Trigger warning: this is my raw birth story. It contains descriptions of medical gaslighting, physical and verbal abuse, loss of bodily autonomy, heavy blood loss, emergency surgery, transfusion and the aftermath. It is graphic and unapologetic. If you are pregnant or very sensitive to these topics, please do not read further.

Our little girl Eva Sunisa was born on 22 September 2026. Mama and baby are healthy and well.

Or are they?
Usually this is the kind of announcement where the story ends.

Baby is here, baby is healthy, mama is well, everyone is happy, congratulations all around.

And yes, my baby is here. She is healthy. She is beautiful. And I am incredibly grateful for her.

But there is a whole story behind those words: ‘mama and baby are well’. And I think the mother’s side of that story deserves to be heard too.

This isn't me complaining because I didn't get the birth I wanted. It isn't me being bitter because things didn't go according to plan. And it isn't an argument against medical intervention. In fact, I was very clear from the beginning that if there was a genuine medical reason to intervene, I would agree to it.

What I wanted was a physiological birth unless something actually required us to do otherwise. I wanted my body to be allowed to do the job it had evolved to do. And I wanted to be treated as a person who was capable of making informed decisions about her own body.

What I didn't expect was how much I would have to fight simply to have a say in what happened to my own body. And honestly, I am sharing this partly because I am still trying to process it all myself.

So this is going to be long. It is going to be messy. Some of it is angry. Some of it is probably still coming from a place of shock. But this is what happened.

I thought I was prepared

My sister is a doula and has been involved in birth work and trying to improve the way women are treated during birth for a couple of decades. So I had a pretty good head start with her support, which I am incredibly grateful for – love you Sis <3

I completed a very detailed birth preparation course with a great doula. I studied breastfeeding, hypnobirthing, the biomechanics of labour and birth, statistics, risks and interventions. I knew about medical gaslighting. I knew about informed consent. I knew my rights. And I understand anatomy and physiology quite well – I’m teaching it for years in various courses.

I also knew that having a birth plan doesn't mean you get to control every possible outcome. Mine was actually very simple and reasonable one, nothing fancy really.

I wanted labour to start naturally unless there was a medical reason for induction.
I wanted to move, eat and drink during labour to keep my energy and to help baby move down in my pelvic girdle.
I wanted minimal vaginal and cervical examinations, a quiet room and dim lights, my partner with me, freedom to choose my pushing position, and no fundal pressure or other routine manipulation during delivery.
I wanted to avoid an episiotomy unless it was genuinely medically necessary, and I wanted to be able to push according to my body's cues rather than being rushed through it, to avoid tearing.
I wanted delayed cord clamping until the cord stopped pulsating, so my baby can receive all her blood back from the placenta, immediate skin-to-skin contact after delivery, immediate breastfeeding and my baby with me rather than being taken away for routine procedures.
And if complications did arise, I wanted appropriate alternatives considered where possible.
That's basically it.
I wasn't saying, “Nobody is allowed to touch me and I refuse all medical care.”
I was saying, “Please let my body do its job unless there is a reason it can't, and if something needs to change, talk to me about it.”

Because I am perfectly capable of saying yes to medical intervention when there is a reason for it. I just want to understand what is happening to me and have a say in it. Because it is MY body.

At 37 weeks, I moved from Koh Phangan to Koh Samui because there wasn't an appropriate place to give birth on the island where I live.

I deliberately chose an expensive private hospital for my prenatal care & birth. The vaginal birth package cost around 65,000 baht, roughly €1,700. I chose this hospital specifically because I wanted my wishes to be taken seriously.

I chose a female doctor I trusted and liked. She was supportive of physiological birth and told me that as long as there were no complications, she would support my plan. She did warn me that she would be travelling for three days around my due date, so we were basically hoping my little girl would choose a more convenient time to arrive. I only got this information about the doctors availability 2 days before I went into labour, so I had zero chance to make a plan B.

Eva decided it was time

Labour started naturally at 39 weeks. At first it was just mild cramping and nothing particularly dramatic. I carried on with normal life, walked the dog etc.

