Pain. Unbearable. Unimaginable. She arched her back and cried out as sweat droplets beaded around her furrowed and flushed brow. Intervals of teeth clenching and lips pinching, followed by long inhalations that flared her nostrils. Pain. Throbbing, sharp, and jarring. It spread from her swollen womb to the tips of her curled toes. Her husband stayed by her side from the moment she cried with joy that her membranes had burst all over her Vera Wang yoga leggings to now, as she resisted the urge to vomit.

In came another new face. A doctor. A nurse. An assistant. They came and went, rotating every twelve hours. They started just the same. Unwrinkled scrubs, cheery faces, bright eyes, and all smiles. They left just the same. Stained, bruised, exhausted, and rankled. She gasped and breathed through the stabbing pain that flowed through her from the drip-drip-drip of the man-made hormone they pumped into her veins, speeding her body towards the finale.

“She’s ready to push.” Four magical words fell from the lips of her physician.

And like that, it seemed as if every face that had popped in over those long twenty-eight hours was in the small labor and delivery room. They moved with a sense of urgency. A table fit for a surgical smorgasbord was rolled out of an unsuspecting closet. Light glinted from the shiny, almost medieval looking instruments that lined its surface. Gowns, gloves, caps, and goggles were thrown over each moving body, as the woman felt her bottom split and disappear.

“Push now.” He said.

She didn’t need the invitation; her body knew what it was supposed to do. It was holding back the urge to push that was beyond difficult and nearly impossible. She sucked in breath through her pinched lips and clenched teeth, a whistle ringing out, and then pushed.

“Stop!” Her phsyician’s furrowed brow and startled face scared the woman and her husband. “Don’t move.” She wasn’t sure what he did but she felt a fire burn through her and the urge to push was still pressing on her sanity. Body trembling, she grasped the handles of the hospital bed and squeezed until her knuckles were white.

“Is…she…okay?” Her voice was barely a whisper. Nobody was listening to her. Their focus on her lower half that burned and ached.

Her physician looked at the nurse and the nurse nodded. He turned pained eyes on the woman.

“I am so sorry…” was all she heard.

Her pain and pressure disappeared with her dreams of being a mother. She felt hollow.

***

Nine Months Later

Meg took the test out of the small cellophane packaging and read the instructions. Place in urine stream for fifteen seconds. Shrugging, she lit a cigarette and pissed on the “stick”. Wait three minutes. Inhaling, she practiced blowing smoke rings and checked her phone. No new messages. He would call soon. He always did.

Not wanting to jinx it, she hadn’t looked at the test until her three minutes were up. Two little perfect lines stared back at her. Fuck. She pulled out another smoke and called him anyways. No answer.

Hey shithead. Come over to my place, I am naked.

Thirty minutes later, he showed up without any further prompting. He finished before she even had a chance, like always and rolled away from her. She sat up on her elbow and faced him.

“Jason.”

“Yea. It was good for me too, thanks babe.” He plucked a kiss on her lips.

“No. Jason. I need to tell you something.” She reached for his hand as he was already trying to leave. He sighed and turned back to her.

“What?” He grumbled.

“I’m pregnant.” She had this idea of how she wanted to tell him, but, in the moment she was only able to articulate the two words.

“Fuck. I thought you were on the shot or something?” His voice was angry but his eyes were terrified.

“I was, but I couldn’t get a ride last month to the health department, remember.” She huffed and rolled her eyes.

“Damnit. I got to get out of here.” He stormed away from the apartment and away from her.

Almost Nine Months later….

She had never felt this kind of pain before. Of course, she was only sixteen. Her sixteenth birthday was last weekend. She spent it alone, just like she was now—alone. When her water’s broke, it scared the shit out of her. She called 9-1-1 and rode the ambulance in.

Where are your parents? How old are you? Is the baby’s father going to be here? Would you like an epidural? Who is your Obstetrician? She couldn’t answer most of these questions, because she had spent the last nine months working at the Daylight Donuts on Merchants Drive with a fake driver’s license.

She didn’t have a support person. She didn’t have insurance. She sure as hell had no idea about birthing or raising a baby.

“Is it too late for abortion?” She asked the medic as they wheeled her into the hospital.

“Uh, yes.” He looked at her like she was an idiot and she groaned against the pain.

