Fighting the Fear

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It's funny how a little bit of knowledge can change everything. And with that knowledge how fast a person can change. 37 weeks ago today, I was unemployed, wondering what to do with my life, and unbeknownst to me, finishing up the last period I would have for 9 months. If you had asked me that day if I had plans to get pregnant in the next 2 weeks, I'd have said no. If you had asked me to, nevertheless, hypothetically imagine myself pregnant in the next 2 weeks and then to explain what my hypothetical "birth plan" looked like, I would probably have made a joke about drugs! Lots of drugs! I would have been joking and yet quite serious because why suffer through childbirth in 2010? If there are means to make it more bearable, bring 'em on, sister!

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Of course, once I saw those two pink lines, the hormones kicked into overload as did my desire to have a perfect! pregnancy! all! the! way! give! me! more! spinach! and! greens! Furthermore, spurred on by the account of a famous blogger's natural childbirth, I started to do more research on the whole matter. And quickly my "Epidural Cocktail, please!" approach to labour transitioned to a more "Let's birth the baby in the kitchen and then we'll bury the placenta under our apple tree afterwards" outlook.

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Ok, maybe I never went that far but I definitely embraced the idea that childbirth (and even the pain that accompanies it) is something to be, well, embraced. All the benefits of natural childbirth appealed to me (easier on your body, easier on the baby, easier time nursing) and I agreed with those who said that labour was an experience that women should embrace, not shirk away from (i.e. that it's not something, like a disease, to be healed from).

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Of course, mostly due to Adders' insistence and the fact that our families clearly thought I was crazy, the plan remained to have the baby at the hospital. And I maintained (and I think I still maintain it!) that I'm not setting out to be a hero or the holy martyr of labour here. If I find I can't make it through the whole ordeal without some sort of pain-relief supplement, I will reconsider my options.

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However, around 6 months into the pregnancy I was recommended a book on "Hypno-Birthing" by a girlfriend from my pre-natal class. Now when she initially told me that she and her husband took a whole course on hypno-birthing, I was both wary and skeptical and might have told Adders about it later, describing it with the word "creepy." For some reason, I pictured hypno-birthing as having some magician in the labour room with you, telling you to bark like a dog or something to distract you from the intensity of the contractions. Of course, it didn't occur to me to find out what actual hypno-birthing was. No, no - I like to be ignorant in my judgments of people and things!

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However, just recently another girl in my prenatal yoga class decided to read the hypno-birthing book our mutual friend had recommended and she too extolled its benefits after enduring a particularly hard, prolongued labour. And since I was now facing only a few short weeks until OH MY GOD I'M IN LABOUR KILL ME NOW GAH THIS HURTS rather than a few months, I decided that maaaaaybe I should read the damn book.

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And now I'm almost done the damn book. And it's blown my damn mind.

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Now, I believe in taking most things in life with a grain of salt. So trust me when I say that I too initially had a hard time accepting the book's proposition that childbirth doesn't have to hurt. And yet the arguments make sense - our whole lives, women are told that childbirth is gruesome and horrible. We watch movies that poke fun of this, hear stories that confirm it - labour is pretty much the most terrible pain a woman will have to endure. And so we approach childbirth with an already deeply ingrained fear about it. Not to mention that we live in a society that is already fear-based (just try reading any pregnancy website and you'll come across a ton of articles with titles such as, "Why those bananas and strawberries might not be as good for your unborn baby as you thought" and "Too much exercise - is it hard on the baby?" and "If you loved your unborn baby, you probably would stop eating peanut butter" (I read an article similarly titled to this as I ate an actual peanut butter sandwich). Anyhow, as a society, we approach childbirth with much fear and trepidation, and fear naturally leads to tension and stress in our body, which causes our body to contract forcibly and in opposition to itself and bam! Pain in childbirth becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

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Now I realize this is a really dumbed down explanation and I'm not asking you to believe the book's thesis based on my ridiculous description of its premise above. But trust me when I say that it makes sense when you read it. And that if you read it, you would likely nod your head too and say things like, "Wow, I need to have a natural childbirth, if only for my baby's sake so that his/her spirit will retain a good birth memory." Yeah, I know that sounds creepy too. BUT AGAIN, IF YOU READ THE BOOK, IT ALL MAKES SENSE.

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It also makes sense in terms of the theology that I ultimately believe (although have a hard time practicing), namely that my mind should have physical dominion over my body, and that my spirit/soul should have dominion over my mind. And therefore, I think I should be able to control both my thoughts and body from ever spiralling out of my, well, control.

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So that was my plan. That IS my plan. It's just that, well, it's fucking hard to do. Oh my God, people, it's practically impossible.

