HGTV's Jasmine Roth Details 'Terrifying' Birth Story as She Welcomes Baby No. 2: 'Grateful for the Experience' (Exclusive)

In a first-person essay, Roth shares her experience of nearly giving birth on the side of the road in Park City, Utah

An anniversary I’ll never forget!

It was our 11-year wedding anniversary. We spent the day relaxing, building a stroller and floating in the pool. As we showered and got ready for dinner, we chatted about how fun our wedding had been and reminisced about all the little details that made it so special — we even took some cute anniversary photos before heading out the door. Our 4½-year-old daughter Hazel was all set up playing a game with grandma and we were looking forward to a proper date night.

As we walked around Old Town Park City (where we got married and recently moved to), I felt a sharp contraction low in my belly. It was so strong, I gasped and had to sit down immediately. I breathed through it and since it was still a month before our due date, I didn’t think much of it. Then within 25 minutes, I was in so much pain that I was yelling for Brett to go get the car and that we needed to go to the hospital immediately. Neither of us really thought the baby was coming that night, so we hurried, but in retrospect, we should have gone much faster. We drove by our house to grab our hospital bags (mine was all packed, Brett’s wasn’t even started) and began driving to the hospital. Never did we imagine what would happen next.

As we put the route in the navigation, what should have been a 25-minute drive through the canyon from Park City to the University of Utah Hospital was showing 55 minutes and the map was solid red. I could barely believe it. There’s rarely traffic like this in the mountains and there isn’t another route to the hospital. What were the odds?!

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Related: HGTV's Jasmine Roth Is Pregnant, Expecting Baby No. 2 with Husband Brett: 'Counting Down the Days' (Exclusive)

We decided we had to go for it. We put on our flashers, drove as fast as we dared on the shoulder, and called 911. The 911 operator (after hearing me describe that my contractions were about 30 seconds or less apart) told my husband he had to pull the car over and that help was on the way, but chances are he was going to deliver the baby right there in our car on the side of the road. I was lying across the front seat of our truck — screaming — when my water broke and I felt immense pressure.

I got up and was stomping around in the grass on the side of the highway (still yelping, hollering, screaming) trying to gather my composure. I was in so much pain, but also very scared. I was beyond frustrated. I knew I could physically handle an unmedicated birth, but I wasn’t in the right headspace. I was so caught off-guard that I was having a really hard time finding any peace or strength. I was terrified but didn’t want to admit it. It was very dark out and the traffic was completely stopped as far as we could see. As the 911 operator (she was so nice!) was instructing me to breathe (yeah, right!) and I was trying to come to terms with what was happening, I felt a bit of hope as I saw flashing lights coming our way.

The firemen immediately started spreading out a tarp on the grass and instructed me to climb on so they could deliver this baby. I was terrified but I listened.  As I climbed hesitantly onto the tarp, the ambulance pulled up and I gladly got on their stretcher instead. I begged the paramedics to let Brett ride with me but they said we couldn’t leave our car behind. So with the sheriff leading the way, we started our procession (sirens wailing, me still screaming!) to the hospital. As the paramedics hooked up an IV and checked to see how close I was, I made it through my contractions in the least graceful way possible. I yelled, yelped, sang, wailed and cursed! Then for the small interval in between, I apologized to the paramedics, thanked them profusely, and waved out the back window to Brett driving behind us, all for it to start over again.

We raced to the hospital and pulled up to the emergency back door. I’d given birth before, but the experience had been so different. A peaceful planned induction, a few hours of labor, an epidural at 7cm dilated, and a baby born to two very excited parents. This was the opposite. I was terrified. The pain was overwhelming. I kept putting my hand down and I could feel her little head, and I was overcome with fear that she wasn’t ready and I needed this all to go differently. But the hospital rallied around us as the paramedics ran me on the ambulance stretcher through the hallways toward the delivery room. I frantically asked where my husband was and then I saw him running in from the opposite direction.

"Make sure you video this and take some pictures," I instructed him as he rolled his eyes and shook his head. I was rolled into a room with a bed and the nurses and doctors seemed to be everywhere. I knew people where talking to me, to each other, and trying to help me, but I couldn’t hear them over my own screaming. Finally something cut through and it was a kind nurse instructing me to plant my hand and roll myself onto the bed between my next contractions. I listened! Now on my hands and knees the doctor told me to PUSH! I dug deep, I cried and pushed with everything I had. Two and a half pushes later, I felt her come out and the nurses laid the smallest human I had ever seen in my life right beneath my trembling body. She was perfect, but she was so so tiny. I’d never seen a baby so small and I looked up at my husband and said “she’s here, she’s beautiful, she’s so tiny,” and I collapsed into a protective shell around her on the bed.

Darla Rose Roth was born weighing 4 lbs. 8 oz. and she immediately filled a corner of my heart that I didn’t know was empty. The entire birth experience, from that first contraction to holding our baby in my arms, was less than two hours. As the nurses cleaned her up and explained that she had to be taken for monitoring and that my husband could go with her but I needed to relax for a moment, my heart broke. I’d been strong, I’d grown her, but I couldn’t give her that last month she needed and now she was being taken away from me. The doctor explained that the placenta had hemorrhaged and that’s why it had all happened so fast. I struggled to push the guilt of my body failing her away and instead encouraged myself to celebrate that she was here.

The next fifteen days in the hospital were a blur. What I thought would be four hours of monitoring turned into an extended stay in the ICN (low-level NICU). Darla was a “preemie” and needed continued care including oxygen support, antibiotics (injected through an IV sticking straight out of her forehead for 5 days), light therapy, a feeding tube and constant monitoring. She had all the tests run, specialist visits and two concerned parents who only left her bedside to cuddle their other daughter. Luckily I had zero complications from giving birth and while it wasn’t a glamorous way to spend my recovery, we were grateful for the dorm-style “twilight room” that the hospital had for us to stay in while we waited for Darla to get released. It wasn’t at all how we had expected the birth of our second child to play out, but we tried hard to make the best of it. Our family rallied around us to support Hazel and everything we already had going on, and feeling their love was immensely powerful.

We also were deeply moved by the dedication of the healthcare community — from all the people who worked together to get me to the hospital that first night, to the pediatricians, nurses, and support staff that cared for our little preemie baby.  Their commitment, medical expertise and focused attention were exactly what our family needed and they are all true heroes.

When we finally were released from the hospital, it was a strange and obscure feeling. I had given birth fifteen days prior so I no longer looked pregnant and was moving much faster than most new mothers going home. We also had the smallest baby in tow who barely could pass her car seat test because she didn’t even weigh 5 lbs. But mostly we were excited!  Our 4-year-old was allowed to visit the hospital, but not in the area her sister had been in. She had only seen her through a small window and we couldn’t wait for her to meet her new sister and hold her little hand. As we pulled up to our house, the emotions finally came. We had needed to be strong for our daughters, and we had been. But the relief that I felt walking through our door was overwhelming. Seeing Hazel meet Darla and love her immediately was the best feeling in the world.

Being home with a preemie baby is very different than bringing a full-term baby home from the hospital. There are nurses and pediatrician appointments. She’s still using a feeding tube and it’s challenging to know exactly what she needs as it usually falls outside of the care most parents are used to giving. But since being home for even a few days, Darla has grown and thrived. She snuggles, she smiles and she’s become part of our family. And while none of our birth story went the way I hoped, I’ve accepted it and I’m grateful for the experience.

And looking on the bright side, we now have another really great story to reminisce about on our anniversary next year.

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