Enjoy it. Part 2

During the pregnancy, and then later at the hospital tour, and even later at check in, we were asked a number of times what our birth plan was. Trying not to laugh we answered always with a smile as we'd say something along the lines of: "A healthy baby", "You guys are the experts, that's why we're here." "The plan is do whatever you tell us". Then I would always add: "But . . . I'd like to labor at home for a long while, almost until transition. I'd like to try not to have an epidural, but will get one if it looks like it's needed". (The truth was, we'd never heard anything negative about our hospital's birth center or nurses, and we'd chosen our ob for a reason . . . and as it happened he was on call for our birth--perfection.) So, those two things that I [thought that I] was holding so loosely in my hands were joyfully dropped from my palm within three hours of the water breaking. Wives all know that their husbands want to carry burdens for them and Phil had anticipated that watching me work through pain would be hard for him, as he was limited to just offering comfort and encouragement (he's really more of a "let me carry that suitcase for you" kind of guy verses a "let's each take handle" man). After returning to the labor bed from the bathroom, I planned on some jacuzzi time, and then realized that Phil's encouragement that, 'if I wanted one, I should have an epidural', was now becoming a very bright light to me. Knowing that he wouldn't think I was failing, if I got one made me consider it. Then I was decided: "You can turn off the bath" I grimaced to Phil, "I'm getting the epidural". He smiled that I had to enjoy it, guilt free. Enjoy it. Inside I felt like such a big-talking wimp. I sort of nodded to him, caught in the grips of another back to backer; thinking he was just saying that to be nice. The epidural people arrived, and I got situated on the side of the bed, ready to cat-arch my back and hold really still--wondering if I was going to sneeze and end up causing nerve damage and giving myself a permanent nervous tick. In the midst of the epidural pressure I lost grip, sobbing (Phil says I just cried) at the unexpected pressure. I was rescued from my sobs by Acacia as she coached me unendingly through my fear, that pressure, and continued contractions. She had lovely kind eyes, and I studied them as I focused on her face, trying to make all the pain productive and think open thoughts. A lot of the imagery I'd read about during my pregnancy described the mental picture of a flower opening; somehow I got the cartoon episode from the Magic School Bus: Plants a Seed stuck in my head, so with each contraction I'd been thinking "open" but visually watching Arnold and Ms. Frizzle in the garden--which of course cracked me up during those rest periods. The epidural was administered by a student anesthestitist, who was full of that perfect balance of friendliness and confidence that put me at ease. I could hear him discussing the procedure with his supervisor and thought to myself, Just get it done! You'll do great! Get a move on! The relief wasn't instantaneous, and I felt caught off guard when I was situated in bed another contraction came. But Acacia was right there with her eyes for me to laser in on, and her encouragement to be relaxed like butter--you know, one my favorite food groups so I knew all about it. As I had contractions and realized that the edge was gone, Phil reminded me to enjoy it (I think he knew the guilt was almost but not quite all gone). I've been at more than my share of home births, and know that it is fully possible to labor with control with just trust in your body and God's wonderful design. I had wanted one of those hospital births that is almost a home birth, and yet, here I was reclining on each side in turn, with monitors, and straps, and beeps, and needles, and a huge sense of being in control and even huger feelings of being at peace. Phil was right, it was good to enjoy it.