My Birth Story: From NYC to Hong Kong for my COVID baby

I’ll be getting oddly specific in this post, because I know there are mamas out there also thinking of traveling to give birth, or are maneuvering giving birth in Hong Kong for the first time.

Six months ago, I flew with my husband Mark and toddler Mia back to Hong Kong as I was 30 weeks pregnant. After surviving an intense 21-day quarantine, we had four weeks until our baby would be considered full term.

Private vs. Public Hospital

The first decision we had to make was whether we would be going with the private or public healthcare system. This was a tough decision for us: my sweet husband wanted to make sure I was very well taken care of, so he preferred delivering at a private hospital; I was a huge fan of the (very low) cost of giving birth at a public hospital, so my preference was also clear. After a couple of weeks of back and forth, Mark and I finally decided that we would have our baby at a public hospital for the following reasons:

A private hospital birth would easily cost over $100,000 HKD ($12,000 USD) or significantly more if there were complications (since we’re uninsured here), whereas as a HK permanent resident, giving birth at a public hospital would cost me just a few hundred HKD (less than $50 USD)
I didn’t have the energy to do the research and find an OB that I liked so I could deliver at the private hospital he/she practices at
I was genuinely curious to see what giving birth at a public hospital in Hong Kong would be like, especially knowing that typical births were overseen by midwives, with doctors only stepping in when there is a medical need (which aligned with my less-intervention-please approach)
Queen Mary Hospital was the public hospital we would be giving birth at, which is where the most complex neonatal cases (public or private) across Hong Kong ultimately end up, so we felt good about that

Getting closer

During my first prenatal appointment in Hong Kong, which happened when I was already 33 weeks pregnant, I was told the baby was very much in position — which explained why every time I stood up, it felt like a bowling ball was ready to fall out. I prepared myself for a potential early arrival.

At the next appointment, the doctor explained (in a very confusing way) the COVID measures in place in Hong Kong at that point (May 2021), particularly for the birth partner. Basically, for Mark to be in the delivery room with me, he would have to have a negative COVID test result that had been taken in the past 72 hours. My husband, who prefers to leave absolutely nothing to chance, did the math and decided that he would have to take the test (at a community center) every other day, because with the results only being available the next day, any less frequent than testing every 2 days would leave a window of time every three days where he would not “have coverage”. And so he started getting tested every other day from when I was 36 weeks.

Then at our next appointment, the doctor (again confusingly) told me that it’d actually be safer for me to be getting tested along with my husband, because although they would administer the COVID test on me when I am admitted to the hospital to deliver, the result would likely take a few hours, and if for some reason I had a fast labor, my husband would still not be allowed into the delivery room if I did not yet have a negative test result. Please do not get me started on the strange logic behind why my husband would be denied entry if I did not have a valid negative test. And so I started also waddling to the testing center every other day to get my nose and throat poked with a cotton swab. (On a positive note, though, getting tested was always an extremely efficient process, and we would be in and out of the center in 5-10 minutes.)

The final stretch

We hit 37 weeks. Then 38 weeks. Then 39 weeks. Each week I went to an appointment at Queen Mary, which would last 2-3 hours, only to be told that everything is fine, see you next week.

I was getting pretty impatient. The baby inside me was an INTENSE little squirmer, and was giving me little sleep at night. I also started getting a few contractions here and there, which would get me excited, only to subside momentarily.

I hit 40 weeks. And felt like an enormous whale. “Come on, little one, I’m ready,” I started telling my belly. Even though I had delivered my first baby without any medication, I was already exhausted at that point, so I told my husband, “I want all the drugs this time. I’m done with pain.”

Here We Go

The next day, Mark and I left our toddler Mia at home with her grandmother and enjoyed a day out on our own. As we were walking around, at one point, I felt a shooting sensation down my legs, and I thought, “Okay, I think this is the day.” The sensation soon went away, but the feeling that this would be the day stayed with me.

