by Amanda Jensen

Created on: February 20, 2009   Last Updated: February 28, 2009

There is a fine line between beauty and horror in the labor process. When I became pregnant with my first child in 2004, I thought I was completely prepared to make any decision for myself and my unborn son. At 19 years old I had 6 nephews, and 2 neices. I was aware of all the things that could go wrong during labor. I was certain that I could handle whatever was thrown my way.

Having a very low tolerance for pain, I had decided on an epidural from the beginning. My older sisters, as well as a few of my friends had received the epidural and advised me it was the way to go. My doctor who had been in practice for 20 years was in total agreement with my decision.

On the evening of September 9th, I began feeling slight contractions, which quickly worsened. They were not steady, and they seemed to fluctuate between little pangs in my lower back, to full blown twisting of the muscles. Soon the contractions felt as though they were knocking the wind out of me. The following morning at around 9 am, they were 5 minutes apart. I called my doctor, who told me to come straight to the 4th floor to Labor and Delivery.

The car ride there was a nerve racking ordeal. My husband who has an affinity for speed to begin with, had now thrown shear panic into the mix. In our 2 door 1997 Thunderbird, we raced the two miles to the hospital blowing every red light and stop sign along the way. We got to the hospital in record time, and I couldn't have been more relieved.

When I arrived at labor and delivery, they hooked me up the external monitors. One for contractions, the other the fetal heart moniter. They checked my progression, I was 2 cm, and my water sac was still intact. After a few hours, I hadn't dialated any further, but the contractions were increasing. My doctor suggested the hot tub, which was great until the tiny room turned into a sauna. I spent about 5 minutes in the water and I had to get out. After putting on my hospital gown and a pair of blue footy socks, I was told to take a walk around the 4th floor, as a means to speed up the process.

Walking seemed like a sick form of torture. I could hardly stand, though it felt like hours I walked halls for just 15 minutes, hunching over and clinging to the nearest object during every spike of contractions. After all that hard work, I had no improvement. The doctor offered induction, which I gladly accepted. First order of business, was to break my water. I received demerol for the pain, which had tripled after the cushion of amniotic fluid was expelled.

The anesthesiologist was next in line to take a jab at me. I was frightened by the prospect that any involuntary spasm my body decided to make could result in permanant paralysis. I held my breath and waited for it to be over. An hour after I had received my epidural, my son made his way into this world. Though I felt no pain, I could feel the sensation of pushing him out. My beautiful 7'0'' pound little boy perfect in every way.

Over the next 3 years, I would experience a second labor with an epidural, and my first natural labor. The latter being unintentional. I made it to the hospital just in time to push her out. Each labor was special and different in it's own way, and I gained my own perspective of this female ritual. Giving birth is a dangerous prospect. It has taken the lives of many women, and infants, with or without an epidural and each person should do all the research to make their own decision. What's right for you may not be right for someone else.

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