The Traumatic Birth That Shattered Everything I Believed (Part 2)
This is Part 2 of the story of how I became a mother. If you missed Part 1, you can read it here.
What in the hell is happening?
I ask it to the room itself, to the walls, to the scratchy chairs, the wallpaper. The tiny “visitors” room that smells of blood… it doesn’t have answers.
Why is my newborn being rushed into another ambulance? Why wasn’t she breathing?
What did I do wrong?
What in the hell is happening?
This time, I ask the question aloud to the two midwives sitting in the corner, colorless, hollow, exhausted.
We do not know.
We do not know.
We do not know.
Eight years later, we still do not know.
But she is here, and she is radiant. She is joy. She is perfect.
And yet, I feel the weight of that night press down again. It is no longer just the memory of her struggle for breath—it is the present fight for her right to exist in a world that keeps trying to erase her.
The chaos from the White House. The cruelty from the State House. The relentless attacks on her schools, her resources, her future. The war on the mothers. On women. The war on anyone labeled ‘other.’
I fought for her then. I fight for her now.
And I will not stop.