When I was pregnant with my daughter, I wanted it to be as natural as possible (um, in a hospital), in the water even, but after a few dozen hours of labor, I gave in and got drugs. Holy moses, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. I wanted to make love to that anesthesiologist.
With my son, there were no delusions of grandeur - I knew I was headed straight back down the road to another spinal. Both my husband and were enthusiastic about regaining that pain relief for me. No shame.
Finn went 10 days past his due date. I had stretch marks on my belly that were pulled so tight they started to scab up. I was beyond capacity and when my midwife suggested we start talking about induction, I was all over it.
We stopped at a drugstore and stocked up on snacks (cheetos and snickers - keeps you satsified) before we got to the hospital. It was late evening - 7 or 8? It felt so odd to be at a hospital, doing something so monumental, without our daughter. They loaded up the induction drugs and - here's where it gets confusing - and the nurse (to her credit) asked if I wanted any drugs. AND I SAID NO. I said something like 'nah, I feel fine now - I'm just gonna ride it for a while'. Even at the time, I remember wondering why that came out of my mouth. Barry didn't understand it either; he was confused (someone who does not like a change of plans) but wise enough not to press for a logical answer at that point. But I kept on keepin' on; I refused that epidural for as many hours as I could and eventually gave in
I don't feel like this had anyhintg to do with birthing 'nobility'` - like I was trying to recreate a birth where maybe I wouldn't need drugs? If that was part of it, I assure you it was not the first thought. I feel like this is typical Stacy behavior. Like this is totally my MO. Like I enjoy letting shit get really really bad before I let myself fix it. Like I wanna see how far I can take it. How long I can go in misery before I seek relief? Does that make me a masochist?
I finally gave in, of course. This story would be so much stronger if I had stuck it out. Does there always have to be a breaking point? Can we truly bite our lips throught the worst things, until we bleed through to the end - and does a glorious moment come where we can rise above because of that? And does the breaking down make us weaker? Or does breaking and coming back together ultimately make us stronger? Birth is always painful [though I am sure the devil women who have orgasms in labor would disagree]; birth of a new child, birth of a new life of one's own. It all hurts - if it doesn't, I guess we're not really doing it, are we?
