Max

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A young mother dies during birth and tells her pain.

Submitted: February 02, 2019

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Submitted: February 02, 2019

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You're probably wondering how I got here. Life doesn't give you a warning. It doesn't issue you a moving notice. Time could stop at any minute. You could be in the mid...

I was young and reckless. I went to parties, I drank alcohol and did stupid things. I tested my future, but not him. He was a smart kid. He was at those same parties, but in the mornings, he was back to studying and acing his exams. One day he asked me out and I said yes. I didn't crave those parties as much as I craved the attention. Just his, nobody else's. I wanted that one person that was madly in love with me and couldn't live without me and I finally had him. We held each other up. He helped me achieve my goals and I helped him explore the world. We moved away from home and moved in together. We started our lives together. Just us two. It was perfect, the kind of perfect where you couldn't picture anything else better. We did start having a couple of arguments here and there about bills and who is meant to be cleaning what, but it was nothing serious. I guess, the stress of moving made us both a little irritable.

I got home and he was sat on our couch and he was on his phone, like always. He looked up at me and nodded as a way of acknowledging my entrance. The same way he nods when he's pissed off.

'What?' I asked him gingerly and he just smirked and shook his head. Who is this person? The man sat there isn't the same man I moved in with. This behaviour was odd, even for him. I'd seen a similar side of him like this before, but only when we have had heart-shattering argument and we haven't had one of those for a while. We haven't even argued about doing the dishes for weeks. He turned his head to look at me displaying a blank expression before turning back to his phone, it was as if he was waiting for me to catch up to his thought process, but I could think of nothing.

With his face pressed into his phone he replied 'I walked past your office. You seemed to be having a great time in there.' with a tone that I could only describe as patronizing. Clearly aimlessly scrolling through anything, using his one thumb. I knew every inch of his body, his mannerisms and what he was prone to doing when he's upset. He was bitter.

'You're pissed off because I had a good day at work?' I responded as I dropped my bags to the floor and tore the scarf off from around my neck, letting it all drop to the floor. We were never the cleanest of people.

'It's who you were having fun with. It seems that you're only having a good time when I'm not around.' He refused to turn his head at me, because he knew that I was going to be angry.

'Why are you so paranoid? Can I not have friends?! Or more specifically male friends! I am allowed to have a laugh and a joke at work. Perhaps if you were interested in anything but staying at home and complaining about how unhappy you are with this house, we would be happier, but no you want something different, something better and bigger and more perfect. Perfect is not a thing! Your standards are ridiculous. Stop expecting things to be served to you on a silver platter. Who do you think you are acting all high and mighty, but who the fuck are you, to get everything you want? Without putting fuck all effort in to making it work?!' I do have a habit of taking it to far, of cadging my emotions and unleashing it all at the slightest inconvenience. I could tell I had overreacted by how dry my throat had become from shouting at him.

'What the hell does any of this have to do with the house? I just want the person I saw there, the person you are at work, the happy you, to be happy at home, to be happy around me.' He spat as he stood up and he dropped his phone on the sofa. My chest started to tighten because of all the anger that was building up within, at that point I knew I needed to leave. I can't keep this argument going, I have to calm down or I will explode.

'For fuck sake, what do you want from me?! Just leave me alone.' I marched into our bedroom, refusing to argue anymore whilst all the anger was still stuck in my throat. I hated arguing to begin with. I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and tried to start a text.

'Who are you texting?' He snatched the phone from my hands.

'What the fuck are you doing? Give me my phone, it's not yours! It's none of your business!' I screamed. I couldn't control myself or my anger. I tried to reach for my phone, but he threw it across the room, with two loud bangs it hit the wall and then the floor.

'What the fuck are you doing?!' He shrugged, this infuriated me. He knew just how to push my buttons.

'Fine.' I replied whilst rushing into the living room and I grabbed his phone off the couch. He followed after me in a hurry.

'Give me my phone.'

'Fuck you, you didn't give me mine.' I replied laughing.

'Give me my phone back.' His face began to turn red with the vein in his neck becoming more prominent and brighter than ever.

