With my husband, Soren, not listening, I knew my birth would be a nightmare. As I lay in labor, in pain and ignored, I vowed to never let him or his mom rule me again. Never thought my life would be like this.
Five years ago, I planned everything. I loved Soren, had a good marketing career, and a cozy apartment. We met at a friend’s housewarming party—one of those odd nights that changes your life.
We clicked instantly. He was nice, witty, and caring. We’ve been together six years, married two.
I became pregnant with our daughter Veda, which changed everything. Still, thinking about her makes my heart race. It started like a fairy tale.
In retrospect, I should have spotted the red flags before Veda. After learning about the pregnancy, Soren became obsessed with a home birth. His normal calmness and support vanished.
I recall that initial talk. I was still absorbing the pregnancy result on the couch when he stated, “We should do a home birth.”
A laugh. I discovered I’m pregnant, Soren.
Can we start slowly? He was serious. “No doctors getting in the way” benefits the infant.
“What if something goes wrong?” My gut twisted as I asked. It won’t. “We’ll get a doula, and my mom can help,” he added definitively.
I ignored it, thinking we had time. I was six weeks pregnant. But he persisted.
Every medical appointment and baby chat centered on home birth. At appointments, Soren talked over me. The doctor would eagerly say, “We’re doing a home birth,” smiling like we agreed.
But we weren’t. “Stop it,” I said after one visit. “I haven’t decided.”
“No need.
The finest option, he said. Best for whom? My thoughts.
I carried this baby. The arguments began then. Start small, grow large.
Maris, his mother, intervened. She took me aside one afternoon with a smile and firmness. “Elara, all our family women gave birth at home.
This is our way.”
“I’ve thought about it,” I answered politely. “But I’m worried something could go wrong.”
“Oh, it’ll be fine,” she answered, dismissing it. You overthink.
We’ll assist.”
I wanted to yell. Why was I ignored? At 36 weeks, I was exhausted physically and emotionally.
Maris and Soren thought I was silly. I said I’d go to the hospital alone if needed. He ignored me.
We met the doula. Also pushy, she agreed with everything Soren said. Sitting there, I felt invisible.
At 39 weeks, labor began. I was scared. “Soren, please,” I pleaded.
“Take me to the hospital. I feel unsafe.”
But he and Maris ignored me. Instead, they called doula.
Pain was excruciating. Three days of labor, 22 hours of pain. Torture.
Cried the whole time. Someone felt wrong, but nobody cared. Soren and Maris came and went without really checking on me.
The doula I never wanted remarked, “If pushing goes past 24 hours, we’ll need the hospital.” I lie there grasping my belly, thinking I can’t. I want it over. Two more hours of pushing worried me.
I was just as afraid of giving birth in that chilly, unsympathetic room. I just wanted it over. Veda was born without magic.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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