Experiencing an unmedicated natural birth was one of the most challenging moments of my life. Traumatic. Painful. Nightmarish. Even after ten months since I gave birth without pain relief, the memories still trigger anxiety and discomfort in my body.
Choosing to go through labor without an epidural was never part of my plan. Many women prepare for a drug-free experience, spending months honing their breathing techniques and visualization skills. I, however, am not one of those women. I prefer pain relief, thank you very much.
I can handle a certain level of discomfort. With my first child, I endured over an hour of active labor before I called for an epidural. I had been induced but wanted to feel what true labor was like. After 58 minutes of contractions, I demanded the anesthesiologist. Once the epidural was in, I felt a wave of relief wash over me.
My second child’s birth was similar in that I was induced again, but this time I didn’t hesitate. After just one contraction, I called for the anesthesiologist.
When it came time to have my third child, I was once more induced. A young nurse named Sarah, fresh out of nursing school, was assigned to me. While a new mother might have felt alarmed by her inexperience, I was confident. I had been through this before and was ready to tackle another birth.
Once I reached 4 cm dilated, Sarah gave me a drop of Pitocin. “Let me know when you want to call the anesthesiologist,” she said, handing me a labor ball. I had never used one before, but I figured I’d give it a try. I plopped down on it, and with a little bounce, I exclaimed, “I feel like I have to poop.”
Sarah spun around in surprise. “I think I—” Whoosh. “Oh no, my water just broke!”
Suddenly, there was a rush of liquid covering my legs, the ball, and the floor. Sarah urged me to stand and walk to the bed, but panic set in. “I can’t!” I screamed, immobilized by the overwhelming sensation of impending birth. The pressure built around my belly as I felt the baby’s head pushing down.
My husband stepped in to support me as Sarah dashed out of the room. Moments later, she returned with a more experienced nurse who appeared ready for action. I desperately needed her expertise.
“Kimberly,” the veteran nurse said, leaning close. “I need to check you.” As they rolled me onto the bed, my heart raced uncontrollably. There was no break between contractions. I couldn’t breathe. “I need an epidural!” I shouted, convinced I couldn’t handle it any longer.
“Kimberly, he’s on his way,” the veteran nurse assured me, but then added, “You’ll need to start pushing soon.” My scream echoed through the room, surely alarming every other mother in labor.
Sarah seemed to fade from my memory as a doctor arrived at my feet. Chaos ensued as medical staff rushed to prepare for the delivery. My body instinctively began to push, but my mind was still in shock. I had given birth before, but this time was different. The pain consumed me. All I could do was scream and sweat.
“Kimberly, breathe!” the veteran nurse instructed, getting right in my face. “Look at me!”
I struggled to focus on her tiny diamond nose ring. “Bear down and push. Ready. Go. 10, 9, 8…” I screamed through each push, wishing to escape my own body.
With each contraction, I felt every inch of my daughter coming into the world. Her head released the unbearable pressure, followed by her shoulders and legs. They placed her on my chest, but I was still overwhelmed by pain. My muscles were tense, and I couldn’t fully appreciate the moment as I felt the need to push out the placenta.
As the minutes passed, my personal OB-GYN entered the room. But the ordeal wasn’t over; I needed stitches. The doctor applied numbing cream, but it did little to ease the agony. I felt each stitch as if my privates were being pulled apart. “Owww!” I cried out.
“Kimberly, look at me. Breathe,” the veteran nurse said, reappearing. “She’s hurting me!” I protested, feeling as if my words fell on deaf ears.
When the stitching finally ended, I felt a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. I held my baby tightly as nurses cleaned me up. I was a whirlwind of emotions—exhausted, thrilled, and traumatized. My husband, half-joking, said he felt like he was watching a horror movie. I’m sure an exorcism doesn’t hurt this much.
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In summary, my experience with natural birth was nothing short of harrowing. While I had prepared for the joy of welcoming my child, the pain and trauma overshadowed the moment. For anyone facing similar challenges, know that you’re not alone.