My Positive Hospital Birth Story

There are moments in life that divide everything into two parts: before and after. The birth of my daughter was one of those moments.

It was one of the most intense, raw, beautiful, and transformative experiences of my life. It stretched me to my physical and emotional limits, and at the same time, showed me a strength I didn’t know I had.

It all began on Christmas Eve. I spent the day cooking dinner for our family, on my feet from morning until evening. After everyone left and I finally sat down to relax, I felt a small trickle of fluid.

I remember thinking, Could this be it?

It was just enough to make me wonder, but not enough to be certain. I called the hospital, and they advised me to wear a pad overnight and check whether it became soaked. Four hours later, the pad was completely dry. False alarm.

Over the next few days, I began having mild contractions. They were enough to wake me up at night, but not strong enough to signal that labor was truly underway. During the day, they would often slow down or disappear entirely. It felt like my body was rehearsing.

Those days were filled with uncertainty. Was this real labor? Was it still days away? There was no clear answer, just a growing sense that we were getting closer.

On December 29, I woke up from an afternoon nap around 2:30 PM with noticeably stronger contraction. I also felt another trickle of fluid, this time thicker and more convincing. I had already made chicken soup that day, almost instinctively, as if some part of me knew what was coming. We called the hospital, and they asked us to come in.

But before heading there, we went to my chiropractor appointment. I used to go adjusted every week during my pregnancy so it felt like the right timing.

We arrived at the hospital around 5pm. They confirmed that my water had indeed broken, and we were admitted. I had imagined giving birth in a calm, peaceful environment, and I was determined to create that atmosphere. We dimmed the lights, turned on my salt lamp, played my labor playlist, and diffused essential oils.

At first, labor felt manageable. The contractions were getting stronger, but I could still talk and move around comfortably. I asked my nurse, how would I know I'm in active labor? She said, you'll know... and we will hear you in the hall...

By midnight, things started to ramp up.

There is a point in labor where you stop thinking and simply surrender. Almost as you are in a different dimension. Present but one part of your being is in a different realm. The contractions became all-consuming. My body took over. I stopped speaking and began making deep, primal sounds that I had never heard come out of me before. At this point, I was completely naked. I didn't bother with the hospital gown. I needed to move freely and stripped off anything unnecessary.

It was one of the most instinctive experiences of my life.

I moved between the bed, the yoga ball, and the shower, searching for relief. Around 1:00 AM, my midwife checked me for the first time and I was 6 centimeters dilated. Two hours of intense contractions later, I asked to get checked again, because I felt like I needed to push. I was only 7 centimeters.

That single centimeter felt incredibly discouraging.

At that point, the contractions were so intense, my body started more tensing and I was no longer able to ride the waves. I said the words that so many women say in labor:

“I can’t do this anymore.” And I asked for an epidural.

It wasn’t part of my original plan, but I reached a place where I felt I needed it. I remember the disappointed look on my teams face. They didn't say anything, but I knew they wanted me to go unmedicated because that was my wish. But I felt that the epidural would help me relax and make the labor more productive. So, we called the anesthesiologist and waited.

And waited.

I kept begging them to call again and find out where the f... is he/she.

Finally, around 4:00 AM, the nurse came in and said: "I'm sorry but the anesthesiologist had been called to an emergency C-section and would not be available anytime soon."

I remember feeling disappointed, but also strangely accepting. I guess I'm doing this.

The midwife checked me again.

I was fully dilated!

I was ready to start pushing. My body was ready. It's like you really need to go to the bathroom and then you are able to finally let it all out. Pushing felt like a relief,

I could work with the contractions rather than trying to relax through them. But what I thought would be the final stretch turned into a marathon.

I pushed for three and a half hours.

As contractions were coming, I pushed and my whole birth team would cheer on me. We were riding the waves together. Every person had their role and perfectly fit into the whole picture. My midwife coaching me. My nurse counting my breaths and pushes. My doula telling me affirmations and keeping a mini fan by my face. And my husband Luke being my personal squeeze ball and making sure I am hydrated.

I don't know how much time passed but it started getting bright outside. I kept hearing they see a head but the head was not coming out. I asked for a mirror to see what's going on. Her head would emerge with each push and then slip right back in.

It was both fascinating and deeply frustrating.

Again and again, with each push I wondered if I had anything left.

I changed positions. On side with leg up. On my back. All fours holding the backrest. I felt discouraged and started feeling doubts that I can continue. I felt empty inside, my energy was weaning. In these moments I turned to God and prayed to give me strength for the next push. And the next one.

After pushing on all fours and working with the gravity, finally her head was staying out. Progress! I touched it with my hand. It felt surreal.

In that moment, something shifted inside me.

A new wave of energy and determination rose from somewhere I didn’t know existed. I stopped doubting. I knew I was going to meet my daughter soon. I pushed and pushed without break and only a short inhales in between. Her head popped out, then one more push, and she was out.

At 7:25 AM on December 30, my daughter Adriana was born.

The relief was immediate and overwhelming. It took me a second to gather myself. It's over.

Her umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck, body, and legs three times, which explained why pushing had taken so long and why she kept slipping back. And yet, through all of it, she remained calm. Her heart rate stayed steady the entire time.

When they placed her on my chest, she opened her eyes and looked at me. We did it!

Right after giving birth, I told Luke that I didn’t know if I could ever do it again.

Now, when I look back, I feel something different.

Yes, it was one of the hardest, the most painful thing I have ever done. But it was also one of the most empowering experiences of my life. Birth stripped away everything unnecessary and brought me to a place of complete surrender. It taught me that our bodies hold an extraordinary wisdom and that we are capable of far more than we realize.

I am deeply grateful to the incredible hospital staff at UCSD who cared for me with such compassion and respect.

There is sometimes a perception that hospitals automatically push interventions. I’m sure that does happen in some cases, but my experience was the opposite. The team at the hospital honored my birth plan, respected my wishes, and supported me every step of the way. At no point did I feel pressured into interventions. Instead, I felt informed, encouraged, and genuinely cared for.

I’m also grateful to my doula Leah, who helped me stay grounded through the most intense moments, and to my husband Luke, who never left my side and supported me with a steadiness and love.

Looking back, I can honestly say that while birth was wild, messy, and unbelievably intense, it was also one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. And I wouldn’t change a thing