I don’t do well with pain. I learned that lesson all too well during the birth of my first son when, after 10 hours of labor jump-started by a pitocin drip, I finally got an epidural. Nothing — and I mean nothing — has ever felt as good as the ebbing of that pain. I relearned the lesson during the birth of the second son, this time determined to go natural all the way when, after a few hours, I told the doula to “shut up” and ordered my husband to hunt down the anesthesiologist and “Get me an epidural — NOW!” He listens well.
By the time the third son was born, I had the drill down pat. I was admitted to the hospital to be induced again but this time, as soon as the IV was hooked up and before the first labor pain hit, I had the anesthesiologist in the room putting in the epidural. It was a completely painless birth — and a lot of fun.
My issues with pain extend to my issues with being sick. I simply do not like not feeling ill. I’ve been very lucky and extremely blessed in my life — the most serious thing I’ve ever had wrong with me was strep throat or a stubborn sinus infection. As a medical writer, I’m far too familiar with all the things that could go wrong with me, so I feel guilty even complaining about my minor issues. Read more »
*This blog post was originally published at A Medical Writer's Musings on Medicine, Health Care, and the Writing Life*