But it had to come out because if it were to rupture, I could go into septic shock. And we had to test it to rule out cancer. Since we couldn’t remove it while I was pregnant, my doctor explained that I would need major surgery within a year of having my baby.
Admittedly, I break out in boob sweat at the mere thought of a hospital. The idea of surgery produced full-body shudders. Caught up in the thrill of new motherhood, I was able to put the grapefruit out of my mind. The days were joyful blurs of nursing, diapering and binge-watching my son, Owen, as though he were a TV.
In the middle of the night, however, my postpartum mind replayed worst case scenarios on loop. What if I didn’t wake up? I pictured a knife slicing through skin, flesh, muscle and organ.
I imagined a version of Owen’s life without me in it. Me being me, I waited the full year, just before Owen’s first birthday. I wanted to face my fears like a mother, bravely and gracefully, but I was struggling. From the backseat of a taxi, my husband and I watched the sun rise over the East River, as we headed to the hospital, quietly holding hands.
Handing the nurse my belongings felt uncomfortably symbolic. Here are my jeans, I thought, riddled with nerves. My purse, my dreams, my life.
In American sewage treatment — i want to share your story with everyone I’ve ever met! It was suggested as early as 1892 — hodge was involved with promoting fluoride before the New Jersey accident in 1944.