Then, around 6:30pm, while I was getting ready to cook dinner, my waters broke. So I just packed everything back into the fridge and told my husband and mum that it’s happening, so no dinner. Things accelerated very quickly from there. The contractions became regular, around every three minutes, so it was time to go to the hospital.

I was happy my labour started that day, as I thought my doctor will still be there because she wasn't supposed to leave until the following day. But when the hospital called her, she didn't come in anymore. Instead, I landed with the male doctor who was covering for her. And I already knew I didn't trust him from stories from other women who gave birth with him. He performed an episiotomy on my friend without her consent just to mention one. So before I had even properly met him in labour, I was already deeply uncomfortable with him.

So you can imagine my stress when I realised THIS was the man who I was going to deliver my baby with. I asked my husband to keep a very close eye on him and to protect me if he tried to do anything I hadn't consented to.

We waited in the emergency room for about an hour. My contractions were getting increasingly intense and it genuinely felt like we'd been forgotten. Eventually we were taken upstairs to the labour room.

The doctor came in. Barely said hello. No introduction. No eye contact. Nothing. He didn't even try to create the feeling that we were entering into a relationship of trust for one of the biggest events of my life.

And then, instead of actually getting to know me or talking through my birth plan, he immediately started explaining to me that he was senior to my chosen doctor, how long he had been practising and how he didn't agree with her views about natural birth.
Basically, before we had even started, he was telling me that he knew better. The whole man radiated an inflated ego. At that point I still had hopes, if I just do my thing, allow my body to do its thing, all will be fine.

I asked the doctor whether he'd seen my birth plan. He hadn't. Eventually he read it and agreed to everything except two things, where we compromised. I was about three centimetres dilated at that point, still completely coherent and moving around.

Labour

The labour itself was textbook. My contractions were progressing beautifully. My cervix was dilating. My little girl was rotating at the right times, moving down exactly as she should. My body and baby were doing exactly what they needed to do.

Around 2am, I transitioned. That was the point where the pain became REALLY intense and somehow different. I remember thinking, ‘Okay, this is fucking hard, I’m not sure if I can take any more of this’. But I knew from all the prep and learning that I did, that this is it, baby is ready to come out.

Then the urge to push arrived. I knew I was getting close to the end. I was also anxious about tearing, so I was very conscious of slowing down and allowing my tissues time to stretch.

I recall the doctor telling me to be quiet and hold my breath while pushing. I mean WTF? YOU try to stay quiet while pushing a human out! And anyway a simple AI search reveals that releasing animalistic sounds in labour and delivery is actually beneficial. The more the throat is open, the more the pelvis & cervix opens. Basic somatics, you don’t need a medical degree for this. So I ignored him and roared the way that felt good, didn’t have energy to argue about his bullshit.

My birth plan clearly said no episiotomy unless medically necessary. I had reminded the doctor about it. And then I saw him preparing his instruments to cut me. I told him again that I didn't want an episiotomy.

I told my husband, “Don't let him cut me.”

The doctor started arguing that the baby couldn't be born without cutting. And somewhere in my exhausted, completely overwhelmed brain came the thought:
Really? How the fuck did humanity survive millions of years without episiotomy then?

And this is where the whole situation took a really ugly turn.

The Verbal Abuse

I was at the absolute height of labour. I was experiencing such intensity like never before in my life. I was pushing my baby out.

And this man started lecturing me about my choices.

Why had I come to hospital if I wanted a natural birth? If I wanted natural birth, I should have stayed at home.
Everyone else does it this way, you’re the only one making a problem out of this.
Why are you being so difficult / dramatic?
Do you want my help or not, if not why are you even here?
And the list goes on…

This was happening while I was in the most intense part of labour. And it wasn't just the things he said. It was the timing. The power imbalance.

He kept making comments about my choices, essentially mocking the fact that I wanted an undisturbed physiological birth.

My husband later told me he couldn't believe what he was hearing and that he was really doing this while I was pushing the baby out. And honestly, neither could I.

I was thinking: You are literally standing between my legs while I am giving birth to my child. Is this really the moment you have chosen to have an argument with me about my birth philosophy?

