Choosing Her Safety: How I Faced the Unexpected in Labor, Well C-Section

Talaya Murphy
Jul 21
3 min read

Part Four: The Decision That Brought Her Here

The nurse was coming in every 15 to 20 minutes to readjust the monitor because they kept losing our daughter’s heartbeat. Eventually, another nurse and my OB came in to let me know they’d need to perform a C-section—for both her safety and mine.

By then, I had been on Pitocin for eight hours. My cervix wasn’t softening, and I wasn’t dilated in any way, shape, or form. Our daughter’s heart rate wasn’t where the team wanted it to be, and her movement had slowed significantly.

Deep down, I knew this was coming. I looked at Jose, and it was like we both silently understood—this baby was going to arrive another way.

Everyone seemed surprised by how calm and accepting I was. Most moms want to hold out, try to push, and have a “natural” birth. Of course, I wanted that too. No one chooses a C-section lightly—it’s major abdominal surgery, the recovery is long, and it’s far from the ideal we imagine. But at that moment, it wasn’t about my ego or some picture-perfect vision of birth. It was about her safety—and mine.

I just kept thinking:

If a C-section is what gets my daughter here safely, then that’s what we’re doing.

From there, everything moved fast. Jose called my mom and sister to let them know the plan had changed. They rushed back to our apartment to grab the car seat and a few last-minute bags before heading to the hospital.

I remember being wheeled into the operating room, surrounded by a sea of masked, unfamiliar faces—except for my OB. As the anesthesia kicked in, I started to feel cold and loopy. A nurse asked if I could feel anything. I hesitated.

Then she said, “Trust me—we just touched you with something really sharp. If you could feel it, you’d know.”

Activated

That snapped me into focus.

Stay alert. Stay present. Listen to what the doctors are saying.

It was like my “mom superpowers” activated right then and there.

A few moments later, Jose walked into the room. The second I saw him, I burst into tears. He asked, “Why are you crying?”

And I told him, “Because I know you. I’ve been surrounded by strangers in masks—and then you walked in. You’re here. And I feel safe now.”

As the doctors began the procedure, I felt this strange pressure on my chest—like someone was sitting on it. The operating table rocked back and forth as they worked to bring our baby girl into the world.

Then I heard it:

“Hold on, hold on—cord wrapped around the neck… twice.”

My heart dropped. I couldn’t hear her cry. Everything felt still. Jose and I locked eyes in fear. They lifted her above the curtain, and I remember immediately saying, “Go be with her. Don’t worry about me.” But I couldn’t understand why she was so quiet.

Then, finally—I heard three short cries.

The moment she was placed on my chest—I knew everything had changed.

Even the nurses were surprised by how calm she was as she entered this chaotic world. They brought her over and laid her on my chest. I cried instantly. She was here. She was safe. And in that moment, my journey into motherhood officially began.

As they closed me up, I was taken into recovery, where I held her again. But shortly after, my oxygen levels dropped dangerously low. I felt fine, but my body wasn’t getting enough oxygen, so they moved her to the nursery while Jose went to update my mom, sister, and his aunt. After about 20 minutes, I was finally wheeled to my room—and seeing my family waiting there brought so much joy to my heart.

Of course, the first thing they asked was:

“Where’s the baby?”

Moments later, she was gently wheeled into the room—and everyone’s face lit up. We finally had a new addition to the family. She was absolute perfection—a tiny, peaceful little doll.

I traded my dream birth for her safety.

And I would do it again in a heartbeat.