Epidural Magic (accepting all the gifts of birth)

This is not a post about “shoulds.” It’s not an “either/or” conversation, or an “us vs. them” conversation. It doesn’t weigh pros and cons, and it’s not about decision-making, though, if you’re in the process of decision-making, I can help you find information, and, perhaps more importantly, I can help remind you to listen to the wisdom that’s already in you, and which, in its innate awesomeness, knows how to be flexible and abide in the present moment. (Psst: What that means is, you can’t decide *right now* whether you’ll want certain interventions at your birthing time. So go ahead and gather information but you can relax about making that decision right this second. It isn’t time.)

This is a post about epidural magic. Or, more accurately, it’s a post about the varied potential for magic in birth.

In my home, there are still slips of paper taped to the walls from eight months ago. They are ink drawings my husband made of a woman (me) in labor. Daniel made these drawings a week or two before my due date, because I asked him to. I love my husband’s drawings, and it helped me to look at these images and to take deep breaths and imagine myself peaceful during our daughter’s birth.

Daniel was paying attention during childbirth class, and he knows how helpful it is for Mom to remain mobile. The woman in the drawings is an active birther. She is floating in a birth tub with a small smile on her face. She walks. She spends some time in bed. She bounces on a birth ball, and she crawls around on her hands and knees. She is very often rubbing her belly. In the last drawing, the woman squats triumphantly, holding her baby. I still get teary-eyed when I look at that one.

My greatest inspiration: Ink Woman and Ink Baby at birth

It’s cool to look at this collection of drawings — my husband’s imaginations of what our birth might look like — and to compare them to my memories of the actual birth. There are a few things he got right. One is the nudity, because, while it’s not great for photographs, it’s just more convenient. The other is the silence.

That’s one thing I didn’t expect about birth, had never imagined. The periods of silence for which we were so grateful, in which I was able to rest completely between contractions. The respectful distance our caregivers kept from us, their voices confined to whispers for the entire day I spent laboring. I took 60-second naps between contractions during the pushing phase, and it felt as if the entire birth team went to sleep with me, they were so careful to guard my space and honor my way of making it through.

There are moments like these in every birth. I knew that intimately, once I had experienced it. But I couldn’t quite imagine it happening in the final moments, as the baby’s head was crowning — that part was just too intense. How could there be peace in that moment? With that enormous pressure in Mom’s body, and all the anticipation of everybody in the room, and the instructions from the caregivers, and the dad/partner just trying to stay upright and breathe and be tough for these crucial final moments of acting as hand-holder and coach?

Well, that’s epidural magic. I was able to witness it recently, with a Mom in a great, strong birthing who, when she was ready, confidently chose an epidural late in labor. She had a brief rest then and took some time to hydrate, and continued to smile at everyone a lot, as she had through the entire birth. In the final minutes before the couple met their baby, that complete, surprising silence which is known only to birth, and which had visited us briefly throughout the long day of laboring — it shocked me by coming back. Right at the big moment.

There’s a rumor out there that all doulas are anti-epidural, and that doulas exist to support only “natural births.” Obviously, I cannot speak for all doulas, but I can tell you that the largest pieces in the puzzle of my birth philosophy are safety and choice. If an epidural is a choice, and it is, it’s an invaluable opportunity for a Mom to know herself better and to speak up for herself and her needs. If to be numb is to be without sensation and, to a certain extent, immobilized, then to choose an epidural can be seen as a choice to surrender to the wisdom of your body completely, to relinquish some of your control (both real and imagined), and to allow yourself one last giant moment of vulnerability in the presence of the birth team who has come with you so far. On the other side of that decision, that empowerment, is the potential for magic.

I am new to birth work, but I know why it has called on me. As a doula, I try to help my client figure out what makes her feel safe and supported. I am there to hold her hand while she makes her own decisions, when the moment is right for making them. Then, I listen for the silence to come. A woman as the decision-maker, in total ownership of her experience, will have that magic around her. This time, magic was Mom in a moment of restful stillness, trusting completely the work of her body during its time of great effort. She exchanged tiny smiles with the members of her birth team. She inhaled deeply and looked into the eyes of her partner. She exhaled into the final moments of her own incredible quiet.