  They rushed in under bright fluorescent lights. She heard the medic spout off her details to someone in scrubs.

“Sixteen-year-old, full-term, water broken. Vitals within normal limits. She’s all yours.” He smirked at the nurse and turned on his heels to leave, but stopped and turned back. “Good luck young lady.” He nodded to Meg and disappeared back down the sterile corridor.

She went through even more questioning and at one point asked if she was interviewing for the Central Intelligence Agency. Nobody laughed. Her nervous humor was not appealing to the staff of busy hands and busy feet. They strapped two little pads on her swollen belly and a soft lub-dub filled the room. Someone held her hand down and pierced her with a large needle, hanging a bag of saline and moving along with their routine. She had never felt so naked, vulnerable, and alone in her life as dozens of hands moved around her.

“You will feel some pressure here Meg.”

She gasped as they checked her cervix for dilation and effacement. That same nurse turned to another behind her and told her to call the doctor, quickly.

“You are already nine centimeters dilated and fully effaced. Won’t be long sweetie.” She squeezed Meg’s ankle and began calling out orders to the others. Dozens zoomed in and rolled out tables with crazy looking instruments and gowns were distributed to all in attendance. She felt like she was in some science fiction scene of a movie, where everyone was dressing up before entering a quarantined zone.

“It hurts.” She groaned as her belly tightened and she clawed at the hospital sheets.

“It will honey, but you have to just breathe through it. You can push when the doctor comes in and says you can push.” Her warm-honey voice flowed over to Meg, and while calming, her body was too primed for what was about to happen and she cried out again.

“Can’t you give me something for pain?” She squinted as tears formed in her eyes.

“It is too late for medicine honey, I am sorry.”

“FUCK. I think I need to push.”

“No. Just wait until the doctor is here.” The nurse was firm but understanding.

A tall woman strode in and everyone moved to let her through. They quickly placed a gown on her and then the gloves and goggles.

“Okay. Hello Meg! I have a floor full of women envious of your expedient labor. Let’s see.” She peaked between Meg’s legs, where an awful burning sensation had begun and a pressure in her lower abdomen threatened to tear her apart. “She is crowning, okay, Meg, on your next contraction I need you to push, slowly. Do you understand?”

Meg just nodded, too focused on her pain. When she felt her stomach begin to tighten again, the doctor encouraged her to push. Embarrassingly enough, it felt like she had to take a massive shit and she was fairly certain she did. Flushed, sweating, and annoyed, she pushed until she was purple in the face. I could really use a smoke. A rip, a tear, a scream, and a fresh new cry filled the small space. Just like that, Meg died the way she came in—alone.

***

Two Weeks Later

A woman and her husband met with Teresa, their adoption specialist. She called as soon as the newborn was on her radar. They rushed in, a package of nerves and twisted knots of anxiety as they waited outside Teresa’s office. Another couple walked out in tears, clutching a photograph and holding one another. Teresa stepped out and beamed her golden smile at them. Her smile that landed her the spot on the adoption agencies billboard outside of town. The same billboard that the woman saved the number from and the husband called two months back.

“Hey guys, come on in.” She said.

Teresa handed the woman a packet of information about the newborn—their newborn. After they signed all of the paperwork and set up the date they would meet their baby for the first time and bring her home, the woman felt tears of joy sting her eyes. They made their cold descent down her flushed cheeks, leaving a trail of stains to her chin. Her husband squeezed her hand and plucked a tissue from the box on Teresa’s mahogany desk. She took it and cleaned her face.

“Do you guys have any questions?” Teresa asked.

“Will it be an open adoption? I mean, I don’t mind. I just want to know if I need to be prepared for that?” The woman asked.

Teresa paused and a sadness filled her eyes. She checked her surroundings, tapped the desk, and eyed the door for a moment.

“It will be a closed adoption.” She stuck with her training and kept it simple and that appeared to be enough for the woman and her husband. She was glad because she didn’t want to deal with the painful delivery of such sad news.

They left, clutching each other in a warm embrace as tears streamed down their face and onto the picture of their newborn baby girl. A couple sat in the lobby with excited and hopeful eyes, waiting for their turn with the adoption specialist. Teresa greeted them with her warm sunny smile.