Counting Down the Days

(This column was originally printed in the Herald-Citizen, minus the images).

Well, my husband and I survived our month-long birthing classes, despite my doubts that I’d make it through. As I’ve mentioned before, medical facilities make me anxious in the first place, and the thought of needles and other unpleasant medial instruments make me squeamish. I can’t count how many times I’ve read a few pages in one of my books about the birthing process, made a horrified face and then shut the book and went to pick up a nice novel instead.

So I knew I was in for a very long evening when women groaning in pain was the introductory “music” for the hour-long video we watched in one class. And then there was the zoomed-in view of these women giving birth — the VERY zoomed-in view. And the video of a woman getting an epidural. Plus the animated diagram of exactly what an epidural entails (a needle jabbed in between your vertebrae that they then thread with a tube and leave in your back for the duration of the birth — at least I think. I had my eyes closed for some of the explanation.) And the likewise animated diagram of what happens during a C-section (It’s a much more involved surgery than I originally thought).

Most nights I left educated but brimming with anxiety. After each class it took me a day or two to go from believing I was going to have a humiliating anxiety meltdown in the labor/delivery room to being able to tell myself “It’s not that bad. I can do this.” Then the cycle would start again after the next class.

Though after about the third class, I’d had to watch so much video of the labor process that I finally started being able to stomach it better. I could even watch the epidural process without grabbing for my husband’s hand under the table.

I’m hoping when it comes time to face labor myself, I’ll be able to just focus on dealing with each needle and other uncomfortable medical intervention as it comes. I’m also praying that I’ll take after my mother, who was in labor with both me and my younger sister for only two hours each time — instead of following my mother-in-law’s 27-hour labor experience with my husband.

However, one thing I will remember clearly about each night of the (sometimes slightly traumatizing) two-hour classes is when my husband and I would get to pause at the nursery and see the newborn babies sleeping soundly in their bassinets. It was a sweet reminder of exactly why I will be facing my medical anxieties head-on in a few weeks. I know it will be worth it.