(Have you read pt. 1? If not, scroll down please.)
On my 19th birthday I was 8 months pregnant. I was swollen with child, sleeping fifteen hours a day, and crying 24 hours a day. I was dealing with difficulties way beyond my age and maturity. I was a teenager expecting to give birth to a real live person. I viewed myself still as a child and yet I was full of another child. A month later, on January 23, 2011 at 2 am, a trickle of amniotic fluid rolled down my inner thigh. My water had managed to break, and seeped into the carpet of my mothers carpeted staircase. I had galloped down the pavement sidewalk of a strip mall the previous day in opes of causing my water to break, but hadn’t expected it to. I was anticipating the water breaking because I was already two days past my due date, and was beginning to walk with a waddle. I called down the stairs in panic to my mother, reporting what was happening. My mother simply reacted as if I were ‘the boy who cried wolf’. I walked down the stairs slowly so that my legs wouldn’t touch the way a small child does after having an accident. My royal blue, track sweatpants were wet revealing that the process of labor had begun. My mama jumped up and the anxious feeling started taking over my body at a more rapid pace. I swiftly grabbed my favorite leopard print duffle bag that I had packed for my stay at the hospital. The bag consisted of my toothbrush, toothpaste, hair ties, and two days worth of clothes. For comfort, I threw in my purple bathrobe, fuzzy slippers, and my IPod that I had recently had my coworker fill up with music. I called the father of my child, and almost instantly he arrived at my house. I lined the passenger seat of my moms silver mini van with a navy blue towel, while she followed closely behind with my bag. As soon as i closed the door we drove the 22 miles to Baptist Hospital. I called my doctor’s office only to find out that Dr. Thornburg, my female doctor that I had been seeing throughout my pregnancy, was out of town. A male doctor that I had never met would be delivering my son. This stranger would be checking me with his masculine hands every couple of hours til he was able to get my baby out. The computer-like voice of the receptionist on the end of the line asked me a series of questions. The dull voice then informed me that , “once it was confirmed that the water has been broken, the baby will have to be delivered within 24 hours, or a cesarean section will be needed”. A couple weeks before labor I had read in a local magazine that Baptist Hospital was voted best hospital for labor and delivery With that knowledge in the back of my mind, I tried my hardest not to worry. Hospitals are like large factories; they mass produce children like a toy factory produces dolls. My child was one of hundreds to be born, and that idea kept my optimistic. During the ride to the hospital I texted all my friends to let them know that I was in labor, and that they could soon be expecting a bouncing baby boy soon!