Daddy

The déjà vu kicks in as soon as I pass the automatic double doors. And like last time, I find my mother sitting in the waiting for room, channeling her worrying into biting her nails. For someone with a medical license, hospitals hold way more gut-wrenching memories rather than happy ones for me.

First it was my little brother now it's my wife and kid. Perhaps it's the universe punishing me for being too ambitious.

"Joe!" Mom runs to me then holds me in her arms, her tears staining my shirt. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry, it's not your fault." My voice comes out rough despite the efforts I put in to not let my emotions get the better of me. There's only a thin twig wall holding them at bay.

We move to a two-seater cream couch while I keep trying to strengthen the wall. Irene needs a strong husband right now, not one who can't control himself.

I clear my throat and swallow to moisten my dry throat. "We all knew this was coming." I squeeze her hand. The smile I try to conjure comes out more like a grimace of a man trying not to scream as his emotions are tearing him limb to limb.

My gaze drifts to the entrance door, expecting a nurse and a surgeon to walk in any seconds just like last time. Hopefully, this time around they'll have better news.

Six months ago, I walked inside this same room with my work clothes on and my mind imagining all the worst case scenarios. I approached my mother who happened to reach the hospital quicker than I did. I had no idea how considering her work place was further away to the hospital than mine.

I beat up on everything in that waiting room including the wall. After the first half hour, no pain registered in my knuckles. They were numb. Nobody was telling me anything so I had to wait inside the tiny room with images after images fuming the fury I could barely control.

Then, the pair walked in, both sporting scrubs decorated by droplets of blood that I knew was from my wife's.

"Mr. Pierre," the woman said. Unlike the tired look on the surgeon's face, she offered me a sympathetic smile which broke my heart. Sympathy could only be offered if something bad had already taken place.

"That's me." I stood in front of them, daring and fearing any bad news to come out of their mouths.

"There were some complications during the operation," his crave voice blared in my temples. My heart picked up its pace as I tried to get pass the emotionless tone he was using to relate what had just happened to my wife. I knew it was the professional thing to do but my mind skipped over all the etiquettes for now.

"But..." I encouraged him to continue.

"But she survived."

I exhaled the breath I was holding. A smile cracked on my lips as I held on to my mother's hands, letting the tension slide away from me.

"Can I see her?" I asked tentatively.

"That was not all Mr. Pierre," he cut through my newly regained happiness. "She's in a coma."

I heard my mother's sharp take of breath but I was in denial. I couldn't wrap my mind around the implication that was being presented to me.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"You don't have to worry so much now. She might wake up in the next few days. Sometimes the brain takes longer to recover than the physical body. That might be the reason why she's not responding, her brain is recovering."

"Are you sure?"

"Not one hundred percent but we'll continue to monitor her on a daily basis and see how she's progressing."

"Thanks."

"If she doesn't wake up in the next few days, we might have to start considering abortion since it will increase the chance of the child to be born with a genetic disorder like Down syndrome or Sickle cell disease. If her brain is not working properly that means her body can't bear the necessary nutrients to support a healthy baby."

Seriously, why couldn't he give me all the bad news all at once?

"Baby?" We both gasped.

"I think there must be a mixed up."

I tried to dismiss the idea but I was reminded again of our conversation a few hours. That must have been the good news she wanted to share with me.

"Yes, your wife is two months pregnant."

I wanted to smile, be happy but somehow the news wasn't as great when it was coming from somebody other than Irene herself. How depressing to not have her smiling and celebrating the long awaited child.

I admitted it was my fault it took this long to happen. The truth was that I didn't think I was ready for a child considering the fact that my amazing father had once again deserted us. It didn't hurt me as much as it hurt my mother who was starting to believe that life had sent him back to her for a second chance at love. I wished she didn't love him so much but she did.

Irene had talked about having a baby for some times now but I always managed to put it off for later – after I moved on to residency, after I get my medical license, after I get a secured job, after we get a better and bigger house.

I didn't want a baby so early but I couldn't help the protectiveness that sprawled out of me when the doctor began to talk about aborting my child. Not my child, I didn't care what he was born with as long as he was alive and with us.

"We're not aborting," I told him.

"You don't have to make a decision right now, Mr. Pierre." His eyes bore in mind as if he was willing me to make the other decision. "It's still possible for your wife to wake up in the next few weeks."

"And she will," I told him as strongly as the lump in my throat allowed me. "She's going to wake up, he's going to be healthy, and we'll all walk out of here happy as ever."

Wishful thinking. That's what they were. Six months later and I'm still holding on to that same belief.

"She's going to be fine," mom whispers. Her hands pet my head as she holds me in her arm.

It's as if I went back in time where I was still eight and needed my mother next to me in order to fall asleep. I lay my head on her lap like I used to do when I came back from school after being bullied for being a momma's boy. I was never ashamed of it. Not once. I loved my mother so I didn't see any shame in reserving a special place for her in my heart and in my life.

It was their ignorance that bothered me. Many of the ones who bullied me were children of single mothers like me but they were too blind to realize how much that one woman was changing their lives. They were too drawn to society's lies to see all the love they were missing out.

