Writing this as a mom (real or not) who has given birth three different ways: without epidural, via c-section, and with epidural, in that order.
There’s a huge market right now for Natural Birth. It’s very on trend. I won’t go into the history and politics of this “natural birth movement” that’s surged in popularity in recent years, thanks especially to social media and the “crunchy mom” scene. I am not here to tell you about what the movement is or what it caused it or sustains it. I am just writing about all this from my own personal POV.
It does bother me that there’s so much fearmongering about anesthesia, interventions, and hospital births in general – and that so many influencers are making so much money off of said fearmongering, claiming that they can help you “achieve an unmedicated birth.” That’s messed up for quite a lot of reasons: interventions are not all necessarily bad for everyone, and are, in fact, good and helpful for a lot of people. So it sucks that people are pushing this idea on us that any intervention is a failure. People who sell this idea are getting rich off of vulnerable women’s irrational fears. We all want to have a good birth experience and do what’s best for our baby, so we tend to be easy prey for these “natural birth” sharks. It really sucks that they take advantage of women under the guise of trying to help us.
Which is not to say that I’m pro intervention. I absolutely believe minimal interventions are ideal (if everything is going well), and have always tried to avoid them when giving birth. (Although, I will always give birth in a hospital. True, pregnancy is not an illness, but there’s a lot that can go wrong during and immediately after birth, and modern medicine has a lot to offer us. Mad respect to any mom who’s confident enough to give birth at home, but I’m way too anxious, way too focused on worst case scenarios, to ever feel safe doing that.)
So then why do I choose to minimize interventions myself, when I can, if I’m really of the opinion that interventions can be a good thing? Why yes, I am being hypocritical.
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Sometimes I’ll see comments online like “if a woman can’t handle the pain of giving birth, she’s not ready to be a mom” or “she doesn’t deserve motherhood.” “Real women do it the way God intended.” Stuff like that.
And it does get under my skin, because a large part of me wonders if that’s true. Are women who are out there “raw dogging” labor and delivery truly superior to those who get meds? Are the au naturel moms truly more respectable and deserving, more “real?” Sometimes, I hate to admit, I actually think yes.
But, I recognize that this part of me, the part that thinks this, is irrational, unhealthy, egotistical, proud, and obsessed with being superior, with having the moral high ground. With being “morally unimpeachable.” It’s the same part of me that fuels the ED.
Or is it? Is the “wrong” part of my brain actually right? Even with all of these different birth experiences under my belt (literally, ha ha), I am still in doubt.
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I won’t be talking much about my second birth experience, because in that pregnancy I had this random complication called complete placenta previa, which was totally beyond my control, and means that the placenta randomly decided to grow right on top of the cervix, thereby blocking baby’s exit. So in that situation, your only choices are (a) early c-section, or (b) bleed out during birth and both you and baby die. Doctors don’t let you go into labor if you have CPP, as it can be super dangerous for reason (b) just cited. So, that birth, while a valid birth, isn’t really going to be relevant to this post.
With my first, I did not get an epidural. And I felt like a real badass. The baby was a honking nine pounds + nine ounces, and it took three hours, a very skilled and patient midwife, and a lot of weird positions to push her out of my body. But I was absolutely terrified of ending up with a c-section, and that terror fueled my determination to persist. I also believed, at the time, that this was going to be my only birth experience ever, and really wanted to get it right. And I pretty much did. I certainly had some bragging rights after that. All the nurses on the floor were talking about me and how awesome I was. It felt great.
So you’d think that, after that, I’d definitely be able to go unmedicated again, especially considering that second labors tend to be faster. But, with baby #3 (who weighed a whole pound less than #1), I actually ended up getting the epidural. Why? What went “wrong?”
Well, every birth and every baby are different, for one. That is more true than I ever realized before having kids.
