Personal Narrative Essay: A Person Who Is Never Happy?

1923 Words 8 Pages
I am a person who is never satisfied. I strive for something greater and larger in every aspect of my life. I do not like to settle and say I am complete with anything. I feel there is always room for more and always another chance at something. I live my life based on this idea and can never come to terms when a chapter is complete in my life. I spent two years planning my wedding, and once it was over, I longed to do it again. After we had purchased our first home, I began searching for another. This is something I struggle with daily. If there is something I enjoy doing, is creating new life. My greatest fear is finality and dealing with its consequences on an emotional level. I was not prepared for my child-bearing years to …show more content…
All of my kids have black hair at birth and darker skin. They seemed to inherit the dark hair from me and tanned skin from my husband, Ryan. I knew with every ounce of my being that I was pregnant. I did not understand how it could have happened. We were so careful to not conceive again. How could I have missed a symptom of ovulation when I know my body so well? I was having a hard time dealing with the idea of never carrying a life in my womb ever again. Did I subconsciously know what I was doing? My suspicions were confirmed. I was indeed with child. Part of me was terrified. I had such horrible and complicated pregnancies with my kids, would this one be …show more content…
The monitor that was keeping track of the baby’s heart rate began setting off an alarm. I glanced over and knew that this had turned into a dire situation. The doctor rushed in and checked my cervix. “That is the cord. Not the baby” A feeling of pure panic filled the room. I knew it was a cord prolapse. She tried to push the umbilical cord back up into me, but the baby’s heart rate dropped again. She looked at my husband and yelled “Ryan, push that red button on the wall now!” I knew what was about to happen, but I was convinced my husband had no idea the course of action that was about to take place. About 30 doctors and nurses flooded my labor and delivery room. One put an oxygen mask on me while the others began to move my bed out and into the hallway. My doctor still had her hand inside of me trying to keep my daughter’s head from compressing the cord. “We have to get her out of you now!” She told me. I got wheeled into the Operating room, a room I had never had to be in before. The bright lights streaming directly into my eyes were almost more than I could bear but instead of wincing I laid there stone cold. I recognized that any movement could spell certain death for my baby. I glanced around the room and saw all familiar faces, faces I had come to know over the years, all giving words of encouragement. “It is okay Whit; you will be fine. The

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