The atmosphere in the delivery room is calm. The labouring woman is in the birthing pool, breathing calmly and deeply through the contractions that are becoming increasingly stronger. Her husband is by her side, occasionally mopping her sweaty forehead. Bach’s ‘Air’ is playing in the background and a hint of sandlewood incense is filling the room.
She has been labouring for five hours, but she knows that she can get through this, and soon she will hold a beautiful baby in her arms. Sometimes she inhales gas at the height of each contraction, but it’s really her mental state that gets her through. As each wave of pain washes over her, she surrenders and allows it to sweep her away. Her eyes are closed and her breathing is deep and rhythmic.
Suddenly she knows it’s time. She climbs out of the pool and grabs hold of its edge. She spreads her legs and bends her knees slightly, her naked body glistening in the morning sun seeping through the window. Connecting to all the earth mothers before her, she pushes hard three times and suddenly heaven’s gates open, the angels sing, and a baby is born. Hallelujah!
Well, this would be nice wouldn’t it? Feeling in control, being in awe of how powerful the body is to expel the baby, and embracing the pain instead of fearing it. This is how I’d like the events to unfold. But I wouldn’t surprise me if the opposite happens, i.e. epidural, episiotomy, catheter, forceps, cone headed cranky baby, stiches and backache. I know, it’s the end result that’s really important, but I think the journey to the end destination matters too.
I’m not (completely) opposed to an epidural, hell I might just cry for one myself, but this painkilling method is unappealing for various reasons. First, it’s the idea of having a massive needle inserted into your spine. Yikes. What if they mess up? Then labour may slow down and in the end you may need an instrumental delivery. But mostly it’s the idea of not being in control that I dislike. Not being able to move around as I like. Lying in bed like a vegetable and relying on the midwife to know when to push. Oh how I dislike the thought of needles and syringes, stirrups and scrubs. I find it so passive, undignified even. I would like to play the lead role in the drama of my own birth experience; I don’t want to be the movie extra.