Yes, you're the doctor. Yes, you studied medicine. Yes, you have years of experience. But none of that means my body suddenly belongs to you. Having more medical knowledge doesn't mean you get to override consent. And it certainly doesn't give you permission to verbally abuse someone who is in the most vulnerable physical state of her life.

I also asked him not to manipulate my vagina with his fingers because he was causing me additional pain. He ignored me and continued. I literally had to kick his hand away so he would leave me alone and let me push my baby out.

The Delivery

I was deliberately taking my time with pushing. I wanted to give my tissues time to stretch and hopefully avoid tearing. He kept rushing me. At one point he told me that the baby's heart stops when I push. I could hear Eva's heartbeat on the NST machine. Yes, during a push it became muffled for a few seconds, which is normal during contraction. Then when the contraction ended and it came straight back, strong and clear.

I’m not stupid. I could hear what was happening. But he kept trying to generate fear to pressure me to push faster – so he can finally justify cutting me. Somehow, despite all of this, I stayed in my zone. I don't really know how.

Maybe it was the preparation. Maybe it was the years of mindfulness and bodywork. Maybe I just knew that if I let myself get completely pulled into the chaos around me, it would make the whole thing even harder. So I stayed with my body. I found a rhytm and I pushed when the urge came – not when they thought and screamed at me to push.

In about eight to ten pushes, Eva was out. No episiotomy. No tearing. No forceps or vacuum. My body did it. Quite beautifully, actually.

Eva came out pink and healthy and cried immediately. She wasn't even blue or squished by the birth canal. Physically, the actual birth had been pretty smooth and natural despite all the shit the doctor was giving me, and I’m actually fucking proud of it!

Which makes what happened next even harder to process.

After Delivery

The first thing I saw after baby was out was the doctor preparing to cut the cord. My plan clearly said delayed cord clamping until the cord stopped pulsating, so all the blood can transfer from the placenta to my baby.

I told him to wait. He went ahead anyway. I was already shouting at him not to touch the bloody cord. He looked at me defiantly, almost smiling and cut it. While the nurses making fun of me saying to calm down. We actually have a video of this moment. I remember being absolutely furious.

After all the verbal abuse during pushing, I was already full of adrenaline, and now I was watching him do something I had specifically told him not to do and had zero reason to do. It felt like another power move. Another reminder that he believed he was the person in charge and I was supposed to shut up and let him do whatever he wanted.

I was livid.

I reached for my baby and they refused to give her to me and proceeded with routine examinations. Again, I had to raise my voice. I had specifically written in my birth plan that if she was healthy, I wanted her on my chest immediately for at least an hour skin to skin because I knew the physiological benefits of it after birth, including supporting oxytocin production, breastfeeding and the delivery of the placenta. The hospital staff again mocked my request of the golden hour and deliberately kept my baby away for the first 15 minutes of her life, which would have been a crucial bonding moment for us we never going to get back, because of the absolute arrogance of hospital staff.

When they finally brought her back, by then I was absolutely flooded with adrenaline.
And that hindered my placentas delivery. If there is so much adrenalin, there is no oxytocin, the hormone essential for the uterine contractions and delivery of the placenta.

The Placenta

The doctor told me I had 30 minutes to deliver the placenta. I said that I wanted to wait, nature does not work on a timeline. Again, I was not refusing medical treatment. I understood that a retained placenta could become dangerous. I simply did not consent to someone pulling on the cord to try to force it out before it is time.

My blood type is B negative, which is relatively uncommon in Thailand, and I was particularly concerned about excessive blood loss and the possibility of needing a transfusion because of forced placenta removal.

We again argued about it, and eventually the doctor left me alone. He even stormed out of the room, throwing his gown away like an angry toddler having a tantrum. I genuinely couldn't believe what I was witnessing, how someone can behave so unprofessionally.

But by then I had been through hours of intense labour followed by a lot of fear, anger and adrenaline. The placenta still had not delivered after more than an hour. At that point, I agreed to synthetic oxytocin.

This is something I want to make very clear: I can say yes. I am not anti-medicine. When someone explains what is happening, why an intervention is being recommended, what the risks are, and why they believe it is necessary, I can listen and make a reasonable decision. I agreed to the oxytocin because I understood the situation and could see the logic behind it. However, before the oxytocin had time to work and produce contractions, the doctor grabbed the cord and pulled.

