Stephanie Says - Chapter 1 (Hallelujah)

Stephanie Halibut was delivered via Cesarean section on a brisk evening in early March. Her father was ecstatic ,her mother was disenchanted with the whole process, and her brother Eric was in a quasi-comatose state in the aftermath of the bong hits he had taken earlier.

She came out of the womb covered in film of mucus and filth, her alabaster white complexion gleaming under the light. She looked like a baby polar bear covered in snot. Her father stood there like a paralytic, overtaken by the fusion of emotions. Her mother writhed in agony begging the nurse to hook her up to the morphine drip or for Vicodins or Percocets. Doctor Balkam refused her incessant demands, insisting that administering any pain medication ran counter to medical protocol.

"MY CUNT JUST EXPANDED THE SIZE OF A FRISBEE, I NEED SOME FUCKING MEDICATION"

Her profanity-laced tirade continued intermittently over the next hour, ceasing briefly during the placenta's exit from her vagina.

Grandma and Grandpa Halibut made the trip from Greensboro, North Carolina. They drove six hours along Interstate 64, stopping along the way at fruit markets and rest stops. Grandpa Halibut had a perpetual urinary tract infection that required him to wear diapers and pee every hour on the hour. Stephanie's father escorted his in-laws through the hospital's maternity wing to where their daughter had just finished her labor.

"Donna sweetie, how are you? OH MY MERCY-SHE'S BEAUTIFUL".

Tears began to flow profusely. Beads of her mascara raced down her cheeks. She looked like an aged goth. Grandpa Halibut beamed at his new granddaughter. Unable to contain the wave of elation that swept over him, he soiled his pants repeatedly. The nurses had to change diaper for him. Eric sat morosely in the corner, trying to process the last hour's events. His cotton mouth had become so arid that he had briefly considered chugging the entrails of the morphine drip.

"Snap out of it you fuckin' stoner". Eric's head jolted in a slight pang of displeasure. His father stood over him, backhand extended, searching his son's bloodshot eyes for an indication of competence.

"Sorry bruh, I'm just groggy from the nap I took earlier"

"I'm not tolerating your pothead shit any more. You have a fuckin baby sister now. Set a good example or get the fuck out of my house".

His father delivered this jarring invective in a hushed monotone so as not to arouse his already distraught wife. For the next two hours, the doctor and nurses performed the routine post-birth procedures. Vital signs were checked, weight and height were recorded, and a blood sugar test was conducted. An effervescent mood swept up the room. For the first time in a long time, everyone was in high-spirits. Even Donna Halibut, who had just hours before verbally assaulted the doctors, had quieted down considerably. All was well in Washington on the early morning of March 19, 1991.