Natural childbirth

(WARNING: This blog contains candid reflections about birthing babies. Men, you've been forewarned.)

Both of my children were born naturally. By that, I mean that I did not use any pain medication during labor. Labor for Izak was 20 hours long, 40 minutes of pushing. I "won" a Pitocin drip for the last 8 hours of the experience, a medication which increases that frequency and intensity of the contractions, because my body was "taking it's time." Not uncommon with the first baby because the body isn't totally sure of it's job yet. Twenty hours wasn't bad - I was prepared for 24-26. Libby's (serious) labor was about 3 hours and 20 minutes, pushing lasted about 40 seconds. It was intense. However, I spent two weeks laboring during the night. Two weeks. It was incredibly frustrating. But once I went, I went fast! One of the advantages of natural labor is that I can remember every second of both births. A girlfriend of mine who is a midwife in Boston said, "I believe that the reason labor is so painful is because it's nature's way of saying, 'Pay attention, something BIG is about to happen to your life.'" I couldn't agree more.

I don't discuss natural childbirth very openly. Women are very protective and sometimes unnecessarily defensive about their birth experiences. When they manage to figure out that I didn't have drugs with my birth, they usually stop listening (or even asking good questions) and launch into a long explanation about their particular reasons for their choices during their babies' births. And then it becomes a telling of their story, yadda yadda... and I stand there thinking, "but I didn't ask...". Validation of one's experience is the driving force. Fortunately, I have my husband to validate my experience because he was there by my side, coaching me thru each birth. He is always quick to boast about my birthing skills; my favorite phrase is, "She's the special forces of birthing women, like a navy seal or an army ranger." I revel in his pride of me, of us (natural childbirth is a team effort) but very quickly I'm usually left with a staring woman who has stopped listening, and I feel bad because I'm usually not even given the opportunity to explain why I chose that route.

If I think that the conversation is about to end, I usually chirp, "I did it because I wanted to see if I could do it." And that's mostly true. I enjoyed the challenge of pushing my body, especially since I was victorious. But the main reason I go natural is because I want to eliminate the variables in my child's future. When Izzy turns five and still can't tie his shoes I won't be left thinking, "Was it a drug I took at birth?" I'm relatively underexposed to pain medications ~ I do not know how my body would have reacted to Nubain. I have heard many women reflect that it knocked them out to the extent that they could not push effectively, let alone be mentally present for the event. And I'm enough of a control freak that I want to be present and accounted for to make decisions on behalf of myself and my child, even in the throws of labor. That is something I refuse to abdicate.

Another point is that I feel somehow connected to history going naturally. For centuries women did not enjoy the relief of meds. It was a thing you groaned and sweat through, a rite of passage, wondering if you might not just die in the midst of it, in order to arrive on the other side. The relief of the other side of labor cannot be described. "A peace that passeth all understanding..." :) My great-grandmother, Frances Kathryn Ledvinka, was a midwife in Czechoslovakia. She graduated for the University of Berlin. She also practiced midwifery on the sly in the U.S. once she immigrated at the request of obstetricians. I did not know her, she died very young, but having birthed naturally I cannot help but feel like went back in time and walked for a few hours with my great-grandmother. Not sure what it is, but it has a very timeless quality to it.

I remember a moment during my labor with Izak when I thought, "I am going to die now." Just like that, matter-of-fact. Here is my end. And then I can remember the other side of my brain screaming, "You are not going to die! They don't just let women die in labor nowadays!" But the experience was that intense! And after Izak was born I said, "I think that's about the dumbest thing I've done." (Referring to going without pain meds.) After Libby was born I also said, "Now I'm sure that this is, by far, the dumbest thing that I've ever done!!" It was the adrenaline talking. I think it's a common reaction when you've just done something very daring, perhaps even dangerous, for the good of another. Like jumping in to the rapids to save someone who couldn't swim, or running into a burning house to pull out a child. Much like that.

But it was for the good of my son, my daughter... and also very good for me.