He pulled so hard and for so long that at some point I heard a horrific ripping sound. Blood sprayed everywhere. It covered the people around me. The placenta was partially torn inside me. My husband was watching it happen. He froze, and later he told me that he wanted to punch the doctor but was unable to move from shock.

Then I was told I needed an operation to manually remove the remaining placenta from my uterus.

The Operation

Because this was a private hospital, we immediately asked about the cost. The doctor told us that the operation would take around 30 minutes. It was supposed to be a routine procedure to remove the remaining pieces of placenta. The nurse told us it would cost “only” 15,000 baht, which is roughly €400.

We agreed to it because of course I understood that the retained placenta was a medical emergency. I remember hoping that perhaps the placenta would still come out while they were preparing me for the procedure. It did not unfortunately.

While I was waiting to be prepared for the operation, a nurse brought me the cost form to sign. The amount we had been told would be “only” 15,000 baht suddenly became 85,000 baht, roughly €2,200.

I repeatedly asked for an explanation how the cost could have changed from 15,000 to 85,000 baht in 30 minutes. Nobody gave me a satisfactory answer.

We did not have 85,000 baht available. I kept saying that we did not have that kind of money and that I needed to understand why the cost had suddenly increased more than fivefold.

This was not some conversation that happened after I had recovered. I was lying there with my legs propped up, the cord hanging out of me, blood pooling at the foot of my bed, and I was still having to argue about money while waiting to be taken into an operation, losing blood rapidly.

It was humiliating. I felt like all of my human dignity had been stripped away.

My husband was worried about how much blood I was losing - he was at that end of the bed, looking at the growing pool - and told me that somehow we would find the money, just let’s get me into the operation.

We did not have 85,000 baht. But at that point, what choice did we have?

And then I noticed something else on the consent form.

It included consent for a hysterectomy. I asked the doctor why. Was there a medical reason my uterus had to be removed? And again, there was no clear answer, he just casually crossed that part out.

I was absolutely horrified that I was about to be put under anaesthesia while there was a possibility on the consent form that I could wake up without my uterus, without anyone properly explaining why that would even be necessary.

Thank God I was still grounded enough to actually read the form! But of course I had zero trust in these people, so I was very vigilant.

As they pushed me into the operating room, I was lying there not knowing where the money would come from, while my husband was trying to get financial help so that we can pay the hospital.

I was put under for the curettage, and apparently I was in there for hours – instead of a 30 min routine procedure, which made my husband worry a lot. No one was informing him about what was happening and he admitted later he feared the worst. That I will die and leave him with our little girl. Apparently, I almost did…

I remember waking up to what felt like a seizure. I couldn't breathe. I was tied down, and my whole body was having massive convulsions and I heard people shouting around me. It was like being in a bloody exorcist movie – me being the possessed one. It went on for several minutes before I was finally stabilised and I was fully conscious during this episode without any control over my body. It was terrifying.

I don't actually know what happened. Nobody properly explained it to me. I can only assume it had something to do with the blood loss. I was told that I had lost 1.5 litres of blood, that eventually made 4 units of transfusion necessary.

ICU

Once I was stabilized, I was pushed to the ICU and left alone. My voice was almost completely gone after labour, and my throat was in massive pain from being intubated. I was trying to call for someone to tell me where my husband and my baby were.

Again, it became a struggle to have them with me. We had paid for a private room where our family could stay together. We never got it. I had just gone through hours of labour, been subjected to everything that happened afterwards, and I was still having to fight to have my family with me.

Then came the transfusions, shit loads of medication and observation. Four units in total for 1.5 litres of blood loss.

For more than 48 hours after the operation, they refused to give me any food or drink. I was starving. For the first 24 hours, I understand, in case I had to go back to the operating room. But after that, why? They could give me no medical reason why no food was allowed. At that point, I am sure it was just another power game from the doctor. And then they were wondering why my blood result was not improving and why I didn't have milk for my baby.

