I thought it was a very personal story and I loved reading it. She set aside some blank pages and said "If your parents are still alive, call them today and ask them to describe the day you were born. Write the details down here, on the following pages. Tell the story every year on your birthday until you know it by heart."
So that got me thinking about the day I was born. There were a few things I knew: I was early, my mom had toxemia and we were killing each other. there was a helicopter waiting on the top of the hospital to go to Boston and the doctors told my dad he might have to choose between one of us.
So I asked my mom to write it out for me. Here is the (unedited) story.
"For most people the birth of their first child is a very clear image in their memories. I'm sorry to say not for me. I had already been in the hospital for a week. I had a severe case of toxemia. So severe we both came close to dieing.
I'm not sure why your dad wasn't with me when I awoke that morning. I remember he spent so much time with me in the hospital. But that morning, the morning of your birth I was alone. You see it wasn't planned for you to be born that day. You were so small the doctors were trying to delay delivery as long as possible.
I remember laying in the hospital bed. The room was dark as it had been for a week. The doctors allowed no stimulus, no TV, closed windows, and minimum light. I buzzed the nurse. She was irritated that I asked her to come to my room. She wanted to know why, but it was hard for me to explain. I told her my heart felt funny.
I don't remember much after that. Things happen so quickly. It was time for you to be born. We were literally killing each other. I remember a helicopter was dispatched and waiting on the roof to rush you to Boston because the doctors believed your lungs were not developed well enough for you to breathe.
The next thing I remember is waking up and asking what did I have? Is she okay? Your Dad said I awoke and asked that question half a dozen times. Then fell back asleep. I had recovery to do.
Prayers had been answered. The helicopter was sent away. You could breathe on your own. The babies are scored on a 1-10 scale when they were born. You scored a 6. But them it quickly went up. Seven, eight, ten. All you needed was to be on your own. (Note from MJ: Apparently that hasn't changed at ALL).
You spent some time with me in my hospital room, but not a lot. Our mother-daughter bond was interrupted by the recovery. I laugh now but I even questioned in my head if they could of possibly switched babies on me. I was very relieved to find your birth mark on your back. The same birth mark as your Dad. Same shape, same spot. It was the proof I needed to know you were mine.
It took about 2 weeks for the mother-daughter bond to kick in. Breastfeeding wasn't an option with my recovery. You were so tiny, so beautiful."
In her words
I have to say, I was not expecting that. I'm very happy my mom was able to write this and share it with me.
The reason I started my 39 in my 30s was not to cross things off a list, it was to accomplish things while creating memories and learning about myself. Needless to say, this was something I learned about myself.
I wish I could have asked my father this same question (he was probably way more lucid than my mom). If you knew my dad and he ever told you about the day I was born, I would love for you to let me know.
This is my challenge to you, "If your parents are still alive, call them today and ask them to describe the day you were born. Write the details down here, on the following pages. Tell the story every year on your birthday until you know it by heart."
