A natural birth story.
Giving birth turned out to be one of the most humbling experiences of my life. It made it completely irrelevant what kind of car you drive, what kind of job you have, what clothes you wear, or your opinion about a political party. We are all equal in front of mother nature when we are naked and in pain.
My focus of attention became incredibly narrow. I was completely engrossed in each moment as all of my energy was going towards one thing and one thing only: breathe and get through this one contraction. I have a feeling the wisest of Zen monks would have been proud of my ability to focus on the present. Maybe I’ll get this type of clarity again when I am about to die?
I lay on the hospital bed completely naked, covered by a thin sheet for modesty. All I could think: “I don’t give a shit about anything right now.” I was a few hours into my contractions, and I was hot and panicking. My body felt as if possessed by a demon. In the final stages of birthing, all of me would shake as if watching some crazy demonic ceremony where a person suddenly catches the spirit. I asked the doctor why that was happening. He said: “Your body is undergoing a lot of changes very fast.” I don’t know if the question was stupid, but the answer seemed so painfully obvious.
I went into labor wanting to give natural birth. However, I was completely open to doing an epidural if necessary. When I first got brought up to the unit, my delivery nurse asked me: “What’s your birthing plan?” “I want to try natural,” I told her quietly.
She said: “Did you take the classes?” I diligently shook my head. But inside, I thought: “No way in hell “hu, hu, haaa” breathing exercises are going to help me.” She gave me the look of, “I don’t know about you yet, but maybe you stand a chance.”
As contractions started to get more intense and last longer, I began turning to her more and more. Should we be talking about an epidural? She responded with: “Do you want to try the Jacuzzi Tub?” I was lucky to have one in my room. I agreed reluctantly.
The nurse turned off the overhead lights, turned on the jest, and the bath lit up. I painted my toes a happy neon green in case I needed some cheering up. Guess what? It worked! As soon as I merged my spasmodic body in the water, the contractions’ intensity went down tenfold. The sensory overload of a million water particles touching every inch of my skin took my mind off the pain. The water felt warm and gentle. It felt as if my grandmother pulled me into her plush chest and held me tight. I felt everything was going to be O.K.
I don’t know how much time passed, but I was yanked out of my peaceful state with each incoming contraction. I started feeling the panic coming on again. The nurse came in and guided me through a more aggressive “hu, hu, hu, hu, hu, haaaaaa.” My husband helped me keep the rhythm. He held my hand, and together we looked like a chanting tribe. I was shocked, but again it worked! It helped me get through another set of contractions and then a few more; it was good until it wasn’t. I told my husband I had to get out of the tub.
I kept saying I think I need the epidural. The nurse said: “You are doing great!” I didn’t believe her and demanded an explanation. She patiently responded with: “Because in between contractions you can completely relax and save your energy. Most people stay so tense that they don’t have any energy left to push.” That was good enough for now.
I am not sure how much time passed between bath and being back in bed, but I couldn’t take the pain anymore. The pain led to aggression: my husband said, “Let’s try walking as they suggested in the videos.” “No way in hell! And don’t ask again!” was my reply. The nurse suggested trying to bounce on the physioball, and I grudgingly agreed. After all, she has been right with the bath and the breathing exercises.
One bounce and a demonic exorcist sound started coming out of my throat that I suppressed. Another bounce, another sound but this time, I let it out. The nurse looked at me sternly and said: “You stop, that! That’s how your baby is going to come out, and you are not fully dilated yet.” That scared me. The next few I suppressed, and that intensified the pain immensely. Like a shaken can of pop, the pressure was unbearable.
At this point, no ball, no bath, no walking, no bed. “I want the epidural!” The nurse suggested: “Why don’t you lay down again? We’ll check your dilation.” To my relief, she said I went from 5 cm to 9.5 in a matter of an hour, and that meant I could push. It also meant no epidural.
I felt hope and an end in sight. I started to push enthusiastically. The ability to push along with the contractions served as an incredible relief of pain. I realized that holding back what the body was naturally ready to do was the only bad advice she gave me.
To my surprise, pushing wasn’t a given. I had to learn how to do it. Much like learning how to dance with a partner, it required some timing and coordination to hit the peak of the contraction with my volitional efforts.
I set my goal for 20–30 min to push and be done. Coming into labor, I recalled all kinds of stories from other women, most of which were bad, but two of them were good. They were other athletic women who had a good experience, and I was hoping to emulate them. It turns out my story wasn’t theirs, and it took me over two hours. I felt like I was doing AirDyne bike sprints in college. 1 min on, 15 seconds rest, and do 100 reps. When I felt like I didn’t have anything left, I summoned the strength to push again, and again, and again.
Still, I knew I didn’t have much left in me. Watching the clock made me panic: “Can’t you help me? Can’t you help pull him out?” The nurse calmly answered: “Trust me, honey, you don’t want that.” My next thought was a pleading to the doctor with, “Please, I don’t want to tear.” “Well…” he just muttered and looked away; it was too late for that.
The doctor and the nurse announced that my son’s head started peeking through, but I didn’t believe them. My husband looked, he confirmed, but I didn’t believe him either. I didn’t feel the ring of fire. All of my pain was in my stomach. Another one or two pushes, and it all stopped. I heard my son crying for the first time.
I must have felt relief, but all I remember is complete exhaustion. It was 05:06 a.m. (my water broke at 7 p.m. the night prior), my son was born a hefty 9lbs 7oz.
Looking back on the experience, I am in disbelief that I was able to give natural birth. It was an act of loosely placed intention, a very clever veteran nurse, an incredibly supportive husband, Mom, and the magical bathtub!
It was one of the most raw and pure experiences of my life. I felt like I was able to see myself completely unfiltered and see my ego. A part of me is usually suppressed and well hidden behind learned social norms and the need to be liked.
I saw myself act rudely and impatiently, I swung between aggression and pleading, and I was scared to the point of begging. None of these traits, especially the admittance of being helpless and insecure, I would willingly share with anyone. But I saw them and forgave myself.
I accepted those parts of me as normal reactions to the circumstances. I was able to admit the need for help and allowed myself to be completely vulnerable. Still, I felt dignity. I hope to achieve that kind of self-acceptance in my day-to-day life.
I can’t believe women have been going through this since the beginning of time. Somehow, the thought that other people had done this before you lessened the fear, but it is a truly frightening experience. Having zero control over your body and such incredible pain levels is just astounding. Giving birth is a badge of honor and horror that I am proud to share with other women. I really get it now. It made me understand why celebrities hire someone to carry their children because of the havoc pregnancy and birthing cause on your body. The rest of us… are truly made equal. Giving birth is such an honor and privilege to experience in your lifetime. I wouldn't trade it for the world. One more?
