The Lesson of a Bodhisattva: Part Three

The next thing I knew I was being wheeled down the hallway in a wheel chair and as the next contraction hit, my screams ricocheted off the walls and I sobbed like a 4-year-old, half from the pain, half from the defeat I felt in moving from the birthing center to labor and delivery for the epidural.  Everything was a blur, but I knew one thing – once the decision was made to get the epidural so I could rest and to help Bodhi shift, I could not get it fast enough. 

I was put on a skinny, tall hospital bed, so different from the big comfy hotel bed of the birthing room, and they had me sit up to get the epidural, which was unbelievably painful.  They told me to tuck my chin and arch my back, but as another contraction hit, this was impossible. I writhed and screamed in pain as Sharon held my face in her hands and fought not to move during the intense pain.  I cried as the pinch of the needle went in.  I felt one more contraction and then they lay me back on the bed and slowly a tingly numbness came over my legs and hips and I immediately relaxed and started to drift off to sleep.  It was the sweetest relief I had ever felt in my life.  When I had begged God for mercy, God had delivered.

For about an hour or so, I slipped in and out of a quiet realm. After resting a bit, Liz came back in, “Are you ready to push?”  I was still so tired, but definitely felt better than I had before, that’s for sure, more focused with the pain at bay.  I nodded yes and Sharon spoon fed me some broth and my sugar-free jello to give me a little sustenance before starting again.

The books are right - you can’t feel much with the epidural.  However, honestly, when I was in such excruciating pain in the birthing center, I couldn’t feel what I was doing either - everything was just so overwhelming that I couldn’t concentrate in the eye of such pain.  I found ironically that the epidural helped me to relax and focus on the midwife’s instructions and feel centered and not sucked up into the tornado of pain.

She had me lay on my back while Jimmy and Sharon stood on either side and pulled my knees up – the classic labor position.  Immediately, it didn’t feel right.  It was awkward and felt ineffective. I kept saying, “I need some momentum – can’t I sit up a little?”  I was immediately told no.  I hated pushing on my back like that – it just felt like I wasn’t doing anything at all.

Then, Liz said she wanted to administer Pitocin because the contractions had slowed.  No!!!!  Pitocin was the epitome of everything I didn’t want.  With so many bad side effects and problems, many books might as well have called it devil juice. I said, “I REALLY don’t want it.”  This was in my birth plan too and once again, it seemed like Liz had not read this at all.  Both Liz and Sharon convinced me that if I wanted the pushing to be effective, I needed a little Pitocin.  I cried, starting to really regret getting the epidural. No matter how much better I felt, it seemed like I was starting to lose control of everything. 

With their persistence, I finally agreed to the most minimal amount of Pitocin possible, just enough to get the contractions going.  It was just like those documentaries said – a snowball effect of intervention.  Once administered, they told me to breathe deeply and then hold my breath as I pushed.  This also felt very counter intuitive.  All I wanted to do was a long, deep yogic ujjai exhale with each push.  Through habit because of all my yoga, I did this accidentally a couple of times and Liz reprimanded me, “Don’t exhale!  Hold your breath!”   It was so hard not to breathe, but I followed her directions as best as I could.

It didn’t seem like I was making much progress and I heard Liz say, “I have to go deliver another baby.  I’ll be back.”   I knew then that she must not think this baby was going to come out for awhile and I felt really extremely discouraged by this. Plus, in a small way, I felt like I was being abandoned.

The good thing is the nurse, Helen took over and I loved her.  She was so nice and assuring and I hoped the baby would just come while she was there and Liz was gone since I connected more with her.  We did about another hour of pushing with me resting in between the contractions.  During each rest, I came back to my Gayatri mantra again, but this time chanting it really softly and slowly, almost a whisper.  What a huge difference in the way it sounded now in the silence between pushes while everyone stood around quietly compared to my screaming, undecipherable rendition earlier during my un-medicated labor.

Liz came back, uttering something about delivering the baby in the other room and I was instantly overcome with jealously that someone else’s baby had come out already and so quickly! I had never once asked, “How close?” during the entire labor.  I had wanted to be in the moment as much as possible and not think about numbers, dilation, hours, etc.  I had been riding out the moment and each wave like a labor surfer and not thinking about what was next.  But, this is when I started to feel like something might be wrong.

