I’ve been thinking about the birth a LOT lately. The ring of fire is coming for me, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. So, a couple of nights ago, with our birthing class still a few weeks away, Scott and I settled into our couch and popped in the Ricki Lake/Abby Epstein Documentary THE BUSINESS OF BEING BORN. The doc takes a [rather heavy handed] look at the American approach to child birth, and (as I’m sure it would for anyone with a baby in their uterus who’s inevitably going to be heading for the exit) it really got me thinking. Before we ever conceived, I always felt that I’d like to give natural childbirth a go. [Insert pause for all of the experienced birthers out there to snort-laugh at my bright-eyed first timer optimism. ...I know, I know, the pain of childbirth is going to blow my effing mind straight out my ears and all over the wall behind me.]
But what is natural anyway? One of the things that irked me about the doc was the smug as shit holier than thou attitude of many of the pro-home birth interviewees, as if anyone not birthing by their definition of “natural” was a fool. In this case, I’m talkin’ drug free. As I’ve mentioned before I was with Marissa when her water broke sending her straight to transition [without passing go, without collecting 200$.] I witnessed live and in person as my Sister’s contractions went from “I think this is it, I’m gonna hop in the shower” to “TODD GET IN THE FUCKING CAR RIGHT NOW OR I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!!!!” in forty five minutes flat. It did not look comfortable. It did not look fun. But despite her literally grabbing (the incredible) Dr. Smalls by the collar as he came in to check her progress and demanding he give her whatever drugs were available and STAT, the time for intervention had passed, and I held my sister’s hand while she scrunched up her face and followed Todd’s calm coaching counts, pushing Eva into the world without the hospital staff doing so much as pulling her chart or inserting a heparin lock. For all the medical interventions that Eva’s birth required, we could have delivered that baby on the side of the road in downtown Oakland (which we almost did, and I’m still relieved we didn’t.) At the time, I had reservations about being in the room for a birth, for fear that it would scare me out of ever wanting to do it myself. In retrospect, I can honestly say that I felt empowered – my Sister did it all by herself. She grew a baby, and she birthed that baby, and when it was over, so was the pain, and she was lovingly cooing at the newborn on her chest even as they delivered the placenta.
Watching the documentary, I couldn’t help but feel that Ricki and company were poo-pooing my decision to give birth at a hospital. That by having a trained surgeon deliver my baby, I was asking for trouble. My husband (who is apparently a little crunchier than I ever knew – he’s got his own ideas about what he won’t allow during birth – for example, he feels very strongly that I be allowed to push when I feel ready, and wants me to be able to move around if I feel the need) was definitely shaken by some elements of the doc, wondering how he can protect me from being “pitted” or “sectioned” upon our arrival in Labor and Delivery. Ricki and Co certainly paint a dark and hopeless picture of childbirth within the hospital walls. I reminded Scott, (and myself) that Sara braved a very long (23 hours, I think) labor in the same hospital I’ll be delivering in, with the same OB who will deliver me, and no one forced her into any interventions – she also did it completely drug free, under much different circumstances than my speed-birthing sister. Contrary to what some of the interviewees in “Born” would have you believe, it is possible to give birth in a hospital without anyone trying to pump you full of pitocin and yank your baby out prematurely.
What I did get out of the film however, was the motivation to sit down with my OB and discuss in no uncertain terms how I’d like this thing to go, in an ideal world. (Key word being IDEAL – there will be no anally typed out birth plans or grand declarations of how my birth will define me – I don’t want to spend the first days of my baby’s life regretting decisions I made under the pain of labor. I know that some of my peers feel that not committing fully to my wishes for a natural birth by doing months of mental preparation, having a detailed birth plan, and coaching Scott on protecting me from myself when I start to scream for drugs in the eleventh hour is a recipe for failure. I know that others would call me a crazy hippie for even considering skipping the epidural. In my mind, whatever happens, there is no failure in delivering my baby, so long as she thrives when she gets here.) We went over everything from induction, to episiotomy and I left the office really feeling that we are on the same team. Although she’s made her personal opinion clear (“if you broke your arm, you’d take painkillers for that”) she also described a birth where she laid on the floor to deliver the baby so the mother could squat. (All I could think was “I hope you were wearing goggles.”) I want to let my body do what it was made to do – I believe in my ability to bring this girl into the world drug-free, but I trust the doctor I’ve chosen to guide my baby and I safely through the process, knowing that she is aware of my intentions, and trusting that if she tells me something is medically necessary, it’s not because she wants to make it home in time to catch The Rock on SNL.
Still, the debate rages on in my mind. I won’t lie – the pain of labor and ESPECIALLY the pain of birth scare the living shit out of me. I’ve always been a painkiller person – happy to pop whatever pills are prescribed to take the edge off of whatever pain I might be feeling. (Hell, I was asking for more Demerol before my eyes were open the last time I went under the knife, and I told my gastroenterologist post-endoscopy that he was “harshing my mellow” when he attempted to discuss his findings with me in the recovery room.) I’ve been cut open on the operating table from skull (a mastoidectomy at age 3) to pelvis (an appendectomy at age 10) and pretty much everywhere in between. I’ve never tried to endure any of those ailments or operations sans medication…so why now?
The truth is, I don’t really know. I’ve heard both sides of the argument. I’ve had friends tell me that conquering natural childbirth changed their lives, and I’ve had friends tell me that checking in to the hospital and getting hooked up to the epi made them feel like a princess while they delivered their children without so much as a twinge of sensation from the waist down. I’ve been told that allowing interventions prevents your body from releasing the hormones necessary to bond with your new baby (although I have to imagine that the human body would come up with a way to circumvent that obstacle) and I’ve been told that nobody gets a medal for enduring the agony of contractions drug-free, so “what’s the point?” I’ve also heard the horror stories. Too numb to push. Body not ready for labor, sending baby into distress resulting in C-Section. One intervention leads to another. On the flipside, some women need the epi so they can relax and allow their labor to progress. Some women need it so they can sleep through heavy contractions, otherwise they may end up on the operating table from sheer exhaustion rendering them unable to push. Some women need it because, well, they just don’t like pain. I’m far from an expert on the topic, so I find that as my due date creeps closer, I’m drinking in all of the literature I can, trying to make the decision that’s going to be best for me and my little girl…although I have a feeling she’s probably got a plan all her own.
