I recognize the white-washed walls and antiseptic smell plucking at my nostrils the moment my eyes peel open. My parents are peering over me and it takes a few moments for their worried-stricken faces to come into focus.

Everything hurts when I speak, but I do anyway. "I'm... not dead?"

Mum is shaking her head violently, her blonde hair flying, as if the thought scares her and she is trying to get it out of her mind. "Of course not, love. Why would you be?"

My whole body still aches but I shrug. "I don't know."

"The doctor thinks it's overexertion," Dad tells me, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. "I mean, it's... difficult to carry a baby in your stomach and yet have cancer. There wasn't enough oxygen at that point in time, which was why you fainted by Augustus's grave."

"How ironic," I say under my breath and luckily I think none of them hears it.

Aloud, I ask,"So I can go home, then? There's no point staying here anyway; the foods are terrible."

"Not so soon," Mum says quickly, looking alarmed as I attempt to swing my legs over the side of the bed but is stopped by the bolt of pain through my stomach. Fuck.

"Is the baby fine?" I question warily.

A figure dressed in a blinding white emerges from behind a cream curtain, smiling as he crosses the floor over to me. "Yes, your child's fine."

I nod, relaxing instantly. "Alright."

"However," he continues,"I think that it would be best if you stay in the hospital until you've given birth."

My hands tighten their grip on the side bars. "What?"

The doctor shrugs. "It's to be safe. Don't you wish to give birth successfully?"

"Yes," I say shortly, my first impression of this doctor turning sour immediately. He has a serious mood swing. "But I don't see why-"

"It's up to you," he cuts me off, looking impatient. "I'm just giving you a suggestion."

"Thanks for the suggestion," I say flatly, wanting to just go home and stare at ceilings at that moment. "But I'm not spending possibly my last months, or days, in the hospital."

Dad looks amused, then nods and adds,"Yeah, she's not." Thankfully. I would much rather stare at the walls in my room than the hospital's.

"Fine," he replies, unclipping a slip of paper from his clipboard and thrusting it in front of Dad. "Sign at the bottom of the page and your daughter may be discharged."

He does as he is told while Mum hovers around anxiously, bitting her lower lip. For a moment I think she is going to object and say that I stay in the hospital for the next two months or so, to be on the safe side, but she doesn't.

The doctor collects back the page and, clucking his tongue, retreats out of the room.

I turn around to look at my parents and notice the dark hollows around their eyes, their forced, exhausted smiles, and suddenly feel bad. It must be trying for them to take care of their unpredictable, pregnant daughter who even has stage four cancer.

My gaze drops to my bed covers, guilt sweeping over me. "I'm sorry for putting you through all this. I'm sorry for not giving you a life where you don't need to worry all the time, the life you've wished for but never gotten. I love the both of you very much." The words stuck in my throat like sawdust; the words I wanted to say but sadly couldn't get out no matter how hard I tried.

Mum takes my hand in hers. "Alright, honey. Let's go home."

-

Eight months and twenty-nine days into the pregnancy.

"Skye," I murmur under my breath, gritting my teeth as I place my hand on my big stomach. "Please stop being so active." She just wouldn't stop kicking, and I would gasp and feel all giddy whenever she did.

We were so close though; literally any day now. It made me scared, that it could happen the next day, hour, minute, even second. What if we couldn't make it?

A cot has already been moved to the dusty corner of my room which we cleared, and baby toys, bolsters and pillows have been tossed inside. Mum even purchased a mini wardrobe to hang all the small clothes inside. On my part, I had secretly read up on parenting websites online, spending my days practising to put on diapers for this baby doll I found in my cupboard. I think I'm ready, just not mentally ready.

"Skye, please," I say softly as she kicks again, wanting to come out so badly. But it's not time yet, and I'll have to deal with the tight chests and ragged breathing and pain in my body before the time arrives.

Soon.

-

It is dark in my room, probably well into the night, when my eyes fly open. An excruciating pain, a crackling of burning fireworks, is starting at my hip, quickly spreading to my stomach and almost throwing me into spasms. My mind feels like it is shutting down as it becomes more challenging to breathe, and all I can think of doing is to scream and scream, although it does nothing to alleviate the pain. Heck, it made it worse. I double over as if punched in the stomach, gasping for the oxygen which doesn't want to come. My parents dash into the room, Dad swiftly carrying me in his arms. I had experienced many types of pains before since I was diagnosed, but this is different; it's much worse.