Liz gave me permission to squat – finally!!!  They attached a squat bar and every time a contraction hit, Jimmy and Sharon hoisted me up.  And boy, did I squat!  I bore down with all my might.  I squatted and swayed my hips and pushed and grimaced with all the energy and power I had and then some.  I finally felt somewhat back in control again.  I thought, “This is it, I can do this!”  And I really believed it.  I had never felt so primal and so womanly. A while later, I heard Helen say, “There’s her head!”  I heard Jimmy say, “Oh my god!  She has so much hair!”  This really changed everything for me and got me so excited.  We were close!  I was going to do this!

I kept squatting, pushing, squatting, clenching, and collapsing in between each session and nodding off in delirious exhaustion.  This went on for awhile.  Around 9 p.m., Liz said, “we’ll give it another hour.”  I didn’t even know why she said this because I was about to push this baby out!  We could see her head!  I was squatting!  It wouldn’t take an hour – what was she talking about?  I knew she would be born by tonight, I knew my baby’s birthday was going to be July 17^th.  I could just feel it.  I continued to squat and sway and bore down even more, tapping into my inner reserve like never before.  I pushed and pushed until it felt like everything down south would just fall out.  Then I vaguely heard someone say something about a fever.

Evidently I was the one with the fever and they were concerned.  Then I heard Liz say, “We’re done.”  She got up and walked away and I looked at the clock:  10:30 p.m. My contractions had started at 12:30 a.m. that morning.  I had been pushing since the birthing center that early afternoon.  I knew it was time for another plan.  She said she was calling the doctor and said something about forceps.  I thought, “Okay, okay, he can still get her out, we can still do this.”   Helen said we’d meet him in the OR.  Wait…what?  I said, “But is he doing forceps?”  Helen said, “Possibly, but we need to prep you in case he decides to take her by C-section.”

And with that statement, I lost it.  I let out a wail and couldn’t stop crying. All the exhaustion, all the pain, all the pushing and now there could be a C-section? This could not be happening.  After all of that?  After 22 hours of labor?  After them seeing her head?  But, she was so close! Why wasn’t she coming out?   This was everything I had wanted to avoid, everything I had feared.  Jimmy and Sharon said, “We just need to get this baby out and make sure you’re okay.”  I looked into their eyes and knew they were right, as much as I didn’t want to admit it.  The 24 hour mark was looming since my water broke and I knew the hospital wouldn’t let me go past that because of increased risk of infection.  That coupled with my severe exhaustion and my fever – it just wasn’t looking good.

I looked at Emily, “Pray for us - pray for me and the baby.” I couldn’t stop crying.  I was scared.  Everything was just happening so fast.  She was crying too, “I will, I will.” Then, the next thing I knew, overhead lights blurred by as I was wheeled through the hallways and elevators, this time flat on my back in the hospital bed.  Nurses in face masks hovered over me and I thought, This is it.  Surgery.  But the extreme exhaustion trumped my resistance - I couldn’t fight it or argue.  I just wanted for Bodhi to be out and everything to be okay.  More than anything, I just wanted sleep.

The Lesson of a Bodhisattva: Part Two

Liz wanted me out of the tub so she could check my dilation again.  Getting out of the warm water was torture because the pain of the contractions was even more exacerbated in the cold air.  I felt Liz roughly check me again and say, “There’s a little bit of lip left” which meant I was almost but not completely dilated.  They laid me on my back for awhile with pillows. Every time I had a contraction, Sharon and Jimmy would pull me up by my arms and I’d lean my head back and just let my body go limp like jelly until it was over.  I could hear myself screaming through each one.  I was getting extremely exhausted at this point and didn’t know how much longer I could keep this up.  I had been exhausted for hours, having no sleep at all was taking its toll and the tapping into my “inner reserves” for the last several hours was going to wear out fast.

We stayed with this position for about an hour and then Liz checked me again.  She said flatly, “No change.  The lip’s still there. And it’s a little puffy.”  This was not good - puffiness can cause complications.  I needed to get open and soon.  So, for about another hour, during every contraction, I screamed over and over, “Open, Open, Open, Open, OPEN OPEN OPEN” and visualized that lip just disappearing.  I was so exhausted.  After saying “OPEN!” hundreds of times, Liz checked me again – another excruciating experience of feeling like she was shoving her hand through my spine and turning my insides out.  But she said, “She’s fully dilated.”

Emily, Jimmy and Sharon all laughed and clapped in victory.  Jimmy said, “You did it, mama!”  I felt a mix of happiness, relief…and terror…because this meant I had to push now and I just had no idea how I was going to physically do it as exhausted as I was.  I had nothing left to give.  I didn’t even have fumes left to run on.

