Birth Trauma: A Story Every Pregnant Woman Should Read

If I had known then what I know now, my birth experience could have been completely different...

From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I dreamed of a beautiful, natural, and empowering birth. But reality turned out to be far from what I had envisioned.

My challenges didn’t just start in the delivery room—they began long before, with the struggle to find the right doctor, the right hospital, the right support system.

I’m sharing my story not to scare you, but because I wish someone had told me what I’m about to tell you. I want to create awareness so that no other woman has to go through what I did...

My Traumatic Birth Story:

The Unexpected Nightmare of Giving Birth in Mexico

Pregnancy is often described as a time of anticipation, excitement, and transformation.

Like so many mothers-to-be, I spent months preparing, researching, and making choices to create the best birth experience possible. I envisioned a moment filled with love, empowerment, and overwhelming joy as I met my baby for the first time.

But what happened was nothing like I had imagined.

Instead of a beautiful and peaceful birth, I was met with betrayal, fear, and pain.

My birth turned into a nightmare—one that left me traumatized, isolated, and struggling to connect with my baby for weeks afterward.

This is my story of giving birth in Mexico.

A story of survival, heartbreak, and healing.

A story that changed me forever.

A Feeling I Couldn’t Ignore

I was 38 weeks and 4 days pregnant when our Luna arrived.

I wasn’t due for another week and a half at least, but deep down, I knew she wouldn’t wait that long...

For the past few weeks, doctors had told me she was measuring small.

Every ultrasound appointment came with concerned looks and talk of monitoring her growth. I felt the pressure of their words settling in my chest like a weight.

Still, I had prepared for this birth in every way I could. I watched video after video of natural labor, soaking in every bit of knowledge. I imagined how it would start—a slow build of contractions, gentle at first, giving me time to settle into the rhythm of labor. I pictured myself swaying through the waves of pain, using all the techniques I had learned. I had done everything right, but as I would soon find out, birth doesn’t always follow a plan.

A week before the birth, I started losing my mucus plug. Every trip to the bathroom revealed more of it, a sign that my body was preparing for labor. My instincts told me Luna would come early, and as the days passed, that feeling only grew stronger.

Then came the injections. Since Luna was on the smaller side, doctors recommended a steroid shot to help mature her lungs—just in case she was born before 39 weeks. The first shot was given by a doctor, the second by Sami’s mother, who had been helping us prepare for Luna’s arrival. They were expensive, and I hated the idea of needing them, but I wanted to do everything I could to make sure she was safe.

A few days before the birth, we finally decided on a gynecologist. It was a relief to have that decision made, but our last appointment with him would leave me questioning everything.

The Last Check-Up:

A False Sense of Security

Two days before I gave birth, Sami and I went for what we thought would be a routine check-up with our chosen gynecologist.

The air felt heavy that day, as if time itself had slowed down—but we didn’t think much of it.

We had put so much effort into finding the right doctor, someone we could trust to guide us through this life-changing moment. Earlier in my pregnancy, he had seemed kind, reassuring, and supportive. We had heard glowing recommendations from others, which only reinforced our confidence in him.

During that final check-up, he went over my birth plan and agreed to everything. He assured us that he supported a natural birth and that my wishes would be respected.

We felt relieved, believing we had finally found the right person to stand by us when it mattered most.

After so many months of searching, we felt sure there was nothing to fear.

We were wrong.....

The Exam That Changed Everything

I laid back on the exam table as he prepared to check my cervix.

“If you feel any pain, let me know, and I’ll stop,” he assured me.

I trusted him...

But when he inserted his fingers, I felt a sharp pain, and he didn’t stop.

His hand went so high up I gasped, my body tensing.

It was unnatural, completely unlike anything I had felt before. I whimpered, trying to endure it, but the pain only increased.

Clenching my hand around Samis.

He knew I was in pain and told the doctor.

But he didn’t stop.

I clenched my fists and bit my lip, trying to breathe through it, but I knew—deep in my bones—that something was wrong.

Afterwards, when I went to the bathroom to clean up and get dressed, I noticed a little bit of fluid leaking and something resembling light blood, pinkish.

