In the Emergency Room

            Seven months.  Well seven months and one week to be more exact.  It was unnatural.  Everyone had said nine months.  I had always read nine months.  I believed nine months.  I wasn’t prepared for seven months and one week.  This was supposed to be the happiest moment in my life wasn’t it?  Wasn’t I supposed to be happy about bringing life into the world?  This was supposed to be the end goal, it was supposed to make my life meaningful.  This was supposed to give me something that I would love more than anything else, but it was about to take that and my wife away from me.

            The only thing that filled my ears was the incessant ticking of the analog clock on the wall.  It marked 3:00 in the morning.  I was supposed to be tired.  But I couldn’t sleep.  I couldn’t even think of sleeping.  The only thing I could do was stare at the bland gray walls surrounding me.  My mind wandered and as I thought, pondered, and speculated, my mind slowly turned against me and became my enemy.   It came up terrible scenarios and outcomes that paralyzed me with fear for my baby and my wife.  What if my wife died and the baby didn’t?  What about the other way around?  What if the baby had terrible defects from how premature it was? These thoughts swirled around me.  The gray, asylum-like, walls were beginning to close in on me.  These thoughts were driving me insane. 

            I allow my eyes to finally drift back to the annoying clock and now it marked 4:00 in the morning.  It had been three hours since anyone had told me anything.  I was left out here alone without knowing anything.  Our friends left to go home and sleep.  The doctors told us that they would know in the morning what was going to happen.  All our friends had all left, but not me, no I couldn’t leave.  My wife’s sister was on her way, but it was a long drive.  My parents were coming, hers were coming too, but it was a long drive for them as well.  I guess we hadn’t thought about this when we moved so far from them.  God, what will they think when they get here?  I’m the one that did this to her.  I’m responsible.  They’ll hate me if she dies.  I’ll hate myself if she dies.  Everyone was planning on this baby.  It was going be the first grandkid, first nephew, the first one in this generation of the family.  So many things had been prepared and bought in anticipation for this moment.  The new nursery, heaps of new toys, clothes, pacifiers, diapers, and wipes, all for nothing, going to waste.  What will they think?  This is all my fault.  I’m responsible.

            Tick, tick, tick, now the clock marked 5:00 in the morning.  My whole body hurt.  Maybe it was from the exhaustion, or the hunger, or stress, but probably a combination of all three.  The expansive insipid wall suddenly changed.  The door in the corner opened and revealed an exhausted blonde woman, wearing a spotless white coat, and wielding a clipboard. 

            “Mr. Crawford?” she said arduously

            I tried to stand up as fast as I would but my legs did not work properly after being idle for so long.  I slowly stood up but could not bring myself to respond.  I was terrified to hear what she had to say.  I almost did not want to know.  Almost.

            “Yes?” I responded weakly.

            “You can see your wife and daughter now.”