I was born premature decades ago. The incubators they had at the time were grim and affected me for life. As I worked on my book, I found an old journal entry about this experience has haunted me for many years.
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Twenty-one days of isolation, alone in a metal incubator, the latest invention designed to simulate the womb. But no touching is allowed, fed by a tube, no mother regulation, only an immature nervous system and the will to survive. Instantly I warped through time, was propelled into my actual infant incubator experience and wrote the following.
Incubator Baby
Born premature, no eyelashes or fingernails
Placed in the newest of incubators
Metal box, metal lid, no windows, completely black
Nothing to touch, no blanket, no Mom
No touching allowed
Every so often the lid opens
Oh, too much light, noise, movement
My tiny body immediately contracts
Nervous system screams
This is it! This is it! Get it now. Only chance. Food! Survival! The hole must be filled
Must have contact, something, anything
Tube enters, disturbing tender flesh
Liquid bypasses mouth
Something’s not right, no sucking, no Mom
Liquid enters stomach, Oh, physical relief
Left alone again—like a piece of raw meat
The pain remains, doesn’t get discharged. It sears the inside of my helpless baby soul. I’m left in the jangly bottomless hole.
I realized that being open allows me to warp speed into other time dimensions and experience old occurrences in present time.