I got to thinking on my walk this morning, “Holy crumb. Twice now modern medicine’s saved my life.”
The first time was when I was born. I was breech. They had to perform a C-section to get me out. If I’d been born in a time when they didn’t know how to do it, or hadn’t perfected it…I wouldn’t be here.
Then, most recently, with my hitchhiker.
It really rocked me when I realized that twice now, just by benefit of the time period when I was born, there was medicine to save me.
That’s a really humbling thought. And kind of empowering.
I’m here for some reason. I don’t know what it is, but I’m meant to be here.
Either that or I’m part cat and I’ve now used at least two of my nine lives. (I can think of a couple other close calls, just not as dramatic as the breech or the hitchhiker, though.)
Wild.
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Tags: cats
I think we’re both part-cat then. My appendix burst when I was 9. And then I was in a terrible head-on collision when I was 17. Since there seemed to be an 8-year cycle in force, I decided to legally change my name at 25 (one of many reasons, actually). I guess the superstitious part of me thought that I’d be safe as long as the name was different on Death’s checklist. *grin*
So did it all stop when you changed your name? And did you ever think about writing a story about this? What a good horror one this would make!