I was wheeled on a rickety gurney through a dark corridor in an ancient building in Wurzburg, Germany; the blinding lights and oddly shaped bricks seemed to stretch for miles in every direction, engulfing me in a surreal and mysterious atmosphere.
Outside the OR, a tall, dark orderly in scrubs patted my band-aid-covered hand, “You’re next. Don’t worry. You won’t remember any of this.” His voice was kind and reassuring, but I knew he was wrong.
In my hand, I held a brown paper bag containing my dead baby.