A/N: My story. Originally written for a creative writing class, but I figured I'd share it with others. My first story on fictionpress, so be nice and review!

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Breathe. Just breathe. It’ll be over soon. Breathe.

“Good job, sweetheart. Monitor shows that was a bad one. Now just relax while you can. I’m gonna see how far along we are now.”

I relax and look up at the ceiling, not watching as the nurse bent between my legs. I knew I only had a couple minutes before another contraction started.

“Just about 8 centimeters. That means that you’re too late for an epidural.”

“Thank goodness,” I muttered; it was certainly tempting. But the nurse knew I didn’t want any drugs. It was one of the few things I seemed to control in this situation. I don’t remember when my grandma told me, but I always remember her saying “Indian women don’t get drugs. And Indian women don’t scream.” She went into a big explanation, talking about how Indian women are naturally strong and too proud to scream in pain. If you’re screaming, you’re not focusing on the baby. If you’re screaming, you’re wasting energy. Indian women know that birth is natural and nothing to scream about. I think she might have mentioned that traditionally women didn’t scream just in case the sound would attract unwanted attention to the camp, either from enemies or animals. I honored what she told me, just because it seemed like it was the least I could do after doing all those things I shouldn’t have.

“I’d give it another hour, maybe two, hon. Just keep going. Oh… here comes another.”

I felt it coming before she told me. I grabbed the bars on the side of bed, squeezed my eyes shut in pain, and focused on breathing. But that pain was hard to ignore. It felt like everything inside of me was tearing, ripping, stretching, like everything was trying to squeeze into something the size of a pea but trying to explode at the same time. Breathe. All I had to do was breathe.

When it ended the nurse looked at me, either pity or sympathy in her eyes. I couldn’t tell. She set down her stuff and came over to me. She motioned for me to roll onto my side, so I did. She started rubbing my back, her hand moving in slow but hard circles. It wasn’t much of a relief, but the action alone seemed to make me feel better. At that time, I was sure that nurse was the closest thing I had to a friend in the world.

“You’re doing a great job,” she said to me. “I’ve never had a mother like you before. I can’t believe that you aren’t screaming, and you haven’t had a drop of anything. Even though you are only…” She paused before saying, “even though you’re so young.”

I knew what she wanted to say. Sixteen. That’s what everyone thinks; I’m too young to be having a baby, too young to be alone.

Another is coming. I tense up and prepare for it. The nurse keeps rubbing my back and softly hushes me, even though I’m not making a sound. They’re coming faster and lasting longer now. The pain is hardly bearable. All I have to do is breathe. Just breathe. The contraction ended and the pain ebbed a little bit.

“If you keep going at this rate, it will be less than an hour.”

“How wonderful,” I said with a slightly sarcastic tone. I don’t know why I was talking to her like that. She was being so nice to me. But she didn’t seem offended and kept on rubbing my back.

After a few more contractions, I started feeling the urge to push. The nurse noticed my behavior and quickly checked my progress.

“Stop pushing! You’re at 10 centimeters now, but you can’t deliver until the doctor gets here!” After yelling out the door she started rushing around the room.

“Stop pushing!” she yelled again.

Not pushing was worse than the contractions. I might as well have tried changing the color of my eyes or make my hair grow faster. Anything would have been easier than not pushing.

Breathe. All I have to do is breathe. I want to scream for the doctor to hurry up, but I remain silent. Just breathing, in and out.

Soon a man in light blue scrubs came in, followed by a couple of nurses in scrubs with bright prints.

“Okay, let’s get this going.” The nurses each took one of my bent legs and started pushing them up.

“Push!” he yelled. So I did. I took a deep breath and pushed as hard as my body let me. Now the pain was real. Contractions were a light stretch before a workout compared to this.

The kind nurse came up to me and took my hand. I looked her in the eyes and she smiled at me. She cared, she really cared.

“Take a deep breath sweetie and push again, as hard as you can.”

I took a deep breath and squeezed her small hand. I pushed and pushed until my body collapsed on the bed. It was a pain like nothing I’ve felt before. I’ve broken bones, gotten stitches, even third degree burns. This felt like a swarm of bees, thousands of them, stinging an open wound.

“You’re doing great. The baby’s crowning. A few more pushes and he’ll be out.”

And I felt it. I could feel the baby inside me, seconds away from being in the same world as me.

“Now push.”

I took a deep breath and pushed. The bees were back, full force, stinging until I nearly screamed, but instead I took a breath and pushed again. I felt the baby’s head go through and I knew something tore. I could feel the blood, but the pain of tearing was nothing compared to all the other pain I was feeling.

“One more!” The nurses urged me on, but I felt like there was no strength left in me.

“Just one more push, you can do it,” the one holding my hand said. Everything in my body, my mind said that I couldn’t. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. All of the sudden, I felt a rush of energy flow through me.

“Now!”

I pushed, the pain causing me to see a swirl of white in that small hospital room, and within a few seconds I felt the baby pass through.

I looked down at my baby. It was a girl. She was covered in blood and thick white stuff, but I saw through it. She had a full head of black hair. The doctor clipped her umbilical cord and handed her to me. I wasn’t expecting it, but as soon as she was in my arms, I knew it was right. All the pain went away and my heart filled with… well, all I can think to call it is hope. I had hope for the first time in ages. I knew that I could make it. I knew I could be a good mother, finish school, go to college. It was all right there in my heart, everything I needed to take care of my baby. And the key to it all lay in my arms, wailing madly.

She was beautiful, her head was squishy looking and to the average person she probably looked outright disgusting, covered in blood and gunk. But to me she was beautiful, her eyes were shining like black pearls and her hair glinted black as a raven’s feather. Her cry tugged at my heart. She had a voice. That thing inside me was now in my arms, with a voice and flailing arms, a beating heart, taking breaths. And she was mine, of my body and blood.

“Shit, doctor. You weren’t supposed to do that!”

I turned my head to the nurse who spoke; she was one of the two nurses that held my legs and she moved towards me quickly. She motioned for me to hand over my girl, but I just held her more tightly.

“You know the rules,” she said to me. I did know the rules. But at the moment the rules were as important to me as they were when I snuck out my window nine months ago.

“Don’t do this, please.” I was begging. She couldn’t do this. Not when I knew what I had, what I had signed away weeks ago.

“I’m sorry.” And she looked it too, as she took my child from my arms.

My heart seemed to stop beating and the world stopped spinning. My body was devoid of life, of a reason to live. If everything ceased to exist, I wouldn’t have noticed.

Tears slid from my eyes as I saw the nurse wheel the baby out of the room, out of my life forever. Her cry faded down the sterile hallway, and I knew she wasn’t real anymore, at least not for me.

“Come on, hon. Sit up if you can. One more thing to do.”

I sat up and wept as the last thing that connected me to my child fell from my body in a bloody heap.

The world was silent.

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