When it comes to birth, the only thing we can really be sure of is to expect the unexpected.
Birth plans are wonderful and important for working out what you would like to try for, where your comfort level is, ensuring your team and providers are aligned and supportive, and as a roadmap for birth partners to advocate for you.
However, as anyone who has given birth will tell you, there are parts of the experience that end up beyond the plan. That doesn’t mean that unexpected things that arise are always negative; they are just different. So, in the spirit of being compassionate truth-tellers, something that is at the core of all we do at Needed, we are launching our series of birth stories, covering a vast spectrum of birthing experiences but all celebrating positive outcomes even while sometimes dealing with complicated circumstances, with the idea that knowledge is power and the more you know, the less you might be blindsided by your own birth story.
Mother of Two, Robie Hełm Shares Her C-section Story
Robie Helm helps run operations at Needed and is a mother of two - a role she mirrors in both her work and family life, balancing careful planning with lots of adaptability. She shares her candid experience undergoing a C-section for her daughter, offering a look at an experience many parents face.
Needed: Robie, can you share a bit about your journey into motherhood and what you expected your birth experience to be like?
Robie: Sure! I think I had always wanted to be a mother. I experienced a loss when I was much younger, and for years, I felt like I was trying to fill a hole in my heart that nothing else could reach. When I finally had my first child, Owen, it felt like it happened exactly when it was meant to.
Since this wasn’t my first time becoming a mother, I came into this second birth with some experience—maybe even a little confidence. But I was quickly reminded that no two pregnancies are the same. With Owen, I timed my trip to the hospital just right, labored for a few hours, and gave birth unmedicated. I had that perfect skin-to-skin moment I had always dreamed of.
So naturally, I hoped this birth would follow a similar path. In the beginning, I was even exploring birth centers, fully expecting to have a low-risk pregnancy again. But as things progressed, this pregnancy brought its own unique challenges—and surprises. At some point, I had to let go of that original vision and accept that I would need a planned Cesarean due to placenta previa. It was a shift, for sure, but one I eventually came to peace with. That experience alone reminded me that birth is rarely something we can fully script, and that realization would carry through the early days of motherhood in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time.
Needed: What kind of birth had you hoped or planned for originally? How did you envision things unfolding?
Robie: I had really hoped for another low-intervention, unmedicated birth—something calm and connected, like my first. I pictured laboring freely, maybe even at a birth center, surrounded by people who made me feel safe and supported. I imagined that immediate skin-to-skin, the natural flow of things, and feeling fully present in my body.
More than anything, I hoped for a birth that felt familiar—one that would let me relive some of the beauty I experienced the first time around. I didn’t realize how attached I was to that idea until I had to let it go. That process of letting go was hard—but it also opened space for something different to unfold. It reminded me that motherhood, like birth, requires flexibility and grace from the very beginning.
Needed: Can you walk us through when and how it became clear that a Cesarean birth was going to be necessary?
Robie: It started around the midpoint of my pregnancy when I was diagnosed with placenta previa—which means the placenta is covering or too close to the cervix, making a vaginal delivery risky or even dangerous. When my doctor first mentioned it, she told me that about 90% of cases resolve on their own as the uterus grows. So at first, I was hopeful. I thought, Okay, this is probably temporary.
But with each subsequent ultrasound, it became more disheartening to see that it hadn’t budged. Every time I went in, I hoped for a little movement—just enough to change the plan—and it just never came. Eventually, my provider gently confirmed that we’d need to schedule a Cesarean for the safety of both me and the baby.
It wasn’t a sudden emergency, which I’m grateful for—I had time to process and prepare. But it was still an emotional adjustment. I had to grieve the birth I thought I’d have, even as I started wrapping my head around a different, but still meaningful, experience. That journey toward acceptance—while challenging—ended up being one of the most important emotional preparations for the postpartum season that followed.
Needed: What emotions came up for you in that moment when the birth plan shifted?
Robie: Because they caught the previa early, I had time to process the shift—but I always held onto this quiet hope that it would resolve. So when it became clear that it wouldn’t, it was hard to pinpoint just one emotion. I felt a mix of disappointment, and honestly, a little embarrassment when telling people I was having a planned Cesarean.
