The Secret to Giving Birth
BY MONA RAY
Photo Courtesy | Mona Ray
I used to think that the “ultimate birthing experience” was to give birth naturally: no drugs, no epidural, no hospital, no IV, no help – and maybe that's an ode to the ancestors, why any of us may feel that way. My great, Filipina grandmother had twelve kids, none of which were delivered in the hospital. Kinda seems badass when we look back at where we came from. It’s honorable that we’d want to be like our ancestors, I’ll say that. I do believe that giving birth naturally all the way through is commendable, just as is all birth. But if I heard someone did it without any meds? Phew. You go, Mama. I was also extremely holistic before I gave birth (and into my daughter's life, that is, until life and hardship humbled me into stretching Ramen noodles for the week – that’s a different story for a different time).
When we break it down to the feelings — we don’t have to feel guilty for not going all natural. We just don’t. It’s unnecessary. And no one is better than the other for how they gave birth.
Don’t get me wrong: I try to buy organic when I can afford it. Shit, if I could buy some land right now and grow my family’s food, I’d love that. But the way my creative career is set up, I kinda work more than I am able to stick my hands in the soil. I am a homemaker, yes. I homeschool, yes. Life is . . . Busy. Some things aren’t realistic at the drop of a dime. You cannot do everything. Just like giving birth completely and fully, all natural: Sometimes it’s just simply unrealistic for our conditions . . . Whether that’s because of the pregnancy itself or because of our bodies or health conditions.
When I became pregnant with my firstborn, I had too many people in my ear from all sides of the spectrum. “Don’t do this, that or the third, remember this, if you want –” bla bla whoopty whoop. To be frank with you, I just don’t think that’s what the vessels of new life need to hear. Pregnant women deserve foot and back rubs everyday and to be nurtured and cared for. Not berated for potentially “screwing up their own labor.” That’s bologna bullshit. Yes, read, learn, research, get prepared, but . . . Look, I was 21. I typed out that birth plan and had a vision: I’d give birth under a dim light, with incense going and my favorite music playing. I’d have a doula, a midwife . . . “It’d be challenging” I thought, “sure,” but I was determined to be as comfortable as possible. I read the What To Know books. I asked all of my elders. I watched all the YouTube videos week by week and read all the articles in all the pregnancy apps. I was determined to see this vision through. That is, until the day I went into labor. Everything changed.
It was a Wednesday, my daughter’s actual due date. I thought that was interesting, because “the first born never arrives on their due date.” My midwife’s office was closed on Wednesdays, so I drove myself to the hospital. Something didn’t feel right and I needed to get a monitor hooked up so I could know she was okay. She hadn’t been moving that whole day, and I was experiencing various pains. A nurse did an ultrasound and they said they “legally could not let me out of the building because my fluid levels were dangerously low.” Trying not to panic, I called my midwife. She said it’d be an additional fee to have her there at the hospital. Keep in mind I was 21 at the time and not married . . . meaning I was not rollin’ in dough for fees I didn’t think I had to prepare for (the birth plan, if you recall. I typed it out. It was laminated and everything). I pleaded with my midwife on how I could get home and have this baby in the tub, under moody lights and in the comfort of my own space. She actually said, based on what the nurses were communicating, that it might be in my best interest to stay there. All of those extreme voices engulfed me as if I was seated in one of those mother group circles, “The hospital can’t make you do anything – Legally, yeah right, go home if you want to, this is your birth – Have the baby yourself – Trust your body –”
Right. When it’s just you, your unborn baby, and a frantic staff trying to get you to an induction room because your fluids are quote: “dangerously low” it’s kinda . . . scary, to say the least.
My heart was pounding and I suddenly felt so out of control. I wanted to put my life, and my baby’s life, in the hands of professionals. I did not want to take my chances. And if you’re worried about a judgy group of mothers, just recall the Rick and Morty quote, “Your boos mean nothing to me, I’ve seen what makes you cheer.” That gets me by everytime.
