It seems there are two major camps when it comes to childbirth ideologies. There are the mothers who have natural, drug-free births, and at the other end of the scale, the mothers who elect to have epidurals.
What do they have in common?
Both camps proudly tell anyone within earshot of why they made the decision to birth that way. In fact, I’d go so far as to say they wear their birthing method like a badge of honour.
For the natural birthing mums, there’s a whole host of valid reasons behind their choice to birth without drugs. These relate to the way women’s bodies are physiologically designed to give birth, safety concerns around administering painkillers, unnecessary medical interventions and their potential effects on the baby, and of course, the empowerment natural birth makes them feel as women. I’ve got to say, it feels a bit like an exclusive club, though.
The epidural mum’s justification typically has traces of self-defensiveness and self-deprecating cynicism. If the natural birthing mums are the perfect older sisters, getting straight-As on their childbirth assessment, then the ‘gimme all the drugs’, don’t-give-a-shit women are the rebellious younger sisters, trying as hard as they can to be different from their older sister.
Or at least that’s how it feels to me.
But what if you don’t fit either camp?
Then there’s the rest of us – the ones in between, the floaters – that either didn’t get to choose whether we had pain relief (perhaps because of an emergency c-section), or dabbled in some pain relief (gas or morphine) but didn’t commit to the full epidural effect. We don’t really belong in either camp.
We are the women whose day (and night!) of labour doesn’t say much about us as a person, and isn’t a postnatal label we’ve slapped on ourselves, merely as a way of helping decide which clump of mothers we’ll gravitate towards (and which mothers we’ll secretly scorn) at mother’s group.
My epidural-less birth
I have one child, a beautiful boy, whom I gave birth to a little over 16 months ago. His birth was a fairly routine vaginal birth, and had no significant complications, other than the fact that like many first-time mothers, my baby took his sweet time coming.
But there was one minor risk factor in my son’s position in utero that’s quite unusual (it happens in 20 per cent of first-time pregnancies.) He had what’s called a ‘high head’. Basically, his head wasn’t engaged in the pelvis or pressing on my cervix, sending a signal to my body that labour should start, and then progress.
Why I wish I had an epidural (or at least seriously considered it)
I had intended on having as natural a birth as possible and had been practicing calm birthing techniques with my husband in the weeks leading up to my labour. My son arrived 11 days late, and by then I was OVER. IT.
During my last trimester, a few women I knew personally had given birth naturally.
As they told me their birth stories, I mistakenly thought that because they could cope with a natural birth, I could forgo the drugs too. They were a similar age, fitness level and body type. That’s all that mattered, right?
What I didn’t take into consideration was the fact that both those women were induced for medical reasons at 38 weeks, and both had fairly short, five-hour labours.
I didn’t factor in that both these women had babies whose heads were engaged weeks before they gave birth. Or the fact that both women pushed out their baby boys in less than 15 minutes.
The factors that played in my son’s birth
I was in labour for just over 24 hours. I went into early labour at 9pm, and had steady contractions until we went to hospital at 7am the next morning. During that time I found the calm birthing strategies worked for me and my husband, at least for the first few hours.
But progress was slow because my son’s head still wasn’t engaged, I was only 2cm when I got to hospital and exhausted from being up all night with contractions.
Instead of sending me home – a one-hour round trip – the hospital decided to give me an oxytocin drip to speed things along, essentially an induction. But I was never asked (to my knowledge) whether I wanted to be induced.
Perhaps I didn’t realise that’s what they were doing. I was so tired, I didn’t realise it was one of the ‘dreaded’ interventions that calm-birthing mothers are warned to avoid at all costs.
I continued to labour for another 15 hours, growing more and more exhausted with each contraction, and the fatigue made coping with the pain much harder. THIS was the factor women with shorter births don’t have to experience.
No two births can be compared
Here’s another unexpected factor. Because of a pre-existing childhood condition in my knees, I couldn’t kneel or sit on the floor and catch a brief moment of rest. I instinctively knew I didn’t want to lie down, especially when I felt a contraction coming on. I preferred to be upright, so I stood – at one point for three hours straight!
Gas did nothing for me, only made me projectile vomit, all over the poor midwife.
I’d been so brave and so strong for a long time, going almost 18 hours without any form of pain relief (besides a brief swig of gas) and I finally moaned that I needed something. Morphine. An epidural.
But it was too late for an epidural because I was in transition. So they gave me morphine, which slowed down the baby’s progress again, but didn’t give me much respite.
I finally began pushing at 7pm – 22 hours into labour – and pushed for two long, gruelling hours. That’s eight times longer than my ’15 minute’ friends.
At this point, I wished I’d given into the pain four hours earlier and just asked for an epidural.
What was I so afraid of? Was it those glowing, Madonna-like, ‘perfect straight-A sisters’ and natural birthing Instagram mamas I imagined scorning me if I failed them? Why did I care so much about what they thought, or of how my birth would be judged when I told the story afterwards?
It was MY birth. It was ME in that labour room. And I got to call the shots.
Just because ‘she’ had a natural birth, doesn’t mean you should.
And equally, just because ‘she’ had an epidural, doesn’t mean you should.
You should do exactly what you feel you need to do, and what your body and mind is telling you, based on the unique set of circumstances you find yourself in.
We’re in danger of believing that because it happens a certain ‘ideal’ way for one woman, it will happen that way for us. And this doesn’t just apply to natural births. Not all women experience satisfactory relief from an epidural, so basing my decision to get an epidural on another mother’s experience is also unwise.
Two camps aren’t enough when it comes to childbirth
There should be millions of camps, not just two, because no two women experience the same feelings, emotions, physical sensations, pain, and effectiveness of pain relief during birth.
The reality is that there are so many factors that influence a labouring woman’s decision whether or not to accept pain relief. But none of these factors should include the choices her friend, sister or natural birthing Instagram community made.