My feet feel like heavy weights as I make my way towards the delivery room. The feeling of loss so overpowering that there is no semblance of the girl with confidence. It is as though that girl never existed. It is because of this weakness that I enjoyed ridicule and mockery during my suffering. I was made to feel less than and unworthy.
The feeling of unworthy resinated so deeply into my core that I didn't fight them when they called me weak or called me fat or told me that I should be better. I didn't argue with them when they pumped my body so full of chemicals that I started projectile vomiting. When my water broke I didn't even know what was happening and I stood there in both shock and awe.
They snickered at my surprise and mocked my ignorance. When I asked them for pain medication I was ridiculed for being weak. "Most women do it without pain medicine," they said. The chemical they pumped into me to force the labor was at its maximum dose. I should be showing progress.
"What is wrong with you?" they asked.
"You should be dilating already. The dose you are on should be working. What are you doing?"
I didn't know. I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't know how this was supposed to go. There was no one here to guide me. There was no one here to tell me I would be alright. I was alone. He came. My Charlie came and he sat with me brushing the hair out of my face. The pain so deep and so intense I writhed in agony. I screamed.
I wailed. They wanted to put a heart monitor in my son's head but I wasn't dilated enough so they sent 5 different doctors to try to force the wire inside of me. Pain. Unbearable. Undeniable pain. I tried to be strong. I tried to find some kind of inner strength but as I looked around me and saw the wires wrapped around my stomach, pushed inside of, wrapped on my arms and chest I became distinctly aware that this wasn't normal.
Nothing about this was normal and I had to face the reality that this was all my fault. I played through the mind all of the things that I could have done differently. Maybe if I hadn't listened to this person, maybe if I hadn't listened to that person.
What if I had never started having reproductive issues, to begin with? Maybe then this would be alright. He wouldn't have to suffer.
Again, I am brought to dark thoughts. They were right, I was to blame for this. He needed to be removed from me as quickly as possible. The chances of surviving decrease the longer he remained inside of me. My body wouldn't even give me that, I wouldn't dilate. They were trying to decide if they should exceed the maximum dose so that they could force this to move forward.
In the end, they did, "Just one more dose" they said.
The pain, so intense, so violent, I thought that I would die from that alone. They smirk the nurses that see me. No one wants to offer me kindness here. How ironic that I am the one being treated like I don't belong.
Charlie is growing frustrated he sees the way they are behaving and he sees my sufferings. He demands that they give me medicine to dull the pain they are creating. They finally gave me the medicine to ease the pain but she missed the spot and instead caused my heart rate to fall and his to rise.
One look at the monitor and it becomes clear that there is a problem. My rate has fallen but I suddenly feel calm. There is no more pain. I hear noises that are fading into the distance. The only thing that keeps me awake at this point is the monitor that is connected to the life inside of me.
It is so high, it is moving so fast. I should panic. I should be afraid but I can't feel anything but the fading of the lights and sounds around me.
I see off in the distance the doctors are saying something to Charlie. I can't make out what they are saying but he points to me and says "Save her".
"Charlie, what's happening?" I ask.
"It's going to be alright. They are going to do a surgery to take him out of you. You both are going into distress. It is going to be alright."
I'm wheeled into the room and feel them ripping me open. I scream "You're killing me!" I don't know why that thought scares me because I know they are just trying to save him but I feel afraid.
Someone places a mask over my face and tells me to breathe deeply. I do and I see colors that weren't there before. I don't remember saying anything about the colors but it turns out that I did.
The sounds fade away more as the beautiful lights lull me off into a dreamless slumber.
When I wake, Charlie is holding him in his arms. "He's here babe, you did it," he said in a soft whisper.
My mind is not fully alert, I thought I heard them saying something about my baby failing a test and taking him out of his arms. I fade away a second time.
When I wake I see him in a basket covered in wires and my breath catches. I fade away again.
My heart rate won't stabilize and my fever won't break. Days. I've been here for days.
Lost. Confused. "When can I see my son?"
"When you are recovered," they say to me. It didn't matter who I'd ask the answer never changed. How many days has it been? What must he think of me? Is he alright? He needs me. Doesn't he?
'Get better! Damn it!' I yell internally to myself. I feel hatred filling inside of me. I hate myself for failing him. It was time to recover, I needed to see my son.
This is it, one more chapter to go. Thank you for reading. I appreciate this.
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