For two, it is also important to remember that, when going into my first birth, I had no other kids yet. So I was much more rested (oh, how I took uninterrupted sleep for granted, before having babies!). It was a lovely day: my day off work, I got up, worked out, got dressed and made-up and had breakfast and drove in for my midmorning 40 week checkup, at which the OB looked at my ultrasound and advised an induction that same day. No problem! (Was I thrilled about an induction? No, but I also wanted to do right by my baby, and the doctor said that baby was at risk if I remained pregnant; plus, based on his exam of me he didn’t think I would require the dreaded Pitocin, so it sounded alright to me.) Drove on over to the hospital, calmly checked in, got comfy in the L&D room, was given a dose of Cytotec, then just hung out and chilled with my husband watching The Office on his phone for a few hours, waiting for the Braxton-Hicks to turn into real contractions. I was on maternity leave now! Vacay mode! It was, in retrospect, so chill, so logistically simple, so low-pressure! No wonder I felt strong enough to power through with no anesthesia. Also, at that point in my life, I was less than one year sober. So, still very fresh in my memory were the days when I was constantly hungover and sick, so I guess comfort was still pretty novel and misery just normal to me. It sounds funny but it’s true. Being a functioning alcoholic is very hard physical work, you develop a high tolerance for discomfort in order to survive. Perhaps that also had something to do with why I was able to tough it out that time.
Interestingly, I was also told, after the fact, that Cytotec, the medication that was used to induce me, does tend to make the hard part of labor start sooner and last longer. So, I had just barely gotten started when it got quite painful. I guess this allowed me to adapt while I was still fresh, still had my wits about me, or something. You’d think that being in greater pain for a longer time would make me more likely to ask for anesthesia, but for me it was the opposite; it was like I had time to build up to the grand finale.
Contrast all of that with the birth of my third. I had a two year old and an eighteen month old at home, and my eighteen month old had just had surgery (in the very same hospital) twenty-four hours ago. I obviously did not sleep the night before her surgery, nor was I able to fall asleep that night because the contractions were starting to get bad, so I drove into L&D around midnight. So, I was tired. I was very tired. I was also three years sober, so my pain tolerance was lowered. I’d gotten used to feeling normal, by this point.
And labor was different, as I was not induced, and up until the last two or three hours, it was tolerable. (Not tolerable enough to eat or sleep, but tolerable.) Then suddenly, around 7cm, it got exponentially worse. That sudden shift jarred me. And I don’t know if baby’s position was slightly different or something, but the sensation itself was indescribably less bearable; it felt like my hip bones were being pressed apart from the inside, which, my first child did not bless me with that particular sensation. So I asked for the epidural. I felt like a wimp, but it was also great, and birth was a breeze, downright fun and pleasant, from that point on.
But now, looking back on these two experiences, I wonder if I wasn’t also swayed by the individuals in the room with me. I used a doula both times, and both were super cool people whom I really admired and looked up to, in different ways. My doula with #1 was more natural-minded, a really beautiful and wise soul: although she never once imposed her personal views on me in the slightest, her holistic philosophy was part of what drew me to her in the first place, as, like most moms, I wanted to try for an unmedicated birth. Whereas, my doula with #3 was very pro-pain relief, and was in fact very opposed to the toxic aspects of the natural birth movement, which I really respected and learned a whole lot from; her courage and self-knowledge, at such a young age, were so impressive. Did I maybe let my decision re: my own birth be swayed by my desire to please or impress both of these extremely cool and enviable women, who I wanted to like me? Not consciously, but I think it’s possible. I’m a very impressionable person.
Also, the doctors. With #1 I was lucky that the on-call doc right as I was pushing was actually a CNM (certified nurse midwife), who was willing and able to help me get the baby out naturally (the OB on call right before her, who had been there for the beginning of the pushing phase, was visibly irritated with me for taking so long, and told me flat out that that baby was not going to come out of my body and we would need to do a c-section; thank God the shift changed and that CNM took over!). This CNM was really encouraging, gave me this whole pep talk about how I could get this baby out, do not listen to the negative thoughts, etc., and she stayed with me for well over an hour, maybe even two, helping me, caring for me like a mother, very hands-on. I felt very safe and supported with her.
