I had 45 minutes left on my workday when POP! My water broke! In the middle of my open-floor-plan office! In front of colleagues! And the FedEx guy!
Fast forward to the hospital, where I was put in triage to await a C-section for my
. There were two people ahead of me, so I knew I was in store for a good five- to six-hour interlude — except no one told my baby.
I still had at least three hours to wait when the contractions started. An hour later, my labor pains at full force, I felt the urge to puuuuuuusssssh!
Instantly, I was surrounded by what felt like half the hospital staff. As they wheeled me down the hall at record speed, my impatient babe’s foot began pushing toward the exit. Chaos erupts, as one doctor preps me for the next push, another commands a C-section “stat!” and I lie, stricken and stuck, in the middle of polar-opposite choices.
I looked from one doctor to the other, and then decided to lock eyes with the MD who believed I could deliver my baby the way she apparently wanted to come out. Despite what made rational sense, nothing felt more natural than my little girl venturing into the world feet first. And that’s what she did. In just five pushes.
In hindsight, I marvel at how, in her first moments of life, my daughter taught me a valuable lesson: Don’t assume the solution is right in front of you; sometimes you have to be creative. And go with your gut instinct.
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