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Natural Birth Left Me Traumatized
Going through a natural birth without any pain relief was one of the most challenging experiences of my life. It was traumatic, agonizing, and downright terrifying. Even now, ten months later, the memories of that day send waves of panic through my mind and discomfort through my body.
I never intended to have an unmedicated birth. Some women prepare meticulously for a drug-free experience, spending months mastering breathing techniques and visualization strategies. I, however, was not one of those women. Just give me the drugs — and then some more, please.
I’m no wimp; I can handle pain to an extent. With my first child, I endured over an hour of active labor before calling for an epidural. I was induced but wanted to get a taste of real labor. I promised myself I’d tough it out for at least an hour. I made it to 58 minutes before demanding the anesthesiologist. Once that epidural kicked in, it was like a party had started.
For my second child, I was induced again, but this time I didn’t mess around. After just one contraction, I called for the anesthesiologist without hesitation.
When it came to my third child, once again I was induced. This time, I was assigned a fresh-faced nurse named Tara, who had just graduated a month prior. A newbie nurse might have alarmed a less experienced mom, but I was no stranger to the process. I felt ready for anything.
Once I hit 4 cm dilation, Tara gave me a drop of Pitocin to get things rolling. “Let me know when you want to call for the anesthesiologist,” she said, handing me a labor ball covered with a towel. I gave it a shot, sitting down and bouncing a little.
“I feel like I have to poop,” I announced.
Tara whipped around. “I think I—” Whoosh. “Oh no! My water just broke!”
The fluid quickly spread across my legs, the ball, and the floor. “I can’t move!” I screamed. The thought of moving was terrifying; I felt like I might deliver my baby right there. Pain surged, wrapping around my belly and radiating through my back. The sensation of pressure intensified as the baby’s head pushed down.
My husband supported me while Tara darted out of the room like a rodeo clown fleeing a bull. She returned moments later with a more seasoned nurse. I desperately needed that nurse now.
“Jamie,” the veteran nurse leaned in. “I need to check you.” Tara and my husband rolled me onto the ball like dough. Without even checking my dilation, the experienced nurse shouted for the floor doctor.
Panic surged as everyone rushed to their positions. My body and mind seemed out of sync, with my body pushing the birth process forward while my mind lagged behind.
I knew how to give birth — I had done it twice before. My second child’s birth had been praised as a “model birth.” Now, I felt completely unprepared and overwhelmed by the pain; I couldn’t catch my breath or focus on pushing. Screams and sweat poured from me.
“Jamie, you need to breathe and regain control,” the veteran nurse urged, getting close to my face. “Look at me!”
I couldn’t focus. “Jamie, look at me!”
Finally, I managed to meet her gaze, noting the tiny diamond in her nose ring.
“Bear down and push. Ready. Go. 10, 9, 8…” I screamed through the entire push, fixating on that sparkly ring. I’m sure my husband was there, but I couldn’t see him. It felt like I was having an out-of-body experience — I wish I could have been out of my own body, honestly.
I felt every inch of my daughter’s body pass through me. Her head released the pressure, followed by her shoulders and legs. They placed her on my chest, and tears streamed down my face — but I was still lost in pain. I struggled to focus on my newborn as my body shook and twitched. I was clutching her so tightly that the nurses had to pry her away.
And, of course, the job wasn’t finished. I still had to push out the placenta. After ten minutes, my personal OB-GYN rushed in. The ordeal was far from over. As she spread numbing cream around, it felt like using a squirt bottle on a raging fire — completely ineffective. I felt every stitch going in and screamed, “She’s hurting me!”
“Jamie, look at me. Breathe,” the veteran nurse returned, trying to calm me down. I don’t know how long that took, but it felt like an eternity. New nurses came in and started to clean me up. Tara, surely traumatized for life, was likely filing her resignation. The veteran nurse deserved a stiff drink after that shift.
Within an hour, I felt like I had run a marathon. I was exhausted, elated, and traumatized all at once. I cuddled my baby and walked around the room, feeling a rush of love. My husband kissed me, looking both proud and terrified.
“I felt like I was watching a horror movie,” he joked.
I can assure you, an exorcism doesn’t hurt like that.
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Summary:
This piece captures the harrowing experience of a natural childbirth without medication, detailing the chaos, pain, and overwhelming emotions that accompany the process. The author shares her struggles, the overwhelming sensations, and the chaos of the birthing room while emphasizing the unexpected trauma of an unmedicated delivery.