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 I want to clear something up.
There is a BIG LIE out there and it must be squelched before any more mothers gleefully go into the laboring room.
(Note to expecting moms: DO NOT read any further if you don't want to know the truth about childbirth.)
I have to admit that when I was pregnant with my first child, I didn't give much thought to how the baby would actually come out. I was more obsessed with buying clothes and choosing nursery furniture.
At 2:30 a.m., when I was 39 weeks pregnant, I felt something. A big cramp.
No one could ever explain to me exactly what contractions would feel like. And, believe me, I asked plenty of people, including a pregnant woman at 7-11.
"But what does it FEEL like?"
I never got a real answer, so I certainly didn't know at the time that I was feeling a real contraction. An hour later, the cramps kept coming, so I woke up hubby.
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A while later, he asks if I think he should go to work since nothing seemed to be happening.
"WE ARE HAVING A BABY!" I inform him.
I am bored with the irregularity of the contractions, so I get up and iron all the clothes I am taking to the hospital — my going home outfit, hubby's clothes and the baby's clothes.
We go to Sonic, and I eat jalapeño poppers. I'm not supposed to eat in case I end up with a C-section, but that's not going to happen, so I happily munch on my spicy delight.
When we took birthing classes, I completely spaced out when the instructor spoke about C-sections. It was never going to happen to me, so I didn't care.
Finally, at 4 p.m. the next day, the contractions are five minutes apart, and we head to the hospital. I'm shocked that I've only progressed one more centimeter from the day before. What has been happening for the last 14 hours?
I expect the nurses to be just like they are on television — warm, friendly and so sweet they'll be visiting me at my house because I will be their favorite patient.
Not one asks me if I'm having a boy or girl.
By now, the pain is getting really bad and my moaning has escalated to screaming. I am throwing out curse words left and right.
My mother hears me drop a major curse word and tells hubby to tell me not to use that word.
I keep thinking, why haven't they checked me again? Surely I am 10 centimeters.
They tell me they actually don't check all the time. What the hell are they talking about? On television, they check ALL the time.
I am screaming and begging for the epidural, but the wretched nurses tell me I have to wait until I am three centimeters.
"MY DOCTOR SAID I COULD GET IT ANYTIME I WANT. YOU STUPID, STUPID EXCUSE FOR A ...."
They call the doctor; she concurs. I get the epidural. Who cares about the football-field length needle going into my back? All I care about is pain relief.
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By now it's the middle of the night, but for some reason I don't feel much relief at all. Why does no one care? Why do these nurses not even flinch when I scream?
We tell the anesthesiologist we don't think the epidural is working.
He tells hubby I have NO pain tolerance and have been given more drugs than any laboring mom that night.
"If anyone is refusing their drugs, I will take them too, you IDIOT," I scream.
What is it with this place?
And who is to blame for not telling me what an awful experience this is? One friend actually preferred to deliver her children with no drugs whatsoever. She is clearly mad. And what about all those classes and books I read? How come NO ONE told me that childbirth really is the most unimaginable pain you will ever feel in your entire life? It is excruciating, relentless and for me, the epidural might as well be filled with water.
SOMEONE HELP ME.
I feel like I am outside myself, as if I am in an insane asylum talking, but no one is listening because I am crazy.
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In the early morning, the bad nurses tell me I am finally a 10 and ready to push.
Three hours pass, and NOTHING happens.
The baby is firmly wedged in my pelvis.
Before I know it, I'm being prepped for a C-section. The doctor checks the baby and says: "She's not coming out. She is stuck and we have to go now."
How could I end up with a C-section? I am 10 centimeters and have been pushing for hours. Of course, the baby has yet to make an appearance, but that's beside the point.
It has been 30 hours since I first started having contractions. And in just minutes, the screaming, slippery baby that has caused me such massive pain emerges.
Why couldn't they have done this 30 hours ago? Why, oh why, didn't SOMEONE, ANYONE tell me that labor is the absolute worst pain I will ever feel, that pulling my fingernails out one by one might be a better alternative.
I call it the big lie.
So why do girlfriends not tell the truth?
I guess because it's not about me anymore. It's about the baby. And no one really cares how bad it hurt.
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asap columnist Angie Wagner is the AP's Western regional writer, based in Las Vegas.
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