My First Birth: The Power of Preparation, Patience & Speaking Up

We were in a different country (the USA). No family. No support system. This is where Allah chose for me to have my first pregnancy and birth. Alhamdulillah. 

Part of me longed to be back home in South Africa. My pregnancy had been difficult in the early months—looking back I realise I had undiagnosed hyperemesis gravidarum. The nausea was so severe that I could barely eat or drink, I lost weight, and I became hypersensitive to smells. So sensitive that, on the eve of Thanksgiving, the smell of roasting turkeys from neighbours in our apartment building forced me to spend the night on the bathroom floor—close to the toilet so I could repeatedly throw up. So sensitive that I could “smell people”—a strange but specific scent that would overwhelm me in indoor public spaces. I dragged myself to lectures (I was completing my masters in law at Harvard Law School) with plastic bags stuffed into my pockets so I could run out and throw up if needed.

The beginning of my pregnancy wasn’t positive for me. It was about survival.

But when the relentless retching finally subsided (almost halfway through), I gathered the energy to start preparing for my birth. I read books, watched documentaries, did the Hypnobabies birth course, and virtually attended a lecture on Islamic birth. As I toured potential birth venues, I felt a deep yearning for the beautiful birth centre not far from our home in South Africa. 

I wanted a birth centre birth for this baby—but the one we visited didn’t feel right. And I knew from my research: feeling safe and comfortable in your birthing environment is essential.

At 27 weeks pregnant, I transferred from the large group of gynaecologists (who birthed at a huge, clinical hospital) to a smaller hospital attended by midwives. It had a more intimate birth wing—partially managed by midwives, partially by OBGYNs.

I did my best to prepare, though preparing for your first birth is a bit like preparing for the unknown. There’s a general map, but each birth takes its own path. I practised my Hypnobabies scripts and cues and worked on cultivating a positive mindset. Slowly, I began to look forward to birthing this baby.

He was due on my mother’s birthday.

My parents flew in for my graduation. My mom stayed on, hoping to be present for the birth. Her birthday came and went. My midwives were initially relaxed, but despite what Hypnobabies taught me about “babies coming when they are ready,” they wanted to induce if I hadn’t gone into labour by 42 weeks. The deadline: a Tuesday, two weeks after my due date.

The Wednesday before, I went in for a check. “Three centimetres dilated,” said the midwife—I hadn’t felt a thing! She recommended acupuncture, which I booked for Thursday.

After trying a few other natural induction methods, my contractions finally began on Saturday afternoon. My husband and I walked around Harvard Square, hoping to keep things moving. The contractions were light and inconsistent but stayed with me through Saturday night and all of Sunday. Sunday evening I called the hospital. The midwife advised me to stay home as long as possible.

Figuring out when to go to the hospital was stressful. I didn’t want to go too early, but we also didn’t have a car. Getting to the hospital meant either catching a bus (while in labour, with all my bags and birth gear!) or hiring a car by the hour and hoping one was available.

By Monday morning, contractions were more intense—about five minutes apart. I had a good breakfast to fuel up, and we decided to head in.

My husband, my mom, and I arrived at the hospital. The midwife checked me: five centimetres dilated. She asked if I wanted to go home to continue labouring—estimating it might be another twelve hours.

I thought about it but decided to stay. Just getting to the hospital had been a mission, and I didn’t want to repeat the journey.

I settled into the birthing room. I was disappointed to learn there was no birthing pool available (the only room that had one was occupied), but I planned to use the bath instead. I was also slightly disappointed by the room itself—it faced another hospital wing instead of the river view I’d hoped for. For privacy, we drew the curtains and kept them shut the entire time.

We’d intended to bring an oil burner but had forgotten it. My husband instead scattered lavender and eucalyptus oils around the room—two of my favourites. I sat on my birth ball and played Surah Yaseen on repeat.

