The Day Our Daughter Taught Me How to Keep My Cool
We assumed it would be a regular birth, or at least we hoped it would be.
We had done what we were supposed to do. The hospital bag had been ready for weeks. The list of her favorite tunes was ready. We got at the maternity hospital early that morning, tired yet delighted, with a tense kind of excitement building inside us. My wife was calm. I tried to be.
But the tranquility didn’t endure very long.
At first, the nurses’ tone changed a little. They were still nice and smiling, but they were now looking at each other. The fetus monitor was picking up something weird. Our unborn daughter’s heart rate was too fast. I didn’t fully understand what that meant at the moment, but I could tell the doctor was disturbed by the look on his face.
I then heard that my wife’s heart rate was also very high. They said it was probably a response to stress. Her body was trying to give birth, but something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right.
A thick, heavy cloud of fear poured over me that I couldn’t ignore.
The doctors acted quickly. They moved her. They let her breathe. They turned out the lights and spoke softly. But nothing appeared to work. My wife’s and baby’s heartbeats kept getting quicker. Nobody could figure out how to calm down the storm that was raging around them.
I stood there, powerless to do anything, holding her hand, stroking her forehead, and promising her that everything will be well. But I didn’t really believe it. I was so afraid.
Every minute seemed to last forever. The monitors continued making sounds that I didn’t understand, but I couldn’t stop hearing them. The room was silent, but it wasn’t peaceful. It was the kind of silence that happens just before something breaks.
Something happened that I didn’t see coming.
A nurse suddenly walked up. Not the head nurse or the doctor on duty, but one of the calm, stable folks in the room. She glanced at my wife with a kind of calm authority and said, “Let’s do something.” Okay, it’s just you and me.
She took my wife’s hand and began to show her how to relax. Like a lullaby, her voice went softer and softer. “Close your eyes… Be aware of how you breathe… Inhale through your nose and exhale through your mouth. “Feel your heart beat and imagine it slowing down…”
I noticed my wife follow her speech. As she breathed in and out, the tension in her body slowly went away. Her jaw, which had been tight, let go. She let go of my hand. The sharp edge of fear in her eyes changed into trust.
Then something incredible happened.
The screen began to change. Her heart rate was getting slower. And the baby’s heart, which had been racing and crazy, started to slow down as well.
In just a few minutes, the atmosphere changed. The doctors saw it. The energy changed from a tense yearning to a calm focus.
And then, out of nowhere, it was time.
Our daughter arrived.
When she was born, she didn’t scream. Instead, she put out a strong, steady cry, as if she had been waiting for the right time to join us. She was really healthy. Strong. Awesome.
I held her tight, and for a little while, everything was calm. No beeping. Don’t be scared. Just wow.
What I Learned from That Moment
I learned something I never thought I would learn in a hospital room that day.
The medications and machines didn’t make a difference. It was one act of peace. A gentle voice. A nurse remembered a technique she had learned years ago and decided to believe in its efficacy.
That simple act of bringing my wife back to her breath and her center made it possible for things to change. It made me remember that what we actually need in the thick of chaos is not more work or control, but serenity. Being there. It was a time to just breathe.
I’ve thought about that moment a lot since then. Life can be too much for us at times. Right now, it seems like everything is out of control. Worry starts to set in.
I now know that we sometimes need to slow down to get the answers we need.
Hope can arrive while things are quiet.
Sometimes, the best answer is the one that isn’t too severe.
I told myself that day that I would remember that lesson as a father, a partner, and a human. No matter how hard things become, I will always choose patience, faith, and being there.
This is because the miracle we want can be just a breath away.