Okay, don't hate me for this, but when it comes to labor and delivery, I found them relatively easy. Well, physically that is. Sure, the epidural helped, but I'm also tall and have wide hips, so the whole "push, push, PUSH!" phase usually lasted all of 10 minutes for me. I was also fortunate to have entered all of my pregnancies with no "pre-existing medical conditions," except, that oh-so-fun mental health condition known as generalized anxiety disorder. Yay me!

Anxiety has been my arch nemesis for as long as I can remember, preventing me from so many fun things as a child, like horseback riding at Girl Scout camp, the super fast rollercoasters at the amusement park, and just about every other possible scenario in which I could be maimed, mauled, trampled or otherwise injured. The carefree angel on one shoulder jumped up and down with glee, while the doom-and-gloom demon on the other loud-whispered, "You're gonna die." To say it's held me back would be an understatement. Held me hostage is more like it.

READ: Anxiety During Pregnancy: What's Normal and What's Not?

When it came time for me to deliver bundle-of-joy number three, I wasn't aware Mr. Worrypants was going to show up in the delivery room and rain terror down on my push parade. After all, I'd done this before and had no reason to believe things would suddenly go wrong. I was in the care of a very capable OB and very capable medical staff at the most specialized birthcare center around. But if you're familiar with my enemy -- if anxiety has been an unwelcome guest in your journey of life -- you know there's nothing rational about him.

As the anaesthesiologist's cold cleaning sponge met my back, a chill went up my spine, but not from the fluid. There he was. Panic. In my room and in my face, threatening to suffocate me while everyone in the room looked on unaware. At first, I tried to ignore him. "Go away, go away, go away," I willed him.

That wouldn't do. He was persistent. "You're never going to feel your legs again, you know? You're going to die. This is going to get screwed up, your heart will suddenly stop, and nobody can help you," he whispered in my ear.

Lies. All lies. But it was too late.

Inside, a panic attack wreaked havoc on my mind, while outside, my calm demeanor gave no indication of my suffering. I had to come clean. I could no longer help myself, so I had to ask my nurse to not only care for my physical health but for my mental health as well.

I looked her in the eye and said, "I have an anxiety disorder. I'm having a panic attack. I'm convinced I'm going to die or never feel my legs again. I know it's not true, but it's what I believe. I need you to calm me down. I need you to tell me my vitals. I need you to explain every twinge and twitch and sensation I'm feeling." I didn't sugar coat, and I didn't belittle my condition. I knew she was here to help me, and help me she did. She did exactly as I asked and even brought the anaesthesiologist back in to answer all of my questions.

Eventually, the panic subsided, and a little while later, my beautiful baby boy came screaming into the world, met by a momma with a clear, healthy mind. My enemy may have showed up uninvited at my childbirth, but with the help of an understanding and capable medical team, he didn't get to stay.

Do you have anxiety? Did it intensify during pregnancy? How did you deal with it?

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