The nurses at that hospital were nice, despite my preconceived notion that they’d all be these money-hungry goblins that feed off my vulnerability, and that the hospital would be this lantern lit chamber held up by wet, stone walls. They weren’t what some of these groups made them out to be. They explained my options to me and followed every request, including the main one, “I want to have this baby as naturally as possible.”
As I waited in the induction room, I went into active labor naturally, I suppose from the stress. They wheeled me into the labor and delivery room and I declined the pitocin and epidural. Until Hour 17, when I was still only three centimeters dilated.
After those long hours of a burning hot torso, grinding my teeth, and gripping that hospital bed every five minutes, I said, “You know what . . . Give me the epidural. I am . . . tired,” and no one judged me for it because no one was there but me, my baby, and the revolving nurses. It was at that moment I realized this was a one-woman battle. This was my experience. Those voices were right, this is my birth. And dammit, I was going to do what felt best for me and my body.
Ten minutes after the epidural set in, I fell asleep. Hard. When I awoke, nurses alerted me that I had dilated almost the full amount and that I’d be able to push soon. No more contractions. No more tears. I was finally going to be able to hold my baby in my arms soon. My mom traveled in and got there right before I was able to push. After fifteen minutes of pushing, at 11:47 p.m., almost a full 24 hours of labor later, she was born.
My son was born six and a half years later. And this time, I knew I could give myself grace. I attempted a fully natural labor again, but after only five hours of contractions (truly forgot how painful it was), I opted for the epidural. My son’s labor was intense. I actually cried, I was in that much pain. I’m talking sobbing. My poor husband. When I asked for the epidural, a similar thing happened: I could finally sleep. My body could relax. When I awoke, the doctor was getting the delivery table ready. My son was on his way whether I was ready to push or not. After an overnight labor of twelve hours and only three pushes, my sweet baby was in my arms.
Funny how all that pain goes away when they make it to our chest, huh?
And that’s my point.
However you want to do it, you should know that you are allowed to give yourself grace. You can do it like me and have an idea, or not – you can just know you wanna have a baby and enjoy the ride. Shoot for the moon, and even if you miss, you’ll still end up among the stars. That’s what deciding to have a baby is like.
The mere idea of giving birth is terrifying. You see it in movies, and the woman is screaming, and she’s drenched in sweat, and everyone’s passing out around her. Though that is an over-dramatization of reality, that’s what we’ve been spoon-fed. Much like the information that will be (or has been fed to us) when we get pregnant. All the mommas wanna let you in on the “secrets.” Well, here’s my advice.
The biggest secret for pregnant women about giving birth.
Ready? *ahem*
*Clears throat*, *taps the mic*,
You can give birth however the f*ck you want to.
The last thing you need to worry about is anyone’s opinion—and that goes for life in general.
The concept of having a baby is overwhelming as it is. The freedom of up and going anywhere with whatever’s in your pocket: that goes away once a baby is in the picture. Not to mention the lack of sleep, the way you’ll have to schedule everything around your little one, your work life, your parenting style, your discipline extents, your generational trauma that you’re still figuring out so you don’t make the same mistakes your parents did . . . I mean, I personally struggled with just naming my children (you don’t know how many people you don’t like until it’s time to name your kid). It’s kind of the biggest responsibility as a human being if you ask me. Having a kid shapes the future of this planet. The way we raise them . . . We have to be ready for that. Nurturing our babies to be good humans, to then be good adults. It’s literally the future. Salutes to you, mama. For choosing to love. For choosing this odyssey of a lifetime: being someone’s Mom.
You chose to love, and that is the ultimate experience. Quite frankly, anyone else’s opinions of how you should “go about it” don’t have anything to do with your divine experience.
MONA RAY is a Filipino-American professional dancer, artist, and new writer. She has been working as a creative/visual director for over 10 years—from set design, to professional photography, she moves to tell stories centered around diversity and self-expression through various artistic mediums. She enjoys comedy, gaming, cooking, gardening and hanging out with her husband and children. They live the RV life, homeschooling and traveling across the country full-time.