When I first found out I was pregnant at 40, I felt incredibly grateful and hopeful. Years earlier, I’d had an ectopic pregnancy, and part of me wondered if I’d ever get here. By the time I delivered, I was 41, but instead of feeling celebrated, I felt like I was treated like a problem to be managed instead of an excited mom who needed support.
This was because, from the beginning, my medical team was fixated on my age. Every appointment came with reminders that I was “high risk,” that I was a “geriatric pregnancy,” and warnings about stillbirth. I really didn’t feel seen as a person or a first-time mom. Instead I felt like a liability they needed to protect. I understood that my age made me high risk, but it seemed to take over the entire pregnancy, turning it into something that was too clinical, and not focused on my baby and me.
I wanted more sensitivity, more warmth, more guidance. Instead, I left most appointments feeling anxious, guilty, and afraid. I started asking myself, Did I do something wrong by waiting? Even my joy was mixed with fear, and I struggled to picture myself actually holding my baby.
One day, things became scarier. I went in alone for a routine check of my blood pressure and the baby’s movements. My blood pressure was high for the first time during my pregnancy. I already felt vulnerable walking in without my partner, and when the numbers came back elevated, that vulnerability went into overdrive.
Very quickly, the conversation turned to induction.
I can honestly say that I didn’t feel ready. I even wanted to leave and go to a different hospital, but I was warned I could have a seizure, that something could happen to me or the baby on the way. They reminded me, gently but firmly, that if I left and something went wrong, it would be on me.
At that moment, it felt like I had a choice on paper, but not in reality.
The induction process was long and exhausting. Contractions started and stopped completely, then came back stronger. The staff suggested several interventions: break my water, add fluids back in, adjust the meds. My partner and I were overwhelmed, tired, and scared. The pain was intense, I was getting almost no sleep, and every decision felt like life or death.
Eventually, after several days in labor and only a few centimeters of progress, I felt defeated. I then agreed to the C-section I had tried so hard to avoid. I remember thinking, I felt so weak that I gave in to the thing I never wanted.
In the middle of all this, there was one place I felt grounded: my calls with Angela, my doula through Mahmee.
When the hospital rushed us with decisions, Angela reminded us that, in many cases, we had time to ask questions, time to breathe, and time to think. She walked us through options, helped us understand what the medical team was saying, and gave us the proper medical language to use. She validated what I was feeling when others dismissed it. She reassured my partner, too, so he could support me instead of being unsure.
Even virtually, she made me feel less alone. She helped me see that I was navigating an incredibly intense situation and I needed more emotional support and understanding from my medical team - not just orders.
The weeks after birth were hard. Recovery from the C-section was painful; getting in and out of bed was a challenge. Breastfeeding hurt, not because she wouldn’t latch, but because of my incision and carpal tunnel in both hands. I was terrified of dropping her. I carried a lot of guilt about the C-section, guilt that I couldn’t hold her as long as I wanted, and that I wasn’t the mom I’d imagined I’d be.
But now, things are shifting.
My daughter is three months old now. She smiles at me, almost giggles, and comes with us everywhere - even to a 10-week cohort class, where she got her own little “certificate.”
Sometimes I still look at her and think, Is this real? Is this blessing really mine? For a while, I felt guilty for even feeling relief that she was finally here and healthy after everything we went through.
I’m starting to understand her cries, her cues, her little ways of communicating. She can go from zero to 100 in seconds, and instead of panicking, I’m learning to listen: Is she hungry? Tired? Overstimulated? I’m getting to know who she is. I love taking her out into the world with us, watching her take everything in, and reminding myself that this season is fleeting. I don’t want to miss any of it, which is why I’m giving myself all the time I need to guide and protect her.
What’s different now is that joy is no longer buried under fear. Yes, my birth was traumatic, and I’m still processing some of it. But when she smiles, when she almost laughs, when I see her little personality emerging, it feels like my heart is being rewired in real time. The dominant feeling now is love.
If you’re reading this (maybe even in the delivery room!) and feel pressured into choices you don’t want, or you feel like your age, your body, or your fears are being used to make you do things you don't want to do, I want you to know that you’re not alone, and most importantly, you’re not doing anything wrong.
Ask the medical team how much time you have to decide. Don’t be afraid to say, “I need a moment.” Call someone you trust. Or even better, let a doula, a partner, or a friend help you carry those decisions so you don’t have to hold everything by yourself.
If you would also like to get support during your pregnancy and postpartum journey, the team at Mahmee is here to help.
