{"id":41281,"date":"2026-02-25T17:25:03","date_gmt":"2026-02-25T10:25:03","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/kaylestore.net\/?p=41281"},"modified":"2026-02-25T17:25:03","modified_gmt":"2026-02-25T10:25:03","slug":"when-i-was-pregnant-with-twins-and-going-through-terrible-labor-pains-i-asked-my","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/kaylestore.net\/?p=41281","title":{"rendered":"When I Was Pregnant With Twins And Going Through Terrible Labor Pains, I Asked My\u2026\u2026."},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/h1>\n

When I was pregnant with twins and suffering intense labor pains, I begged my husband to take me to the hospital.<\/strong><\/h1>\n

Just as we were heading out, my mother-in-law stopped us and said, \u201cWhere are you trying to go? Come and take me and your sister to the mall instead.\u201d He immediately refused to drive me and said, \u201cDon\u2019t you dare move until I come back.\u201d My father-in-law chimed in, \u201cShe can wait a few hours. It\u2019s not that serious.\u201d They all walked out, leaving me bent over and trembling in pain. By chance, an old friend stopped by and helped me get to the hospital. Suddenly, my husband stormed into the delivery room and shouted, \u201cStop this drama. I won\u2019t waste my money on your pregnancy.\u201d When I called him greedy, he yanked my hair and slapped me across the face. I cried out in agony. Then he punched my pregnant stomach. What happened next was unbelievable.<\/p>\n

The contractions began around three in the afternoon. A sharp, burning pain tore through my abdomen, each surge stronger than the last. I clutched the kitchen counter, my knuckles turning white against the marble as sweat gathered on my brow.<\/p>\n

\u201cTravis,\u201d I called out, my voice tight with strain. \u201cTravis, we need to go to the hospital. The babies are coming.\u201d<\/p>\n

My husband stepped out of the living room, where he had been watching TV with his parents. At thirty-eight weeks pregnant with twins, I had experienced Braxton Hicks contractions for weeks, but this was nothing like that. This was real labor, and every instinct told me something was terribly wrong.<\/p>\n

Travis grabbed his car keys from the hook by the door. For a brief second, relief flooded me. After everything his family had put me through during this pregnancy, surely he would come through now. Surely he understood how serious this was.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s go,\u201d he said, reaching for my arm.<\/p>\n

We made it only three steps toward the garage before his mother\u2019s voice sliced through the moment.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere are you trying to go?\u201d Deborah demanded, stepping directly in front of us. Behind her, his younger sister Vanessa smirked, spinning her designer purse around her finger. \u201cCome and take me and your sister to the mall instead. The sale at Nordstrom ends today, and I absolutely must have that handbag I showed you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stared at her, stunned, as another contraction built. \u201cDeborah, I\u2019m in labor. The twins\u2014\u201d<\/strong><\/h1>\n

\u201cOh, please.\u201d She flicked her hand dismissively. \u201cFirst-time mothers always exaggerate. My labor with Travis lasted sixteen hours. You\u2019ve got plenty of time.\u201d<\/p>\n

Travis looked back and forth between his mother and me, his jaw tightening. My heart sank at the expression I recognized too well. He was going to give in.<\/p>\n

\u201cTravis,\u201d I whispered, gripping his sleeve. \u201cPlease. Something isn\u2019t right.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t you dare move until I come back,\u201d he snapped, pulling his arm away\u2014his tone cold and authoritative in a way I had never heard directed at me before.<\/p>\n

His father, Gerald, stepped out from the hallway, a newspaper tucked beneath his arm. \u201cShe can wait a few hours. It\u2019s not that serious.\u201d He clapped Travis on the shoulder. \u201cWomen have been giving birth forever. Take your mother shopping. She\u2019s been waiting all week.\u201d<\/p>\n

I tried to protest, but Travis was already guiding his mother and sister out the door. Deborah shot me a satisfied look, her lips curved in triumph. \u201cJust lie down on the couch,\u201d Travis called without turning around. \u201cI\u2019ll be back in a couple hours.\u201d<\/p>\n

