Through the Windshield Glass by Kristen Day

fine, if a little shallow. I was just in so much pain!
    "The
ambulance will be here soon, okay?" Officer Parker said.
    I nodded again.
I tried not to focus on the pain; I closed my eyes and tried to think of
happier things. None came. I opened my eyes again, and stared up at the
cracking ceiling. Soon I heard the whine of the ambulance.
    I saw Officer
Parker breathe a sigh of relief; I think he was more afraid for me than I was.
He got up and ran out of the cell to guide the paramedics to me.
    "She's
right in here," I heard Officer Parker say. Within seconds I saw two
paramedics rounding the corner with a stretcher.
    "We're
going to put you on this, now," one of the paramedics said, "It could
hurt."
    I didn't
respond. I just closed my eyes and let them work. I felt two pairs of hands
carefully lifting me off the bed and depositing me on the stretcher. It did
hurt, a lot, but I kept silent. The last thing they needed was a panicked
patient. Besides, I couldn't be panicked; it hurt to do anything but lie
completely still.
    The ride in the
ambulance was agonizing, I found myself wishing Officer Parker had been able to
come with me; a familiar face would have been helpful. I didn't tell the
paramedics this though. I let them do their job. They poked me with needles, kept
me awake, and checked my vitals frequently.
    Then one of the
paramedics saw something, he motioned for the other to join him at the end of
the stretcher.
    They looked at
each other in a way that told me this was more serious than I had thought.
    "We need you
to lie completely still," one of the paramedics said, I couldn't tell
which from my angle. His tone frightened me.
    "Will the
baby be okay?" I asked through my heavy breathing.
    Neither of the
paramedics would answer me. We arrived at the hospital; I was pulled out of the
back of the ambulance and rolled to the ER.
    "What's
wrong?" I asked again, I was starting to get panicked. Not a good thing
when you're in pain and possibly dying again.
    "Lie
still," a nurse who had come to the side of my stretcher said. I was taken
to a curtained off section of the ER where an ultrasound machine had been set
up. I just laid there while the nurse spread petroleum jelly on my stomach and
started probing.
    "You were
right," the nurse called, I assume to the paramedics, "We're going to
have to operate, honey," she said to me.
    “Operate?
Why?" I asked, my voice was weak and I knew my situation was quickly
becoming more desperate.
    "You have
what's called an ectopic pregnancy, the baby isn't growing where it should be,
we're going to have to abort or you'll die," the nurse was using her most
sympathetic and calming voice, but it didn't work.
    "No,"
I groaned, but a dying woman's argument is often ignored if there is a way to
save her life. My bed started to move, the last thing I saw was the doors of
the OR opening in front of my eyes, and then I blacked out.
    I woke up in a
sterile hospital room; tubes were running out of my left arm, my burned right
hand was bandaged. At first I couldn't remember why I was there, and then a
tiny twinge of pain in my stomach made me remember. Carefully, I reached my
hand under the covers and felt my stomach. Flat, nothing there, not even a tiny
bump to reveal that I had been pregnant.
    Everything
hurt, emotionally and physically, I just wanted to go back to my hallway and
stay there forever, escaping wasn’t worth going through anything like this
again. I started crying, silently at first but raucous sobs eventually brought
the same nurse I had seen earlier running in. She held me while I cried, gently
rocking me back and forth like my mom used to when I was upset. She didn't try
to tell me everything was okay, she didn't try to make light of the situation
by telling me that I was at least alive, she just let me sob. Even though she
knew it must be hurting me, even though she knew that the crying wouldn't help,
even though she knew I should be getting rest and not wreaking more havoc on