According to my mother, my birth was a horrible shriek-inducing and blood-letting ordeal that lasted all night and into the next day, adding up to twelve hours of torture for her. But you couldn’t prove it by me. Maybe a bit of Mom’s epidural got to my infantile cortex, but I have no recollection of any part of the event. It just blew right past me. If I had to compare it to anything, I’d say my birth most resembled a coma for its lack of noticeable features. Not that I’ve ever been in a coma (the closest I’ve come is breaking into a locked car with my forehead and then drinking a six-pack), but I’ve heard it’s a non-event if there is one, at least for the unconscious party. And if my mother were honest, I think she’d have to say my birth wasn’t all that memorable for her either, especially since she died last week.