This is the story of the birth of my first son, Duskin Tobin Thomas Eslinger.

I was just 18 years old when I found out that I was 5 weeks pregnant. My boyfriend and I were surprised, but decided to take things in stride. We were supposed to be in Kansas visiting his family for the summer, but decided to stay for a while to save up some money and make our way back to my home state of Oregon.

The pregnancy progressed well, but there was an issue with protein being leaked into my urine, a sign of pre-eclampsia. In my 7th month, my doctor finally declared that I was indeed pre-eclamptic, and I was bedbound on my left side for 23 hours a day. I was to have no salt and told not to get out of bed except to go to the bathroom.

We stayed at his parents' house so they could better watch after me, but it was more like keeping guard. They would cook up hamburgers, bratwurst, biscuits and gravy, all of it with salt, and only making me simple fare with no taste. I was treated like a burden and shut up in a bedroom. After complaining to my husband on numerous occasions, he convinced his family that I would be more comfortable at home, and we happily headed across town for home.

Being in my own home with just the two of us was much, much better, but being stuck in bed on one side could be handled for only so long. On the eve of March 4, I convinced my husband that I needed to get outside. We hopped into the old Jeep and headed out to Salina, the nearest "big" city. We went to IHOP because I was craving pancakes, but decided when we got there that I just wanted hot cocoa.

Then we went to Wal-Mart to walk around. I started to feel pretty swollen and tired, so we headed home. We climbed into bed at about 2 am. While I slept, I felt this strange sensation and I thought I was peeing on myself! Then I realized I couldn't stop it! My water had broken! I tried to wake my husband, but he is a notoriously deep sleeper. I shoved him several times before he finally realized what happened. Then he shot out of bed like a light and grabbed me a towel as I waddled into the bathroom. Then he gathered our things, I put on some clothes and we headed out into the early, early morning.

We stopped at his parents to tell them the news, then drove the 11 minutes to the hospital. On the way, Kenny was obviously nervous, and I was having contractions, but I could talk through them and laughed a lot. When we reached the hospital, I waited for him to get the wheelchair and by the time he came back, the contractions were getting more intense and a little painful.

I was rushed upstairs to the labor and delivery unit, and then had to wait two hours for the anesthesiologist to start my epidural. I was having contraction upon contraction with no breaks to catch my breath or rest, and was dilated to only 2 centimeters.

Finally, the anesthesiologist shows up at about 7 p.m. and wants me to hold still so he can inject the liquid into my spine. Somehow we managed, but after 30 minutes, the epidural was having no effect whatsoever.

He came back and increased the dose. I was put on oxygen, and despite the fact the epidural still wasn't working I tried to enjoy my pure oxygen and became drowsy. The next thing I knew, nurses were pushing me every which way and inserting a fetal monitor inside of me. When I asked what was wrong they said that they couldn't find the baby's heartbeat.

I was really starting to panic now. So the doctor was called in and she quickly informed me that it was time for an emergency Cesarean section. I just kind of nodded. I wasn't afraid of a C-section; I'd seen them on TV and everyone seemed to be happy.

So they wheeled me across the hall and gave me a shot to stop contractions along the way. Soon, as they were strapping me to the operating table, I began to shake uncontrollably from the shot they had given me.

There was a flurry of activity and I could feel them placing and replacing the surgical paper on my stomach in preparation for surgery. I started to get scared. If I could feel the paper, what was the scalpel going to feel like?! I turned to the man at my side and asked when I would be numb and he replied simply, "We can't wait for that."

My family was not permitted in the room, no one was explaining to me what was happening and I knew now that I was in for the worst experience of my life.

With no warning or anyone near to comfort me, I felt the first incision. It was as if someone had taken a white hot blade from the coals and slid it across my abdomen. They immediately sliced again and I could feel them holding the resulting flaps of flesh aside before making another gash at my body.

I screamed, but still no one comforted me, held my hand or explained what was going on or what would happen to me. I was almost feral with my pain and shock. I still had the oxygen mask strapped to my face so my cries were muffled, but only a little.

Soon it was as if several people were up to their elbows at my spine and digging around to my back. I could feel my organs being maneuvered and hands or an instrument spreading my wound as far apart as it would go. I felt like my bottom half was being amputated from me.

Suddenly the oxygen mask was taken from me and a large brown mask was thrust over my mouth and I breathed something very bad smelling before my whole body went limp. I could see, feel and hear everything that was going on around me, but I couldn't move a muscle. I also couldn't breathe.

I strained as hard as I could to tell the people nearest me that, "Hey! I'm alive! I can't breathe!" but no one was even looking at me. As I started to go under (it was, of course, anesthetic I had breathed, but I was in no state of mind to grasp it) I thought of the son I would never see. I never even got to hear him cry. I thought of my husband whom I was never able to tell how much I loved him. I thought of all the events I was going to miss in my son's life and my husband having to go on without me and eventually starting a new life. I thought of all of these things and then there was only blackness.

When I woke up, I vaguely remember the motions of vomiting, but not the act itself. The first thing I remember clearly was that a lot of people were laughing. I drunkenly asked what was funny and someone said, "You just threw up all over the anesthesiologist!"

At first, I didn't remember where I was or what was going on, but as they wheeled me back to my room and I saw my husband, I remembered everything with such fierce clarity that it was like being hit by a semi. I was desperate to tell my husband what had happened, but no one was listening. They were all talking about Duskin and how big and cute he was. I burst into tears at the sheer magnitude of what had just happened and that despite everything, they had all gotten to hold him and touch him before I was even awake to do so.

Kenny calmed me down and reassured me that no one had gotten to hold him yet and that they were waiting for me before they brought him to us. No sooner was this said than my little bundle of boy was brought to me and once I saw his face, all of my terror, pain and negative feelings just floated away and I was the happiest person on the planet.

It was several hours before I could fully relate my experience to my husband, and he explained that the doctors wouldn't let him into the room because they had no time to scrub him up. He was in the hallway and could hear my screams and pleas but could do nothing about it and he was torn completely in two. It wasn't until my screams died and the baby's began that he relaxed a bit, but he still worried about me until I emerged from the operation.

Two weeks later at my follow-up appointment I was told that the epidural had worked enough that my pelvis relaxed and Duskin fell onto his umbilical cord, dropping his heart rate to half of what it should have been and this was the reason for the emergency C-section. The doctor who had done the surgery denied that I screamed, or that I even made a sound. She said I did perfectly and she didn't hear a word out of me. Apparently she had also told my husband that I wouldn't remember the surgery because they had given me some type of drug that was supposed to make me forget the ordeal and I shouldn't remember anything at all.

It was an awful and traumatic experience, the effects of which I didn't truly start to feel until recently.

I have since had a second child, Kayden, via Cesarean, at another (and much, much better) hospital and things couldn't have gone smoother. It was truly an enjoyable experience.

Duskin is 4 and Kayden is 1, and we have one more on the way, and this one was a real surprise! Kenny was scheduled for his vasectomy when we found out about this one! But we're thrilled, of course, and hope to have just as wonderful an experience as we did with Kayden.