We got back in the tub but the pain just kept getting worse with each contraction.  I asked, “Am I still in transition?”  Transition was supposedly the most painful part and at this point, I needed some measure of when this pain would end.  Sharon said, “Oh, honey, you’re WAY beyond transition.”  This didn’t make sense to me – why was the pain getting worse then? 

I started praying, mumbling, “God, please, please, please, have mercy” over and over again.  I prayed out loud in between the screaming and crying.  I kept saying, “It’s only temporary” and “This won’t last” also because I had to remind myself that there would be a time soon when I wouldn’t feel this god awful pain anymore.  Sharon and Emily kept saying, “Yes, yes, it’s only temporary.”   I screamed and sobbed like a child and Jimmy cried with me, bless his heart.   I prayed out loud in whispers that no one could understand but myself and God.

I started feeling really woozy and detached. I could still feel all the pain ripping through my body, but I felt like I was half there in that tub and half somewhere else.  I didn’t know who was in the room anymore or where the voices were coming from.  I had my eyes closed and just kept going deeper and deeper within myself.  When I would open my eyes I would see spots in my vision.  When they were closed, I felt like I was slipping off to some other realm, some other dream like state.  I began to understand why the Navajo say that during childbirth, the mother leaves her own body to travel up to the heavens to bring back the soul of her child for birth.  It felt a little scary, but very spiritual.  Very shamanic, like I was traversing worlds, one foot in this one, one foot in another.  Jimmy told me later that my pupils were really dilated and my eyes looked bizarre.  It made me think of the sadhus (holy men) in India and how their eyes looked, in between worlds, but not entirely in either one.

I kept praying and then Liz wanted me to get out of the tub again.  I REALLY didn’t want to, but followed her directions, figuring whatever will help get the baby out was what I wanted.  I labored on the toilet, with the contractions at their worst at this point, which I couldn’t believe was even possible. Liz said, “Okay, she’s REALLY going to have to work now” which, for the record, is an infuriating thing to say to someone who has been laboring unmedicated for 15+ hours. 

It was decided I would start pushing, but I really didn’t feel any sensation to push at all.  Nothing like the books said about pressure, just excruciating back pain – that’s all I could feel.  But, following her instructions, I bore down anyway, legs bent, like I was trying to take the hugest crap of my life.  The pain was even worse now in this position and I felt betrayed by all the books that had said transition was the worst part and during pushing the contractions would lessen a bit.  Bullcrap!  These contractions just kept getting progressively worse, with all them running together, one on top of each other at freight train intensity. 

Liz disappeared and then Sharon and the nurse both held onto a rope and had me pull the rope with both hands with each contraction, like a labor tug of war.  I pulled as I bore down and I hated it because the carpel tunnel in my hands made it very difficult to hold on and pull.  Plus, as exhausted as I was, trying to pull the rope, bare down, push, clench my face, and hold my breath all at the same time was just overwhelming to try to coordinate all at the same time.  I kept forgetting at least one of these elements and would hear, “Hold your breath!”  “Bare down!” “Pull harder” and I kept saying, “I’m trying, I’m trying” as I cried.  Oh, the pain.  At this point, the pain had accelerated to an electrifying level and being out of the tub without the warm water to soothe and the position on the toilet combined to make the contractions so intensified and sharp it was definitely at the point of being unbearable.

Then, right in the middle of one of these contractions, I looked through the bathroom door and saw Liz sitting, her body angled away from us, texting on her phone.  TEXTING!   Maybe it’s because I’m a teacher that texting is one of those things that brings out my inner Kali – the one thing that just really gets me fired up – it is the epitome of disrespect and dismissal.  I screamed, “Get off your fucking phone and get in here and help MEEEEEEEEEE!”  Another contraction hit as the sentence turned into a half scream, half cry.   Liz looked up, walked back in and looked at me as if I was crazy.

I could feel the “ring of fire” burning all the books talked about, like everything down below was just going to burn off and fall out.  I never had any problems in the butt area during pregnancy but soon enough after all that pushing, I said, “It feels like there’s playdoh coming out of my butt” and Jimmy and Emily laughed and Sharon smiled.  “Yep, yep, that’s normal,” she said.