I already had a suspicion then—did he just rupture my amniotic sac to induce labor? No, he wouldn't do that.. Would he?

The next day, the clear fluid was still leaking. Was this normal? Was I overthinking? I had no contractions, no pain, just this nagging sensation that something wasn’t right…

But I knew there was no turning back now.

Over the next two days, I kept losing fluid. 

Looking back, I’m almost certain he did something that day to speed things up.

A Walk, a Meal, and a Sudden Change

The day Luna was born started somewhat normal.

I knew it couldn’t be good to leak amniotic fluid for long. I wanted to naturally induce labor without intervention from doctors, so Sami and I decided to go into town.

We walked through the streets, hand in hand, and I tried to enjoy the day despite the uncertainty creeping in.

I had been drinking pineapple water and eating chili—things I had heard could help labor start naturally—but I didn’t feel any different.

At dinner before heading back home, we ordered lasagna. I remember twirling my fork through the layers, taking slow bites, and savoring the meal.

It felt like the calm before the storm, though I had no idea just how fast things were about to change.

On the way home, I started feeling contractions.

They were subtle, more like a tightening than real pain, so I wasn’t completely sure if they were the real thing.

But something inside me whispered, This is it.

I kept in touch with my gynecologist, updating him on what I was feeling. At the last check-up he had informed me that it’s more likely for me to go into active labor at night. So we knew… But at the time, the contractions weren’t painful, just slightly noticeable. They were about six minutes apart, and I still felt in control.

Then, at 11:50 PM, we called the hospital to ask if we should come in since my water had been leaking for two days and we started to get worried that the contractions didn’t progress more.

Sami was on the phone with them when—

Snap.

A sensation deep inside me.

A sharp, distinct feeling, followed immediately by a wave of the most intense pain I had ever felt.

My breath caught in my throat. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

And then another contraction hit—long, brutal, nothing like the slow buildup I had expected.

Sami hung up the phone and rushed to grab our things. We had to go.

The Race to the Hospital

By the time we got in the car, the contractions were coming fast, each one stronger than the last.

The pain was so overwhelming that my body reacted violently—I started throwing up, my stomach rejecting everything.

I gripped the seat, breathing through clenched teeth as Sami drove as fast as he could.

The city lights blurred outside the window, but I couldn’t focus on anything except the unbearable pressure growing inside me.

When we arrived at the hospital, it was 12:10 AM.

No doctor was there. And our chosen gynecologist had vanished. No response for the last hour.

By the time we arrived at the hospital, we realized that he wasn’t coming… 

Before the nurse checked my dilation, he told me, that in a first pregnancy, I might endure two days of lingering pain before true labor set in—implying that my dilation was still minimal. But when he began feeling my cervix, his gentle counting turned into a startling revelation.

He started softly, “One… two… three… four… five… six…”

At first, his tone was measured, as if following a routine check. However, with each number, his voice grew more tense and alarmed. “Seven… Wow… You’re already 8 centimeters dilated.”

The more he counted, the more his surprise turned into panic—his fingers moving faster as if they couldn’t believe what they were discovering.

I barely registered their words.

The pain was consuming me, and all I could think was, This is happening too fast. This isn’t right.

After waiting in the triage area for 40 minutes, they finally put me in a small, cramped room—nothing like the one we had been shown on our hospital tour.

I barely had time to process it before another contraction slammed into me, and suddenly, I felt the undeniable urge to push.

Then I realized something terrifying.

Sami and I were alone.

We didn’t know what was going on. No one was telling us anything. I wanted pain relief, but all they offered was an epidural, which I had already told them no to. 

Panic started creeping in.

This wasn’t the birth I had imagined.

And it was about to get worse.

Alone and Terrified

The contractions were unbearable now, each one crashing over me like a tidal wave, leaving me gasping for air.

The room was suffocatingly small, the lights too bright, the walls too close.

My body was no longer my own—it had become something wild, something primal, something unstoppable.

And yet, we were alone.

Sami stood beside me, his face tense with fear, gripping my hand as we tried to figure out what was happening. No one was there to guide us, no one explained anything.

All they had told Sami was that “if she feels the need to push, she can push”. 

It was just pain, panic, and the terrifying realization that I was about to give birth in a place that no longer felt safe.

