One of the most effective painkillers for childbirth is an Epidural. Essentially, it's an anaesthetic that is administered via a plastic tube that is inserted into the spinal column. Ouch! I'm thinking that can't be a lot of fun. But it helps a lot, so we're told.
But there are the risks. If the Anaesthetist screws up, Mae could end up with a life-long backache. And if he screws up big time, it could mean paralysis. The whole prospect of that happening, scares me. Paralysis. Even the word has a creepy tone.
Everybody tells us that probability of any complications happening is very low. The statistics say so. Doctors say so. "Every medical procedure has its risks," they say. Still, none of these offer me any comfort whatsoever.
Watching that stomach churning video (see previous post) had its effect on us. It didn't help Mae prepare for the pain any better. In fact, it freaked her out so much that she's convinced she wants an epidural. "I don't care. I want an epidural. I want an epidural," she was almost hysterical.
I snapped at her. "Stop that!"
I would never deny her anything that would alleviate her pain. Never. But the fact that someone might screw up the epidural scares me to death. "Honey, I'm not saying no but I just want you to give this thing the consideration it deserves."
The fact is, this really isn't my decision to make. I don't get to call the shots here simply because I will not be the one suffering. And if Mae should ever go into labour and she's kicking and screaming, she will have anything she wants, so help me God. Anything. Even the epidural.
I just pray she doesn't scream, "I want a Rolex!"