I have something to add.
I ended up having a C-section at the last minute (after being in labor for over 28 hours and getting NOWHERE), but I wanted to elaborate on the "labor" part.
Before the water breaks, if the contractions haven't made it to five minutes apart yet, doctors can be downright apathetic. "Contractions? How far apart are they? Only eight minutes, and only all day? You've still got some time; call me when your water breaks!" Mine never broke properly, but my body decided to try and trick me with some ominous discharge. (Apparently, this is called the "mucous plug", and is the vaginal equivalent of the piece of wax above the wine-cork.)
I think I walked a few miles the day I gave birth, between back-and-forth on my break at work, back-and-forth at home, and six laps around the hospital ward. After you've walked yourself to exhaustion (waddled, rather, in too-big jammies and an effing bathrobe because none of your other clothes fit, and---), they put you in a hospital room (not a DELIVERY room, mind you-- just a room) and hook you up to a fetal monitor. The fetal monitor is like a giant belt, and checks the baby's heart rate, to make sure he/she is faring well during the stress of labor.
Then, they stick a very cold hand up your hoo-hah with as many fingers as they can manage, to check to see how dilated you are. Then, they ask someone with bigger, colder hands to second their opinion, as an audience of well-meaning family members forms at the end of the bed. It's like a hoo-hah display exhibit, and Dad, Grandma, and the gang are all invited. This is the point where the expectant mother wants to throw any item within reach, because all her family members are standing RIGHT AT THE END OF THE BED, in hoo-hah viewing territory, rather than near the head of the bed like any civilized person. This may be a fear mechanism, because they don't want to stand within arm's reach of the expectant mother--but the last thing the expectant mother wants is a crowd of well-meaning people focusing between her legs, waiting for something to emerge.
The goal is ten centimeters, or full dilation, to advance to an actual delivery room. Twenty-six hours with NO pain meds got me to a whopping four. Two hours later, my boy was delivered by Caserean.