The song “Ready to Start” from The Arcade Fire’s album, The Suburbs, played on the radio the night my mother and I drove to Akron General Hospital in preparation for my nephew’s birth. It was the commercial free radio station, WAPS, 91.3, The Summit, during the three-hour block of programming designated as “Rock n’ Recovery.” The playlist was a mix of positive uplifting music for people experiencing recovery from addictions, mental disorders and trauma. “Ready to Start” was being played just for me, to send me a special message.
The night was balmy and still. We pulled into the McDonald’s drive-thru to buy my sister two sausage, egg and cheese biscuits. A meal in lieu of the turkey sandwich she was offered at the hospital prior to the labor for her first-born child. I ordered an iced latte, but the cashier said over the intercom that the machine for specialty, cold, coffee drinks was shut down for the night. So, I settled for a large cup of regular, hot coffee with three creamers
I had sudden flashbacks of my good friend, the old paranoia. Pychonesque horror that the might of this Western Industrial Military Complex was looking out for me and my soon-to-be born nephew, would harvest us, would direct us to safety as consumers, would preen us for war, would fashion us as taxpayers in peace time.
Seventeen months prior to my sister’s labor and the impending birth of my nephew, I had been admitted to the very same hospital. I had received care in The Center for Psychiatry and Behavioral Sciences unit located on the sixth floor of Akron General Hospital.
By the time I held my newborn nephew, I had a hickey on my neck.