I Scared the Hell Out of My Taxi Driver

It was 4 a.m. I was wild with pain, and he spoke no English

Photo by baikang yuan on Unsplash

Sometimes I look back at my life and see glaring examples of when I totally lost my emotional control. They burrow into my memory, and I still can’t forgive myself for them. I usually pride myself on being in control at all times.

My ability to “stuff it” when it comes to letting loose is evident in the deep grinding treads on my molars and the constant clenching of my poor arthritic fingers.

There have been times when I’ve seen the familiar “Stop, “Caution,” “Danger” signs coming at me, their blinking lights warning trouble if I don’t keep it together. But something in me says, “Screw it. You’re in wicked pain. You’re allowed.” And I “lose it.”

At times like these, a very volatile friend used to yell, “Call the police. I’m out of control.” I loved that line.

A lapse

Childbirth was made to test me. I bought all the bullshit about how beautiful it all was. I never questioned the relentless propaganda that breathing in and out the right way would enable me to pass something the size of a jumbo electric mixer through an opening the size of a quarter.

With about two weeks till my due date, my OB with his big fat hands accidentally broke my water. This put me in the arbitrary “beat the clock” scenario in which I had to deliver on my own in a certain number of hours or have a C-section.

The two people in my hospital room were male. I hated them. They sat on the edge of my bed watching the NBA Playoffs.

At some point, my husband ran out and bought tuna subs with onions and anchovies. The first time he breathed on me, I understood what murderers mean when they say they “just snapped.”

Losing it

I couldn’t help it. A torrent of words at a very high volume flew from my mouth. I was wild.

I pointed at my husband and screamed, “Get the fuck out of my face!”

And you, Mr. Obstetrician. Has anyone told you your hands are like meat hooks? You broke my water and now I’m stuck with this count<down rule before delivery. And you’re probably gonna end up cutting me…