After a couple of hours of toilet and tug of war rope pushing, they took me back to the bed and Liz painfully checked me again.  Through the next excruciating, back snapping contraction, I cried, “I can’t do this anymore.  I am so tired.”   They all kept saying, “Yes, yes, but you can do it.”   But at this point I had this real sinking feeling like something was wrong – why was I still not feeling the urge to push?  Why was nothing happening? I felt this was way beyond mind over matter and beyond my control. My body was so beyond physically exhausted at this point.  I had been burning on empty fumes for hours and the no sleep factor was kicking my ass.  I felt like I had already been tapping into my warrior inner reserves and my “I can do this” determination since the early morning hours.  Pushing with no results had just really taken every last ounce of any strength I had left.  I thought to myself even if the baby was right there, I didn’t think I had the strength to give those mighty pushes to get her out.  Liz pulled her hand out abruptly and said flatly, “Baby’s no where close.  I’d say she has at least a couple more hours of pushing.”

Everyone in the room groaned and I collapsed into tears again. I was seeing spots, feeling woozy and dizzy and extremely nauseous and sick. I didn’t understand – I was doing all the positions, all the “right things” – she should have been on her way out by now. I was dry heaving and my doula held a basket in front of face.  I threw up into it a couple of times and after, felt like I was just going to pass out from exhaustion.  After another ungodly and excruciating contraction, I collapsed in defeat, “I need to rest.” 

I heard Liz say, “If she wants to rest, she’ll need an epidural.”

No, no, no!  I did NOT want an epidural.  But as another contraction ripped through me right on the heels of the last, I knew it was over. My body did not have the chi to do this anymore.  It had been 17 hours.  This was beyond the pain - it was the exhaustion that was my nemesis.  Jimmy said, “Mama, get the epidural.  You gave it your all.  You have got to get some rest if you’re going to have the strength to push her out.”  Emily and the doula all agreed with him.  The doula even said getting the epidural could possibly help Bodhi shift out of posterior position.  I nodded, but cried, “I will feel like I’ve failed.”  They all quickly assured me this wouldn’t be the case at all and I had to do what’s best for the baby, but I couldn’t help but feel like I was failing myself and giving up.  As the next contraction hit almost immediately and I felt myself feeling like I would pass out, those thoughts faded and I realized I had to give myself some levity and do what I needed to do to deliver this baby.  I needed rest in order to get a second wind to push her out.  That was all there was to it.

The Lesson of a Bodhisattva: Part One

Giving birth to Bodhi was a HUGE lesson in Buddhism without a doubt.  After a tremendously busy day where I had more energy than a room full of monkeys on speed, my water broke with two mighty gushes around midnight.  I stood for a few moments in the giant puddle, not moving, in complete denial. Then I felt a wave of anxiety and got a little light headed as the realization washed over me that OH SHIT, THIS WAS REALLY HAPPENING! 

I woke up Jimmy to show him my lovely puddle and after getting the ok from our doula and midwife, I lay down in bed, naively thinking I could get at least a couple of hours in before contractions started. 20 minutes later, I started feeling a radiating band of pressure across my lower back on par with first day’s menstrual cramps every few minutes.  I tried to ignore them and focus on getting to sleep, but who were we kidding? Even if the contractions hadn’t started, my mind was racing like crazy with thoughts of what the next few hours would bring! 

I tossed and turned until about 3:00 a.m. when the pain was an intensity that was more than uncomfortable. I woke Jimmy up again (how could he be SLEEPING at a time like this?) and asked him to time the pain.  3 minutes apart.  Hmmm….That couldn’t be right.  We thought we’d have hours and hours to hang out and labor in the comfort of our home, play some games, cook some food, etc. But, things were happening quickly and the pains were getting mighty intense.  So, we called the midwife and doula again and they said, “3 minutes apart?  Better head on out.”

It was pitch black and the roads were so clear and quiet at 4 a.m.  I felt nervous, but excited too, like how I feel when I leave for the airport early in the morning for a trip, but this time the excitement was mixed with a lot of anxiety and a healthy dose of fear.  The whole ride there, I moaned quiet “oooohhhhhs” with each radiating band of pain.  So far I was feeling them almost entirely in my back, not my abdomen.

Upon arriving, the birthing room was MAGNIFICENT!  And I was just so thankful we had a room, period.  (We’d heard more than our share of “no room at the inn” stories). Our room felt like a fancy hotel with a huge bed and big ol’ Jacuzzi hot tub.  I didn’t feel like a patient, but like I was away at a posh hotel for a weekend, granted, a hotel which I was going to bring a human being into the world in, but a hotel nonetheless.

