THE LAMAZE METHOD OF PREPARED CHILDBIRTH
(Page 3 of 4)
May/June 1971
By the Mother Earth News editors
As John and I devoured the books we became more and more horrified and convinced: horrified that we couldn't do it and convinced that we had to give it a try. The baby rapidly became less abstract with every book we read and each firm kick she gave.
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If we had any doubts at that point, they immediately disappeared when we started the hospital classes. Mrs. Peggy Waite was the obstetric nurse who taught the course and she was supremely practical . . . but she made every couple in that class realize that they were carrying their baby.
Peggy taught us the Lamaze exercises and the philosophy behind them. She wasn't a fanatic (she didn't tell us we could control our feelings completely or that the mystical heights of childbirth magic would allow us to overcome all sensation of pain) . . . but, by being sensible, Peggy was great.
Thanks to Mrs. Waite, we began to feel a sense of awe for what was about to happen to us. The books had been thorough but a book can't communicate essence of experience the way another person can. Even Peggy couldn't really prepare us for the powerful physical-metaphysical thing we would later experience . . . but she certainly helped.
John and I practiced simulated labor every night (not that you can simulate labor, but we tried). When the first labor pains finally started, we were euphorically excited. We were also ready.
The euphoria passed. At first, sitting in the hospital bed and talking to John, I felt I could stay in labor forever. I thought that maybe, I was one of those people who could have a baby with barely a twinge.
Well, I wasn't. The contractions came harder and closer together. I shifted from euphoria to calm, and from calm to determination. After six hours—not counting the hours at home—I was still only five centimetres dilated and, in pregnant-lady jargon, that means I had a long way to go. John very sensibly said, "Nothing doing, we're holding on fine," during my fleeting moment of let's-chicken-out . . . and I kept on panting.
The baby was pushing pretty hard by then and I tried to imagine what the poor little thing felt like. It must have been a tight squeeze: only my abdomen and pelvis hurt . . . but it was the baby's head! At about 6:00 p.m. John left for eight minutes to bolt down a sandwich. For those eight minutes I nearly drowned in self-pity. When he got back I felt that I could go on again. That's how important it is to have your husband with you.