The scene was set: dim lights, beautiful scents, and the Quran playing. One midwife told my mom how peaceful the room felt every time she entered. The staff mostly left us alone, checking in occasionally to monitor baby’s heartbeat.

There were moments during labour when the contractions were intense, and I thought, “Now I understand why women get epidurals.” But most of the time, deep relaxation, movement, and labour techniques (many of which I now teach in my course Positive Birth Through Surah Maryam ) made them completely manageable.

I spent much of my labour in the bath. The warm water and Hypnobabies tracks helped me relax so deeply that I barely reacted to the contractions—surprising the nurse who came to check on me. My only gripe: the bath couldn’t be filled very high. I wanted full immersion in the soothing water.

By late afternoon, while still in the bath, the midwife suggested we consider breaking my waters to help things progress. My husband and I discussed it privately and decided to wait a little longer. But as we told her our decision, my waters broke spontaneously—Alhamdulillah. Baby was ready.

I got out of the bath and back into the room. I moved through contractions, sometimes needing strong counter-pressure from my husband, sometimes preferring my mother’s gentle touch. I stayed hydrated and ate dates to keep my energy up. At one point, I threw up—and thought, “This is good!” I had read that vomiting in labour can sometimes aid dilation.

Eventually, I felt the urge to push—often described as a feeling similar to needing a bowel movement. I pushed in different positions, letting myself grunt and make sounds. I had learned in my research that loosening the jaw can help relax the pelvic floor.

A pushy nurse in the room scolded me for making noises. Even in the haze of labour, I had the presence of mind to say, “Excuse me, but this is MY birth, and I will do it MY way.” I immediately felt regretful for how I said it, and after the next contraction, I apologised. In retrospect though, I am glad that I had the presence of mind to advocate for myself in the midst of labour.

The midwives knew something was off (I didn't). I had been pushing and pushing, but not much was happening. It was now evening—a shift change—so we had two new midwives in addition to the ones who had been with me all day.

I was on hands and knees on the bed. One of the new midwives suggested I bring my left foot forward. As soon as I shifted position, the urge to push intensified—and with one strong push (and a cracking sound I’d later come to understand was my cocyx dislocating), baby arrived! Almost twelve hours after checking in. Hand cradling his face—the reason why pushing had been so tough. Born just before Maghrib, on a Monday—just in time for a sunnah birthday (the Prophet Muhammed s.a.w was born on a Monday). 

I was deeply relieved. Exhausted but elated. Delivering the placenta was easy. I needed a few stitches, but barely felt them.

Alhamdulillah—I felt strong and empowered. I had done the best I could with the knowledge and support I had.

In retrospect, I can see the gaps. Things I didn’t realise until I birthed my other babies.

There were issues with care. The midwives were kind, but because of their shift system, the ones present at my birth were strangers—I’d never met them before. My emotional wellbeing was never really checked. My birth preferences were not meaningfully discussed. And I shouldn’t have had to deal with an pushy nurse in labour.

But the biggest issues came after the birth—particularly in how my baby was handled. I had asked for delayed cord clamping and immediate skin-to-skin, but neither happened. He was taken away for a bath before I held him. We missed the golden hour for breastfeeding. He didn’t latch for a long time. I believe this is because he was aspirated for meconium unnecessarily (I later read a study that a mouth swab would have sufficed). He only opened his mouth after a craniosacral therapy session. Our breastfeeding journey was filled with challenges—but with research, support, and a lot of dua, we got through it.

I didn’t realise how jarring his birth was until I experienced the gentleness of my later births—at home, in the care of a loving midwife.

This is one reason why, in my course (Positive Birth Through Surah Maryam), I teach mothers to view labour as a shared journey between you and your baby—so you can plan for your experience and also honour your baby’s entry into the world.

I’m grateful. Truly. This was a positive birth. Alhamdulillah. It laid the foundation. Though it ranks last in positivity compared to my other births, I know that I gave it my all. I did the best I could with the knowledge I had. And that counts for everything.