by Ginger Voight

Created on: July 08, 2011

Chapter 32- Fatty

An overweight, insecure teen makes the ultimate sacrifice for love.

It was a Monday morning in early July when my water broke. No immediate pain like there are on movies and television, just a surprising and uncontrollable gush of water. I told my Mom but she decided we’d wait until the pains began. So we waited.

Through Monday we waited.

Tuesday came and went while we waited.

During all this downtime I had plenty of time to agonize about the impending pain of labor and delivery. The longer it went, the more I worried. My mother didn’t help matters by all her “dry birth” talk.

Everything else had already been decided. The doctor, the hospital, even the procedures on how they would take the baby the moment it’s born so that I would not see or hold it. I was convinced that would make giving it away easier.

The adoption services had already set everything into place, all I had to do now was have the baby.

How could something so simple be so frightening?

I woke up at 4:30 that Wednesday morning with pains in my lower back. It wasn’t necessarily uncommon, with the huge stomach I was carrying my back hurt most of the time. But this was a twinge that was a little different. I took a bath, and it didn’t subside.

My mom was up by six, and I told her I was having trouble with my back. Not only that but I was growing increasingly uncomfortable. We decided we’d wait until nine o’clock before we went to the doctor, but I didn’t even last that long.

By 6:45am I was in the emergency room, being admitted. I had dilated to two centimeters by then. When I told them my water broke two days before, the doctor promptly sent me up to Labor and Delivery.

It didn’t matter if the baby was ready, the doctors insisted the time had come. Waiting any longer would risk infection. They situated me in my room, gave me routine medical prepping, and then hooked up to an IV, with something in it to speed up labor.

They also hooked me up to monitors for the baby, which kept track of the heartbeat and the contractions.

Contractions that, thanks to the medicine, grew increasingly more uncomfortable. It was like turbo charged period cramps. Every time a nurse would enter I would query about what kind of drugs I could get. I wanted to numb everything, and if I couldn’t eat or drink, they’d better give me something else.

By the time I had dilated to five and a half centimeters they finally conceded to

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