Sharon, my doula (bless her!) met us around 4:00 a.m. when we arrived and immediately I felt at ease, any anxiety melting away.  With her and Jimmy there, I felt ready to DO THIS!  I began using the birthing ball (sitting on it, leaning on it, moaning on it).   The contractions were steadily becoming more painful, still almost entirely across my back.  As I moaned and rocked my hips, we watched the sun rise. Everything was very quiet and I could feel us creating a sacred space, just like I had wanted.  Even though I was tired, I was feeling pretty good overall, like I could handle this.  The contractions definitely were hurting a lot but I was able to moan through them and lean into them.   We ordered breakfast and Jimmy put on my first labor mix CD – a relaxing one that really set the atmosphere and clicked something in my brain that said, Here we go!

Around 8 a.m. my best friend Emily arrived – the third and final member of my wonderful birth team.  The contractions were starting to become really intense by now, so I started using the TENS unit (a sticky patch you put on your skin that sends little electric volts) which helps counteract pain.  At this point, my yoga really kicked in and I began evolving my general “Oohs” and “Aaahs” into chants. 

I started with “Lokaah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu.”  May the world be filled with peace and joy, love and light, may my positive actions affect the positive actions of others.  This was perfect at this stage of labor, because of its meaning and also because it had a lot of vowels (At our first meeting, Sharon had said, “The more you open your mouth, the more you open your hooey.”)  This statement, of course, was the deciding factor in me hiring her. I focused on filling the room with that peace and joy and light and a natural and mindful labor process that would influence the baby to come out in the same way.

Around 11 a.m. or so, the midwife showed up.  A different midwife had checked us in, one I liked.  But shifts had changed and when this midwife walked in the room, I was really disappointed.  I adored six of the seven midwives in the practice, but there was one (there’s always one, isn’t there?) who had made me cry the whole way home after our appointment.  She had been condescending, rude, and really rough with her physical examination. I was really worked up about it, but figured what were the chances that I’d get her?  One in seven? No reason to worry.

But here she was and I immediately thought, God certainly has a sense of humor.  I wondered if there must be some reason for her of all people to be the one on call, but I couldn’t spend much time thinking about it because another contraction hit and I realized quickly that this was no joke – it was much sharper than all the ones before.

My doula asked the midwife (we’ll call her Liz) to check me.  They had me lay on the bed, which was a super uncomfortable position at this point and then I felt a raw, ripping sharp pain inside me as Liz did the examination, causing me to scream out in pain.  It felt like she had punched through to my spleen.  With no reaction, she uttered plainly, “6 or 7 cm.”   I caught my breath and said, “No shit?!?”  Emily, Sharon and Jimmy all laughed.  I was surprised I was that far along.  I had said ahead of time I didn’t want to get attached to numbers, especially if they were still low – I didn’t want to get psyched out as I heard many women do.  But a 6 or 7?  Rock on!  I was on my way!

They started filling the tub, since I was “water worthy” according to Sharon.  It took about 45 minutes for the large tub to fill so while we waited, I labored more on the ball and then some with me standing and leaning against Jimmy in what we called “Junior High Dance” position.  My CD continued playing and one of our favorite songs came on and both Jimmy and I started tearing up.  I just felt so much love, so much beauty, so grateful to be with him and that he was with me so fully and completely during all of this.  I sank into him, feeling more love for him than ever.

Eventually the tub was filled and just in time as the contractions were getting REALLY freaking painful.  They were longer, sharper and right on the edge of being unbearable. As Jimmy and Emily helped me into the tub, I sank down into the warm water, submerging and feeling the sweet relief of the heated water enveloping my body.  Ahhhhhhh!  It felt SO good, such healing relief.

Jimmy had set up all our focal points, our icons, along the back of the tub – we had a wooden Ganesh (to remove obstacles), a beautiful wooden Jesus crucifix with huge hands, an African Madonna and child, a Kwan Yin, a beautiful and calming picture of my grandmother when she was young, a rosary from my trip to Rome and mala beads (made from Bodhi tree seeds!) from my trip to India.   Jimmy had lined these with our little battery operated candles and I have to say, with the dim lights and water and candles, it was a gorgeous display and really set the atmosphere.  It was everything I had envisioned.  Even in the immense pain, I was really grateful to have things happening the way they were. 

