry read: “I had a sense that there might be a challenge or uncertainty during pregnancy that I can’t do anything about and I’m going to have to trust the Lord to work, not me. I have a feeling that learning to surrender will be a significant lesson for me in all of this. It’s something I really struggle with — letting go of control and trusting You completely. Grow my faith, Lord.”

Well, He answered. He grew my faith, and He was preparing me for what He knew would happen all along. It’s such a wild experience looking back at the chapters of my life with the gift of hindsight. I remember how in the moment I had no idea where the road was leading, but now in retrospect I can see how God was weaving every little detail together into a magnificent tapestry.

In a moment when I was sharing my sadness with the Lord over how things had gone, He spoke to me so kindly. I heard His Holy Spirit tell me, “Of course I wanted you to have the experience you dreamed of. I created birth — of course I wanted that for you. But there are things more important than your happiness. You just have to trust Me.”

Finally, I want to share with you a quote that a mother wrote in a Facebook group I’m in. It touched me and also brought such peace to my heart. I know that no matter what the future holds or what any future pregnancies or births look like for me, this sentiment will ring true:

“There’s a small piece of my momma heart that will always wonder and maybe grieve a little that I wasn’t able to birth any of my babies the way I know God designed my body to. But I also know that our love and sacrifices as mothers is not diminished or magnified by how we birth our babies. I have four beautiful children that I brought into the world in the safest and best way that I knew how given the circumstances and the information I had. I’m so thankful for the gift it has been to bring new life into the world regardless of how it happened.”

I hope that my story makes you feel seen — maybe you had a similar experience, or simply are working through your own journey of surrender. If you can relate, I want to encourage you that God isn’t done with your story and that He grows beautiful things out of the ashes. No matter what you’ve had to let go of, trust Him and watch as He brings more joy, more peace, more of Himself to replace anything that was lost. Every painful step is worth it to bring us closer to our Savior.