It had been difficult. She didn't want to come out so easily and quickly. It was a long period of pain and labored pushing that lasted for hours.
I felt her head move between my hips, her body as it left the womb and poked free of my tight walls. I screamed. I cursed. I thought that I would die. But, eventually, I delivered my baby.
As soon as she came out, I knew that something was wrong. The doctors stared down at the space between my wide-splayed legs.
I couldn't hear the shrieks expected after birth nor could I see my baby. My body was drained of energy. All my strength had been focused on pushing and the resulting tiredness left my mind numb.
One of the doctors gasped, the nurses glanced at me and whispered to themselves.
I couldn't speak. All I could do was drift off into the darkness as a doctor handed a red-haired nurse a bundle. A white blanket wrapped around a small-
I just woke up. I'm in another room, the television is blaring static and there's a nurse sitting next to the bed. She has ignored my questions and refuses to meet my eyes.
It's like she's ashamed or embarrassed or something. She is young, just my age. Twenty five, blond hair, pale skin. It's probably her first day.
I would call for a doctor but, my husband’s already talking to one.
I can see them, the door is open and they're outside in the hallway. I can also hear them but, only one word reaches my ears. Something about a “carriage”.