Not because I thought anything was wrong with it—I didn’t. But I realized I had really romanticized the idea of a “natural,” present, vaginal birth. That moment where, after all the pain and effort, you’re rewarded with this overwhelming euphoria and love. I had experienced that with Owen, and part of me grieved not being able to do it that way again.
I think we often romanticize vaginal or home births, we see these beautifully documented moments of first skin-to-skin, candle-lit tubs, that feeling of euphoria. And while those experiences are amazing and valid, they aren’t everyone’s reality. That doesn’t make other kinds of birth less powerful or less worthy of being shared.
It didn’t help that some friends and family—especially from the older generation—would ask if I was having a “natural” birth, or they’d praise me for my first birth experience in a way that subtly implied this one might be lesser. It’s strange how often C-sections are framed as the “easy way out,” when in reality, it’s still major surgery, and there’s nothing easy or lesser about it. In fact, I came to see that navigating the emotional weight of that shift required just as much strength as any physical feat I’d previously associated with birth.
Needed: Some people associate C-sections with disappointment or fear. But you’ve described yours in a more positive light. Can you explain why?
Robie: Yes—and just to clarify, mine was a planned Cesarean. That said, I didn’t always view it in a positive light at first. I had to work through feelings of disappointment and even some shame. What helped me shift my mindset was connecting with a doula who shared beautiful stories of both planned and unplanned C-sections. Reading those gave me hope and reminded me that birth can still be powerful and emotional, even when it doesn’t follow the path you originally imagined.
Through that connection, I discovered the idea of a family-centered Cesarean. One of the things I learned is that you can request to have all your leads and monitors placed on one arm, so the other is free to hold your baby right away. Unfortunately, because of my placenta previa, I couldn’t do that—but just knowing that I had options gave me a sense of agency.
With the support of my doula and a very open, collaborative OB, I was able to plan a birth experience that still felt intentional and connected. We had dimmed lights in the OR, my own playlist playing, delayed cord clamping, and even had the drape dropped as she was being born so I could see her emerge. I also asked for quiet during the moment of birth—so the first sound my baby heard was love, not noise.
I was fortunate to be at a hospital that supported those kinds of requests, which I know isn’t always the norm. That’s why I always encourage others to advocate for themselves or bring someone who can help advocate with them. Yes, it’s major surgery, but with the right planning and support, it can still feel emotional, sacred, and fully yours. And that feeling—of reclaiming the experience—helped set the tone for how I approached the challenges of new motherhood that came next.
Needed: What helped you reframe the experience in real time? Or was that something that came afterward?
Robie: For me, it shifted in real time, thanks to what my doctor jokingly called the "Simba moment." It was when they lifted up my daughter, Charlotte, so I could see her for the first time—while Missy Elliott’s Lose Control was playing in the background, of all things.
In that moment, it hit me just how much strength it had taken to get there. As someone who tends to be a little Type A, letting go of control was hard. But lying there, completely numb from the waist down, I had no choice but to trust my team. Surrendering to that process gave me a new understanding of strength.
Needed: How did your care team support you during this shift in your birth plan?
Robie: They were incredible. My OB was compassionate and communicative throughout, never making me feel rushed or dismissed. My doula, Monet, not only helped me emotionally prepare but also took the most beautiful photos throughout the birth. Even though I asked for the lowest dosage possible to stay alert, the entire experience was still a blur — and those images help me relive the moment and reconnect with the emotion of it all.
My husband was by my side every step of the way. He stayed calm, held my hand, and helped me feel grounded in moments when I might have otherwise felt overwhelmed.
The hospital staff honored my birth plan, from the lighting and music to delayed cord clamping and skin-to-skin, and I never felt like just another patient on the schedule. I felt seen, supported, and deeply respected.
Needed: Was there anything you did to mentally or emotionally prepare for the possibility of an unplanned delivery?
Robie: Since my placenta previa didn’t resolve, I knew fairly early on that I’d be having a planned Cesarean — and that my daughter would need to arrive at 36 weeks. But in those final weeks, I ended up at the hospital twice for bleeding. With previa, there’s a kind of “three-strike” rule: if you bleed three times, they’ll deliver immediately due to the risk of hemorrhage.