'That's not how this works. You can do whatever the fuck you want, but I need your permission. I need you to agree or allow me to do anything, before I do it. No. Fuck that.' I replied chuckling and began unlocking his phone. I could see him move hastily in front of me. He grabbed the phone from my hands violently, but I held on to it tight not making it easy for him. He grabbed my arm pulling it around my back and hurting me, enough to make me let go off the phone. He began to breathe so heavily was as if something inside him had switched.

'You're a fucking psychopath. Take your phone and shove it up somewhere. I don't care anymore.' Exhausted I picked up my bag and began to walk out of the living room, heading towards the door.

'Where do you think you are going?!' He cut me off and blocked the door, not letting me leave. He was so angry, I could see his personality shift. I wasn't talking to my boyfriend anymore, this creature in front of me wasn't him anymore.

'Move!' I shouted, but he ignored me. 'I said move Wes!' This time pleading. He shook his head, so I began to push him out of my way. His arms tensed and he grabbed both of my arms and pushed me. I hadn't managed to balance myself in time and fell on the floor. His breathing began to become more rapid, you could practically see the fumes coming off him.

'Is this what you want?! You want me like this?! Yeah? This is what you do to me!' He suddenly grabbed a large round glass and smashed it into his forehead. It didn't break, but it was enough to break his skin and he began to bleed. My heart dropped, it seemed as if this was the worst thing that could happen, but he didn't stop. He continued to hit himself, before grabbing a knife. He placed the knife to his arm, and I began to sob uncontrollably.

'Stop! Please stop!' I begged him covering my face as I backed off until I was pressed into the corner of the room with every muscle in my body freezing and unable to move. He didn't have the guts to do anything with the knife. His breathing became more stabilised and it he seemed he was transforming back to himself. He began to step towards me, but I couldn't even come to terms with what had happened. He dropped down in front of me and began to hug me.

'I'm sorry Maxine, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you or scare you.' He whispered and his words trembled. I couldn't look at him. I didn't want to see his bleeding forehead or his apologetic face. It was too much.

'Do not touch me.' I whispered before standing up and stumbling into our bedroom. I climbed down in our bed and covered my face with our duvet, after what seemed to be hours of silence, I pulled the duvet down enough to stare at him.

'I think you should go.' I heard his breath get caught in his throat.

'What?' He whimpered silently. His apologetic voice always sounded like a younger version of him. A young kid whose voice hadn't dropped yet.

'Go to your parents tonight.' I replied. I wasn't sure if that was what I wanted, but I knew I wanted to be away from him, and I definitely didn't want to look at his battered face.

'No please, I'm so sorry Max. Please don't do this. You know that isn't me, I didn't mean to scare you. Please Max.' He laid down beside me and cuddled me tight. I only began crying louder and harder and his voice began to break, and he began to cry too.

I don't even remember what happened next. We woke up the next morning like nothing had happened. I knew what had happened but refused to acknowledge it. His head was killing him and so I spent hours looking after him forgetting that he had caused it himself. We had amazing sex that night, and all was in the past. We had the best three weeks before the arguments started up, again. However, our wild fight was interrupted by my urgent need to be sick. In a way it helped. I locked myself in the bathroom for hours throwing up which meant the argument had to be put on hold. It had been years since I was sick, and paranoia kicked in. What if I'm pregnant? I didn't share this with Wesley. The next day I purchased a pregnancy test from a pharmacy near work and took the test in the bathroom at work.

It was so clear. That blue plus was undeniable, no blurry line, no reason to question its validity. Fuck. We were too young to have children, we were too irresponsible, and we were still children ourselves. I knew that his reaction was going to be the cause of another fight and due to this I effectively waited weeks before telling him. I was cautious and prepared. I waited until he was in a good mood and our relationship seemed to have improved.

'Can I talk to you for a minute please?' He nodded but carried on staring at his phone.

'What's up babe?' He peered up at me after I had stayed silent. My heart was racing, and my hands were shaking. He watched me as I tried to find the courage to be honest with him.

'I think I'm pregnant.' I laughed reluctantly and he stared at me, his face pale with shock.

'Don't be joking about things like that.' He replied shaking his head and assuming that I'm kidding.

