Hey. My name is Miranda and I am sixteen years old. Actually, this is not my real name — it stuck to me when my second life began... But I am going to tell you about my FIRST life, which lasted from the moment I was born until the age of six. I spent these years locked up in a private medical center. It was a solemn decision for my mother. Although I was completely healthy, I never left the clinic - not even for a single day. Most of the things I am about to tell you I don't know first-hand. For example, everything I learned about my biological parents, I heard from my guardians. I have never met my father. As for my Mom... well, I can barely remember her. I know that they were immigrants from Colombia and that they lived in the US for a while before I was born. And they were pretty rich. I don’t know how my father made his fortune, but when my mother was pregnant with me, he was convicted and got a long-term sentence, so I guess he was engaged in some kind of illegal activity. I also know that my mother never had to work for a living. When her husband was arrested, she still had access to his money, so as soon as she was left alone, she put herself in a private medical clinic for something called pregnancy preservation. There she could be provided with the proper level of comfort and complete care before my birth.
And my mother was indeed provided with full care and comfort. It was a special kind of clinic and I am not sure if it was just some clinic for people who had money? I think it was a clinic for a special kind of people who have money. My mother had an excellent diet, exceptional care, and an individual nurse who made sure that she did not need anything. But it seemed that all this did not really help and my mother gave birth to me when she was in her twenty-fifth week of pregnancy. Believe me, this is very early. I weighed less than two and a half pounds, and without the medical intervention of the best doctors at this clinic, I would have just died. Ugh, even after this many years, it’s hard for me to think about it, so for that, I am sincerely grateful to these doctors.
My mother left the clinic as soon as she recovered. But I had to spend several months in intensive care and after that, I also needed special medical interventions, so I stayed at the clinic. Mom continued to pay all the bills for the clinic, while I gradually got better and started to resemble a normal baby. The doctors were pleased with my progress, and soon they called my mother to the clinic to go over all the necessary instructions and recommendations before she took me home.
But much to their surprise, it turned out that my mother had no intentions of taking me home. She began to argue with the doctors, insisting that since I was born prematurely, there was no way I could be a normal child. She said that my heart, lungs, kidneys, and… all my other internal organs were underdeveloped... And most importantly, my mother believed that since I was born so prematurely, my brain simply did not have enough time to develop properly. She had already decided that my life would be limited to a vegetable existence. The doctors tried to convince my mother that the situation was exactly the opposite, but she refused to listen to them. And yet she did not give up on me... I think this was more of a detriment to me than anything else because otherwise, I could have started to live a normal life much earlier. But Mom signed an agreement with the clinic that she would continue to pay for my care there. The Head of the clinic signed it in the apparent hope that one day she would change her mind.
Well, this is how the story of my childhood, where I was locked in the clinic, began. I got a separate room where I could live without attracting anyone's attention. The Head of the clinic arranged a place to stay and food to eat for me. Besides, my mother paid separately for the services of a nanny who was supposed to be with me around the clock. The rest of the medical staff knew about my existence in the clinic, but they were bound by a non-disclosure agreement. Apparently, the Head did not want this situation to go public and harm the impeccable reputation of his clinic.
All of my early childhood memories are connected with the clinic. But at the same time, each new day there was similar to the previous one — I woke up, the nanny fed me, gave me some toys, and turned on the TV with some cartoons. Sometimes she read to me. When the nanny needed to leave my room, she locked the door from the outside. I began to notice this very early and tried different tricks to open the door...
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