We’re watching She’s Having a Baby, and even though the ending is really stupid knowing what I know now about how traumatic and dramatic Breach babies actually are, I couldn’t help tearing up. It shocked me that I was jerked back so hard and fast to that night in the O.R. watching the lights dim around me and listening to the anesthesiologist and the nurses and Dr. Bobby barking at each other before I went under. Watching her thrash around on the table screaming, “I gotta get it out, I gotta get it out!” while they were telling her to stop pushing and calm down…just hit me hard tonight. My stomach falls through the floor when I remember how panicked I was, how absolutely positive I was that I just needed to sit up and that THE WORLD WOULD END if they didn’t just let me get up for a minute. I was out of my mind. After the fact, of course, we found out I really WAS out of my mind. I was about to die.
It’s strange how much sorrow there still is when every day we wake up next to a healthy, beautiful baby girl. Why can’t THAT fact be what we focus on? Why can’t THAT be what I remember?