It truly doesn't matter what my name is... If you follow my story you'll see that I've had many. We are not our names really, but the culmination of our experiences and the awareness behind them.
My first known experience actually begins before I was even born.
As my mom sat in the dentist's chair, six months pregnant with me. She felt a mix of anxiety and pain wash over her. See the dentist worked carefully, but without pain medication, every poke and prod felt like an eternity. Little did she know, I was already attuned to her emotions, my tiny body responding to her distress. In the darkness of her womb, I began to stir, my tiny limbs flailing in a series of summersaults, as if trying to escape from what she was experiencing.
Everyone thought I was premature because it looked like my mom had smuggled a basket ball under her shirt. You couldn't even tell she was pregnant, when you looks at her from behind.
I like to jokingly say that I was apprehensive about entering the world as a human. When it was two weeks past my due date and I still hadn't arrived. The doctors decided to induce labor by breaking my mom's water. It was time to make my debut, ready or not!
Something shifted the monitors' sudden loud beeping sent my grandma into a panic, her voice rising as she repeatedly exclaimed, 'Something's wrong, something's wrong!' Her words echoed through the room, heightening the sense of alarm and foreboding.
As I tumbled and twirled in my mom's belly when she was at the dentist. I had unwittingly wrapped my umbilical cord around my neck - not once, but twice. In the instant her water broke, the very lifeline that had nourished me for nine months transformed into a deadly noose, threatening to strangle the life from me. The beeping monitors and my grandma's frantic cries seemed to fade into the background as a new, more ominous soundtrack took over: the sound of my own heart fading with every moment.
I experienced not one, but two episodes of clinical death that day , each lasting a harrowing two minutes. In those fleeting moments, my tiny heart ceased to beat, and my fragile life hung in the balance. Yet, somehow, I managed to grasp the thread of life and pull myself back into the world of the living – not once, but twice.
As I teetered on the threshold of life, a seasoned doctor, with a lifetime of experience and a steady hand, stepped in to orchestrate my arrival. With precision and grace, he gently freed me from the umbilical cord's deadly grasp, skillfully repositioning me for a safe descent into the world. His swift action reignited my fragile heartbeat, and I drew my first breath as he guided me into the light.
As I finally emerged into the world, two weeks and 36 grueling hours late, I had already experienced the dualistic extremes of existence. In a rare and precious moment, I had tasted both death and life, my arrival heralded by the skilled hands of this heroic doctor. His intervention had disentangled the cord, allowing me to take my first breath and embark on this extraordinary journey we call life.
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