It was my fourth pregnancy, so I guess you could say I knew what was going on. I had gone into labor three weeks early, and the contractions were coming fast and furious. I knew it wouldn't be long until I was holding a newborn baby.

I had been at the hospital for all of 20 minutes when a doctor I had never seen before came in, and without a word, examined me, then pronounced in a bored tone, "Oh, you've got a ways to go, my dear." Speaking to an attending nurse, he announced he was going home for supper, and instructed the nurse to give me "a little something" so I'd sleep through the next "few hours" of labor. I groaned.

"This baby's coming!" I protested to the nurse. The nurse smiled and said, "Soon, soon."

"Oh, you have no idea!" I said, feeling as if a baby was about to come flying out of me.

They both left the room, and I left to labor in solitude. My water broke, and I felt the unmistakable urge of a baby on its way.

I was dumbfounded--and a little disappointed. The baby was coming, and I knew it. Would I deliver it alone? Should I call for help?

No, I thought. To heck with them! I'll show THEM!

Minutes passed, and no nurse. I realized that I was fully dilated, and struggling NOT TO PUSH. I was waiting, perhaps unconsciously, for a medical professional to come back and help me.

But when your body says push, you push. I pushed and felt the head come down immediately. One more push and her head was out, another and I would carefully draw...HER!...from me. It's a girl! I held her, blood and all, to my chest, soothing her.

The nurse came back a few minutes later to witness a mother and her newborn.

I got yelled at, of course. The nurse was furious.

But I made no apologies. All in all, I am proud of what happened. And besides, the doctor never DID make it back to the hospital that night.

Figures.