'No, I don't think... I, I know I'm pregnant. I am pregnant... W-we are pregnant.' Stuttering over my words I thought and hoped for a second, he'd jump for joy. It would have definitely made my decision a lot easier of whether to keep the baby or not. I suppose I secretly did want to keep it. We always planned to have children when were older. I wanted three and he wanted two. We promised to compromise and see how we felt after the second one, before we planned our third one.

'Are you serious?' Silence fell. 'We can't have a baby?! We're not ready for this.' He was a lot calmer than I had anticipated. 'You have to abort it.' He jumped up from the bed and began pacing.

'I think... I want to keep it.' I mumbled and he stopped. 'I know we aren't ready, but I can't just abort it. I can't.' He was facing me now, frustration building up.

'You have to!' He demanded. Here it comes. He began to turn into the creature, and I began to feed it.

'Why? Because you told me to? You do not own me!' the frustration took over me. The hormones didn't help the situation either.

'For fuck sake, don't start.' He left the room, but I didn't follow after him. I stayed in bed and we barely spoke for three days. I hoped that eventually he would be more accepting of the idea, but it didn't happen. He was not going to accept that I was going to have this baby. My vision and future was crystal clear. I knew I wanted this. I wanted that baby.

I really thought I had things figured out and I was sure things weren't going to manifest into this. I hadn't anticipated how traumatic my pregnancy would be or what would happen after the baby had been born. By now I'm sure you've realised that I am no longer here. I'm not alive. I'm not looking after my new born baby. My new baby isn't even a baby anymore. He's four years old and only knows me from pictures. He's never heard my voice and he never will. He will never get to see me or touch me, and I will never be able to cuddle my baby boy, not even once. Of course, I'm happy he's alive. I'm happy he's living and happy with his new parents. I understand if you are thinking, how I could be okay with my son growing up with an abusive my boyfriend as a father, but I knew that Wesley wasn't strong enough to bring our child up by himself. I felt it inside me. He must have felt it too. That he would grow up happier with two adult, mature parents. It breaks my soul, but I know we are both in a better place. He's happy and I'm... well I'm here. On the wrong side of happiness.

Wes tried to convince me for months to get rid of the baby. That we would be happier without him, her or it. I considered just ending things and having the baby by myself, but every time I tried, he barricaded my exit. I wasn't allowed to leave. I wasn't allowed to leave him. I wasn't allowed to choose the baby over him. He demanded for our lives to stay the same.

One evening, when things seemed to be a lot calmer and the baby hadn't been mentioned in a couple days, we were enjoying a quiet night in. Watching movies and talking about co-workers and acting like the old us. I got up to go to the bathroom and realised that I was soaking wet. Wesley's eyes were wide open, and he set into a panic.

'Max you're bleeding!' Those words send a shiver down my body and I quickly ran into the bathroom, my pyjamas soaked, and the blood only seemed to be getting worse and worse. From the other room I heard 'I'm calling an ambulance!' The ambulance arrived within minutes. They rushed me in my bloody pyjamas into A&E and assured me that everything could still be okay. Wesley held onto my hand tightly as we waited for a doctor. I was sure that he was finally on board, that he was worried for this baby. The doctor scanned my tummy and assured us that the baby was okay. Wesley exhaled a deep breath of relief and I knew. Although he had pretended to hate it, he still cared for it.

'So, this is normal?' I questioned the doctor. He reassured us again but kept us overnight to monitor. I felt safe. As long as the baby was okay, nothing else mattered. It didn't take long after this for something else to go wrong. Barely a month passed before more and more problems began to swim to the surface. My blood pressure was high, I was sick almost every day and dizziness had just come into effect. I had never seen Wesley so worried. Following after me everywhere I go. We made the mistake of taking a trip to the beach. I of course spent the entire ride vomiting into a plastic bag. I had no time to enjoy the trip, between feeling nauseous and dizzy, I laid there like a corpse.

'Maybe we should go home. This isn't any fun for you.' Wesley cuddled up to me on my blanket.

'Yes please.' I wanted to leave as soon as we arrived, but I felt bad for him. He spent his whole time worrying about me and nothing else. It all must've been exhausting. This is why I can't blame him for giving our baby to someone more experienced, to someone safe.

