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|  |  | I don't know how to do this. I feel lost and scared, all jumbled inside. This mass of confused feelings makes
                  me doubt my ability to do this, to become what I will become in a few hours.             As
                  I pace in the disinfectant-scented waiting room, I can't help but let my imagination run wild within me. What if she's in
                  pain? What if she dies on the table? Every new hideous idea brings a greater acceleration to my pacing. (I think I'm upsetting
                  the others who are waiting patiently)             The
                  hour is in the transition stage between late and early when the white coat comes out. Her clear eyes and sure step indicate
                  shes done this a thousand times before. My case isn't special, everything's fine; I almost audibly sigh my relief.             "Mr.
                  Lamontange?" Her warbled, pebbly voice hits my arctic senses and I shiver from the shock. I can hear my voice reply in the
                  affirmative. "I'm sorry, sir. But there have been some minor complications. She's going to have to have an emergency cesarean
                  section. She suggested that you not come in because of your aversion to blood." It was as if I had suddenly gone deaf.
                  In fact, all my senses seemed to disappear. I began to float in the blackness of my mind, lost in the new experience of trying
                  to breathe.             "Mr.
                  Lamontange? Hello?? Mr. Lamontange? Are you listening to me?" Suddenly, the bright fluorescent lights flood my eyeballs and
                  I have to blink back my security tears. I begin to nod maniacally and the white coat pats me on the back.             "It's
                  alright, Mr. Lamontange. This happens quite often. I know you wanted to be there, but it's better this way. Why don't you
                  go home and sleep a little? We'll call you if anything happens." I nod dumbly and step into the elevator. The descending of
                  the machine makes me queasy and when it stops on the ground floor, I debate with myself about heading to the bathrooms before
                  my stomach decides to mellow out.             I stumble
                  through the already closing elevator doors and out into the parking lot. I can see the sun is making its way about the pine
                  trees. For a moment, I hesitate beside my car door, trying to decide what to do with my life. I climb into my car and turn
                  the ignition, knowing somehow that I will end up at Waffle House.  |  |  | 
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