My Cesarean Story: No Floater, No Panic, Just Faith

Part 1: A Journey Through the Unexpected.

A huge swimming pool, a wide-flowing river, and at some point, an ocean.

I was in all three — no floater, no attempt to stay on the surface, no panic, no sinking... yet I can’t swim.
Those were the images from my recurring dreams, slightly over a decade ago.

Showgi, my brother, accompanied me for my last prenatal clinic. My due date was two days away. Just a final check-up and confirming that everything was in place.The doctor did the usual checks and assured me all was well — I’d be seeing him again in a few days. We began the insurance pre-authorization.

It was a little past 4 p.m., I hadn’t had a decent lunch, and between that and fatigue, I slipped into a mood. For no good reason, I picked a fight with Showgi. He tried to reason with me, but eventually just left me to cool off as I wandered off to find fast food. Classic me. 😏

Five days passed. No signs of labor.
I started to worry. I kept calling the doctor, but he reassured me: "Perfectly normal. We’re still within the expected week.”

One evening, I was lying on the couch, mum seated opposite as we watched the news. From time to time, I caught her throwing me quiet, concerned side-eyes. When I looked up, she’d pretend to be glued to the TV.

(You ever feel someone watching you without turning your head?)

Unable to ignore the energy, I finally asked why she looked so tense. She said, “Once a mother sees her daughter heavily expectant, she only gets peace once she delivers.”

Sunday morning, October 19th.
Exactly 7 days past my due date.
I was restless.

I noticed something odd and called my doctor to explain. No pain, but... something. Calm as ever, he said, “Come in for a check-up. Just in case.”

Mum insisted on coming, despite me feeling like I was “very okay” to go solo.
(BTW — what’s with me not asking for help? Even from my people? I always feel like I’m bothering. Must be middle-child syndrome... and yes, we’ll unpack that someday!)

We got to the hospital around 7:30 a.m.

The nurse handed me a robe and checked me, then advised I’d need to be admitted.
“But I’m not even in labor!” I thought.

Cue my overthinking brain:
“So they just want my bill to go up?”

I filled the inpatient forms from my bed.
As soon as I stepped down to go to the washroom — gush!
Not stunned. Just... relieved. My baby was coming.

My aunt, dad’s sister, walked in. She was then the senior matron in the maternity wing. She caught up with Mum and the attending nurses.
She asked, “Will she manage to push, considering her past surgery?”

Mum, ever the optimist, said she believed I would have a normal, easy delivery.

Fast-forward to 2 p.m.
My requested lunch still untouched.
I was in a separate room, surrounded by a small team of nurses. One was firm: “Call the doctor. We need him ASAP.”

This was just the beginning...

To every mother with a scar — this month, this ribbon is for you