All of the times we went into the emergency room, my doctor never came down to see me.
Having said that, I was never seen by a doctor. Nurse after nurse came to see me, but not even the on-call doctor would
examine me. The nurses did the same things as last time, ad this time one of the nurses said, "It is all in your head,
just an anxious young teenager who wants her body back. We see it all the time." You can imagine where I told
her to go. Getting back to my pre-pregnancy weight was the last thing on my mind. Once again I was given pain
medication and sent home, but this time the nurse said, "Don't come back until you are in full blown labor, and I mean when
your contractions are at least three minutes apart!" I cried and, with a very evil look on my face, I said, "Lady you
are crazy! Is this how you treat all of your young patients or is it just me?"
This happened two more times in the same week. Every single time I went to the emergency
room. Not once did they give me a proper exam, nor did they do an ultrasound to see if they culd find something wrong
with my baby. If they had done an ultrasound, maybe they would have seen that my son's face was being crushed and he
was losing oxygen to his brain. While the nurses just sat around talking about what they were going to do Friday night,
my son and I were suffering. Thirty-six hours before Nicholas was born, he had a stroke in utero, due to lack of oxygen
to his brain.
The day came, February 8th, 2001. Not only did I have the abnormal, knife stabbing pains
in my abdomen, I also started to have contractions. Again, my husband brought me to the emergency room. I
was in so much pain that I had to gasp for air, nevermind trying to say, "Okay, um, I'm in labor now." This time my
husband was imperious.

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