"....The Chief had reserved a table for us for dinner at The Marine Room, and at about 4:30pm, I decided it was time to get ready. Dress standards were business casual, so I opted to wear a cute tan skirt Grandma Bagel had bought me and pair it with a lovely knit top. The skirt didn't fit, so I tried another. That didn't fit either. I started to panic. I swear they fit me just a few days before. What was going on? How could I grow three sizes in less than a week? I tried skirt after skirt after skirt. Then I tried on my dresses. I looked about five months pregnant. 'I should have skipped the crepes at lunch,' I thought. I continued to frantically search for a suitable combination, but I was looking large-bellied and coming up empty handed every time....As we left, I felt bloated again, with a dull pain throbbing in my lower abdomen. This was getting annoying...."
"Pathetic as it may sound to someone who has given birth naturally, I'm proud to say that I have managed to last to five centimeters during labor before begging for an epidural. But this was 100 times worse. In fact, I remember in my pain-fogged brain that I asked The Chief at one point if they could just give me an epidural so I couldn't feel my lower extremities anymore. That knife I mentioned before...it must have had a serrated edge and been dipped in poison. I missed my boys. I missed them a lot. I couldn't remember what 'normal' felt like anymore. About 20 minutes after we arrived, we were ushered back to an ER room where we waited for a nurse to come and take my temperature and blood pressure after which we waited again for a doctor to come and 'assess the situation.' I lay on that little half bed, curled up on my left side, then lying on my back, moaning and crying, reading and re-reading the 'How to Create a Dream' poster that was slapped up on the drop ceiling...."
"....Time passed. I don't know how much. The dull lighting of the ER cast an eerie glow around the room, accentuating the age and grime of the building. I didn't care. I couldn't rouse myself enough to care. I still hurt. All was quiet except the occasional hushed chatter of the night staff, and me, moaning, constantly, begging for help...."
"....I delved deep within to ascertain how I really felt about my near-death experience. But try as I may, I could not come up with the appropriate responses. I did not feel immense gratitude for my life, I didn't even feel relief to be alive. My relief and gratitude were reserved for the absence of pain. Its memory was imprinted on my mind and to not feel it anymore, without medication, was amazing, exhilarating, liberating. And the baby, well, it was an abstract to me...."
"...at last the blessed word 'discharge' was spoken and suddenly I was afraid to go home. I knew that my three tiny incisions hid a much larger trauma in my abdomen. How was I going to be able to lift my boys? How would I be able to clean? Would I get good rest or would necessity leave me exhausted and struggling to heal?"
If this were a book, would you want to keep reading? Does this style of writing appeal to you? I want to write a book. :P Stay tuned and you might even learn why this has been dubbed "Chapter 4."
P.S. You, my dear friends and family, are all awesome. I have never felt such an amazing outpouring of love in my life. I appreciate all your comments, emails, phone calls, flowers, cards, dinners, hugs, prayers, and babysitting! :) I am the luckiest person on earth and with wealth being measured in quality relationships, I believe I must be a billionaire! I love you all.