Memories: Birth

Time in the primordial abyss was unremarkable. Perhaps the years outside of the abyss are similarly unremarkable; however, the years accumulated before me demand my remark, so I will begin at the beginning. Claude Monet, Woman with a Parasol - Madame Monet and Her Son, 1875

I was a lowly anticipated child: unplanned and undesired. My eldest sibling was too eager to leave our 13.1 billion year old domicile, leaving me to chase big sister into the light. Kind, generous big brother sacrificed himself so that I could live.

9.8 pounds: “Oh sing to the Lord a new song, for he has done marvelous things!” Despite my healthy appearance, my internal mechanisms sought my immediate destruction: My lungs supplied me the air to decry existence itself, and then, as swiftly, attempted their escape. Within minutes, I could no longer breathe. My skin slowly transformed into the color of a plum. My father, now committed to my survival, scoured the halls for the necessary specialist.

My homecoming was to the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU), where I lived my first few days. Despite the scare, I was stable. Eldest sibling would have to wait.