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in case you?re unfamiliar with the concept, ?e
birth
plan
consists of detailed instructions regarding how your
baby
will enter the world. it is formulated in the comfort of your living room while you and your doula sip tea and admire each other?s pedicures. ?e actual
birth
takes place in a greenish room where instead of chamomile, you would gladly accept something much stronger from a street dealer should one conveniently appear. after suffering through one un
plan
ned cesarean, i wanted to actualize my womanhood by pushing the second
baby
out. most women worship the doctor who offers a scheduled c-section. not me; i?m special. i opted for a vbac?vaginal
birth
after cesarean?and in doing so also made my choice for minimal pharmaceutical assistance. ?natural child
birth
was fine, honey,? my mother told me. ?but that was before we had the drugs.? i told myself i didn?t need the drugs. for hours, i labored according to ?e
birth
plan
. i breathed, counted, and groaned. it sucked. i got stuck in the bathtub, unwilling to move. even when the water got cold, i stayed there moaning like an injured cow. ?e contractions came so fast and lasted so long that they merged into one continuous, gnawing, increasingly unbearable pain. after eight hours, the physical torture finally brought me to my senses. i agreed to take the drugs. just a little mind you?just enough to blunt the edge. but demerol, it turns out, is a gateway drug. forget natural; i wanted the needle. my grape nut eating, placenta-
plan
ting doula was disappointed when i requested the epidural, but she supported me anyway. it was, after all, a legitimate stipulation in
plan
b, paragraph three of ?e
birth
plan
. i spent the next several hours turning from side to side, elevating one or another part of my body, and visualizing my
baby
descending the
birth
canal. ?is is way easier with a little help! but my
baby
didn?t want to come out. we would get her just to the brink and she?d twist herself back around, sunny side up. after hours of monitoring, measuring, and changing position, fearing that without intervention she?d be stuck in there forever, we made our move. my husband smiled. ?e doula frowned. i surrendered. nurses shaved me and counted instruments, then rolled me to the operating room. suddenly i felt a sharp popping sensation unlike the slow and steady agony of labor. when i told the doctors about it, eyes opened wide and the surgeon ordered the nurse to check the
baby
?s heart rate. again. ?you?re going under,? the doctor snapped. i watched the mask cover my nose and mouth. before i was fully aware, someone handed me a wriggly, sweet smelling bundle. her fresh skin peeked out at me from beneath pink flannel. she squirmed in my arms and arched her disproportionately large head toward my breast. i couldn?t have
plan
ned it better. belly laughs
birth
: you can?t
plan
it ?e morning my daughter was born, i rose with the sun, listened to birds singing, and timed contractions. ?en i called my doula, whose job it was to ensure that all doctors, nurses, anesthesiologists, surgeons, friends, family, and husbands, stuck to? ?e
birth
plan
. by lela davidson 44 pink & blue | fall 2016
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