I Woke Up in ICU Alone Not Knowing If My Baby Was OK: My Birth Trauma Story with Arlo

We are so grateful to Lauren for so generously, vulnerably sharing her birth story with her son Arlo.

When I found out I was pregnant with Arlo, I imagined the moment I would finally meet him. I pictured hearing his first cry, holding him against my chest, counting his tiny fingers and toes, and experiencing that overwhelming rush of love every mother talks about.

Instead, our story began with trauma.

During my pregnancy, I developed severe preeclampsia.( I also had a short cervix) What started as concern quickly became life threatening. My health was deteriorating, and my obgyn and the on call obgyn made the decision that an emergency caesarean section was the safest option for both me and my baby.

Everything happened so fast.

I wasn’t able to have the birth experience I had imagined. I was put to sleep for the surgery, and when I woke up, my baby wasn’t in my arms.

The reality of that still hurts.

I didn’t get to see Arlo.
I didn’t get to hold him.
I didn’t get to touch him.

For more than 24 hours, I waited to meet my own baby.

While other mothers were bonding with their newborns, I was recovering from major surgery, terrified, heartbroken, and desperately longing to see my son. There are no words to fully describe the pain of waking up after giving birth and not knowing when you will finally get to hold your baby.

The moment I finally met him should have been one of the happiest moments of my life, but it was overshadowed by fear, exhaustion, and trauma.

Then came another devastating blow.

I had to leave Arlo in the hospital for 11 days.

Walking out of that hospital without my baby was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Every instinct in me wanted to stay. Every part of me felt like I was leaving a piece of my heart behind.

I would go home to an empty nursery.
An empty car seat.
An empty house.

Meanwhile, my body was struggling too.

As I was trying to process everything emotionally, my caesarean scar opened up. The physical pain was relentless, but the emotional pain was even harder. It felt like every time I tried to take a step forward, something else would knock me down.

People often say, “At least you’re both okay.”

And while I understand where that comes from, it doesn’t erase what happened.

It doesn’t erase the fear of nearly losing my life to severe preeclampsia.

It doesn’t erase waking up after surgery without my baby.

It doesn’t erase the 24 hours I waited to meet him.

It doesn’t erase leaving my newborn in hospital for 11 days.

And it doesn’t erase the trauma my body carried long after the birth was over.

I am endlessly grateful for Arlo. He is one of the greatest blessings of my life.

But I can love my son with my whole heart and still grieve the birth experience that was taken from me.

Birth trauma is real.

Sometimes it doesn’t look dramatic from the outside. Sometimes it hides behind smiling photos, birth announcements, and a mother doing her best to keep going.

But behind those smiles can be a woman carrying memories she never wanted, grieving moments she can never get back.

This is my story.

A story of survival.
A story of loss.
A story of strength.

And a story of a little boy named Arlo entered the world at 35+6 days. who was worth every fight, every scar, and every battle along the way.

Lauren x