The door slammed shut. Gerald retreated to his den. The car engine roared to life and then faded, leaving me alone in the house as pain ripped through me.<\/p>\n

I collapsed onto the sofa, tears streaming down my cheeks. How had it come to this? How had the man who once vowed to protect me walked away while I was in labor with his children?<\/p>\n

Twenty minutes passed. The contractions were closer now, barely three minutes apart. My hands shook as I reached for my phone, but the screen blurred. My parents were on a cruise celebrating their fortieth anniversary. My best friend Kimberly had moved to Portland the month before. Every other contact was a relative of Travis or someone who always sided with him.<\/p>\n

Another contraction struck\u2014so powerful I screamed. Warm liquid ran down my leg. My water had broken.<\/p>\n

Panic gripped me. I needed help immediately. I tried to stand, but my legs buckled. The room spun. Horror set in as I realized I might deliver on this couch\u2014or worse, that my babies might not survive without urgent medical care.<\/p>\n

The doorbell rang. For a moment I thought I imagined it. Then it rang again, followed by knocking.<\/p>\n

\u201cHello? Anyone home?\u201d<\/p>\n

I recognized the voice. Lauren. Lauren Mitchell\u2014my college roommate, whom I hadn\u2019t seen in nearly two years. We\u2019d drifted apart after graduation as our lives went in different directions.<\/p>\n

\u201cLauren!\u201d I screamed. \u201cHelp me, please.\u201d<\/p>\n

The handle turned\u2014thankfully, I had forgotten to lock the door after Travis left. Lauren rushed in, her eyes widening at the sight of me. \u201cOh my God\u2014you\u2019re in labor!\u201d She hurried to my side. \u201cWhere\u2019s Travis? Where\u2019s your family?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGone,\u201d I gasped between contractions. \u201cShopping. Please, Lauren. Something\u2019s wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lauren didn\u2019t hesitate. She called 911 and helped me to her car. The engine was still running\u2014she had just come by to drop off a wedding invitation, she would later tell me. Coincidence or fate, her arrival saved me.<\/p>\n

The ride to Mercy General blurred into pain and fear. Lauren sped through red lights, gripping my hand while I cried out with each contraction. At the ER entrance, staff were waiting with a wheelchair. Within minutes, I was in a delivery room.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe babies are in distress,\u201d a nurse said grimly, watching the fetal monitors. \u201cWe need Dr. Patterson here\u2014now.\u201d<\/strong><\/h1>\n

The next half hour descended into chaos. Doctors and nurses rushed around me, their voices urgent but controlled. One baby\u2019s heart rate was dropping. An emergency C-section was a real possibility. Someone asked about my medical history, but I could barely process the question.<\/p>\n

Then the delivery room doors flew open. Travis stood there, his face flushed with anger. His mother and sister stood behind him, just as furious. I had no idea how they found me so quickly\u2014maybe the hospital had contacted my emergency number.<\/p>\n

\u201cStop this drama,\u201d Travis yelled as he charged toward my bed. A security guard stepped in front of him, but he pushed past. \u201cI won\u2019t waste my money on your pregnancy.\u201d<\/p>\n

The only sound in the room was the steady beeping of monitors. Even through the pain, I couldn\u2019t believe what I\u2019d just heard. The nurses looked at one another in disbelief. Dr. Patterson paused in the middle of examining me.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did you just say?\u201d I managed to ask.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou heard me,\u201d he snapped. \u201cDo you have any idea how much your mother\u2019s shopping trip cost me? Six hundred dollars for a handbag. And now you\u2019re piling on hospital bills because you couldn\u2019t wait a few hours.\u201d<\/p>\n

Something inside me finally broke. Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was three years of swallowing my words catching up to me.<\/p>\n

\u201cGreedy,\u201d I shot back. \u201cYou\u2019re the greediest, most selfish\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

He moved before I could finish. His hand shot out, gripping a fistful of my hair and jerking my head back. The slap rang through the room, loud and vicious. Bright flashes burst across my vision.<\/p>\n

