When an Epidural Isn't an Option

I wrote this in response to a post on Scary Mommy, "You're Damn Right I Had an Epidural," because there are those of us, whether we wanted one or not, who simply can't have one. It's not always about being a warrior.

“My sister said to ask for the epidural before you really need it, then you’ll be sure to get it.”

“Oh, I can’t have an epidural.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Have a baby.”

No, I’m not afraid of needles. In fact, I got stuck with them once a week from the age of 9 until I started refusing weekly blood tests at 16.  Needles schmeedles.

Due to ITP, a condition in which my spleen thinks of my platelets as tiny little chocolate covered cherries and gobbles them right up, my platelets have never run the required 80-100,000 required for an epidural.  I’ve known pretty much my whole life that whenever I had children, it would be all natural.  It’s nice to have had decades to prepare for the pain of childbirth.

I know that modern technology makes pain relief readily available, and lots of moms talk about how this isn’t a game of who can best who in the pain department. But I never had the choice.

Oh, sure, doctors offer me the horror drug known as prednisone to up my platelet count before delivery just so I can have an epidural.

So, let me get this straight, you want me to take a drug that makes me swell painfully, gives me aching joints, makes me all sweaty and weird, and could potentially harm my unborn child just so I can have a “pain management tool” that will result in a catheter, possibly a longer delivery, and potential long-term side effects?

Gee. Let me think about that. Take drugs so I can have even more drugs?

No, thank you.

For those moms who are ready and willing to have the epidural, go for it.

But for moms like me who would have to put our bodies through another form of torture before even going into labor, it’s not worth the effort.

I get plenty of looks when I decline the prednisone. Lots of, “Oh, sweetie...you just don’t know” type of looks.

But let me tell you, I do know.

Even before I had my first child, I could tell you about killer period cramps that made me cry for days. I could tell you about running half marathons up hills and on tired legs. I could tell you about recovering from major abdominal surgery while gradually tapering off morphine at a rate faster than anything ever seen by my nurses.  I do know how to handle pain, and I can handle this pain.  

The second time around? Those “Oh, sweetie” looks are just insulting.  

I know that this will feel like the pain of a thousand periods all rolled into one. I know that this will hurt like hell.  

But, for me, not having an epidural really is the only choice. So bring it on, labor, sweetie, let’s see what you’ve got this time.

How to Dress for the Third Trimester in 12 Easy Steps

When we first need to switch to maternity clothes, it’s adorable. Oh my goodness, look at that tiny baby bump. I have a baby bump! This is amazing. There is a tiny human growing inside me. I shall dress this bump in flowing tops and leggings.

By the time the third trimester rolls around, the weeks of elastic waistbands and sensible shoes have started to take their toll. And while the thought of the tiny human growing inside is still pretty astonishing, there’s the fact that nothing fits. Not. Even. Pajamas.

It’s okay, though. No need to worry.  There are some simple steps to preparing to go out in public in the third trimester.

1. Pick out that adorable maternity skirt you ordered online. You know the one. It’s probably a maxi skirt.
2. Put on the skirt and realize what it feels like when your thighs touch. Remember that it’s spring, or summer, or that you’ll have to walk, or stand, or sit, or be awake. Realize that no matter what you’ll be doing, you’ll be sweating.
3. Take off the skirt.
4. Pull out all of the pants in your closet until you find a clean pair of jeans that also fits.
5. Put on the pants. Sigh with relief that your thighs no longer feel so...touchy.
6. Next, a shirt. Start with a maternity tank, because those babies make it possible to wear a “regular” shirt. You’ll look like you’re layering. Yup.
7. Pull on a non-maternity shirt. It’ll be short, but the maternity tank makes up the difference.
8. Look in the mirror. Realize that, no, in fact, the maternity tank does not make up for the difference. Accept it. You’re pregnant. Like, really pregnant. You can’t wear non-maternity shirts, anymore.
9. Scramble to find a clean maternity shirt that also vaguely looks reasonably nice. Pull it on.
10. Accessorize with a chunky necklace. At least your necklaces still fit.
11. Shove your feet into shoes that don’t require buckling, or lacing.
12. Brush your hair and thank the pregnancy gods for your thick, lustrous hair (forget the fact that this will all fall out in a few months), and go out into the world.

Bonus steps: Brace yourself for comments about how small, large, lopsided, or tired you seem. Prepare your response to statements such as, “You better get sleep while you can.” Hitch up your elastic pants, flip your gorgeous hair, straighten your shoulders, and keep moving. You’ve got this, Mama.