Then, Sami noticed something.

"Melany—there’s a lot of blood."

I followed his gaze and saw it. Dark, thick, pooling between my legs. My heart clenched in fear. This isn’t normal, right?

Sami ran out to find a nurse. When she finally came in, she changed the sheets and said everything looked fine. But how could it be fine? I could see the blood. Sami could see the blood. Nothing about this felt fine.

And still, no doctor, no response. 

The Arrival of the Hospital’s Gynecologist

Finally, the hospital’s gynecologist walked in. Not my doctor—the one I had chosen and trusted—but the hospital’s. The owner of the hospital, apparently. I had no idea who he was.

He barely spoke to me before making a decision that sent my heart racing.

“We’re moving you to another room for the birth.”

Sami and I exchanged a look of pure confusion.

Why? We had been told we could give birth in this room. We had planned for it. This was where it was supposed to happen. But before we could argue, they were already moving me.

They wheeled me down a hallway, away from the small room, away from Sami—away from any sense of control I had left.

Then, the realization hit me.

They were taking me to an operating room.

I wasn’t prepared for this. Nothing about this was going as it should.

Was I about to have a C-section? Was something wrong? Why wasn’t anyone telling me anything?

Then, the most terrifying moment of all—

They stopped Sami at the doors.

He wasn’t allowed to come in.

I grabbed for him, my whole body shaking. "No—no, please, he’s supposed to be here!"

They ignored me.

Sami fought to stay with me, but they told him he had to change into surgical scrubs first.

I could see the panic in his eyes. I could hear the desperation in his voice. But before I could say anything else, they wheeled me inside, and the doors slammed shut behind me.

I had never felt so alone in my life.

I was in a cold, sterile room, surrounded by strangers in masks.

My body was shaking uncontrollably, a mix of pain and fear crashing over me.

Where was Sami?

What were they about to do to me?

Were they going to cut me open without telling me?

I was convinced I was about to die....

Put to Sleep Without Consent

One of the doctors leaned over me, speaking in a calm, controlled voice.

“We’re going to give you something to help with the pain. You might feel a little tired.”

A little tired.

That’s what they said.

I kept repeating the only words that mattered to me.

“Where is my husband? My husband, my husband?”

I said it in English. I said it in Spanish. Over and over.

“He’s coming,” someone said.

And then, blackness.

They had lied.

They had put me to sleep.

The Moment Sami Almost Kicked Down the Door

On the other side of the door, where Sami was being held back, it became more clear that they had no intention of letting him into me.

After he changed into surgical clothes, they tried everything to keep him from entering.

He begged, pleaded, and insisted. When they still refused, he almost kicked the door down.

I wasn’t there to see it, but he told me later that he was so angry he had never felt like that before in his life.

He finally lied and said they had told him to go in, and that was the only reason they let him through.

It’s hard for me to imagine Sami being so angry—he has always been calm, patient, and kind. But to hear that he was that furious only proves how much he knew we were being mistreated.

Waking Up in Horror

A few moments later, I woke up in a haze of confusion.

My legs were up in stirrups.

My body felt weightless, numb, disconnected.

The first thing I heard was laughter.

Men’s voices, doctors, laughing about something.

I had no idea what.

But the sound of their laughter cut through me like a blade.

I felt exposed. Vulnerable. Violated. Humiliated. 

And then panic set in.

Where was Sami?

Where was my baby?

Why couldn’t I feel anything?

I tried to move, but my body wouldn’t respond. My limbs were heavy, useless.

And then—

The doors opened.

Sami walked in.

His face was pale, his eyes wide with fear. He looked like he had just survived a nightmare.

I reached for him.

He took my hand. Held it tight.

Neither of us spoke, but we didn’t have to.

We were both terrified.

A Birth Without Feeling

A doctor leaned over me and pressed—hard—on my stomach.

“Push.”

I barely registered the words.

Push?

I couldn’t even feel my contractions. I couldn’t feel anything.

Another doctor asked me, “Do you even feel them?”

I was surprised that I was asked a question. 

It was hard for me to talk, but I managed to pronounce a silent “no”. 

Someone pressed on my stomach again. A little, I could feel a little. But not enough.