\u201cTravis, stop!\u201d Lauren shouted from somewhere behind him. But he wasn\u2019t done. His face twisted with rage as he pulled back his fist and slammed it into my pregnant stomach.<\/p>\n

The pain was beyond anything I had felt\u2014worse than the contractions. I screamed. The monitors erupted in frantic alarms.<\/p>\n

\u201cCode blue! Code blue!\u201d someone yelled.<\/p>\n

Everything after that felt like a fast-forwarded film. Security tackled Travis to the floor. Dr. Patterson barked instructions. Deborah screamed about lawsuits and \u201cfamily reputation.\u201d Lauren was on her phone\u2014I caught the words \u201cpolice\u201d and \u201cassault.\u201d Then darkness swallowed me.<\/p>\n

I woke up in recovery two days later, the sharp scent of antiseptic filling my nose. For a moment, I didn\u2019t know where I was\u2014or why my body felt shattered. Then memory rushed back. My hands flew to my stomach\u2014flat and empty.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I whispered, panic flooding me. \u201cNo, no\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re okay,\u201d a soft voice assured me. Lauren leaned over me, her eyes swollen from crying. \u201cYour babies are okay. Two beautiful girls\u2014five pounds, one ounce, and four pounds, eight ounces. They\u2019re in the NICU, but the doctors say they\u2019re going to be fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

Relief hit me so hard I sobbed. Lauren squeezed my hand while I cried.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow long was I out?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cTwo days. They had to do an emergency C-section. There were complications from the trauma\u2014they kept you sedated while they stabilized you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTravis?\u201d I forced out.<\/p>\n

\u201cArrested,\u201d Lauren said firmly. \u201cAssault, domestic violence, endangering unborn children. The hospital has security footage. There were witnesses everywhere. A detective wants to speak with you when you\u2019re ready.\u201d<\/p>\n

In the weeks that followed, as I healed and my daughters slowly gained strength in their incubators, more truths came to light. I was discharged after ten days, but the twins remained in the NICU. Every day, I returned to sit beside them, slipping my hands through the incubator openings, willing them to grow stronger.<\/p>\n

Detective Morrison\u2014mid-fifties, kind eyes but direct\u2014sat by my bed and explained what they had uncovered. Travis had been siphoning money from our joint accounts for months, funneling it to his mother and sister. Our mortgage was three months behind. He had opened credit cards in my name without my knowledge and maxed them out. We were buried in debt I hadn\u2019t even known existed.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour husband has a gambling addiction,\u201d the detective said. \u201cHe\u2019s had it for years. His parents have been covering for him\u2014using your money to clean up his losses.\u201d<\/p>\n

I felt hollow. Three years of marriage, and I had never suspected. The late nights he claimed were overtime. The sudden \u201cbusiness trips.\u201d I had trusted him completely.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happens now?\u201d I asked quietly.<\/strong><\/h1>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s up to you. You can press charges.\u201d She met my eyes. \u201cYou should press charges. What he did to you and your children is beyond unacceptable. Because of the severity of the assault, bail hasn\u2019t been set yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

I turned toward the NICU window where my daughters lay\u2014so small, so flawless, so innocent. They deserved more than a father who would strike his pregnant wife. \u201cI want to press charges,\u201d I said firmly. \u201cEvery single one you can make stick.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI was hoping you\u2019d say that,\u201d she replied.<\/p>\n

She opened a thick file. \u201cWe uncovered more.\u201d Inside were bank records, receipts, screenshots of text messages. A casino slip from three weeks earlier showed $23,000 in chips. The card used\u2014mine.<\/p>\n

\u201cOne of seven credit cards he opened in your name,\u201d the detective explained. \u201cTotal balance: about eighty-nine thousand. None of them paid in at least four months.\u201d<\/p>\n

