Last summer, a friend from college sent me a message with questions on John and my decisions regarding my prenatal care and delivery plans. They were great questions, ranging from why I chose to go with midwives to what sort of interventions I hoped to use/not use. The question I got asked the most throughout my pregnancy, whether or not I wished the have an epidural, I tried to tackle in this post. The next topic of interest: birth plan.
Not gonna lie, I kind of cringe at mention of the term, envisioning the six-page single-spaced document of mandates I’ve seen some laboring women cart with them to the hospital on D-Day. But somewhere around gestational week 36, John and I sat down over cappuccinos (fully caffeinated–made our girl dance in utero) and hashed out our “plan”–i.e. we made sure we were on the same page regarding certain hopes…we thought about even writing it down, but then forgot until now:
- If I choose to have an epidural, I would rather initiate the conversation.
- I would prefer to not have continuous fetal heart rate monitoring.
- Above all, please perform whatever intervention necessary for the health and safety of mother and baby.
We thought we were being so low maintenance with our simple requests (God, I’m shaking my head now as I’m remember my protestations regarding having the monitor and IV placed). Maybe any plan is just tempting fate. As is often the case with precipitous labor, especially when paired with a med student who feared arriving at the hospital “too early” (and a husband who opted to take a shower when his wife’s contractions were 90 seconds apart), #1 ended up being irrelevant, and #2 was a non-negotiable. No complaints. When we shared a bit of our birth story (one day, really, I’ll write it down) with a wiser friend, the mother of two responded: “And that is why it should really be called a ‘birth wish.'”
anna in med school 