Then, more pressure.

More voices.

More pushing.

And then—

Luna was born.

I felt nothing.

No rush of relief. No overwhelming flood of emotion.

No pain.

No joy.

Just shock.

I stared at the ceiling, my body empty, my heart hollow.

They took Luna away to clean her. I barely processed it.

Then—another shock.

I felt something deep inside me move.

The doctor—yanked out my placenta.

No contractions, no natural delivery. Just a hand, yanking it out of my body.

I wanted to scream, but I had no voice.

A Needle in My Back

At some point, they moved us back to the tiny room.

I still didn’t know what had happened to my body.

I still couldn’t feel my legs. The numbness was so uncomfortable—tickling and painful at the same time. 

No one told me if I had stitches. No one checked me properly.

Hours later, I felt a strange pain in my back.

“Sami, look,” I said, turning slightly.

He leaned in, and then—his face went white.

There, lodged in my back, was a large needle.A huge needle.

Sami stared at it in horror. At that moment, with my numbness serving as undeniable proof that something was terribly wrong, we assumed they’d given me an epidural.

But as I later tried to piece together the events that happened while I was unconscious, my mind was flooded with more questions.

As I later learned, an epidural isn’t supposed to temporarily paralyze you.

Could it have been a spinal block instead?

But a spinal block is typically reserved for C-sections, and that wouldn’t explain the needle I had in my back.

How could this be?

Was it a dangerously high dose of medication, a spinal block administered through an epidural catheter, or something else entirely—a serious error I still struggle to understand?

Every possibility made me question the entire process, leaving me feeling completely out of control during one of my most vulnerable moments.

The uncertainty and violation I experienced continue to haunt me every day.

But the truth is simple..

They had temporarely parelized me.

Without my consent.

While I was sleeping and unconscious, also without my consent.....

The Birth That Stole My Joy

I don’t remember Luna’s birth the way I should.

Everything was a blur, filled with stress, anger, and shock. I barely remember holding her for the first time. I don’t remember the first time I breastfed her. I don’t remember feeling joy. The first precious moments with my daughter simply don’t exist in my mind.

I had imagined that I would feel an overwhelming rush of love the moment I saw her, but I didn’t.

Instead, I felt nothing.

I just wanted to get out of there. I don’t even remember where Luna was in those first hours. I was too lost in my own shock and anger to focus on anything else.

Sami was just as furious. We had wanted to be in a happy newborn bubble, enjoying our first moments with our baby. Instead, we were stuck in this horrible hospital, feeling like we had been tricked, abandoned, and mistreated.

We were so emotionally exhausted that we called Sami’s mother and asked her to come. She was the only one we allowed to visit because we needed help just to stay sane.

She gave us a bit of clarity in the chaos.

Paying the Price

We just wanted to get out of that hospital.

We had chosen our gynecologist not only because he seemed trustworthy but also because he had given us a good price—something important for us financially.

We had even received donations from many wonderful people through our blog to help cover the costs. But when labor started, everything changed.

Because he never showed up, it meant that the price we had agreed on was completely useless....

Instead, we had to be treated by a doctor we had never met before, and we were forced to pay the full hospital price.

But before we could leave, they demanded more money “for the emergency”. 

The emergency they created.

The worst part?  

They had me hooked up to an IV and refused to unplug me until we had paid.

I was absolutely furious, on the verge of ripping the needles out of my own arm. 

Sami was just as angry as I was.

This was supposed to be one of the happiest moments of our lives, and instead, we were being treated like this.

To make matters worse, they refused to give us a bill or any breakdown of what we were paying for. Even though our previous paperwork stated there would be a pediatrician present, we never saw one.

It felt like we were being scammed while in the middle of the most vulnerable moment of our lives.

But we paid. I got unplugged. We left.

The Aftermath: A Trauma That Won’t Fade

The trauma didn’t stay behind at the hospital.

The experience robbed us of the joy we were supposed to have.

Physically, I healed surprisingly fast. Within a few days, my body felt back to normal. My back hurt for about two weeks, but other than that, my body recovered quickly.

But emotionally? That was a completely different story...

