Exactly five years and 10 months ago to this very date, I was given the dreadful news that every laboring woman doesn't want to hear: "Mrs. W, we need to do an emergency C-section because..." I was devastated, not because I felt that my own body had let me down. Oh no, it was quite the opposite.

I had arrived at the hospital a wonderful 4 centimeters dilated from the time I truly knew I was in labor and progressed 1 centimeter every hour after that. I had gotten up to 8 centimeters with little intervention from the medical staff. And then suddenly, I heard the unfamiliar sound of a beep coming from the monitors.

At first I didn't pay it any mind because there were all kinds of beeps going on. One for blood pressure, one for the IV drip from the pain reliever and maybe another one from something else I can't remember. But I did noticed that with every sequential contraction my baby's heart rate would plummet to less than 60 bpm.

"But don't all babies' heart rates decline with every contraction?" And I swear as soon as the words slipped from my lips it seemed as though my baby's heart rate remained at around 65 bpm. Something was wrong. My instincts to save my precious child overrode the need to be this "natural woman." It turned out, fortunately, my baby was only being a little trickster as he is now. All things were A-OK with the 8.9-pound knucklehead.

But recovery for me was not so great. At the time, I had been battling a sinus infection for about two weeks. I even had the amoxicillin to fight it off. I was well into the coughing stage with all the nasty phlegm and what not. So, as you would know, a terrible cough and a C-section doesn't make for a smooth recovery.

But the coughing was the least of my problems. I had this fever that never let up the entire time I was at the hospital. And then finally the doctors decided to discharge me. I was happy as a clam to be released, but then two hours before something went wrong.

A nurse came into my room to remove the staples from my dressing and just like that a wave of nausea and chills hit me like a train. My heart rate shot up like galloping horses. My vision became blurred and I broke out in sweat all within one minute.

I told the nurse that something was wrong but she was convinced that this was all normal and only checked my temperature to pacify me. It was 102. This alone should have caused concern but they wheeled me and my baby off into the cool November day.

My homecoming was bittersweet. The only thing I wanted to do was sleep. More accurately, I wanted to be put into a coma. The Darvocet they gave me at the hospital was wearing off and the Loratab didn't seem to be working. My husband called the doctor out of concern. Even though this was his first child he somehow knew that even with my C-section something was wrong.

All of our friends and family who came over that evening were insulted by my lack of appearance. And since I refused to let anyone see my baby without my supervision, no one saw the baby either. I was simply too sick and weak to be sociable.

Conveniently, being in the hospital for more than a week collided with our son's one-week checkup. I didn't want to go. I was riddled with fever, nursing was an impossibility and just maintaining consciousness was a struggle. Our son's pediatrician was the one person who truly took action for my well-being. He immediately noticed my weakened state. His focus shifted from our son to his mother.

"Mrs. W, you don't look so good. I think you need to get your vitals checked out upstairs." I didn't protest. And as soon as I attempted to stand, I passed out in the examination room. The ambulance was called immediately. I was rushed back in a gurney the very next day to the same hospital who released me. My temperature was 104 and rising. I couldn't maintain consciousness. This is as much as I know about that dreadful day. It was horrific because I was without my baby for a full 20 hours.

The hospital assumed that I had suddenly come down with an infectious disease and then put me into an isolation unit. This is why I didn't now see my baby. After being insistent about my child they allowed my baby to stay with me, but I could not nurse him because of the strong antibiotics dripping in the IV.

For the next six days I was held hostage by a mean Caribbean nurse who wasn't trained on the sensitivity of a new mother and child. Because of the saline drip and the terrible cough I was up and down going to the bathroom every 30 minutes. Oh, the abrasive nurses were cool at first, helping me back and forth to the john, as it was extremely difficult to move. But then they had no sympathy the next day and told me that I had to start managing for myself. It was a nightmare. The doctors had no clue what was causing and keeping my temperature so high. My white blood cells were crazy and it seemed that the doctors didn't want to let me go home.

Let me wrap this up. I discharged myself because of the half-a**** job from the nurses at the hospital. The final straw was when one of those dimwitted nurses was too impatient to allow me to lay my son into his little plastic box. (What are those things called anyway?) "Ma'am, would you please speed this up. I have other patients that need care too." I blew up at her. I told her to get out of my room. I even told her to get out of my country with an attitude like hers.

I was crying and distraught. I was crying because it was the day before Thanksgiving and I was still sick. I was crying because no one had the chance to see my beautiful baby because I was in an isolation room. I was crying because I lost six precious days without nursing my son and the nurses kept reminding me that they had to "borrow" the baby formula from the LDR and that it was expensive. I was crying because the only kind nurse that I saw that week was a nurse who was covering for another simple named nurse whom I'm willing to bet was from the islands too.

A new and yet familiar chapter has arisen in our lives. I am now once again preparing for another new life in just one week. This time this will be a scheduled C-section at the same hospital. And just as before I have a sinus infection minus the coughing but I do have to blow my nose every 10 minutes. I only pray that the infection will be gone by then.

And yet regardless of whatever I may endure, it is all worth it for the life that I brought into the world.

P.S. My intentions were not to scare any mothers out there. So I do apologize for this.