For almost as long as I can remember, I’ve had a debilitating fear of hornets and wasps. I have left an outdoor wedding mid-ceremony to avoid an aggressive yellow jacket. I have also jumped into lakes and off of roofs, and have once had a full-on anxiety attack because I had absolutely no choice but to pass through a muddy flat populated by wasps. When it comes to bees, I often feel as though I would rather die than endure their presence.
I’d call that a phobia. It fits the definition, as it is definitely a strong, irrational fear of something that poses little or no actual danger. I’m willing to admit that it makes no sense, and I find it embarrassing.
My intense dread of childbirth, however, is not something I’m willing to label “irrational”, despite its recent definition as toko- (or toco-) phobia. Apparently the fact that I fear for my vagina’s safety and never, ever want to have biological children qualifies me as a tokophobe—a “phobia” that is reportedly on the rise, according to the doctors, midwives and researchers interviewed by the Guardian and ABC News. In the United States, there was a 53 percent increase in requests for Caesarean sections between 1996 and 2007, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC); the national rate for Caesareans is now one-third of all births.
Supposedly, tokophobia can originate in your pre-adolescence or as a consequence of a traumatic birth experience with a first child. The ABC News article says that some women are so terrified of childbirth that they are afraid to be around pregnant women.
My feelings are not that extreme, but I became so sick while reading this article earlier today that I nearly fainted. A choice quote:
The scar, she said, hadn’t healed well and the skin was granulated. I might bleed a bit when making love…
I took a quick look in the shower; what once had been smooth and pale pink was a weird tortured purple. It conjured jellyfish, dead and torn, drying on the sand at the high-tide line, its colorful mesoglea bleeding out of its transparent casing.
Or how about:
The baby and the external world were separated by one thing: the ring of fire. Every time I pushed, I could feel it waiting, a steel band of resistance that seemed to excrete pure, burning acid. Terrified, I urged what I would soon know was a him back in… After about two hours, each pushing contraction felt about the same as the last one: urgent, but not so urgent that it wasn’t easier to ride them out than to force the baby through the ring of fire.
Am I really of an “irrational” minority for opting to avoid this, or do most adults really not care?
why isn’t anybody posting about Przybilla’s return to the court?!
♫ Someone’s been reading Jezebel ♪ …
Can the merc please run that vasectomy story again? Please?
When I request that Blogtown feature more vagina talk, this is not what I meant!
Pregnant women *are* pretty creepy, but to admit it would turn you into a social pariah.
Doesn’t bother me, I’m already there.
The end of the essay is pretty sketchy. She’s basically like “but I’m fine now… okay bye!”
One thing missing here is the fact that breast feeding is connected to contractions of the womb. Longer periods of breast feeding probably help a woman recover “down there”.
I’ve had three children naturally. It was hard, but the pain eventually ends… sometimes quite quickly. And it definitely beats hitting your finger with a hammer. Once I experienced childbirth, I felt pretty invincible, which is awesome. I am no longer afraid of pain—I should be a super hero.
I’m not sure why some women feel more comfortable with choosing to have their skin cut open rather than trusting that their bodies can do what they are amazingly capable of doing.