The room seemed to tilt. Eighty-nine thousand dollars. Every cent I\u2019d earned freelancing had gone into what I believed was our savings. I\u2019d been so proud of that cushion.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere did all our money go?\u201d I asked, my voice breaking.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour joint checking account shows repeated transfers to an account in your mother-in-law\u2019s name,\u201d she said. \u201cFifty-eight transfers over fourteen months, anywhere from five hundred to three thousand each. Total just under forty-two thousand.\u201d<\/p>\n

I felt nauseated. Deborah\u2019s shopping sprees, spa visits, weekend trips\u2014paid for by me. And all the while she criticized my car and wardrobe.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s more,\u201d the detective added. \u201cHe took out a second mortgage on your home without your consent\u2014he forged your signature. That\u2019s federal fraud.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow much?\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n

\u201cOne hundred fifteen thousand. Withdrawn in cash over three months.\u201d<\/p>\n

I did the math in my head: $89,000 in credit cards, $42,000 to his mother, $115,000 from the second mortgage\u2014$246,000 gone.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe believe most of it covered gambling debts,\u201d she said. \u201cCasinos across three states. We\u2019ve subpoenaed records. He owed some dangerous people large unpaid markers.\u201d<\/p>\n

Cold fear ran through me. \u201cAm I in danger? Are my babies?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe found threatening texts on a burner phone in his car,\u201d she said. \u201cNothing mentioning you by name, but serious enough that we\u2019ve stationed security on this floor.\u201d I glanced at the officer posted by the door. Not an overreaction\u2014necessary.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat can I do? How do I protect my daughters?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHere\u2019s the positive part.\u201d She slid another paper across the bed. \u201cBecause he forged your signature, you\u2019re not legally liable for the debts. We\u2019ve contacted the credit card companies and lender\u2014they\u2019re reversing the charges and pursuing him. Your credit will be restored, and the second mortgage voided.\u201d<\/p>\n

Relief clashed with rage inside me. Relief that I wouldn\u2019t drown financially; rage that he had dragged us into this nightmare. How had I missed the signs?<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t blame yourself,\u201d the detective said gently. \u201cAbusers are skilled at hiding addictions. They lie, manipulate, create elaborate cover stories. You\u2019re not the first wife caught off guard\u2014and you won\u2019t be the last.\u201d<\/p>\n

More truths surfaced. His parents had known for years. They\u2019d been covering for him since college, bailing him out and inventing excuses. When he met me, Deborah saw another source of money. Gerald admitted as much: \u201cWe thought marriage would calm him down. We thought a wife with steady income would help him manage.\u201d Manage\u2014as though addiction were a budgeting problem.<\/p>\n

Lauren brought my laptop so I could untangle the financial mess. My inbox overflowed with overdue notices and suspicious alerts\u2014some I\u2019d overlooked, others he had deleted. Lauren suspected spyware on my phone. I changed every password, every login. He\u2019d been reading my emails, tracking my location, monitoring my texts. The invasion felt nearly as violating as the assault itself.<\/p>\n

A blocked number rang\u2014from the jail. Vanessa\u2019s voice cut through, sharp and accusing. \u201cThis is all your fault. Do you know what you\u2019ve done to our family?\u201d<\/p>\n

I should have hung up, but something inside me snapped. \u201cWhat I\u2019ve done? Your brother punched me in the stomach while I was in labor. Your mother chose shopping over her grandchildren\u2019s lives. Your father enabled it. I didn\u2019t do anything except survive what your family did.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTravis made a mistake,\u201d Vanessa hissed. \u201cOne mistake and you\u2019re ruining his life.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOne mistake?\u201d I shot back. \u201cHe stole nearly a quarter-million dollars from me. Forged my signature. Spied on my phone. Abandoned me during high-risk labor. Then assaulted me in front of witnesses. That\u2019s not one mistake. That\u2019s a pattern.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re vindictive because you can\u2019t handle a real man,\u201d she spat.<\/p>\n

I ended the call. My hands trembled\u2014from anger, from finally rejecting their narrative. Lauren took the phone. \u201cBlock that number?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBlock all of them,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m done.\u201d<\/strong><\/h1>\n