We got up to leave and I held on tightly to Wesley's arm. Everything was spinning until...nothing. There was suddenly nothing until I awoke to Wesley pouring cold water into a cup before handing it to me, I was back in a hospital bed. Like I said, life doesn't hand out warnings.

'How are you feeling?' This started to become the most asked question during my pregnancy.

'I feel okay.' I replied smiling and squeezing his hand tightly.

'We'll be here for a while. The doctor is testing you for Pre-eclampsia and he wants you to stay in the hospital so he can observe you and the baby.' Wesley explained and silently I just nodded.

'Anything for the baby.' I gently rested my hands on my small bump. Wesley didn't touch my bump. Not until the end of my pregnancy. He was afraid of the attachment. Of actually accepting the baby and the pregnancy. I didn't push him. His support was enough for me. We spent weeks in the hospital. It started to feel like a home. I didn't care where I was as long as the baby was okay and safe.

I thought of baby names all by myself. I didn't dare ask Wesley for any help. I picked clothes and paint for its bedroom. I didn't want to know the sex of the baby, but I regretted it every time I was buying clothing or picking things for its bedroom. Finally, I gave in. I called my midwife and demanded to know.

'It's a boy!' My eyes were full of tears and that was all that I could say as soon as Wesley came home.

'What?'

'It's a boy! We're having a boy!' I didn't care if it was a she or a he, but once I knew it felt like it was exactly what I wanted.

'That's great baby.' He hugged me. He couldn't be any less interested, he only cared that I was happy. I went shopping that same day, awaiting the arrival of my son.

The bigger the bump, the more problems I seemed to have but eventually I was diagnosed with Pre-eclampsia. I started the medication immediately. I had weekly checks at the hospital to monitor my blood pressure and the baby. It was a lot of work, but it was worth it. I cried near enough every day worried for him. I loved him more than my heart could bare.

The last few months came about a lot quicker than I was expecting. I felt fully prepared for his arrival, clothes, toys, bed and room all ready. I was prepared... except the arrival part. Without a birth plan, or any plan at all about what happens after, I was overwhelmed. By this point Wes had become sick of my crying, whining and panicking. He wore headphones a lot more often and stayed at work later and later. I couldn't do much either. I was bed bound for the most part to keep my blood pressure low and stop myself from feelings dizzy, sick or even fainting. Staying in bed would've been a dream, if I wasn't so uncomfortable. My back ached and Wesley's hands ached from massaging me.

We had a month left, but I was already sick of being in bed all day and night. I felt like I stopped living. Of course, I had no clue what that felt like. But it was okay. I was doing it all for this little guy inside me. My stomach had been cramping for days and I deduced it was Braxton hicks' contractions before birth. I waited for the day they ended but it only kept getting worse.

'What's up babe?' Wes was worried, but not worried enough to do anything about it.

'My stomach is still killin' me.' I replied rubbing it. I could still feel the little guy move inside and that calmed me. I thought for months what I wanted to name him and narrowed it down to two beautiful names; Nathaniel and Matthew. I loved them both. I figured once he was born and I had a good look at him, I would pick the one that fit the best.

'I think we should go to the hospital.' I shook my head.

'It's not that bad.' We waited for hours before the pain got worse enough that we drove to the hospital. Of course, they immediately suggested myself concluded diagnosis, before I began screaming in pain. It was unbearable. I couldn't breathe or move and was placed in a room with a ventilator and machines hooked up to both arms and tummy. They kept reassuring me that he was fine and kicking away. They said my contractions have started and I began to dilate, which meant I was going into labour and I will have my baby within hours. My son. Westley sat beside me, patient, still on his phone. I was checked every hour and I suffered enough to break a sweat. A brutal exercise regime, with stitches and cramps. Things went from bad to worse. I began blacking out and had no choice but to have an epidural. Since I didn't have a birth plan, they invited the whole university to watch, I would have been more embarrassed or even angry about the spectators if the pain hadn't had control over me. Even the doctor working was a student, supervised by a resident doctor. As soon as he poked me it felt like heavy plates being placed under my skin against my back bone. It felt like it was trying to push the bone out of my back. It was heavy, it felt like pain. They assured me I wasn't feeling pain, but the epidural starting to take effect. I regretted letting them do whatever they want to me. I felt worse than what I felt like before I came in. He was so close. I could feel it. The contractions still had a small impact and I could feel them. Faster and faster, like it was a race to which contraction will be the one to finish the race and get a baby as a medal. I was so worried about him being born too early, but I didn't realise that was the last of my problems.

