As a child, I dreamed about a lot of things I would do in the future. Where I would go to college, what my wedding would be like, even what I would say in my Oscar acceptance speech. What I did NOT think about was what I would prefer for my labor and delivery experience in pregnancy. So immediately after confirming Maurice and I were pregnant, I bought as many baby books as possible and started reading about the joy that is pregnancy, and every single book mentioned my need to have a “Birthing Plan”. Now, if you know me, you know I appreciate a well thought out plan and schedule as much as the next person (especially in Excel!) and as such, I pondered – what DID I want labor to be like? All I could come up with were the horror stories women shared with me over the years of 24 hour labors (that would be my brother) and breech babies (again, my brother) even almost mix ups after delivery (that would be me…you’d think my mom would have stopped at one kid, huh?). That evening, I was on the couch in my first week of bedrest watching a Baby Story. The woman in question was entering her 3rd day – yep, DAY not hour – of labor without enough progress to start pushing, but she was completely against any medication to help her. So for the better part of an hour, I listened to her moan and shift and grunt and generally be miserable until they finally cut enough time out to show the baby. It was about that time that I started my birthing plan with the following two words: Epidural, please. End of story, right?
Wrong. When the big day arrived, I was pretty much pain free for 90% of it. Maurice and I went to the doctor only after being persuaded by the nurse on the phone to come into the office for a “check” due to some rhythmic pains and finding myself 4cm dilated. By the time we reached Northside, I was 6 cm and still no pain. I even let a young girl clearly two steps from tearing the attendants face off go before me in line to register. Once in the gown - and with my handy dandy birthing plan firmly in the hands of my capable nurse - Maurice and I walked the hospital for the last time together as just us two. As we walked, a young lady was in her room with her anesthesiologist getting what I could only assume was “the good stuff” for her pending delivery. I smiled thinking that I would be having what she was having shortly, and holding my son shortly thereafter.
I was finally checked by my physician about 2 hours after arriving and advised that I was “progressing so well that they were going to break my water”. It sounded like a set up, and I think he saw the skepticism in my eyes, so he followed it up with “I see so few women who can handle pain like you. At almost 7cm and no pain, you probably don’t even need an epidural – you seem built for this” This, I feel, is an unfair statement to say to a woman who has yet to ever feel the pain of DELIVERING a baby. Yes, the lead up was fine, but so is the swim you take before you realize you’re drowning. Ignorance took over (and probably a bit of ego…hell, he said he rarely saw women like me!) and I dismissed the epidural and let them break my water. Within 20 minutes, the pain showed up with a suitcase to announce it wasn’t just passing by. Still able to handle, I got through the next hour by squeezing Maurice’s hand and picturing Roman’s face I saw countless times on the ultrasound. What followed, though, I was NOT ready for.
At about 70 minutes post-water break, I felt the kind of sensation that can only be explained as “hot pain”. I finally caved in and asked a nurse to get me an epidural, to which she said “of course”. Not more than 2 steps out the door, I told Maurice to call her back b/c I was pretty sure the baby was on his way.
Maurice begged anyone who would listen to come in and check on me, but all dismissed it as first mom jitters and said I had plenty of time…it had only been 5 hours of labor. The doctor, still in street clothes, arrived 5 min later and announced that maybe it WAS time to have a baby. Before my husband could make it to the top of the bed, he was recruited to grab a leg and get to the business of helping me push. I only had one question: WHERE IS MY EPIDURAL?? The doctor looked me in my eye and smiled and said – In about the time it would take for the meds to kick in, you’ll have something even better than that – a baby.
Wrong. When the big day arrived, I was pretty much pain free for 90% of it. Maurice and I went to the doctor only after being persuaded by the nurse on the phone to come into the office for a “check” due to some rhythmic pains and finding myself 4cm dilated. By the time we reached Northside, I was 6 cm and still no pain. I even let a young girl clearly two steps from tearing the attendants face off go before me in line to register. Once in the gown - and with my handy dandy birthing plan firmly in the hands of my capable nurse - Maurice and I walked the hospital for the last time together as just us two. As we walked, a young lady was in her room with her anesthesiologist getting what I could only assume was “the good stuff” for her pending delivery. I smiled thinking that I would be having what she was having shortly, and holding my son shortly thereafter.
I was finally checked by my physician about 2 hours after arriving and advised that I was “progressing so well that they were going to break my water”. It sounded like a set up, and I think he saw the skepticism in my eyes, so he followed it up with “I see so few women who can handle pain like you. At almost 7cm and no pain, you probably don’t even need an epidural – you seem built for this” This, I feel, is an unfair statement to say to a woman who has yet to ever feel the pain of DELIVERING a baby. Yes, the lead up was fine, but so is the swim you take before you realize you’re drowning. Ignorance took over (and probably a bit of ego…hell, he said he rarely saw women like me!) and I dismissed the epidural and let them break my water. Within 20 minutes, the pain showed up with a suitcase to announce it wasn’t just passing by. Still able to handle, I got through the next hour by squeezing Maurice’s hand and picturing Roman’s face I saw countless times on the ultrasound. What followed, though, I was NOT ready for.
At about 70 minutes post-water break, I felt the kind of sensation that can only be explained as “hot pain”. I finally caved in and asked a nurse to get me an epidural, to which she said “of course”. Not more than 2 steps out the door, I told Maurice to call her back b/c I was pretty sure the baby was on his way.
Maurice begged anyone who would listen to come in and check on me, but all dismissed it as first mom jitters and said I had plenty of time…it had only been 5 hours of labor. The doctor, still in street clothes, arrived 5 min later and announced that maybe it WAS time to have a baby. Before my husband could make it to the top of the bed, he was recruited to grab a leg and get to the business of helping me push. I only had one question: WHERE IS MY EPIDURAL?? The doctor looked me in my eye and smiled and said – In about the time it would take for the meds to kick in, you’ll have something even better than that – a baby. He was right – it was only a few moments before I was greeting my son (albeit moments remembered to the chorus of my vehemently refusing to push out of sheer anger at my delayed medical cocktail). And the pain wasn’t so bad that I couldn’t focus on the joy of knowing that each push got me closer to seeing Roman face-to-face.
But I am telling you all of this in the event that you get to where I was and find your birthing plan a thing of the past – its not so bad to have your experience not be as scripted by you. I like to think of it like being at a restaurant, eyeing your neighbor’s fresh slice of hot apple pie and saying to the waiter – “I’ll have what she’s having” - just to find out the waiter is God…and you’re a diabetic. Trust me, its okay to go with the fruit cup instead – either way, it will be the sweetest thing you’ll ever have in life.
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