The hospital social worker, Patricia\u2014warm and seasoned\u2014sat beside me. \u201cPeople always ask: Why didn\u2019t you leave sooner? Why didn\u2019t you see it? Abusers don\u2019t begin with violence,\u201d she said. \u201cThey start subtly\u2014undermining you, isolating you, controlling finances. It builds gradually until you\u2019re trapped.\u201d<\/p>\n

I thought about how Travis encouraged me to quit full-time work and freelance\u2014\u201cless stress.\u201d How he convinced me he should \u201chandle the finances.\u201d How visits to my parents dwindled. \u201cHe was isolating me,\u201d I realized aloud.<\/p>\n

\u201cVery effectively,\u201d Patricia said. \u201cAnd his family reinforced it. They made you question yourself. Classic tactics. Healing isn\u2019t only physical\u2014you\u2019ll need support to process this. There\u2019s no shame in that.\u201d<\/p>\n

Three years of my life\u2014gone. But I was still standing. My daughters were fighting in their incubators, growing stronger every day.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re not just a case file,\u201d Patricia said, squeezing my hand. \u201cYou\u2019re a survivor. Remember that.\u201d<\/p>\n

At night, I stood between the incubators. Grace slept peacefully, her tiny chest rising and falling. Hope\u2019s eyes were open, unfocused but alert. I rested my palms against the warm plastic.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d I whispered. \u201cI promise you\u2019ll never question whether you\u2019re loved. You\u2019ll never doubt that you\u2019re worth protecting.\u201d Hope\u2019s little fingers flexed and curled. I chose to believe she understood.<\/p>\n

The months that followed blurred together. Lauren connected me with a formidable lawyer\u2014Christine Duval, sharp and relentless. She froze joint accounts, filed for emergency divorce, secured restraining orders against Travis and his family. Gerald hired a high-priced attorney and filed motion after motion. None succeeded. The evidence was overwhelming. Deborah went on local television to defend her son\u2014the internet tore her apart.<\/p>\n

Grace and Hope came home at four weeks old. I named them for what carried me through. Lauren moved in temporarily. My parents ended their cruise early\u2014my usually gentle father had to be talked down from confronting Travis in jail.<\/p>\n

Eighteen months later, the trial began. I testified, my voice steady despite tears. Photos of my injuries. Medical records. Nurses describing emergency measures. Lauren recounting how she found me alone in labor. Then the security footage\u2014the punch\u2014played in court. The room fell silent. Jurors flinched. Even the judge looked shaken.<\/p>\n

The jury deliberated less than three hours. Guilty on all counts. Eight years in prison. His parents faced financial crime charges\u2014probation and restitution.<\/p>\n

But the deeper justice came afterward. During financial review, we uncovered a trust from Travis\u2019s grandfather\u2014nearly two million dollars\u2014set to release when he turned forty or had children. Because of his violent conviction, the trust bypassed him and went directly to his children. Every cent transferred into a protected trust for Grace and Hope\u2014untouchable by Travis or his parents. It would fund their education, their futures\u2014everything they deserved.<\/p>\n

We sued for damages.<\/strong><\/h1>\n

The court awarded me the house outright and $300,000. Deborah and Gerald sold their vacation property to pay restitution.<\/p>\n

A forensic accountant uncovered more: a money-laundering operation tied to gambling associates\u2014thirty-seven transactions totaling half a million dollars. The FBI stepped in. Federal charges followed. Between state and federal cases, Travis now faced fifteen to twenty years. Two associates who had sent threats were arrested\u2014they had planned to use me and the babies as leverage. All were in custody.<\/p>\n

Hidden assets surfaced\u2014a storage unit filled with collateral goods, a vintage car hidden under a shell company, an investment account under his mother\u2019s maiden name\u2014about $120,000 in total. Christine argued it should go toward restitution for us. The process dragged on, but progress continued.<\/p>\n

Deborah and Vanessa launched a whisper campaign\u2014calling me a gold digger, claiming I fabricated abuse. Most people saw through it, especially once the footage circulated. A local news story on domestic violence during pregnancy referenced my case anonymously. Public backlash hit them hard. Gerald lost his board position. Deborah resigned from her charity. Vanessa\u2019s engagement collapsed.<\/p>\n