Tears or perspiration or most probably both are running down my face as Dad speeds into the night for the hospital. I clutch my stomach, willing for the terrible pain to go away, but it doesn't. Mum is whispering comforting words in my ear and I try to focus on that instead, anything to distract me from the pain which threatens to kill me right then and there. I wouldn't exactly mind, though, if it did. I feel like my whole body is underwater and is cramping up, like in a dream, where I would tell myself that this would be over in a heartbeat and I would wake up and the pain would vanish. But this isn't a dream.

The sirens and flashing lights tell me I've reached the emergency care unit, but it doesn't comfort me one bit. There seems to be nothing at all worse than the pain I'm currently going through, the pain that attempts to eat me inside out, but I know that I've only survived the first stage. Inside, there's still a long, long way to go, because tonight is the time where I will give birth to Skye.

-

My mind is still clouded from the burning sparks of pain but I'm pretty sure I'm in the delivery room. The contractions are quicker now, more rushed and I feel as if I'm being hurled again and again against a boulder, knocking all sense out of my head. I'm kneeling on the bed with doctors crowding around me. I need to push, but there's little energy for me to do so and the lack of oxygen makes me want to pass out any moment.

Sweat drenches my clothes as I push with dying effort but it hardly makes a difference. My mouth is set in a thin line. Come on, Hazel. This is the final sprint after carrying my baby in my stomach for nearly nine months. I have to do this.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I push yet again, although where I get the energy from is unknown to me. My chest is wheezing and I fall back against the pillows, defeated, while the pain still screams and sets every muscle in my body on fire.

I can't do this.

"Come on, you're doing great," a nurse encourages.

Lies.

I know I'm not, I know I won't be able to give birth to Skye successfully, I know I'll die within minutes.

However impossible it is, I have to try. I can't just leave with the guilt of not trying my best to give birth to my own child.

And then, admist the blazing pain, I hear Augustus whisper in my ear,"You can do it, Hazel Grace."

He's here.

For a moment the agonizing pain lifts and I can feel his presence so strongly, as if he is just centimetres away from my face. Then the pain crashes back into me again, throwing me off guard.

I grab the nearest hand for support, my knuckles turning ominously white as I dig my fingernails into my Mum's hand. She winces, but only says,"Go on, Hazel."

My other hand reaches for the side metal bars, gripping it tightly. I push yet again, ignoring the pain that shoots through my body like destructive fireworks, ignoring the fact that there is a lack of oxygen in my lungs which I know will not sustain much longer.

"I can see her head," a nurse says, excitement evident in her voice. "You're almost halfway there!"

Almost halfway? I restrain myself from screaming in frustration, knowing that it will only make things worse. "I...can't..." I mutter between pants.

"Doctor!" Dad shouts, sounding agitated, though his voice is distant. "Give her something, please, to ease the pain, to make this easier for Hazel. Please, doctor!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the doctor shake his head. "There's nothing. She'll just have to count on herself. I can tell she's a strong girl, she'll fight till the end."

I am a strong girl and I will fight till the end. I will.

I shut my eyes again, shunning myself from the world, as if that will make the pain go away. I have lived in pain for years now. This will be over in minutes and then I will be cradling Skye in my arms. Just a bit more.

Tears are streaming down my face because the pain is really too much and I feel as if I am hallucinating, that all of this isn't real. There is an intense searing in my back and not being able to catch my breath makes it even worse.

It's time to push again, I vaguely hear a doctor say, and I do. It's like being thrown into a roaring wave that curls again and again but never reaches the shore.

"Almost there!" the excited nurse squeals again. How much is almost there?

The contractions are kicking in with varying intensities; I'm unable to hold out much longer. It's as if someone has gotten hold onto me, twisting and curling my body like how they would do to a towel. Pushing again drains the remaining energy inside of me, but still it is not enough. Fire seizes my body and burns me up, leaving me choking for air.

"One last push!" I hear a voice say and the words do strengthen me, though not much.

I can't breathe, can't feel anything, not even the pain. It's gone, I realize, but the baby still isn't out. That can only mean one thing- I'm going. Finally.

But I have to give birth even if it kills me.

I give one last push, digging out energy desperately from deep inside me. That does it; it pulls my body apart, rips my lungs free. A gasp leaves my lips, and the sound of a baby's cries fill my ears just before I let go.

-