Birth Day- March 8-11,2001, Albuquerque, New Mexico University Hospital, Continental Loop and surrounding area

I was still preparing for your birth. I stood in the middle of my apartment. It was across between a studio and a hotel room. It looked like a motel room. Which, it once had been. The management gentrificated all the rooms. They weren’t known as rooms anymore. They were now known as apartments. The continental divides of the southwest. Like the continent and continental breakfasts. The address was Continental Loop. A europeanification, that’s what they were trying to do.

You saw it after you were born. I doubt if you will remember. It used to be owned by the military base on the other side of the fence. The base surrounded the apartment complex. Yeah, the first couple of months of your life were spent hearing military aircraft take off at different intervals. On occasion they would have maneuvers and aerial shows. We could hear and see the planes flying overhead. In between, the complex and the base, there was this war memorial. It was dedicated to the fallen soldiers stationed in Albuquerque. There were all sorts of names from different wars on this big huge curved sculpture shaped like a wing.

The military base in some respects still owned the apartment complex. The apartment complex had a typical Southwest, western, pacific coast look to it. Two floors, metal railings with seven to eight or more apartments on each floor. Semi-circle designed with a pool centered in the middle of manicured grounds. They range on the West Coast from ones you can rent daily, weekly or monthly - to complexes taken over by corporations. They use them to house traveling military and their families. They are sometimes used to accommodate a traveling executive and his and nowadays her family. Commercial rates become much cheaper, in the long run, that way. It was also a way in one respect to safeguard and to keep track of employees. The concept or actuality has been glamorized and demoralized throughout the years. It has become part of the southwest west/pacific landscape.

The apartment complex we were in probably had its heyday in the mid-fifties, or sixties. It was like the Dean Martin Era of the late sixties to early seventies. The retro Dean Martins, Radio Shack nerds, secret agent (remember the glasses I bought in Astoria, Oregon-reminiscent of my mothers at that time period, nah you probably don’t) The era ranged from guys in suits with dark glasses, the swingers or swinging 60’s era to the ‘Beat’ era. It elevated the strip motel chains to a level deemed respectable and acceptable by religious and social society. It moved itself for a time far from seedy. Although, there are always a few that depreciate and rebuild or sell outright. I researched these verbal facts through talks with several office managers and their husbands or significant others. Strange people, motel managers are. Sometimes, they would just tell me something that I mentally noted.

Conversations resembled, ”that side table or painting has it always been here?” to “that old rustic tub in the entry way, that taxidermied deer head in the restaurant, can you tell me something about it, the area or where to eat”. A lengthier conversation starts or is continued from an ongoing conversation started by a stranger ahead in line. They usually turn around and include anyone in the office, in the ‘area’ in their conversation, whether as an affirmation for them or for another. They, apartment managers and motel clerks with their rental agreements and leases, claim almost berating at times that, “their establishment is a respectable one.” They should say that to more rock stars then giving them leeway instead subjecting the little people- the common man…uhm, ‘the black woman’ to their hostilities. I guess there will always be con artists. Enough of that, where we were and where I was before you were born, etc. etc. had long since renaissance into acceptability. Into the grace of still being military personnel housing.

I was finishing your cradle. It is now housed at the Oregon Coast Historical Society. I knew it was an antique. Yet, I didn’t like the look of the stain, within the cradle. It had darkened throughout the years. I was praying that it had not been used in a witch’s coven, or some dark black sadistic occult ritual. So, I sanded and holy watered it. I still wanted a priest to bless it, just in case I missed or forgot something. Remember the prayers and the blessings- blessings for a new house, car, garden, and cat.etc? The printout I received from the priest in Lincoln City, Oregon. I had had several before our trip there. Anyway, I wanted the cradle blessed by a priest before you slumbered in it. I was halfway through the sanding. When, I abruptly bent over. I was experiencing more than just a little twinge of pain.

“Just wait, boopoo I’m not done with your cradle yet”. The twinge felt similar to the one I had when I was working on your bassinet. More intense.

