This Is Really Happening: The Night I Was Admitted

The first thing I did was call my mom to let her know we were on our way to the hospital. I explained that my blood pressure was higher than before and that, despite drinking cold water, eating the baby’s favorite snack, and even trying ice cream—I still couldn’t feel our daughter move.

While we were gathering our thoughts (and debating whether to bring the hospital bag), my mom asked, “Are you still going to Mount Sinai? I mean, it’s an emergency.”

I gave her the what-kind-of-question-is-that face. Why would I go anywhere else? My OB had been with me since I was four months pregnant.

We’d already timed how long it would take to get to Mount Sinai during different times of day, and since it was around 10 PM, there was no traffic—it would take 20 minutes, tops. I was going where my OB was, not to some random doctor playing catch-up on my chart.

She understood. “Okay, just let me know when you get there so your sister and I can be ready in case you need help with your bags.”

Surprisingly, I was really calm. My boyfriend, on the other hand, picked up most of my anxiety and carried the emotional weight for both of us.

I sat in the Uber silently, deep breathing, mentally preparing myself for a conversation I didn’t want to have—a possible C-section.

We pulled up to Labor & Delivery around 10:30 PM on June 29. The staff was already prepared—my OB had called ahead. They moved me into triage, checked my vitals, and immediately started looking for fetal movement.

They found her heartbeat—thank God—and she was moving, just not like her usual acrobatic self. My OB, who was thankfully on call, was alerted.

Then we waited. My blood pressure was still high, and I was holding my breath for the next steps.

Sidebar: Why do doctors and nurses talk to laboring women like we’re toddlers at story time? I get that they’re trying to be calming, but ma’am… I’m grown. I’m scared. I’m sweating. I’m one contraction away from swinging. Please speak to me like I’m capable—because I am.

As I waited, it hit me: This might be it. I might actually leave this hospital with a baby in my arms.

And then I spiraled… I MIGHT LEAVE THIS HOSPITAL WITH A BABY.

Admitted, Delivery

Like… is no one going to vet me? No one’s going to check references? Y’all are just going to… hand her over? The full weight of motherhood smacked me in the middle of a blood pressure check.

Before I could completely unravel, the doctor came back and told me I was being admitted and would be induced.

Between the high BP and her reduced movement, it was safest for both of us.

They moved me into a delivery room—which was actually kind of nice—and I started to feel a brief wave of calm…

Until the nurse came in to start my IV.

I mean she did not look like this but felt like it

Another sidebar: Why do IVs feel like they’re jabbing you with a straw? Are you starting a drip or drilling for oil? She had to poke me three times to find a vein. To be fair, I’m a tough stick, but still—ER nurses usually get it on the first try. Everyone’s got their lane, I guess.

Next up: pain management. 

The doctor told me they’d insert a balloon to soften my cervix and start induction meds. I told them immediately—I didn’t want to feel anything. I’d seen one too many YouTube videos, and that balloon looked like medieval torture. I was not about to be a hero.

When the anesthesiologist came in, I turned my back and said, “With all due respect, I do not like needles. Please don’t let me see it.”

I signed the consent forms, and just as my boyfriend stood to support me, they told him to sit down—apparently dads faint a lot during epidurals, and they didn’t need two patients.

One of the nurses offered me her arm, which was kind, but I didn’t want to squeeze her too hard. She said it was fine. I appreciated her… but I wasn’t about to sacrifice her bicep like that.

The numbing shot—lidocaine, I think—felt like it was frying every nerve ending in my spine. The epidural itself? Not bad. Just a lot of pressure. But that lidocaine?! WHEW.

Once the epidural was in, they handed me the magic button and explained how to dose myself. It’s a weird feeling—you can move your legs, but not feel them. If you’ve had an epidural, you know what I mean. If you haven’t… maybe you will. Or maybe you won’t. I’m not here to convince you.

With the balloon in place and meds started, my boyfriend rushed back to the apartment to grab our hospital bags—plus my cozy blanket and anything else that would make me feel at home.

But not long after, the nurse kept coming in to adjust the fetal monitor. They were having trouble picking up our daughter’s signal.

It was nerve-wracking…

(To be continued.)