The Horrible Hospital

"Pardon my French, but that is a load of bull. You know nothing about my husband or my parenting, and you think you are qualified to tell me my son's going to become a gang member! That's complete and utter nonsense. A study can't show something like that. You're asserting improper conclusions from your data! I want the name and publisher of this article and a qualified doctor to help me read through it in an intelligent matter before I sign any sort of a consent!"

"Unfortunately there is no time. The procedure needs to be performed immediately to avoid unpleasant side effects, such as stillbirth and uncontrollable vaginal bleeding. And I understand that you are in a delicate emotional state after your trip to the psychiatric ward. That's why I took the liberty of having your husband sign the consent form on your behalf."

"He did not!" I exclaim, pushing against my restraints. "He has no right!"

"I'm afraid he has every right. The doctors have convinced him that it is really in the best interest of the baby that we stop labor now and keep you under observation until your projected due date. We also arranged to give you intravenous Gamuron for your entire stay, part of Dr. de Sade's study on its effects on pregnancy. In addition, I'm afraid that your psychiatrist believes that you are a danger to your child before it is born. So, we are going to have several security guards posted in your room at all times, and have them videotape everything that goes on. That way everyone will be safe."

"Except me!" I protest. But it is too late. As I'm pushed into the treatment room, a doctor sedates me and begins shaving my crotch to prepare for the procedure that will prolong my pregnancy. As the whole world darkens around me once more I can't help thinking, "God, this is one horrible hospital!"

The End