I was constantly pressured about not having milk. Of course I didn't have milk. Normally it takes a couple of days for milk to come anyway - again, something they mocked me about when I said it. It is common knowledge for Christ's sake… And after such massive blood loss and physical and psychological trauma, it can take even longer. Plus, they kept me for two days without food and water. How the fuck I should miraculously have milk??

Then they came with another bill. Suddenly it was 200,000 baht, roughly €5,300. Again, no explanation of what all those extra costs were or why they had occurred. All of this had started from the 15,000 baht we had originally signed for. We refused and wanted to talk to the manager or whoever was responsible for this nonsense.

After half a day of arguing, with me listing all the unacceptable things that had happened during this birth, and my husband having video proof of most of it, they magically, graciously were able to give us a “discount”.
So in the end, we “only” paid the 85,000 baht.
Ridiculous.
And again, putting completely unnecessary stress on someone who was just recovering from a traumatic near-death experience.

Btw in those 48 hours the doctor never came to check on me or talk to me. He only asked the nurses for my results, but never actually came to my room to explain what happened.

Transfer

As the costs grew exponentially with each passing hour in this hospital, and we made it very clear that we were not able to pay any more, they kicked us out and transferred us to the government hospital.

There again, hours of waiting. No food. No drink. No one talked to us and again they separated us. We had paid for a family room here too so we could be together. We didn't get it. Instead, we had to go to the ward with a bunch of other people and incredible noise. There wasn't even a chair for my husband to sit on, not to mention a bed where he could lie down after being awake for almost 72 hours at that point.

But in that moment I was just happy to be out of the money-sucker, pretentious private hospital. This one was simple, dirty, basic and uncomfortable, but somehow I felt more safe. There were no vultures hovering over us wanting money all the time. And at least they finally let me eat. So I started to build back my strength.

After one horrific night in the ward, where I had a bad reaction to the last unit of blood transfusion, I worked hard to get better. I ate. I drank. I started gaining my strength back. It actually went so well once the let me eat, that we were released the next day.

We stayed in our Koh Samui accommodation for another couple of days and then took the ferry to return to Koh Phangan as soon as it was physically possible for me.

BTW, the lady who encapsulated my placenta sent a video of it, saying that it was the ‘most healthy-looking, beautiful placenta she has ever seen’.

So it seems, the complication wasn't a placenta problem. It was a hormone problem because of stress. The adrenalin overload killed my oxytocin levels which were necessary to deliver the placenta. The complications all were a result of the verbal abuse, medical gaslighting and ignoring my simple requests during labour, delivery and right after delivery.

Why not home birth?

You might ask: why not have a home birth to have an undisturbed experience? There are several reasons for choosing a hospital birth.

There is no good midwife in my area. Actually, there is only one, and I had heard horror stories about her abusive behaviour and at least two recent baby deathswre tied to her name.

There can also be problems with the Thai authorities regarding the birth certificate and the baby's documents. It might not be possible to register a child if you don't have the hospital paperwork, as they simply don't support home births here and they made it very clear to us when we asked about the process at the council.

Then there was my advanced maternal age: I was 43. Even in the West, people at this age are not allowed or encouraged to have a home birth, depending on the country.

And the Rh blood incompatibility with my baby was also a risk factor.

Why not give birth back in Hungary?

Because the situation is the same or worse there regarding interventions, abuse and gaslighting. We also couldn't afford the travel and being both off work for months with my husband. And I did not want to be separated from him for such an important event in our lives as a family.

Now

In the end, a week later, while I'm writing this, I'm now recovering at home. My baby girl is healthy and happy, and I'm also getting there.

My family is trying to recover from these horrific experiences, still dealing with the emotional fallout and processing it all, not just the physical, but the emotional and mental damage that has been done. Also recovering from the devastating financial hit that put us in debt. Plus, it's a long, rocky road of establishing milk supply after all the blood loss, starving, stress etc.

But I'm not giving up. I will not let what happened to us destroy these precious times.

Thank You

A massive thank you to everyone who supported us through these tough days: my family, the blood donors, and especially my husband, who has been holding me through it all with endless patience and love.

And if you have a birth story, please share it. No matter how long ago it happened. People need to hear these stories and be aware. The world needs to understand what is happening to women during birth if we want to bring lasting change into the birthing world.


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