One day in my life I was born between two tributaries. My mother had experienced a traumatic episode. It was also a bleak day in the dead of winter: January 4, 1955. My mother had suffered abuse the day before; and on my natal day, she began having birth pangs. So a doctor was summon.
A neighbor had called an ambulance.
When the ambulance arrived, my mother and I was rushed to the local hospital, where we both recuperated until May 4, 1955. It was then that the doctor officially signed the birth certificate.
Thereafter, I was released into the custody of an aunt until my mother could further prove her recovery.
And when she did, she was sent home with a glowing report — a miraculous life had given birth to a fifth child whose life was also a miracle of birth.