Pregnancy opened a floodgate of questions, concerns, and fears. Just thinking about giving birth was like anticipating being the victim of a violent crime. I was haunted by stories such as c-sections after hours of excruciating labor (with meds), and of course, the dreaded back labor.
Women have died giving birth. This was my mind-set. Yet, envisioning having a needle stuck into my spine to avoid the pain of a natural process seemed a bit backward. I quickly listed an epidural as number one on my mental scroll of things to avoid. This was also a reaction to my medical inexperience.
When I’ve talked to other mothers about the standard epidural and I mention that I’ve avoided it twice, they don’t usually say it, but I know what they’re thinking, why would you choose to suffer when you don’t have to?
The fact is I’m more afraid of the epidural than labor pain. Even still, going natural from start to finish wasn’t an easy decision to either make or stick to.
We naturally fear what we do not know. I’ve always been needle, hospital, and doctor phobic. I’d never stayed overnight in the hospital since I was born. Never broke a bone or had surgery; I was pretty much a medical virgin. I might have chosen a hospital alternative if I had been less crazy about my doctors, who always patiently talked about my concerns.
In the meantime, I was mentally exploring and dissecting my ideas about giving birth. Feeling consumed by it, I sat down one day to write a poem, which uncovered the underlying motivation for a drug-free experience:
“... I accept a vow of consciousness no matter how my loins may ache, to be whole-heartedly present, and treasure each contraction, grateful for a moment of intensity to measure the rest of my life against ...”
Of course, this is was a sentiment straight from my spiritual core, which said nothing about whether or not my body could handle it. That’s when it occurred to me that I had no gauge on my physical strength. Regardless of the fact that I was fit, my last memory of physical challenge was age thirteen, when I barely tolerated blistered and bleeding feet crammed into pointe’ shoes in ballet class. I’d never run more than a 5K race, never competed in organized sports, never fulfilled the dream of sky-diving. It felt like gearing up to take a walk after standing relatively still for thirty-one years.
