Birth Story and Thoughts on Birth

In all my criticism of the AWOL, I neglected to even once mention the effect of birth on the rest of ones life. Supposedly, upon turning three infants lose all memory of past events in their lives, but the impact of our birth stays eternally with us. Something as simple as being born in a bath-tub could have a profound effect on ones experience. So one could probably see why people feel the need to manipulate every little factor.
Looking back on the story of my own birth I see the quintessential American birth at play. I was born on August 11th, 1991; my mother was running a food stand with my father at a local street fair in San Fransisco California when her water broke. She went to the hospital where she was told to return home and wait for 24 hours. The following day she went back to the hospital where the doctors gave her Pitocin to help induce labor. From this point on there were about 15 hours of labor before I was actually born, so it was a fairly long wait. The Pitocin made her contractions more frequent and they grew stronger each time. To pass the time my parents walked around the hospital until, at one point, the contractions got to be so painful that they returned to the room. For the majority of her time spent in the birthing room my mom remained seated in a chair next to the bed with her head resting on the mattress; my father helped her through each contraction until, finally, she began crowning. Shortly before she was given Darvon, a light sedative to reduce the pain, but it was ineffective so she had an epidural. In an attempt to make the environment more welcoming for me my mother had very relaxing music playing in the background. When she finally began crowning a surge of doctors appeared in the room; she recalled there being no medical figures there up until that point. She had an episiotomy to stop any inevitable ripping from happening and shortly after I was born.
My mother does not recall any pain; she remembers it being a “magical moment,” with the music, the San Fransisco fog settling just outside the hospital, and the birth of her new son. Aside from being totally stoned from the sedatives, reluctant to nurse, and mildly jaundiced, I was a healthy, six pound, six ounce, baby boy.
My brother on the other hand was born quickly in a matter of only four hours. My mom was shopping with my father for Christmas presents when her water broke; knowing that she would most likely be unable to eat for he next few hours my parents got some food at a local restaurant. They waited until the contractions became frequent enough that the doctor allowed them to come to the hospital, and they sent me to my friends house. She requested an epidural but was too far along to receive one. She gave birth shortly after; my younger brother Austin was born wide awake, un-jaundiced, and began nursing as soon as he could; a perfectly healthy baby boy.
Austin’s birth was far more natural than mine; my mother was not only more prepared for my birth, but more willing to intervene with drugs because she was afraid of the pain. Even though I came out just as healthy as my brother would, I was jaundiced and unwilling to nurse. I believe that this may be due in part to the epidural; putting any chemical into one’s body is bound to have side effects. It seems to me that epidurals are preferred by most mothers to help reduce the pain, but the effects they have on the child seem not worth the risk. It is important that the first few years of an infants life remain undisturbed, for they are crucial in their lifelong development. Epidurals could arguably affect a child’s development; being high for the first few moments of waking life can’t be a positive thing. One reason that I may have had the health issues that I did at birth could be the drugs that my mother took to relieve her own pain. Let’s just say that I find it coincidental that my brother had no immediate health problems when my mom was unable to have an epidural.