My parents moved in to help. My mother blamed herself for not recognizing the warning signs. My father installed a security system, childproofed every cabinet, and poured his anger into protecting us.<\/p>\n

Lauren stayed by my side. \u201cYou were there for me in college,\u201d she said. \u201cNow it\u2019s my turn.\u201d<\/p>\n

I began attending a support group. In a room washed in fluorescent light, women shared stories that echoed my own. \u201cHow do you stop being angry?\u201d I asked one evening. \u201cYou don\u2019t,\u201d an older woman replied gently. \u201cYou transform it.\u201d<\/p>\n

After one session, I spoke with the facilitator about launching a foundation. \u201cI have settlement money,\u201d I told her. \u201cAnd a story that should mean something.\u201d<\/p>\n

That\u2019s how The Grace & Hope Foundation was born\u2014providing emergency housing, legal aid, childcare, and financial counseling for pregnant women escaping abuse. Christine took care of the legal framework, Robert handled the accounting, Lauren joined the board, and Detective Morrison agreed to serve as an advisor.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re turning the worst thing that happened to you into something that saves lives,\u201d Christine said as we finalized the paperwork.<\/p>\n

At the courthouse after the final ruling, Deborah tried to approach me. The bailiff blocked her. \u201cThis is your fault,\u201d she yelled. \u201cYou ruined our family.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I answered calmly, holding my daughters close. \u201cTravis ruined our family when he chose violence. You ended your relationship with these girls when you taught your son that women matter less than handbags.\u201d Then I turned and walked away.<\/p>\n

Three years have gone by. Grace and Hope are smart, joyful, full of life. We live in a smaller but secure home. My parents are constant presences. Lauren comes by every week. People sometimes ask if I regret pressing charges\u2014if I feel guilty that my daughters will grow up without their father.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I tell them. \u201cThey deserve to understand that abuse is never acceptable.\u201d<\/strong><\/h1>\n

Travis sends letters from prison. They remain unopened in Christine\u2019s office. Maybe one day, the girls can choose whether to read them. For now, I guard their peace.<\/p>\n

I returned to work at a firm that offers flexibility. Finances are stable\u2014the trust and settlement help\u2014but I work because I want my daughters to witness independence. Dating can wait. Healing is my priority.<\/p>\n

Sometimes I revisit that afternoon\u2014the contractions, the fear, the blow. How easily everything could have ended differently if Lauren hadn\u2019t arrived. If the doctors hadn\u2019t intervened. If his punch had landed harder.<\/p>\n

But mostly, I think about what followed: discovering strength I didn\u2019t know I possessed, seeing the justice system hold him accountable, watching my daughters sleep safely in their beds. Travis took so much that day\u2014my trust, my marriage, my sense of security. But he didn\u2019t take what mattered most. He didn\u2019t take my children. He didn\u2019t break me.<\/p>\n

I survived. My daughters flourished. We prevailed. And every night, as I tuck Grace and Hope into bed, kiss their foreheads, and tell them how deeply they\u2019re loved, I understand the greatest victory of all: living well despite everything he tried to destroy.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

When I was pregnant with twins and suffering intense labor pains, I begged my husband to take me to the hospital. Just as we were heading out, my mother-in-law stopped us and said, \u201cWhere are you trying to go? Come and take me and your sister to the mall instead.\u201d He immediately refused to drive<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":41285,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[36,42,37,43],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-41281","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-moral","8":"category-moral-stories","9":"category-new","10":"category-relationship"},"yoast_head":"\nWhen I Was Pregnant With Twins And Going Through Terrible Labor Pains, I Asked My\u2026\u2026.<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/kaylestore.net\/?p=41281\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"When I Was Pregnant With Twins And Going Through Terrible Labor Pains, I Asked My\u2026\u2026.\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"When I was pregnant with twins and suffering intense labor pains, I begged my husband to take me to the hospital. 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