The first weeks with Luna weren’t the dreamy, love-filled days I had imagined.

They were filled with survival. 

And then, the next blow—Luna’s jaundice was bad, almost severe. 

We had to make a choice: take her to the hospital, where they would separate us again, or rent a blue light machine and treat her at home. 

We chose home. 

We hovered over her, watching her tiny body bathe in the blue glow, praying she would get better. 

She did. 

But we didn’t.

It took me at least a month to start feeling love and joy with Luna. And I hate admitting that. It’s embarrassing, but I know I shouldn’t feel ashamed. I know I’m not alone. So many women who go through traumatic births feel disconnected from their babies at first. 

But no one talks about it.

For a long time, I carried guilt for not feeling that instant rush of love. Even now, I sometimes still feel embarrassed. But I know now that I didn’t fail as a mother. I was just trying to survive after one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.

It’s been four months now, and I still have nights where I can’t sleep. 

Luna already sleeps peacefully through the night, but I lie awake, trapped in that operating room, reliving the moment they took everything from me.

One unexpected outcome of this experience is that it brought Sami and me closer in some ways. 

We are now extremely protective of Luna. We don’t allow a lot of people to get close to her. Only Sami’s parents have been alone with her a few times for an hour or two. 

It’s like we went through something so horrific that we now have a deep, unbreakable instinct to keep her safe. And to keep each other safe. 

We are grateful for Sami’s family. They have supported us, brought us food, helped us heal. 

But the scars are still there. 

The fear. The violation. The grief for the birth I should have had.

I still have moments where I think back to everything that happened and feel the anger rise again. And when I remember that text message from our gynecologist the next morning—"May God forgive me"—I feel it even stronger. 

He abandoned me. He abandoned us. And he knew it.

Our dream of having more children is on hold. 

Because I’m not sure I can ever do this again...

Why I’m Sharing My Story

For a long time, I wasn’t sure if I should share this story.

It’s raw. It’s painful. It’s not the beautiful birth story I had hoped to tell.

But I’m sharing it because birth trauma is real, and too many women go through it in silence.

We are expected to be grateful for a healthy baby, as if our own experiences don’t matter.

But they do. Our pain, our fear, our grief—these things don’t disappear just because we love our child.

No one prepares you for what happens when birth doesn’t go the way it should. No one tells you how deeply it can shake you, how it can change the way you see yourself, your body, and even motherhood itself. No one tells you that even with a beautiful baby in your arms, you can still feel like something was stolen from you.

I trusted Doctor Jose Luis Hernandez Cruz to guide me through my pregnancy and be there when it mattered most. Instead, when I went into labor, he abandoned me. He ignored my calls, left me terrified and alone, and later sent nothing but a text message: "May God forgive me."

At Clinica San José, I was left in the hands of Doctor Arturo Vazquez, a man I had never met before, who violated my body and stripped me of my dignity in one of the most vulnerable moments of my life. He ignored my wishes, forced me into an unnatural birthing position, administered drugs I had already refused, and yanked out my placenta instead of letting my body deliver it naturally. He performed unnecessary and invasive actions without my consent. And afterward, when I refused to let him check me again, he called me angry and laughed in my face.

……

My birth experience changed me in ways I never expected. It made me realize how much support, education, and preparation matter. 

That’s why I’m here—to help moms-to-be feel informed, empowered, and confident in your journey to motherhood.

No woman should feel lost, unheard, or unprepared. If my story can help even one mother have a better experience, then sharing it is worth it.

If you’ve been through something similar, I want you to know—you are not broken. You are not weak. You are not a bad mother. And you are not alone.

Healing isn’t linear, and I’m still on that journey. Some days are better than others. Some days, I feel okay. Others, the weight of it all crashes down again. There are moments when I feel like I’ve moved forward, only to be pulled back by a memory, a flashback, or a lingering question of why did this happen to me?

But I do know this: I love Luna with everything I have. That love is stronger than my trauma. It’s stronger than my pain.

And one day, when I’m ready, I hope to rewrite my birth story with a different ending—one where I feel safe, respected, and in control.

Until then, we're holding our baby close, giving ourselves grace, and healing one day at a time.

With love,

Melany & Sami

Roots & Storks