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See, last week I was all, "Ooh, I am fearless when it comes to this labour!" In fact, I even said to my mom on Sunday, "Yeah, usually I am a pessimist/realist about things in life. I like to approach things thinking the worst will happen because then I can be pleasantly surprised when disaster doesn't take place. But with this labour, I just figure what will be will be and there's no point in freaking out beforehand."

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My midwife too had told me about some precautions to watch out for in this pregnancy and I was all, "Whatevs. Stop trying to scare me. Everything is going to be fiiiiine."

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And yet, that's all fine to say when you're feeling great, confident and you haven't felt so much as a twinge in your uterus. But yesterday? Yesterday scared the fucking hell out of me because I got a small glimpse of what labour might feel like and oh Lordy, I am so afraid!

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And yet the irony is that the book is right! Pain IS all tied to fear. Let me explain. Yesterday morning I got a phone call that involved a mix-up wherein my latest blood test results (for iron levels) were sent to my regular family physician instead of my midwife, who is overseeing the pregnancy. So they phoned me to make an appointment because "my doctor wanted to discuss some blood results." Now I knew the logical explanation was just that the lab had sent them the lab results by accident instead of to the midwives. And that all the blood test really concerned were my iron level results.

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However, being extremely over-tired or 37 weeks pregnant and crazy or SOMETHING to that effect, I decided that the doctor had somehow received another mysterious set of blood/lab results that proved I was dying of some horrendous incurable disease and that he needed to talk to me about it before I keeled over dead. Of course, this wasn't the case and the whole situation was cleared up once I put in a phone call to my midwife's office (EEEEE-ORRRRRR). But still, I was rattled.

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But as the exhausting day progressed, and we started our drive home from Calgary (NOTE: my parents and I made a less-than-24-hour trip there to meet my newborn nephew. It was great to see the wee baby, but marathon trips to Calgary aren't the smartest things for 37 weeks pregnant women to do), I began having contractions. Perhaps feeling vulnerable in the backseat of my dad's vehicle, driving down the desolate 22x highway and knowing we were still a good 3 hours from the safety of home and my midwife's expertise, I decided that these weren't necessarily just Braxton-Hicks contractions, oh no, these were likely the real thing. BUT! Not only were they the real thing and I was in labour, but the baby's head wasn't fully engaged! And so now the umbilical cord would slip out while in the moving vehicle. And we wouldn't have cell phone coverage. And I'd be in labour and pain and the baby would die (because of the umbilical cord). And I would then die too. And my parents would have these two bloody corpses in the backseat of the Denali, without even cell service to call the Coroner's office.

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So instead of taking the hypno-birthing book's advice on relaxation techniques and the types of breathing and visualizations to do, I worried over every single contraction. I timed them, anticipated them, and agonized over each one, as they got more and more painful (because remember, each one was bringing me closer to me and my baby's deaths). I also managed to feel extremely sorry for myself. Which meant that I was such a bundle of nerves, it's no wonder that the contractions came so fast and furiously. And I think the most dismaying part was that a rational part of me remained ever present and conscious, and let me tell you, that conscious, reasonable part of my brain was SHOCKED and HORRIFIED by how fast my brain betrayed my body (instead of encouraging my body with thoughts of "You can do this! This is a natural process. You know exactly what to do!" I was instead invaded with thoughts of "You're screwing this up! You're hurting the baby. Just get this baby out, he's safer outside your horrible womb that is probably choking him to death").

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Of course, when I got back to the safety of my house and Adders drew me a bath and said all the right things, and I released a bit of tension with a few sobs and a bottle of water, the contractions suddenly vanished. Well, that is until I went poop 20 minutes later. So yeah, I endured 3 hours of intense, painful, scary labour to deliver a small turd.

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But that's not the point. The point is that it really is mind over matter. And that I failed. Spectacularly. For all my brazen talk this past week, I still haven't learned to fight the fear. Instead, I gave into it. And that can't happen when I'm confronted with the real thing. Otherwise, I am going to cave and give into the epidural cocktail. AND GOD HELP ME, I REALLY DON'T WANT TO!

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So I have 3.5 more days of work. Then I'm on maternity leave. And instead of spending my days wandering around the house, whining that I'm bored, flicking through the channels to find nothing on TV but Judge Judy shows, and allowing my imagination to get away from itself in anticipation of my pending childbirth, I am instead going to practice and prepare. And fight the fucking fear. Because labour? I want to make you MY bitch!

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However, that's next week. This week it's all about fighting the fucking boredom. Ugh. 1.5 hours until this day is over. Then it's 3 more to go...