MICHIGAN CITY & MARIAH'S SING-SONG
I had just met with a good friend from college. We were out for dinner, laughs and all the normal catching up that fills in-between. My four-month pregnant wife was out in Michigan City with her family and several visiting relatives from Mexico.
She called me and I answered in the parking lot after dinner. Nonchalantly, our conversation began. But it very quickly changed.
"Honey, there's something wrong."
"What's wrong, baby?"
"I'm...I'm discharging."
And there was a worry in her voice that reached into a level of my soul that I hadn't had until I had the title of father. Even cooking in the womb, the amount of possible concern was nearly overwhelming.
"Okay, honey, do you feel okay? Is it blood?" After several details, I recommended she call the ambulance.
"I could just wait for you to come."
"Baby, I'm almost an hour away, call the ambulance. I'll meet you there."
She agreed and hung up and every single iota of calm I had left with the click of the phone.
She called back. I answered. She was weeping.
All I could think of was that there was clear sign that she had miscarried.
"Baby! What's wrong? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?" I braced myself for the news.
"I called 911...!"
"Okay, and...!"
"The dispatcher was so kind...so nice...!"
"...uh-huh...!"
"I asked him his name...!"
"..."
"...And it was Chad!" And she lost it all over again.
After confirming she was headed to the hospital, I hopped in the car.
I needed gas. And I needed to pee. The gas station at the corner could facilitate both of those needs - one to fill up and the other to let go.
In the gas station bathroom, complete with giant wooden key-chain and God-knows-what-covered-floor, I got on my knees and prayed like I had never prayed before. This was begging God. I didn't know what was going on. In my heart and soul, I felt the coin of life-and-death flipping. There in the bathroom I was spiritually wailing for that coin to land with my family's health side up.
I gassed up and then peeled away from the gas station. I do not condone reckless driving. I swear to you I made a concerted effort to not gun it all the way to Michigan City. I tried very hard not to speed, not to weave between trucks and construction zones to make it to a hospital in a town I didn't know in order to make sure my family was safe. I really tried not to drive like a bat out of hell.
And I really, really failed.
I took to the highway. Michigan City was an hour away and I needed to get the brakes replaced. The mechanisms in place with giving the car the ability to slow down were...wobbly at best. Wobbly is a great description. I think it means "questionable performance, poorly in place for the high-speed driving of a nervous man."
Yep, sounds about right.
In that drive, I was isolated from everything. How Lizeth was doing? How the baby was doing? Were they okay? Were they in surgery? Had the child's life been cut short before truly beginning? And I lost it.
In-between driving 80 MPH with shaky brakes and shuddering wheel, I broke down in a tear-sobbing weep that was full of pure and absolute fear. Again, my eyes were leaking and I seriously considered what kind of dad would I be if I could not keep it together?
I called my cousin Syria, the one who had introduced Lizeth and I, the one who went salsa dancing with me at the Planetarium all those years ago. (Grab the other Black Parakeets book and you'll be all caught up on Syria and I... she rocks.)
I explained to her the situation, she told me to drive carefully and I lost it again. I couldn't call my mom or sister or brother because they would have, and rightfully so, told me to pull over and they would come drive me. But such logic was lost to me.
And in my weeping, I told my cousin I could not be a father, that I just didn't have it in me to worry like this. And she told me with a wisdom that was ethereal and divine that it was the very love that was manifesting as worry and fear that would make me a great father.
I took a deep breath, calming myself. I wiped the endless torrent of tears streaming down my face and I spoke.
"God," I said, "We are yours to do with as you will. But if you could spare them, I would be very grateful." Somewhere in this prayer I swerved in-between trucks and cars all while driving 80+ MPH with only the trembling of worn brakes keeping me company.
"And if it must be that the reaper's blade be slaked tonight, take me." And despite the drama of the words and the sentiment, there was something raw that struck me back. Syria was right. I was a parent and in that moment, I knew it like I knew it.
I called my wife's cell expecting my sister-in-law to give me an update. My wife's cousin Mariah answered. Mariah was a beautiful girl, both inside and out. And of all her great qualities was her voice that sounded like she sang every conversation.
"Hiiii Chaaad," she began in melodic speak.
And the funny thing was, in the midst of my inner turmoil, fear and outright spousal/parental terror, I was calmed. Because you cannot, CANNOT, be upset when Mariah starts talking to you. It's like her mutant power or something. Maybe she's a siren - singing people to calm as their ships crashed into the rocks.
Her skills would be put to the test tonight and my Toyota Solara might be the thing crashing.
"Hi Mariah, what's going on?"
"How're you, Chaaaad?"
Huh, what? She was checking on me?
"Good," I answered. I heard the lie come out of me and wondered what Chad I was referring to. I was not good. Far from it.
The brakes wobbled. I wove between two trucks.
"How's Lizeth? How's the baby?"
"Oooh weee don't know yet. They're still with the doooctor," she sang. It was like meeting an alien from a planet of harmony. I was the dumb impatient astronaut.
"Ok, I'm on my way. I should be there soon!"
"Ooookaaaay, call us if yooou get lossst!" I could hear her kind smile through the phone. "Call her if I get lost?" That girl was all sugar and spice. Nice to the bone. She was offering me directions when she didn't know the town. Mariah was closer to Mexico City than Michigan City.
By some miracle, I made it to the hospital without getting lost nor crashing nor exploding nor dead by fatal wobbling.
I burst into the hospital, moving hurried past two security guards. I anticipated some level of questioning as I looked bug-nuts but they said nothing or they couldn't keep up. I read signs and made turns until I found the emergency room. Somehow, the angels that kept me in one piece were working overtime.
There was some line of people that I politely but insanely cut in front of to ask where my pregnant wife was.
I saw my in-laws sitting behind me.
I heard Mariah's sing-song voice. She was so calm. I was so crazy.
The labyrinthine hallway was all centered around a nurses' station. This construction of winding path and countless arrows seemed to not only confuse the Minotaur but also me. I had no breadcrumbs to leave behind. Only security guards, Mariah's sing-song and my growing dread.
I burst into the room.
Lizeth looked at me with a smile.
"Honey, the baby was holding his face!"
"Baby, what the hell does that mean? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?"
"Oh...oh yes!" she answered, "It was only an infection."
"You're okay?"
She nodded yes.
"The baby's okay?"
She nodded yes again.
I shook my head in agreement and gripped the railing of her bed. I squeezed tight and wept. Praying in a gas station bathroom apparently helped.
My sister-in-law was in the room. She was now wiping her eyes and stating that the emotions in the room were so beautiful. Lizeth smiled too, holding my hand and the ultrasound of our healthy baby.