How I overcame fear of giving birth

MANILA, Philippines - On my seventh month of pregnancy, I met a healing priest. He happened to be celebrating Mass in our office chapel, and people started lining up to get prayed over after the Mass.

I wanted him to pray over my baby, too, so I joined the line. I found out from the other people in line that he would know a person’s ailment just by touching them. When it was my turn to approach him, he touched my very pregnant tummy, kept quiet for a moment, then told me in a serious tone, “You will have a difficult pregnancy, you take care of that baby.” 

I was stunned. I tried to keep my composure, but before I could say anything, my eyes welled up with tears. “Father, what do you mean?” I asked. 

He was going to say something but hesitated, and instead prayed over my belly.

I was so upset by his “revelation,” I experienced a panic attack for the first time in my life! I felt paralyzed and couldn’t breathe. It took all my strength not to break down right there inside the chapel.

The next day, I rushed to the hospital and had a battery of tests done — ultrasound, congenital anomaly scan, stress test, the works — even though I just did all that a few days before. 

The results were the same, everything was fine. 

I couldn’t understand how the priest could say such a thing and make me feel so much dread instead of anticipation.

My family told me that he probably meant it in the past tense — that I had already gone through a difficult pregnancy. That’s because when I was four months pregnant, I had food poisoning, got severely dehydrated due to vomiting and had to be confined in the hospital for four days. 

Two weeks later, on Christmas Eve, I was again rushed to the hospital for very high fever, which didn’t subside for days despite medication. I was tested for dengue, pneumonia and malaria but the tests all came out negative. I stayed in the hospital for a week, through the holidays. In the end, the doctors diagnosed that it was simple virus.

I worried about how my sickness, at that stage of pregnancy, would affect the baby. My doctors assured me that the tests showed my baby was fine.

After what I had been through, I thought my family must be right that the priest meant it in the past tense. 

One morning, on my eighth month of pregnancy, I suddenly experienced severe stomach pain. Was I having stomach cramps? Gas? Pre-mature labor? My husband rushed me to the hospital.

Doctors did everything to try and relieve the pain, but it wouldn’t abate. I was already having contractions, but tests showed it wasn’t the main cause. My OB, Dr. Jose Moran, who had rushed to the hospital to attend to me, suspected that I could have appendicitis. However, they couldn’t confirm this since my tests were negative, and my pregnancy masked all the classic symptoms of appendicitis. A CT Scan was also out of the question since I was pregnant.

I was placed under observation at the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, where the pain in my stomach grew stronger by the hour. Dr. Moran discussed the situation with me. He said that I would have to undergo surgery to remove my appendix, but that they would not consider delivering my baby yet, since I was a month away from full term.

When I was wheeled into the operating room, there were more people than usual since aside from the surgical staff, the delivery room staff was also there, just in case I go into pre-mature labor during the operation. I only remember that I was in extreme pain before the anesthesia knocked me out. Next thing I know, I was waking up in the recovery room. The surgeon told me that Dr. Moran’s hunch was right, and that my appendix was already gangrenous and about to rupture!

And so that’s how I gave “birth” to my appendix just before actually giving birth.

I was discharged from the hospital after a few days, the standard procedure for appendicitis. I knew I would be back in the hospital soon, so I looked forward to resting at home for a few more weeks to gather strength for the big day.

Two days later, I woke up in the middle of the night shivering in cold sweat. I couldn’t believe it was happening to me again, but when my husband checked my temperature, I had a very high fever. We rushed to the hospital at 3 a.m., where doctors discovered that my wound from the operation was infected! Doctors had to re-open the wound right then and there to drain the infection, without anesthesia!

I was then back in the hospital for the next three weeks so the infection could be treated. Doctors couldn’t be aggressive with antibiotics since I was pregnant. They also couldn’t give me strong painkillers — and boy, did I need them. They had to keep my wound open, so they could drain the wound every few hours. For someone who turns clammy at the sight of an injection, I cannot begin to describe how painful it was! I imagine that’s what it would feel like to get stabbed, with the knife being given an extra twist inside. I really, really wanted the doctors to take away the pain, but I knew I couldn’t risk the side effects it could give my baby.

My days were divided into sleep and pain. But even sleep wasn’t an escape, as my baby would start moving inside my belly and place a well-aimed kick right at my open wound! I would literally wake up screaming after she did that, many, many, many times in the three weeks we were waiting for her to be ready to come out.

My infection slowly got better, and my doctors finally decided that, yes, I was well enough for the big day. On the morning of May 1, 2012, I was brought to the delivery room with my husband, where we finally met Stella at 7:02 a.m. I delivered via C-section, but after all that I had been through, it seemed like the easiest part.

Through everything, I kept thinking about the priest who said I would have a difficult pregnancy. I confess that one of my biggest fears in life was the pain of giving birth, which was why I kept delaying getting pregnant. Ironically, the pain I felt from my appendicitis and the infection is probably the most painful thing that I have experienced in my whole life. 

Stella recently turned one and she is such a happy, active and fearless little thing. She loves to laugh, talk, walk, run and yes, kick! All my fears about how she would be affected by my fever and food poisoning, all the drugs I was given in the hospital, have all disappeared. She’s perfect.

I remember that while I was pregnant, I prayed to God saying sorry for being afraid of giving birth to another human being. I prayed that I would take any pain, as long as Stella turns out okay. He answered my prayers and made me realize I’m not such a weakling after all. That like my mom and all other moms, we are stronger than we think. When Stella came, I was amazed that I was capable of so much love and sacrifice. My needs, my wants, my life are no longer as important. I’m willing to cry her tears, feel her pain, take all of life’s cruelties for her even if I know I can’t shield her from these things forever. My daughter reminds me that I’m no longer the same. I am a mother.