Sharon kept saying how “textbook” my labor was and how everything was going so great.  I felt so encouraged!  Then, Liz, the midwife, brought in another person – a midwife in training.  I had met her once before at one of the appointments, but I had specifically stated in my typed birth plan that I wanted no interns, students, assistants, or family members – only Jimmy, Emily, the doula, a nurse and the midwife – I didn’t want an audience or any extra people.  I wanted an intimate and quiet environment.  I thought about saying something immediately and was annoyed that Liz hadn’t paid attention to this very first thing on my birth plan, but the contractions were getting so intense and Nancy (the trainee) had already started spraying my back with the hot water hose hooked to the tub and I was in too much pain to protest.

The midwife and doula had me do a bunch of different positions, some comforting and some absolutely excruciating, but was told they’d help move the baby down and turn her over (they concluded I was indeed having back labor).  The hands and knees position in the water and leaning into Jimmy was the most effective in helping bear the pain.  But they kept having me switch positions and lay on my side with my leg up in the air.  It felt really awkward and was extremely painful during the contractions.   The lovely chants had become full out bellows at the top of my lungs during each contraction now with them getting so intense.  I really used my voice, like never before, moaning out each syllable with the pain.

At some point, I heard Nancy, the trainee, say something about all our icons and taking a picture.  Not really fully comprehending what she even said, I think I vaguely nodded and all of a sudden the dim room filled with a flash.  Then another.  Then another.  When yet another flash went off, with barely any energy after my contraction, I raised my hand and waved it towards her in the most pathetic way, like a sick puppy pawing at the air, in attempt to convey, “I can’t speak, but knock it the fuck off.”  Emily turned to her and said, “Yeah, enough already.”

A few minutes later during another contraction, Nancy said, “Serenity, turn over on your side again.”  Weird.  Maybe she thought she was being cute by giving me a nickname because of all the icons and relaxing music?  A few minutes later, she did it again; “Serenity” and I realized she didn’t know my name.  During a contraction, I said through clenched teeth, “My…name…is…Amanda!!!”  I knew then this chick was going to get on my nerves.  Not a few minutes later, Nancy mentioned getting “him” out referring to our daughter.  Both Emily and Jimmy shouted at the same time, “It’s a GIRL!”  

By this time the contractions were so wildly painful that I couldn’t focus on anything, not even the fact that she couldn’t get my name or the gender of my child right.  I had a hard time keeping up with the chanting or catching my breath now. I had switched to the Gayatri Mantra, what I call the “Big Guns” for chanting because it’s long, it’s ancient (from the Rig Veda) and it’s powerful (and only recently has it been taught to women).  Being in transition with the contractions being on top of each other, the Gayatri was perfect because I knew each time I’d get through the whole thing, the elongated contraction would be over – at least for a few seconds.

The real Buddhist practice was trying to stay in the moment as much as I could and not think about what was next.  I didn’t ask if I was dilated any more or when I would push or “how much longer?”  I didn’t ask any of this and tried not to think about anything else except the moment I was in.  I tried so hard to just ride each contraction and the pain as best as I could and then collapsed in exhaustion in between, though these between moments were becoming fewer and fewer.

The pain was becoming so sharp and electrifying that is difficult to even put into words.  It felt as if my spine was being snapped in half and electrocuted each time the contraction ripped through, as if electrified butcher knives were chopping hibachi style down my vertebrae.  This was the first contraction of many where I began to lose any sense of yogic calmness.  I couldn’t finish the chants and ended up just screaming through the contractions, my voice coming from outside of me, but somewhere deep within me in a primal, tribal abyss.  And this would pretty much be the way it was the rest of the labor. 

All the breathing, yoga, chanting and visualizations had been absolutely wonderful and very effective the first 14 hours.  But at this degree of indescribable pain, I have to sadly say I lost all control of them.  I was in a whole new realm of excruciating torture I hadn’t known was humanely possible.  I sobbed, repeating over and over, “I was naïve.  I didn’t know…I didn’t know.”  Because while I had prepared and expected intense pain, I had no conception of the degree to which it would go.  No book, no doctor, nothing can prepare you for this kind of pain. 

I screamed through another contraction and heard Nancy say, “Sssshhhhhh.”  I immediately yelled at her, “DON’T TELL ME TO SSSHHH!!!!”   The one thing my doula and I were passionate about was using my voice as much as possible during labor. It was my lifeline.  I looked at my Sharon and with one look she knew I was done with Nancy.  Sharon nodded, fully understanding and a few minutes later Nancy was gone.  Ah, the power of a doula!