'Because of your pre-eclampsia, we need to take extra precautions.' The nurse said. I should have taken everything more seriously. To me it was nothing more than a high blood pressure.

I was ready. He was ready to come into the world and I was rushed into another room. There was barely enough room for me due to the number of student doctors that were in there. I didn't need more people to observe my vagina. At least ten of them were students.

'I'm sorry, but I think enough people have seen my vagina today. Please could we get the kids out of the room, before we mistake one of them for the one that is coming out of me.' The nurses took their anger out on me once I started pushing once more. I was bleeding, with every contraction and every push I blead more. The loss of blood could be a danger to the baby. They just didn't care, it was if I was already a cadaver being used in a demonstration on problematic pregnancies.

'It's fine, it's just some tearing.' She tried to assure me with a smile. I was in no mood to smile back.

'Okay, okay, are you sure?' I asked over and over.

'I'm the head nurse in here, I think I know what I am talking about. I'm guessing this is your first.' What did I do to deserve that? I thought I was in enough pain, but I guess she had to get hers in before it was too late, and she had to be polite and congratulate me on a semi successful birth. That's if it was semi successful.

I pushed and pushed, and he was still inside me. I love you so much, but please get the hell out of there. I was exhausted and could barely hold my own. I pushed for almost 2 hours, before something happened. Something bad.

'She's bleeding out. We need to do an emergency C section and get the baby out as quickly as possible.' Everything was blurry and I could hear what she was saying, but it was muffled and hard to understand. Suddenly the room emptied.

'Is she okay?!' Wesley had his worried face on.

'You need to leave. Now!' He was sent out and I was alone, with all these strangers. They began to pour drugs through the tubes and my lower body felt almost completely numb. They laid me down and poked me with a needle. They asked me something, but I couldn't hear them. They just assumed and began to cut me open. But it was okay, because they were saving him. I didn't care what they did to me, as long as they could get him out of me healthy and safe. A small blind was covering my tummy and I couldn't see what they were doing to me. I felt a lot of pressure and it felt uncomfortable, but I felt no pain. I didn't feel pain at any point after that. A couple minutes later they pulled out this wrinkly, red, perfect human being out of me. He didn't cry and he was covered in blood and they carried him to a little tiny micro bed beside me and began to clean him up. They stuck tubes into his mouth, and I wanted to ask why, but I couldn't speak. You'd think all that would have made me realise that something was wrong, but I didn't care. I had this perfect little boy and soon enough he announced himself to the entire world. Even the nurse looked up in shock when he screamed out. I laid there and thought; Nathaniel. He looks like a Nathaniel. It was decided. He was my baby boy Nathaniel.

It's probably the best time to apologise now before this is over. I wish I could have told you I loved you and that I was sorry to leave you alone with a new born baby. I guess that is why I understand why you couldn't do it. The heartbreak of me dying, because the thing you didn't want, killing me, that must have been unforgivable. I understand all of that. I wish I had the time to tell you what to do with him or at least the name I had chosen for him. I guess I can understand that you named him after me. Max. Thank you. He will always have a part of me since he didn't get to know me. I'm glad you found him a safe home, with two parents who remind him every day of who I was. I love you.

I'm sure you thought I was a self-centred bitch at the beginning of this story. God, how stuck up I must be to name this after myself, but now that you know it was after my son, you must feel guilty. I don't want to turn back the time. I don't wish to go back to that moment and tell them that something was wrong, because I know they wouldn't have listened. The future seemed so promising, but as long as my baby gets to live, I'm okay with dying. I felt free, there was no more pain.

They struggled for several minutes to stop my bleeding and to stop my death. I was happy. I saw my son and I knew he was going to be okay. That was enough. Now my soul could rest knowing he was alive.

Life doesn't give you a warning. It doesn't issue you a moving notice. Time could stop at any minute. You could be in the middle of a sentence and suddenly...


© Copyright 2020 Kassidy Montel. All rights reserved.

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