When I found out that I was pregnant with my son, I was ecstatic, overjoyed with the amazing possibility that I was going to be a mother. I waited eight long months for this little person to appear in my life. My husband and I attended child-birthing classes religiously to learn about the long process of labor. I had just reached my thirty-seven week milestone in my pregnancy, which meant that my baby was considered full-term. My doctor had informed me that she was going to have to induce me that day because of a complication. My husband and I arrived at the hospital unprepared for what was about to happen. At eight o’clock that evening, the doctor came into my hospital room and started the induction medication. Contractions immediately began as I tried to get comfortable in the scratchy, hospital gown that I was wearing. The room was dimly lit for more of a peaceful and relaxed atmosphere. I could hear the loud ticking of the clock on the wall. As another contraction approached, my husband pointed it out on the monitor that was connected to an elastic belt that went around my mid-section. This went on for the rest of the evening, all of the next day and into the early hours of the day after. Going into my thirty-sixth hour of pain and being uncomfortable, I realized that this baby wasn’t going to come on his own. At six o’clock that next morning the nurse came rushing in and looked at the monitor that I was hooked up too. She said that my son’s heart rate had dropped drastically. About five minutes later, my doctor came in and told me that the baby wasn’t tolerating the induction drug or the contractions and that we would have to do a cesarean section. I immediately began to sob uncontrollably. I was devastated. This wasn’t at all how it was supposed to happen. I was supposed to have a wonderful memory of the labor of my child and the feeling that everyone had talked about of overwhelming joy when I would hold him for the first time. They were not supposed to slice me open and take him while I was unconscious. When they rolled me into my recovery room afterward and I saw the look of happiness on my husbands face, it immediately made me feel like I had accomplished something anyway. I reached for my son and held him close to me for the first time. It was a feeling of astounding and immense joy. Something that only a mother can relate too. Even though I hadn’t actually been through the labor process, I still brought life into this world and I didn’t feel one bit like a failure. I felt a connection to him that I would never feel with anyone. I believe that no matter how I brought him into this world, I still gave him life and will love him just the same.
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