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“You’ll suffer naturally because you’re toxic,” my doctor husband sneered, blocking the nurses from performing a C-section for my giant 10-pound baby as revenge for his intern. I writhed in pain, clutching the bed rails until my knuckles turned white. When the grueling delivery finally ended, the heavy delivery room doors banged open. My husband staggered in, his face drained of color as he looked at the newborn chart, fell to the floor, and shrieked, “No… that’s impossible! Whose child is-“

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canal was a massive, eleven-pound infant, compressing vital nerves and strangling adjacent arteries. The fetal heart monitor, a merciless electronic metronome echoing through the cavernous delivery theater at Summit Medical Center in Nashville, suddenly accelerated its rhythmic pulse into a frantic, panicked shriek. The digital metrics illuminating continue reading …

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