[Dr. Eckleburg]

It probably varies from person to person. But my memory, thankfully shaded now by time, is that those last few minutes before birth were like an impending plane crash. You're being tossed all around the cabin, every part of your body being bruised by blunt objects. The only sound you hear is your own screams. You can't catch your breath; your lungs refuse to take in air. Bones feel like they're being crushed inside you.

But at the same time, above the frantic tension and wild assault, you sense there are two of you struggling to live. Beyond all the pain, you're aware that someone is already depending on you who is in even worse shape than you are, whose heart is beating so hard it must be near bursting. Someone who is desperate and determined to take that first gasp, no matter what is in his way.

So you work with him, following his lead. At that point, it's his show.

And then it's over and amazingly, hormones are released that permit the memory of the pain to fade away. You can remember you were in pain, but you can't conjure up the feeling of that pain again.

Which is a very good thing for second and third children. 8~)

I take comfort in believing Mary endured all the same pain and distress every mother goes through. It's part of the human experience, given as a gift from God.

Because when it's over, there is a child born, and nothing is ever the same again.

[AlbionGirl]

But at the same time, above the frantic tension and wild assault, you sense there are two of you struggling to live. Beyond all the pain, you're aware that someone is already depending on you who is in even worse shape than you are, whose heart is beating so hard it must be near bursting. Someone who is desperate and determined to take that first gasp, no matter what is in his way.

So you work with him, following his lead. At that point, it's his show.

That's beautiful, Dr. E.