Last night we went on the hospital tour. They say you should do this tour in your third trimester, so we waited until now. I wonder if I’d done it earlier, if I might have chosen a different path.
Up to this point, my idea of the hospital had been only that; an idea. Based on what I’d seen at the one birth I’ve attended. But that birth was at a special Birth Center, in a big room with homey furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows, and even a reasonably cozy waiting room.
While the hospital I will be going to on the big day(s) is by no means shabby, it is not exactly swank either, and well, mostly, it just feels like a hospital. As we walked the halls, inside me there was a voice screaming (I’M NOT SICK!!!!!!)…
With every preparation class and workshop we’ve taken, I’ve cultivated my little mental picture of what the environment where we will be doing all these things (hypnosis, meditation, stretches, positions, birth balls, tennis balls, aromatherapy) while giving birth, would be like.
The reality was not as pretty as I would have liked. It’s a hospital. The Labor and Delivery room was barely big enough to hold the bed, baby warmer, monitoring equipment, computer table, vinyl couch, small window, not to mention all the people that will be in there (Me, Scott, doula, various nurses with their various roles, doctor). Apparently they have three “big” rooms, but those ones don’t have any windows, so that could be depressing. And the room where we are to spend the next two nights after the birth? Less equipment, equally drab.
It feels just like the wards where I have visited friends and family after various life-threatening accidents, life-saving surgeries, and mysterious bump and lump removals. It feels like the full-service care facility where my 96-year-old grandmother currently resides.
It’s a hospital, not a hotel.
Hello? I guess I was in denial. Firmly. In. De. Nial.
I wish I wish I wish I wish…
What should the place where a blessed event occurs really look like?
…What surprised me most was how emphatic the tour guide was about the “fact” that we would be giving birth on our backs. If nothing else, the idea that I could choose what position to birth in has been hammered into me repeatedly by the various doulas, yoga teachers, et. al. at all these damn classes and workshops.
She was so blithe about it, as she briskly whipped and flipped the various parts of the end of the bed to show us the hidden foot rests and leg supports that will suspend our lower halves in mid air as baby is pushed out.
What about the squat bar? What about all-fours?
I asked, and she said, yes, some people will use the squat bar for pushing, even with that quaint old practice of tying the sheet around the bar to make a knot for mama to pull on. And yes, back in the day, people used to give birth almost anywhere in the room, on the toilet, in the tub, on the floor. But it’s easier for doctors if we’re on our backs.
Plus, she said, most times these days women are getting epidurals. She seemed a little wistful in relaying that information, remembering how it used to be different. More raw.
I also asked about bringing our own diapers, because Pampers, or Huggies, whichever, is not what I want on my baby’s butt. Or what I will want to be smelling.
Sure, of course.
* * *
I checked with my doctor today about the position thing. Yes, she said, our goal will be to have me laboring in whatever position I like, but when it comes to those last few moments, from crowning to the finale, on my back is best. It’s best for her to help me not tear, best for helping if baby gets stuck. Of course, she has had patients pushing the baby out in a squat — to the point where the doctor was lying on her back, on the floor, helping to get the baby out; but this is not ideal.
I was sad. I told her that it’s difficult for me when I feel like I don’t have a choice.
She asked me if I’d thought about birthing somewhere other than a hospital. I said yes, but that I’d wanted the comfort of having the medical assistance available. Which is mostly, sort of true.
And then, I got it. This whole thing is one big control issue.
Man.
Another painful learning experience. And we haven’t even gotten to the real pain. Or the real loss of control.
But please don’t pat me on the shoulder and smile knowingly. If losing control isn’t painful enough, being condescended to in my hour of deflation is even worse.
Can we bring enough twinkle lights to make the place seem more warm and homey? Can we drape some sparkly fabric over the monitors?
3 comments for “learning not to expect anything when you are expecting”