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Does anyone else remember being born?

Does anyone else remember being born?

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My first lesson by Doug Buresh

Does anyone else remember being born? How can one ever forget such a life-altering event? To put it kindly, it was a very harrowing experience. Truth be told, I thought I was dying.


Perhaps one’s birth is so traumatic that we wilfully erase it from memory. If only I had been so blessed. I can recall every vivid detail of the gory twenty-hour journey.  As all stories ought, let’s start from the beginning. From the moment of my conception, I lived in a magical place where everything revolved around me in my own marvellous miniature water world. My most generous hostess provided every comfort. I swam there all the time, even while sleeping. It was always dark there, but in a very good way. The darkness comforts me to this day. My world had the ideal climate where nudity was perfectly natural. I still hate wearing clothes. I have nothing but fond memories of that happy time and place.

The day I was evicted started like any other, and then the dam broke. When the vortex sucked me in, I thought the end of the world had come. It squeezed me and kept getting tighter. The first contraction terrified me. I didn’t believe I could endure such a squashing. They became more frequent and intense. My suffering lasted for hours. There were so many unfamiliar voices. The strangers all encouraged the hostess to finish me off. One Dr. Likes-to-Flirt-With-the-Ladies kept saying, “Everything is going fine.” Yeah, right, I remember thinking. Excuse me, but I’m being crushed to death here! “You have to push harder, honey,” Doc instructed. “It’s a big baby.”

The hostess taught me how to swear that day. As the hours wore on, I thought the end was near. One final push and she expelled me into the bright blinding light of a new world. I’d survived the bloody passage bruised but intact. The lewd Dr. Pain welcomed me to this world with a sharp slap to the derriere. I tried to roar my disapproval, but could only manage a weak, miserable gurgling sound. You see, I nearly drowned in the amniotic fluid that once sustained me. The quack stuck something down my throat to suck it away. I was so scared, I cried.

And it got worse! Those ruthless fiends treated me like a lab rat. They cut my cord so I could never again return to my old world, scuffed me up with a towel, weighed and measured me, poked me with needles, painted my feet black and swaddled me in some kind of itchy cloth. Then they forced me to drink some kind of white, chalky substance that tasted awful. I bawled during every procedure. “Nine pounds, ten ounces,” one of the nurses announced.

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“Poor girl,” old Dr. Pain-in-the-Butt inappropriately comforted my hostess by caressing her breast. And the worst was yet to come! I really screamed when the morons held me down and tried to cut off my pecker! I fought them with all my might, peeing in that sadistic MD’s eye. Shear willpower alone enabled me to fend him off, but I did lose some foreskin during the battle.

Things eventually settled down. I kicked those people dressed in white every chance I got and they didn’t mess with me as much. They sent me home with the hostess and her companion. Honestly, I’d assumed she didn’t want me anymore. They must have brainwashed her or bribed him, or both. In time, they turned out to be pretty good parents. It wasn’t all bad, I suppose. I’d withstood the ordeal and learned a valuable lesson. I’ll never trust a doctor ever again.


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