Contrast that with the doctors on call at the end of labor with #3. My most vivid memory of that whole birth was, in the morning, the OB showing up to my room and doing a cervical check to see where I was at (7-7.5), and he literally said “alright, well, it typically takes about an hour to dilate each centimeter, so, I’ll be back to check on you in three hours!” and walked briskly out, with a little polite smile. And I was immediately like: WAT? excuse me, sir? three hours?? Three more hours of this? Nope. I cannot do this. That was the moment I knew I was going to ask for anesthesia.
Why did he have to say that? Lol.
Not blaming anyone else, of course. It is what it is, in a hospital – when you give birth in a hospital you accept that you have no control over who will be attending when baby comes out. That’s just a risk you live with in exchange for the security of a hospital. Doctors are busy, and have multiple patients delivering at once (there was, in fact, another mom down the hall who was pushing at the exact same moment I was, so Doc was basically sprinting back and forth between rooms, haha). It’s not ideal. But, still worth it IMO, for the security of being in a hospital.
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But so did I fail, by getting an epidural with my third? Am I less of a mom now? Less of a woman? (Weird question, considering I already don’t feel like a “real woman” and never have, lol. Which I think is part of why I felt so driven to go unmedicated in the first place: thinking that, maybe if I can do this, that will prove that I’m a real woman.) Sometimes, sadly, I do think so. These thoughts started to creep in in the weeks and months following the birth, as I began to process it. Maybe if I had just been tougher. Maybe if I had just prepared more…
Which, I realize, is total BS! The birth went great. Baby was healthy, I was healthy, we recovered perfectly with no complications, nursing went great, bonding went great. (Not employing survivor’s bias here; it’s definitely not true that there are never complications from an epidural; just saying that I had an objectively great experience.) And, the epidural itself was delightful. I was afraid I’d be numb like I was for the c-section (hated that), but no, I could still feel my legs and even move them around, they were just very heavy, like they were full of warm sand, and kinda tingly. I still had sensation, just no pain. It was awesome! So why do I feel like I missed out or failed by sparing myself a few minutes of unnecessary agony?
Is it because today’s Natural Birth Movement, with all its woman-shaming, profit-driven propaganda, has gotten under my skin? If I were giving birth in the ‘70s or ‘80s, would I feel so bad about getting an epidural? Probably not.
Or is it because of my Catholic guilt? I worry it might be some of both. God designed this process, so why should I cheat and try to sidestep His plan? The great saints offered up their suffering to God with joy, so why couldn’t I do the same? I guess I just don’t love God enough–?
I’m trying to come up with a refutation for that argument, and struggling. In reality I know I don’t need to feel guilty for being weak: God made us weak and needy little sorry creatures, naturally inclined to accept, nay, beg for any kind of anesthesia during any kind of struggle. It’s not like getting an epidural is some kind of sin, haha. But is it an imperfection?
That I don’t know. I don’t know if I really believe that unmedicated birth is superior, or if those thoughts are just the old self-loathing poking its head up again like a whack-a-mole popping out of a new hole. As I was saying in the beginning, I am inclined to think that a lot of it is self-loathing, and that it’s the same for a great many women out there: the Natural Birth predators feed upon their self-loathing, which is epidemic in this era of poor mental health and antidepressants, poor body image and low self-esteem. This movement, and those who push it, feed upon these vulnerable women’s desire to prove to themselves that they are somehow worthy. Which is sick, and definitely not God’s will.
If that’s true, then accepting an epidural during birth is actually an act of rebellion, an act of courage, in a world that wants to tell you you’re not good enough if you do so. However, they say the same thing in the ED recovery world: loving yourself in a world that wants you to hate yourself is a radical act of courage. Yup, I hear that, and nod my head in approval: this sounds like great advice, for somebody else. But for some reason this advice does not apply to me lol, because I am actually worse than everyone else. 🙃
For better or for worse, I think that when, God willing, the time comes for me to give birth again, I’m going to try to avoid the epidural, if only because I find more than enough reasons to talk shit about myself to myself already lol, I don’t particularly need one more. Best believe I’ll be using a midwife instead of an OB, though.