Your bassinet, I had finished several months before. I felt rushed and hurried, but I wanted to finish the cradle before you came into this world. Flushed, I bent to sand the other side of it. The twinges - pain and kicks, flutters worsened. A more pronounced pain. There was no warm feel of water rolling down my legs though nothing what like the other moms and books said there would be. I slowly stood up and went to the bathroom.

I was still thinking about the cradle. I remembered watching a PBS program early in my pregnancy about historical homes in Pennsylvania. It may have been a birthing show where they showed notable sights in that town. Anyhow, the cradle or one similar to it was pictured. It was either in the main room of the historic house or off of the main room.

“Cool, I patted and rubbed my abdomen. Peiter, Peiter, Pei…ter are you listening”. I looked at my abdomen and softly whispered, “Boo boo boopoo”, little butterflies answered my call. I traced patterns with my index finger on my stomach and continued whispering, “I wish you could see this. Maybe, you can. There’s your cradle. Look, it’s historic.” At that time, I had named you after your father, rather a derivative of his name Peter. All through my pregnancy, the midwives, myself and anyone who knew I was pregnant knew you as Peiter. I kind of insisted. I figured that way you would have an identity and would not be burdened with any identity crises. Not like your fathers anyway. Plus, I despised people calling you or any fetus an ‘it’. I have to admit though with other people, in reference to their children or new to be born embryos, I call them ‘it’ without thinking. The nurse at the clinic in Santa Monica, California, who after hearing the circumstances of my being pregnant, called you ‘little Patrick Peter’. Good circumstances, just kind of embarrassing.

“How is little Patrick Peter”, she would say. Maybe, she knew more than I did. That is always a possibility. I am now thinking I should have named you that. You have characteristics of both your birth dads really just one but the way they acted, friends to the end, probably. The height and blond highlights of Peter, your father and the sometimes personality trait of his friend Patrick. Patrick was short and Irish, wily outgoing personable with dark brown to blond curly-straight hair. I did wonder what type of child we would have created if we did not get into a fight. “You don’t want to do that you will be sorry” I thought he meant about the fight. We were both Irish. I am a little more Scottish though. I would feel like the girl who sings the song 32 flavors and then some, not Ani Difranco, but the black woman who did a cover of it, when your dad and Patrick were together.

Back to the cradle, it’s apropos that it’s in an historic house in Oregon, sanded yet fully restored, or it will be. By the time you are old enough to read this, it will be. The curator dropped it. She was trying to put it in her car and it slipped and the teeter-totter part at the bottom- the curved rocking thing fell off. Hexes and curses off, I guess. I sat on the toilet looking to see if anything came out, blood? Water? I pee -peed but I figured that was normal. I was looking for something. Mystical water flowing down the face and side of a mountain. A mystical waterfall shielding a place where unicorns and angels dwell. The holiest of waters, maybe, something a different color from regular urine clear, ethereal and holy. The twinges were still coming. I wanted to really finish the cradle, but the hurriedness turned to a feeling of fear. A subdued fear tempered with a forced expulsion.

“God if this is a mistake or false contractions I don’t want to look like a fool. Your not due until Sunday, that’s your due date, then…again…. what if something’s wrong?” I looked from stomach to legs, holding my hand to the small of my back. There was a lot of pressure not just from you inside me but…maybe nerves. There was another big stabbing twinge. Okay, I think I can walk. Yeah, just you and me. Only me. I can do this. Plus…I washed up and went to the closet and got the packed bag (baby bag) and appropriate clothes to wear. Scared is not just one word to use about how I was feeling. There are more but displaying emotion or telling my true feelings has never been a problem plus I know most of the angles and just how much to say and when and when directed or misdirected, voila’, basically I am my own worst enemy, think like the perf. Especially after, the last couple of years of strife, the continued name calling, slurring and jealous outbursts of others. I wished my feet hadn’t swelled so. I wondered why up until the day before I hadn’t noticed that amount of swelling. I was always doing body and baby checks, this amount I would have noticed. Like God, I hope that comes off. Or Please God don’t make me look like those old pictures or my grandmother or my Mother after her diabetes weight gain.