All of the sudden, the twig wall broke and the tears pour out of me. Today, I'm the one missing out in a great love and it's all my fault. I should have been there. I should have been there with her that morning. I'm the only one who deserved to be in that operating bed. I'm the one who was selfish enough to pray that a child never come between us.

My body shakes with the force the tears were jumping out of me. My cries of pure agony echoed in the room. All the emotions I was keeping surge out of me, taking my breath away. I don't deserved to breathe while my wife and child are in distressed.

I just wanted her love. Why am I being punished for that? I just wanted us to be happy. Is that too much to ask? Is happiness not supposed to be in my life?

"I can't live without her," I shout.

I feel my mother's soft hand rubbing my head but I can't get pass the blood rushing in my ears to hear the words her soft voice is uttering.

Please let them be alive, I chant in my head as my cries double in power. I hold on to the couch, ripping it open just like the pain is doing to my soul.

"Mr. Pierre," I hear a stranger's voice through all the hectic noises in my head.

I bolt off the couch and run to the nurse standing at the door.

"She's alive right," I say before she could say anything. "They both are."

"Yes," she replies.

A happy gasp escapes my lips. I hold my palm over my mouth as I thank God for not unleashing his wrath on me. I don't know what I would have done have they not come out of that operating room.

"We were able to deliver the baby safely. We already sent him to the nursery to be monitored since he was born one full month earlier than anticipated but he's alright. We didn't find any sign of abnormalities in his vitals."

"Great, can I go talk to my wife?"

"Mr. Pierre, I said she was alive not awake." Her voice soften as she delivers the blow. "Your wife is still in a coma in critical condition."

"What?"

Just like that, all of the happiness is once again sucked out of me, leaving me like an empty shelf with only loneliness and darkness as companion.

"I wish I had better news but I don't."

Tears well up my eyes once more. I'm truly not destined to be happy. "Can I see her?"

"Yes, of course." She smiles at me before moving out of the way.

I find Irene exactly how I left her, silent and pale. Her breathing is so shallow that if it wasn't for the constant ticking of the heart monitor and the movement of her chest, I would have thought her dead.

A pained groan moves up the pit of my stomach and fills the quiet room. What do I need to do to get her out of that bed? Whatever it is I'll do it.

Her fingers are colder than usual, it's like the very essence of her life is leaving her body. Looking down at her, it's impossible to think that this woman is the same Irene I married. This woman has no warmth in her, her eyes are not glowing with excitement for life. Her lips are not pulled into an angelic smile that brings life to everything and everyone who witness it.

"Joe."

I turn to see my mother standing in the doorway. Her shoulders tense when she rests her eyes on Irene but they still hold a ping of gaiety and gratification.

"Your son is waiting for you. Don't you want to go hold him or even look at him?"

"No," I answer without giving it a second thought.

"Joseph!" She shrieks, appalled at my decision.

"I just can't mom," I explain. "Not while she's still in here fighting for her life."

"But he's your son. You're all he has right now."

"I know that but I can't be the first one to see him or hold him. I won't take that privilege away from her. She's been hoping for that baby for far too long. Holding him behind her back is like opening someone's Christmas present after they spent days watching it from afar, waiting for the time to come."

I squeeze Irene's hand in mine, rubbing her soft skin to bring some warmth to it.

"She's going to wake up, you'll see."

I hear the door close behind her as she leave me alone without pressing the subject.

"Wake up," I tell her. "Please Irene, I can't do it alone. You can't just drop a kid on me and leave."

Sometimes I think she can hear me. I watch her and talk to her like I used to, hoping hearing my voice would bring her back. Obviously it's not how it works but I can't lose hope yet. I'm not the only one who needs her alive now. There's another small size human being downstairs waiting for her to wake up and walk him through every single steps of his life. His very survival depends on her awakening. God knows I can't raise a child on my own.

My lips touch hers briefly. I thought it would do something – raise her heartbeat, make her wake up, or even ignite a spark that could tell me she's still in there. But nothing happens. Instead, I lay my defeated head on her chest that's barely moving.

What am I even still holding on to? As far as anyone can tell Irene is no longer here, just her body working on the last bits of her essence.

"Please don't leave me."

I lean back on the couch. Why won't she wake her up? I want to just shake her and shout until she comes back to me. She knows better than to leave me alone while we still have so much more to live for.

At the corner of my eyes, something seems to be moving but it ceases before I could be certain. I get off the couch to stand closer to her. It can't be just my imagination playing tricks on me. Her pinkie just move.

I know I shouldn't build up more hope but I do. I know I shouldn't believe in something I know is not going to happen but I do.

Without knowing, both of my hands are holding Irene's closer, hoping to catch another movement.

"Irene," in the silence my whisper sounds like thunder shaking everything.

Hope has already build up inside me, pressing my lungs so tight it hurts. It's wrong to hope so much on something with so little probability of happening. It's wrong to want it so much because if she doesn't wake up, my heart won't keep beating.

"Irene, wake up."

I wait and wait. The official first longest second of my life occurs in the brief moment it takes for her eyelashes to lift up and reveal the pair of emerald green eyes that's been keeping me up for months.

_____

Yay, she's alive. How exciting is this? I think I'm finally going to sleep alright tonight. 

Also, I can't believe how close I had come to killing her. I still kind of do. I'm cruel like that.