So even though I had a plan, I was constantly bracing for things to happen sooner.
I had to emotionally prepare for uncertainty, for the possibility of NICU time, and for the loss of even more control. That emotional juggling act became a core part of my preparation, and ultimately helped me face the unexpected curveballs with a little more resilience.
Needed: What was that moment like when you finally held your baby?
Robie: It definitely felt different. After the C-section, I got to do skin-to-skin briefly, it was cheek to cheek. Before Charlotte was taken to the NICU. We had planned for my husband to go with her, and I stayed behind in post-op. Charlotte had trouble breathing on her own, which I later learned is common in high-altitude births.
I didn’t get to hold her again until the next day. And when I did, after everything, my milk came in almost instantly. It was wild. With my first, it happened quickly during that first nursing session. But this time, it was like my body had been waiting for that moment of connection. I know that’s not everyone’s experience, and I hold so much compassion for all the different ways feeding journeys can look. For me, it was a moment that helped me reconnect with my body after feeling disconnected from it for days. After days of numbness, both physically and emotionally, that moment reminded me of the deep intelligence of our bodies and our bonds.
Needed: How has this experience impacted your view of your own strength and resilience?
Robie: This experience has completely redefined what strength looks like for me. It’s no longer about powering through or feeling in control — it’s about being present through uncertainty, advocating for yourself, and holding space for both grief and joy at the same time.
Recovering from surgery, navigating the NICU, and juggling the needs of two kids stretched me further than I ever thought possible. And sometimes? You can’t meet everyone’s needs. That was one of the hardest lessons. But also one of the most important. I had to learn to forgive myself for that. I also learned how important it was to care for myself, because if I didn’t, I couldn’t care for them.
Needed: What do you wish more people knew about Cesarean births, especially those that are unplanned?
Robie: That Cesarean births are not lesser. They’re not the easy way out. They’re still birth. There’s emotion, courage, and beauty in them, just like any other form of delivery.
I also wish more people knew about the concept of family-centered Cesareans. I had to dig through podcasts and blog posts to find stories that made me feel seen. There are ways to make a Cesarean feel connected, sacred, and empowering — and those options should be more widely talked about and accessible.
Needed: If you could give one piece of advice to someone who might face a similar shift in their birth plan, what would it be?
Robie: Grieve the birth you hoped for, and then make space to embrace the one you’re having. You can still make it yours, even if it looks different. You’re doing something extraordinary.
If you’re considering a doula for a planned Cesarean — do it. I wasn’t sure I ‘needed’ one at first, but Monet’s presence changed everything. Birth is emotional, even when it’s surgical. Having someone in your corner makes a world of difference.
Having a doula can help you feel informed and supported, especially when you're faced with unexpected changes. Even more than that, talk through a birth plan that includes backup scenarios in situations where things might not go right. That way, if you’re not in a place to advocate for yourself, someone on your support team. Whether it's your doula, partner, or spouse can do it for you.
Needed: How did your birth experience influence your early days of motherhood?
Robie: It reaffirmed that things are out of your control and you have to learn to adapt. We had a few weeks where Charlotte was in the NICU and my son was at home. We had to find ways to explain why his little sister wasn’t ready to come home yet, and balance our time and emotional energy between both children. When she came home, she was still on oxygen. It wasn’t what I imagined — but it became our reality.
We didn’t want our son to feel any less loved, but we also struggled with the pain of leaving Charlotte in the NICU. We had to trust the nurses there — who, by the way, are the best babysitters. You really just expand the amount of love you can hold, and it pushes you to make time and effort beyond what you thought you could do.
It’s funny — I felt really prepared for my C-section by then (I had even packed a grabber in my hospital bag!) — and then the curveball came: the NICU. That unexpected chapter taught me just how deep flexibility and resilience have to run in motherhood.
I remember watching my son meet Charlotte for the first time. It was such a simple moment — but one that made everything feel worth it. Even though it all felt messy and uncertain, something beautiful was unfolding.
