Pregnancy presents countless choices for women, but few are as passionately debated as the decision between natural childbirth and opting for an epidural.
First and foremost, I have immense respect for those who choose natural childbirth. It’s akin to my admiration for extreme athletes who dive deep into the ocean while holding their breath. While I’m fascinated by these feats, I wouldn’t dare attempt them myself.
That said, my admiration for anesthesia runs even deeper. I was the quintessential expectant mother who began inquiring about the possibility of an epidural at just 20 weeks along. After the birth of my first child, I toyed with the idea of naming her “Epidural” as a nod to this remarkable medical advancement.
When I became pregnant with my second child at 37, I was categorized as having a “geriatric pregnancy.” This designation meant frequent visits for blood tests and non-stress tests in the final weeks, during which nurses would frequently comment on my significant contractions. Trust me, as a woman who wanted an epidural at week 20, I definitely felt those contractions!
At 38 weeks, I received an alarming call from my doctor, instructing me to head straight to the hospital due to concerning blood test results. She remained vague but advised us to bring my hospital bag, just in case.
Upon arriving at the hospital around dinner time, I was quickly placed in a room and connected to monitors. We were told to wait for the doctor, who was finishing up with another delivery. As we sat there, nervously distracting ourselves with small talk, we were suddenly jolted by sounds coming from the next room—sounds I’d only experienced in movies until that point.
My husband and I exchanged wide-eyed glances, a mix of fear and curiosity, mostly relieved that the nurse assured us the poor woman in the next room was almost done.
As time progressed, those sounds grew louder and more intense. After an hour, I found myself wishing I could rename our unborn child “Epidural.” Eventually, the nurse returned, and we both acknowledged the thin walls of the hospital. To our surprise, she explained that the sounds were traveling through the closed window.
A couple of hours later, our doctor finally entered with news that my blood tests had revealed an issue I’ll whimsically call “Snarfenflephograph.” While it posed no immediate risk to me or my baby, she warned that if the condition worsened, I might not be able to receive an epidural.
I internally processed the implications of her words. “Wait, you brought us here, alarmed us with cryptic results, and made us sit through this symphony of unmedicated childbirth, only to tell me I might not get my epidural?!” Thankfully, I kept those thoughts to myself, voicing only my relief that the baby was okay.
The following morning, my contractions intensified, and I called my husband, suggesting he inform the pediatrician that “my wife is about to give birth without an epidural in our living room.” This proved to be an effective way to expedite their visit.
Upon arriving at the hospital, I was thrilled to be offered a wheelchair and was shocked to learn I was already 7 centimeters dilated. I recalled the nurse from my first birth advising me to get in line for the anesthesiologist as soon as I arrived. “I’m here! Where’s the epidural line?”
Before I could secure my place, I had to undergo one last Snarfenflephograph blood test. As I lay there in pain, I attempted to recall my prenatal yoga breathing techniques. Fortunately, the anesthesiologist was ready and waiting, with his tools prepared for a favorable test result.
I didn’t even notice when the doctor entered or what the results were; my body’s relief came when I felt the antiseptic being swabbed on my back in preparation for the epidural. The moment the needle entered, I felt as though a light switch was flipped—I was suddenly aware of my husband and the world around me, no longer consumed by pain.
While some may argue that I missed out on the full birthing experience by choosing an epidural, I liken it to opting for anesthesia during an appendectomy. It may not be the traditional approach, but I believe that if ancient women had access to such options, they would have embraced them.
If you’re contemplating whether or not to get an epidural, let me gently encourage you to lean toward that decision. It’s a path where you can enjoy labor while indulging in your favorite magazines and shows. Just remember to have the remote handy for any unmedicated births happening next door. For more insights on fertility and pregnancy, consider visiting this resource.
In summary, the decision between natural childbirth and an epidural is deeply personal. While I respect those who choose the former, my experience has shown me the significant benefits of modern medicine. Whether you’re leaning toward an epidural or not, it’s important to embrace the journey ahead.