Born jaundiced, I spent my first days of life in an incubator; at six months old, no longer yellow, I contracted bronchitis; rather than returning me to the hospital, my parents opted to convert my crib into a humidification tent,—for which reasons are my earliest memories, of life in a dark containment, the meaning of which was only much later revealed to me.
At the age of five, while sitting in a bathtub, I realized, as a result of looking at a rubber duckie, that I and all things would one day die; this was shortly thereafter confirmed by my parents.