The Epidural: The Cause of and Solution to Labor’s Problems?

I was five centimeters dilated when I got the epidural. The doctor and nurse assured me it was the perfect time to do it and that it might even relax me and speed my dilation. The pain began to dissipate within 15 minutes, a shift that is chronicled in a picture we took with my parents on either side of a smiling, bloated woman, waiting expectantly in a hospital bed.

For two hours the relief was sweet. We watched The Big Chill (one of my favorite movies) on TV. I even quoted some of the lines. I believe there was some laughter. But soon the night took a different route, marked by two-hour pronouncements by the doctors that by turns scared and buoyed me.

9 p.m.: My cervix “stalls” at five centimeters. The doctor suggests “a little Pitocin” to speed my contractions, which appear to have slowed and mellowed under the influence of the epidural (my interpretation, not the doctor’s). The P-word strikes fear into the heart of any woman who has read a book about natural childbirth. A synthetic hormone that helps stimulate uterine contractions, it is often (erroneously?) blamed for labors that do not progress smoothly and eventually end in C-section. It is one in a cascade of interventions you are warned to avoid when you enter the hospital. So David and I look at each other with concern. But we agree. I’ve been in labor for 16 hours and am open to anything that will speed the process.

11 p.m.: Seven centimeters! The Pitocin appears to be working. Unfortunately, Sprout’s head is not descending, the doctor muses about how big the baby might be. I begin to worry that the specter of a C-section is rising. I tell anyone who will listen that I’m afraid the epidural was a big mistake and it has sent me down the road to a C-section. The doctor says she cannot predict whether I will have a C-section (not helpful). The nurse tells me to think positively (very helpful) and have some faith in my body. I work on that until the next cervix check.

1 a.m.: Eight centimeters but no head movement. David is able to get some sleep. I’ve been awake for 19 hours now, but my body shows no sign of shutting down to give me some rest.

3 a.m.: Nine centimeters and the head has dropped a little. Huge success! David and I high-five and are so excited that we decide not to try and sleep anymore until the nurses advise us we have miles to go. David falls back asleep. I stay vigilant.

5 a.m.: Nine centimeters (again). The resident who has been checking me through the night says she was off last time and now I am truly at nine centimeters. A rumor circulates that my OB may actually arrive soon to take me to the finish line. This is the best news since the first fake nine centimeters.

7 a.m.: Nine centimeters (again). The attending returns (she of the unhelpful C-section advice) and says I was probably only eight last time (again), now I am truly nine with one to go and the head is “plus one” (plus three is go time). My contractions appear to be slowing again, so she ups my Pitocin and leaves me to the home stretch.

8 a.m.: My dilation is complete, Sprout’s head is plus two, and in strides my original doctor like an obstetrical John Wayne.

Next week: The cavalry arrives, the real battle begins, and the war is won.

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