Center of Attention

I look around and the room is unknown to me.
The walls are stark white and the smell is making me nauseous.
I am disoriented and confused. Do I know where I am?

The pain has been supernatural, almost unreal.
It was burning, radiating, scorching.
No words can describe it.

The room is a bustle of activity.
Like a grocery store on Saturday morning.
I am in the center of it but am not the center of attention.

The center of attention is the new life that I am pushing out of me.
I grunt and groan and push and shove.
I want him out but want him inside me forever – why can’t I have both?

He is yanked from my body brutally.
The only glimpse I get is his perfect foot.
He is not supposed to survive, we have been warned.

The pain is gone and the room becomes familiar.
The people are gone, no more excitement.
I am left with only my nurse; she smiles, trying to look happy.

I am led to my room, ironically in the baby and me wing.
I am alone, no one to help me, to hold me, to care for me.
I am no longer the center of attention.