Our birth story - Dad's POV

My Perspective as a Dad

Before I begin, I need to say this:

I know my wife bore the greatest weight in this experience. Nothing I share here is meant to take away from that truth.

I’m writing this to document what happened through my eyes.

Partly as a memory for myself, partly for other dads who may have walked through something similar, and partly so that future fathers can learn from my mistakes and my faith in this season.

The Beginning

Katey did everything right in preparation for labor: acupuncture, stretching, pelvic floor therapy, workouts, chiropractor, healthy eating… You name it. Honestly, we were a little cocky.

We thought, “We’ve checked every box, we’re ready. We’re in control.”

That illusion held up for the first 24 hours. Her contractions began around midnight, and we even slept until 9 am. I made her breakfast, tidied the house, and set up for laboring at home.

It all felt calm, almost sacred.

We chose a birthing center instead of a hospital because of Katey’s past trauma with the medical industry.

I’ve come to believe there’s no one “right” way to birth a child. The best way is wherever mom feels most at peace.

By late afternoon, things picked up.

Our doula joined us. Worship music was blasting, Katey’s favorite food was delivered.

We even had an at-home chiropractor scheduled. (Yes, we’re bougie when it comes to health)

My nerves were there, but so was joy, “We’re about to meet him.”

Little did we know how long the road ahead would be.

The Birth Center

By 9 pm, we were checked in.

Katey was 4 cm dilated. “Halfway there!” I thought.

Her water broke an hour later, and I was sure we’d be meeting our son in the night.

But then, everything slowed.

As the hours dragged on, I grew restless.

I started asking questions I didn’t want the answers to: “Is Neil okay? Is Katey okay? How long can this go on?” 

My nerves turned to nausea. My body broke down with her.

At the birth center, there is no pain medication. None. Watching the person you love most endure wave after wave of agony, with nothing you can do to stop it, is soul-crushing.

I’ve never felt more helpless as a husband.

From 10am to 4pm the next day, we tried everything.

Walking, squats, stairs, massages, hydration, prayer.

Time slowed.

My body was busy, but my spirit was slowly slipping away.

By evening, she reached 8–9 cm. We pushed, shifted, and fought forward.

But Katey was slipping into a different state. She was barely present. I started wondering if we needed to transfer, but I didn’t want to rob her of the chance to finish here.

The decision was heavy.

Finally, Katey called it. With tears, we accepted: it was time for the hospital.

The Hospital

Packing up for the birth center had been chaotic.

Packing up again to leave for the hospital felt like an out-of-body experience.

I was moving, talking, driving, but it didn’t feel like me.

We arrived close to midnight. No one was there to help. I ended up carrying Katey into the hospital as strangers passed by, indifferent.

I remember thinking: Where is my Good Samaritan? People walking by suffering and doing nothing?

Finally, we reached a room with 8 people waiting. (Nurses, but also students, which we didn’t want.)

Bright lights, beeping monitors, chaos.

We had gone from the sanctuary of worship music to what felt like a battlefield.

The doctor was harsh, dismissive of our plan.

They blew veins trying to get in an IV. More pain. I felt like I had failed her.

After Fentanyl (yes, Fentanyl), the epidural, and endless poking and prodding, things finally calmed.

But not for long.

The doctor hinted at a C-section and started Pitocin. I prayed silently: “Lord, where are you right now?”

Delivery

Morning came, and with it, a new situation.

A new nurse walked in, smiling, immediately drawn to our worship music (“Good Plans”).

A new doctor arrived as well.

She was angelic, full of authority but not arrogance. It felt like God sent angels into our room.

Katey pushed for three hours, but Neil wasn’t moving where he needed to.

We wept together when the doctor confirmed we needed a C-section.

My spirit was crushed.

Our doula, who had already been with us for 30+ hours, came back just to sit with us.

I originally thought the Doula was only for Katey. But she was there for me too.

When they wheeled Katey away, I broke.

I don’t cry often, but I sobbed. Our Doula is the wife of a pastor, not that it matters, but her prayers were so incredible. Truly beautiful and exactly what I needed.

The surgery went quickly.

I prayed over Katey as she trembled. And then.. the cry.

Not mine or Katey’s.

The first sound of our son. Finally, something good!

The doctors told me to stand up and see my son.

I wish I hadn’t.

Katey’s insides spread out everywhere. It was too much. I sat back down and stayed with Katey.

They soon brought him over to one of those heat lamp things. Katey told me to go see him; he was screaming and crying.

When I leaned over his face and spoke, he paused.

He knew my voice. The voice he had heard for months.

For just a few seconds, heaven touched earth in that room.

A moment of glory, finally.

We decided we were going to separate Neil from the birth. Because the birth was traumatic, but Neil is a celebration.

I don’t know why it had to happen that way. It’s still something we are seeking answers for. Katey’s road to recovery has been a tough one and when we talk about the birth it’s still hard for us to wrap our heads around.

We choose to believe that God has a plan and he did deliver us a healthy, happy son.

At the end of the day, I have my family. That’s my focus. The greatest gift of them all.