I had ten hours left. I was fourteen years old and certain of this as if it were a known fact. The following morning, they would wheel me into the operating room, cut me open, and in the process, they would kill me.
I cried. I had slept about five hours in three days, everything I owned was covered in spoiled formula, and the doctor was telling me it could last for months. I was absolutely positive I would go insane.
Imagine a mother and father waiting for the arrival of their unborn child. When the day they have anxiously awaited for arrives, their child is born with severe defects, such as cleft palate, club feet, or any other disfigurement.
It was the end of January. It was my first trip out of town alone since my C-section. A sudden blizzard came up. I drove home with the wind whipping the car, visibility about 3 feet, sobbing, with Brenden screaming in the car seat because I was so...