The End of a Control Freak
Twenty-five years ago today, I learned one of the most intense lessons of my life.
I have absolutely no control over anything — sometimes not even my body.
It was the morning of September 12, 1995. I woke up from anesthesia. I remember asking, “what did I have?” No one said a word. The room was silent. You could have heard a pin drop — which in a hospital is a lot. I asked again. “What did I have?” This time the response was, “your husband went to go to bring your stepfather up. He wants to tell you.” With that, I laid back down on the recovery room stretcher, and I think I fell asleep for a minute.
I had been in labor for more than 24 hours and really had no clue what had happened. My last recollection was a lot of screaming to push and me saying that I couldn’t. That I couldn’t feel anything. Then I felt the doctors move the baby back in, and then the mask went over my face, and everything went black. That was what I remembered. I didn’t know when or what the outcome was.
A short time later, my husband was there. I asked him what’s going on? What did we have? He said, “we had a boy, they’re working on him now.” Then I said, “he’ll be ok, we’re at Stony Brook. We have the best doctors. He’ll be ok.” Then my husband…
