Firstly, let me lay my cards on the table. I am pro-pain relief in labour. I truly believe that epidurals are the mark of a civilised society; one of man’s greatest accomplishments. For that I make no apologies.
Obviously, once my defective heart was discovered at six months pregnant, the option of a natural birth went the way of the dodo. To be honest, I hadn’t been overly insistent on one when it had been a viable choice (although I did entertain the notion of a home-birth for about five minutes when I first realised I was pregnant. How endearingly optimistic I was). At five and a half months gone, however, a birth plan was nothing more than a trivial piece of parturitional jargon I’d resolutely ignored on whatever balled-up leaflet I happened to salvage from the bottom of my bag. I suppose you could say I was grossly unprepared, though in my defence, I was spending the majority of my time gasping for air.
That said, I was never one of those women (who ARE they?) who consider accepting even the mildest puff of gas during labour as an admission of defeat; as if you’re somewhat less of a woman, as I’ve seen it written, if you decide against, or are denied the option of, an all singing, all dancing, all natural, pain relief-free, vaginal* delivery. That’s the most ridiculous sentiment I’ve ever heard in my life. Don’t get me wrong, if you’ve managed to withstand a natural birth on sheer will alone, I have nothing but the sincerest admiration for you. I mean, ouch! But, please, don’t denigrate those of us who’ve declined, through choice or otherwise, to push. I’ll have you know that a caesarean is major abdominal surgery and also, in the ensuing weeks especially, really quite ouch. It’s not a competition; WE ARE ALL MAGNIFICENT!
Right, after that wild digression, where was I? Yes, epidurals. How amazing are they? You probably won’t be surprised to hear that after a less than straightforward pregnancy, childbirth was just as eventful for me: emergency c-section with bells on but that’s for another time. What I will say is that, apart from having my dear little lady placed in my arms obviously (I’m not a complete freak), the effects** of the epidural were the singularly most pleasurable aspect of the whole childbirth experience. The tingling, the numbness, the sheer novelty of having your lower abdomen sliced open and not feeling A DAMN THING! “Can you lift your legs?” “NO! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” “Is it over already?” “OHMIGAWWWWWD!” “Where’s the placenta???” “That’s out too!” “WHAAAAAAAT? THIS IS AMAAAAAZING!!” I think you catch my drift.
Of course, me being me, there were complications. I nearly drifted into unconciousness at one point but I’ll talk about that at a later date. The whole point of this post is to marvel at the wonders of modern medicine. Whatever you choose you can’t deny that we’re lucky to have it. Don’t ever forget it.
*If you can say ‘vaginal’ without sniggering then you’re a better person than me. I’m clearly twelve.
**The actual administration of the epidural, well, that hurt. The ONLY reason I didn’t shed a tear is because I’m an extremely unpretty crier. I go a special shade of puce, snot abounds, really, it’s most unattractive.
Not Your Average Baby 