Facing Reality

When I was a teenager I decided to try an experiment. I would never cry out in pain again. I don't remember what lead to this decision, but I do remember weeks of conscience attempts at pressing my lips together at stubbed toes and rolled ankles when I would have otherwise given a healthy yell. The habit stuck.

Ever since I've officially been a Pain Denier. I don't take Aspirin for aches as I'm too busy pretending they don't exist to simply reach for the pill bottle and put myself out of my misery. It frustrates my husband to no end when he sees me grimacing on the couch and he asks for the millionth time, "have you taken Tylenol" and the inevitable, stupid answer. Any sudden brute trauma I experience is usually met with narrowed eyes and a deep breath. I gave up acknowledging pain. It's kid stuff.

The first time I gave birth I took my obsession to a new level. I decided to learn self-hypnosis so that I could fully overcome any pains my body felt without having to succumb to the trendy parlor tricks of modern medicine. For the two months leading up to the birth I took 45 minutes every day practicing my technique. I skipped all the formal labor and delivery education to instead teach my body to be "limp and loose" and imagining a "circle of strong women representing my cervix." My husband was in fits over my decision.

It was almost as much of a surprise to me as it was to my husband when the self-hypnosis actually worked. I day dreamed through 24 hours of constant contractions without so much as a moan and when it came time to push I was well rested and ready for action. I had won. Nothing but my head stood between me and the pain of childbirth and I'd pulled it off. I vowed to use this technique with all consecutive births.

Which brings us up to present day. I've been up all night with heavy contractions. Today is the day for birth number two but I'm not feeling the same confidence that I did last time. With a two year old, the last thing I had time to do was sit around with headphones on listening to hippies tell me how my birth canal is stretchy and soft like a sweater sliding over my baby's head. I've spent 45 minutes total during this pregnancy "practicing" the cds and now it's time for me to face the facts. I'm going to have pain this time and there isn't going to be much that I'll be able to do about it on my own. I'm human.

It's a surprising relief to finally accept that I don't have to manage the pain alone. I'm not sure how it will go today, but I'm committed to have pain control. Whether that means I'll somehow be able to resurrect my voo-doo self-hypnosis or ask for a big needle in my back, I don't care. Today the denial ends. There is nothing weak or immoral about pain. Having come to this obvious, yet belated realization a few weeks ago, I'm surprised that I'm not more anxious about this birth. I'll let myself be weak. I'll ask for help. I'll grimace when I feel the daggers in my belly. Nobody but me thought I was Superwoman so why bother continuing the act? It's utterly lost on my adoring audience.

My husband and kid should be waking up soon. Then the real show begins. It will be off to the birth center and on with this whole ordeal. After over ten years of telling myself pain is for the weak I'll finally come face to face with the fact that all my pressed lips and untouched Aspirin bottles have been for nothing. I feel strangely liberated by my decision to confront pain. I can feel the hateful stares of dead hippies looking down on my head as I write this, but maybe some good strong drugs will lessen the weight of their glares. Or at least make me see leprechauns. I could use some happy leprechauns today. Wish me luck!