My Daughter's Birth Story Part VI: You know where you can put your full experience?

You may recall that part I of this series was parenthetically titled "why intervention is fine with me." What does that mean? That I don't subscribe to the idea that introducing medicine or medical intervention into the birthing process results in a less authentic experience.

This is one of the many mommy-war battlefields out there - and one of the many that's largely trumped up by media and the echo chamber of blogs and media generally. It's a war of natural childbirth vs. whatever the opposite is: unnatural? Medicated? Industrialized. Evil. whatever.

Of course, it's a perceived war that may not bear out in real life between actual moms, save a few. Like nursing in public, where the anecdotes of public shaming have yet to prove out in my experience, there may not be as much judgmental opposition to medicine in births as you might think.

But there are some loud voices that make women feel bad and less whole for certain decisions in the birthing process and even if they are presented in a "can you believe this" fashion, the message is insidious and sneaks into a worried mom's thoughts. And, as I think I mentioned before, this is the firstyist of first world problems - where and how to deliver a baby. Everyone should be so lucky as to have options.

But here's an example of "can you believe this" that helps make my point.

My Daughter's Birth Story Part V: "We're Crashing 61"

After seeing something she didn't like and putting an end to the pushing, the doc crashed the room.

Sounds dramatic right? "Crashing" a room.

Guess what - it totally was.

My Daughter's Birth Story Part IV: People Normally Push For How Long?

I started pushing at 12:47pm.

I asked how long the pushing part lasts.  They wouldn't let me go longer than three hours, I was told.  I set my sight on the wall clock and thought, okay then.

Pushing must not be that easy because it can take some time to push correctly.  Otherwise it's just wasted time and  pain.

What? Did I say pain? But what about the epidural?  Oh, I still had that in place and was still medicated but you can't NOT feel what's going on. I'll address this again later when I attempt to debunk this notion that women with epidurals don't EXPERIENCE their births. Fuck you, I experienced plenty.  But more on that.

For awhile it was just the L&D nurse and my husband, each with one of my legs and pulling.  R counted, I pushed, the nurse tried to coach my best pushing.

And on it went.

My Daughter's Birth Story Part III: sh*t gets serious.

By about 11pm on Sunday night - 30 hours into my hospital stay and about 25 since I started having contractions - it stopped being fun.

Okay, it wasn't fun before, but it really stopped being fun around then.

There was much gripping of the bed rail - which was far too shaky - and breathing through was cutting it anymore. I wanted some relief but was waiting for the magic 4cm mark. I was effaced, but still no-cm wide. I hoped the uptick in pain meant things were moving but a check from a phenomenally awesome nurse confirmed: no dice.

The on-call doctor recommended another round of whatever pain meds I'd had the night before. Those gave me about an hour of strange, confusing dozing.

Between the checking and the meds, it was now approaching 1am and I was done. D.O.N.E. I don't think I was crying because I couldn't get past the pain to do so. I was still 0cm but I didn't care anymore. And Awesome Nurse said "as soon as you get that epidural, I'll get you to 2."

Enter anesthesiologist. There was a last, difficult walk to the restroom and back to bed. Then I had to - haha - hunch over a pillow and hold still - hold still?- DURING contractions while they administered the epidural.

It didn't hurt. Maybe it did, but contractions hurt wayyyy the fuck more, y'all.

I asked how long it would take to feel any relief and was told 10-15 min max. Okay, I can do that. They cleared the room, the lights went down and R went back to his sleeper chair.

Twenty minutes later I was wimpering and scared to hell that I was the one person an epidrual wouldn't work on because nothing was any less contracty.

My Daughter's Birth Story Part II: Checking-in, Dosing-up, Waiting

On Saturday morning, we tried to sleep in a bit. The biggest debate as we fought off wakefulness was where to have brunch. This town may not have a lot of stuff, but what we do have is great breakfast choices. Ultimately, we went for a pub breakfast - I ordered wrong and was disappointed. Oh well. It was hard to act normally when - hello - I was causally going to check into the hospital that evening.

I can't remember all that we did that day, aside from the breakfast, but I know a lot of it was boring housework and cat litter stuff. My sister came over.

And then it was close to 5pm and we were late getting out of the house. Naturally.

As my husband loaded the car and my sister left, I took a moment to stand in the hallway, alone, and think - this is the end of this time. This is the last time we leave this house as a couple on our own. When we come back, we'll have a baby with us. Thoughts of "last" hung heavy in my mind. And then it was time to go.

My Daughter's Birth Story (Why Intervention Is Fine With Me)

Along with BOB strollers, Sophie Giraffes, and Moby Wraps, birth guilt and uncertainty is a hallmark of modern yuppy parenting.

And before we proceed, let's call the debate over at-home vs hospital births the firstest of First World Problems. Can we agree on that? That millions of women don't have the option for medical intervention even when necessary, so the luxury of selecting a birth experience (I'd scare quote that last word if doing so weren't against Strunk & White) should be identified as such?

You can't get through pregnancy these days without contemplating natural vs. well, whatever the opposite of natural childbirth would be - medically intervened birth? Epidural-assisted birth? No drugs vs. drugs, how about that. Second to that is contemplation of a home birth - a way to really (close your eyes and say the word with me) experience your child's birth.

For many reasons, the notion of natural - that is to say - non-medicated childbirth didn't sit well with me. In fact, it sat on top of me like a stone, pressing from my psyche nearly any joy or excitement over my baby's impendind debut. Then I took an anesthesia class at the hospital where I'd be delivering and OH BOY suddenly I felt confident enough to proceed after all.

After fantasizing about how to tell my husband I was pregnant, the next most fantasized about moment was the "honey, it's time," and frantic dash to the hospital. Alas, for me, that moment never came and probably never will on the improbable chance we have more children.