The focus of our fourth birthing class was centered around medical interventions that may be necessary during the labor process. Everything from Tylenol to ‘take the edge off’ to a C-section to just ‘get the &@#! thing out.’
Before delving into the various options of ‘pain management’, they had us play a little game. We were split into two groups, husbands on one side, wives on the other. The task was to list one ‘comfort’ for each letter of the alphabet. I was chosen as the husband team’s scribe, undoubtedly due to my fine penmanship and rugged good looks, and the fact that I volunteered. Pen in hand, my team prepared for ‘alphabattle.’
We had an interesting mix of guys. There was me, of course, and you already can guess my contributions. L is for liquor, for example. (Dad’s comfort is important too). Then we had studious guy, who knew all the ‘right’ answers (E is for efflourage, P is for peritoneal massage). Johnny Addict sat to my left (S is for shrooms, X is for Xanax). And of course there was sensitive guy, our ace in the hole. This guy knew a synonym for ‘awww’ in every letter (C is for caress, N is for nurture, E is for encouragement, V is for vomit). Within a few minutes, our page was filled, and the instructors began going through, letter by letter, comparing our answers to our wives answers.
As they revealed their answers, it became clear that a) they were not as talented at this game as the men and b) they were clearly expecting labor to be intensely painful. Here are a few of their responses:
A is for Analgesic
E is for Epidural
L is for local anesthia
W is for ‘We’re wusses’
The instructors, of course, agreed wholeheartedly with these answers, largely I assume because disageeing with third trimester pregnant women is never a good plan. But they practically FAWNED over our answers. Plus we had an answer for every letter (X is for xylophone, Z is for zither – music is a comfort) while the women came up short. So the husbands totally won. A small victory in a war all husbands ultimately lose, but a cause for celebration nevertheless.
After the game we returned to more regular lecture environment, as the instructor ran down the various options and interventions that may occur. At the base level, they offer the laboring mother drugs that simply cut the pain a bit. These get increasingly more effective up the ‘hallucination’ scale, starting at ‘I’m floating in the clouds’ all the way to ‘I’m back in Nam.’ After the drugs, the next option is the epidural, which is so well known and effective several of the women in the class asked if they could have it ‘right now.’
To demonstrate what our instructor termed ‘the package deal’ of epidurals, she asked for husband volunteers. Of course I jumped at the opportunity (after I was randomly piked and forced to, of course). I was brought to the front of the room, given a gown and shower cap, and then administered an epidural. It was an odd sensation having a needle pushed into my spine – in fact, it didn’t hurt at all. I’d imagine having it ‘actually’ administered might be a tad more uncomfortable, but who knows.
After my ‘epidural’ I was laid down in a hospital bed, and then the rest of the package came. An IV to keep me hydrated. Pitocin to move things along. A Foley catheter to drain the bladder I can no longer feel. A fetal monitor. That hook thing to puncture my amniotic sac. A martini to take the edge off. A billy club to subdue my husband.
Finally it was time to push. Two more husbands ‘volunteered’ to hold my legs back as I ‘gave birth.’
Honestly, I don’t see what the fuss is about. Labor, other than being monstrously humiliating, doesn’t hurt at all. If nothing else, the exercise reiterated to my wife the reasons she didn’t favor an epidural, and reinforced the reason she married me – my extremely large capacity for humiliation and ability to sustain large amounts of dignity loss. That and my aforementioned rugged good looks. And penmanship.
After a short snack (which this week we provided – cheese, and lots of it) we again convened for some labor exercises. The main focus today was ‘the urge to push,’ which of course we weren’t actually supposed to do, because Lost was on tonight and nobody wanted to miss it due to ‘premature labor.’ In the midst of explaining the process, our instructor casually informed us that she ‘loves’ pushing out babies, which of course was met with stunned silence and furtive glances around the room. One poor woman passed out at the thought.
In any case, the process of pushing isn’t all that complicated, as it seems your uterus does all the work. It attempts, rather violently, to expel its writhing contents through a hole that’s slightly too small. I’m interested to see how this plays out, imagining this in my head as the instructor describes it. All the women in the room have this pained expression on their face at this point, and are exaperatedly rubbing their bellies.
Ah. This is going to be fun, I can see that now.
For one of us at least.
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