We got home that evening, and I realized my mother was not feeling very well, so I sat with her and gave her a backrub. At around 7:15pm, I stood up and had my first definite contraction. I took a deep breath. “Okay, it’s really starting.” I called Mark (who had gone over to my sister’s house with Mia for dinner) and told him to come home soon. Within a couple minutes, I had another strong contraction. And then another one. I called Mark again. “Come home now!”

My labor for my first child, Mia, lasted close to 24 hours, so I was thinking that this second time would still take a while (though I was aware that it is common for labouring the second time around to be much quicker). That’s why, even with the contractions only 2-3 minutes apart, I foolishly didn’t think we were in any rush to get to the hospital.

Mark and my sister came home, and everything started becoming a blur to me as the contractions intensified, with barely a break between them. My mother and sister looked at me and insisted that we have to get to the hospital right now. And thus began the most uncomfortable car ride of my life.

After getting into the car with some difficulty, my contractions continued to intensify, and about halfway there, I yelled, “I’M NOT GETTING A BREAK BETWEEN THE CONTRACTIONS ANY MORE.” My incredible sister, with no thanks to my very distracting moans, got us to Queen Mary in record time, and my husband ran out to try to get some help. My sister found a wheelchair, and asked if I could get on it. I looked at her without answering. She practically dragged me out of the car, plopped me onto the chair, and then wheeled me to my husband. At this point, I was making all kinds of noises. When we got to the right floor, I remember saying, “I’m in so much pain” — and was met with an unimpressed nurse: “Yes, that’s what it’s like to give birth. You should know that.”

I don’t think anyone believed me as I tried to say, “I think the baby is here!” until they gave me an examination. And then they started moving a LOT quicker. I could hear them saying to each other, there’s no time. Everyone was incredibly flustered, with one nurse who kept yelling at me for my medical history (I was unable to respond due to my non-stop contractions), and another nurse who was trying to get me to move to the bed on my own (I couldn’t)... Finally I got on the bed, and I was ready to push. The nurse tried to stop me saying, “Your husband isn’t here yet! Don’t push!” And then I could hear her yell out, “Just get him in here!” And thankfully Mark was finally by my side after running back to the ground floor to officially register me.

Side note: I had been so curious to laughing gas for the first time, but it did not work well for me. Just made me super woozy/nauseous. :(

I finally started pushing.

We were admitted to the hospital at 8:39pm. Philip was born at 8:49pm. The entire labor lasted just over 90 minutes.

Not over yet

I thought the hard part was finally over. They placed Philip on my chest. But then through my blurred mind, I realized the nurses were becoming concerned about how quiet Philip was. I felt a hand on Philip shake him. I didn’t know what was happening. Then two hands came and lifted him from me. Something about not breathing very well. Something about needing to take him away. I froze, and wanted to cry.

We had a scary 30 minutes without our baby, until finally a nurse came back and told us he’s okay, but isn’t breathing very well on his own, so they would have to monitor him for the night. I looked at her, trying to hold back the tears. “Don’t worry,” she said.

After another 15 minutes or so, they brought Philip to me again. Here, the pediatric nurse said, “Let me take a photo for you two, and then your husband will have to leave.” I held Philip tight for that minute, and then the nurse took him away.

I was taken to the postnatal ward alone. I could barely process what had just happened. I lay on my bed, desperately missing my little baby. I still didn’t know what was wrong. Something about needing oxygen. Something about not breathing well enough on his own. I barely slept that night.

The next day, I walked carefully up to the special care unit / NICU to see Philip, and my heart finally settled back into its place. He was doing much better, and could breathe on his own. “We’ll bring him back to you soon.”

A few hours later, Philip joined me in my little bed cubicle in a room with six other new mothers, and we started figuring out this new relationship together.

One day down; many more to come.

Leave a comment below or message me if you have any questions about traveling to Hong Kong from the US/surviving quarantine/giving birth in Hong kong/public hospitals!