The next fork

A trip to meet with the experts, who will confirm yet again what I already know. I'm not sure I fit the typical criteria of a mother in my position, I want only the truth. I need to understand this force called life, even more now that I've pictured the walnut-sized organ in my mind, and men who decide instruments can rearrange just about anything, that invisible strength that draws us to try.

Or is it just a pump? A circuit in a cycle, none more important than the others, I just don't know. What's the difference between an old person whose organs are failing, when doctors admit, realize, or whatever, that living's not the hope. As compared to a newborn, willing to thrive on less oxygen for a while, and witnessing that "fight" that's just inborn.

It's the fight that scares me the most. My doctor said that no matter what the case, all life strives to stay alive. That's going to hurt the most. Can you picture me as well as I can, throwing up all through labor and delivery, typical birthing-style. Knowing the life that is traveling through me, squirming more loudly each and every day, will only survive for a while?

The worst pain I can imagine, followed by some sort of liberation I'm sure. I'll take them both.