I called a cab from in front of the building. I waited in front of the main office for the taxicab to arrive. I was worried but excited, hoping I seemed normal on the outside. No undue shows of tension or anxiety. Aurally, I did not feel like myself, superimposed upon. The image reflected in my mind and eyes definitely look from an extreme viewpoint. One might say a stereotype greatly altered. The taxicab came . I arrived at the University’s hospital still anxious. I took the elevator to the midwifery floor,

My mid-wife Dymphna was at a recert in Mexico City so I did not expect to see her, but…. She wasn’t there. I knew the nurse on the floor, nine months of appointments and a couple of the midwives, so I figured—stop there first before going to the emergency room. The nurse took my overnight bag (baby bag). I then waited in the waiting room to be seen by one of the midwives on duty, that afternoon. They were acting hush-hush and that didn’t set right with me. Their actions only increased my anxiety. I happened to look up from the magazine that I was reading. I heard loud whispers. I looked in the direction of the nurse’s station. They were going through my things. The clothes, toiletries packed in the bag (baby bag). The nurse got up and slightly shut the door. That is to say she turned the door. After a few minutes, it was open, again. The midwife came out then called my name. I didn’t like the looks of her. Maybe, the search through my bag colored my opinion. I felt like a ‘new foreigner or a little girl pushed around and aside by big ugly older sisters’. The midwife examined me. I answered her questions, etc. Diagnosis: it seems that I in just one day developed preclampsia. That is pregnancy hypertension or pregnancy hypertension and preclampsia. They were concern and making a point about the blackness- the ethnicity. The other young woman that had to stay in the hospital for the same thing looked Jewish/ we both attended the Baptist student Union, older students and married part-time student. She gave birth previously in December of 2003. She suffered from some disease plus being pregnant- some rich disease. By the time you read this you will understand what I mean by ‘rich disease’. We get sick on occasion the common cold but we too poor to get a disease or really, really sick, so we stay healthy and die when the lord or God tells us to -(Family Heritage). Now, don’t go hurting yourself to prove a point. Pregnancy hypertension was the cause of/for the swelling. A normal, perfect, silver tinged with gold, red-gold perfect pregnancy, medically beautiful, then the bomb drops- Pregnancy Hypertension. No beauty queen first sights for you, just me in a good and bad way). That statement explains why I didn’t say anything to you at first. When they placed you in my arms, I wanted to see what your eyes, your facial expression would say. I wanted to know what you thought of me. An old adage ‘children say the darndest things’. Thank God we loved each other on sight. Our awed bewilderments were reflected. Child reaching hoping for a caring mother mom dazed and confused. I jumped ahead of myself in the story, where were we…. Your birth took in hospital 2 days and 2 and half hours- 26 and a half hours not including the preclampsia diagnosis exam so 3 days and 2 ½ hours. Okay, where were we…

They told me I would have to come back the next day and have my blood pressure checked, again, instead of keeping me overnight for observation - as my mother said ‘making light of a situation’. It makes me wonder about you, Hunter. What, I went through the last minute sudden weight gain. Maybe it’s an indicator that maybe in puberty you will get a growth, body mass spurt. That normally should come naturally (before the wantabe faith hill types take control)-quadroon. Hopefully, no sudden surprises nor nothing serious or life threatening; since your medical checks, exams are perfect, model perfect, Adonis type- A line, rare blood type. Your finicky eating is my main concern right now, yet they say great, above perfect iron count. (If my life were a vampire movie, I would be frightened – scared afraid, be very afraid).

I gathered up my baby bag feeling stupid and silly. I went back to my apartment I didn’t work on the cradle. The midwife had old me to rest. I felt deflated and anxious. I laid in the bed and thought. I knew too much and silently spent years hoping for truth where was none. Knowing my, beliefs apart from more than just make-up. The empty space was and had long since been filled by something more precious than the stench of vindictiveness. It didn’t make sense to me. And the woman cried, “Social revolution, ah, the revolutionary appears. La Bandita? Si. I slept and woke the next day. I didn’t get dressed up or reasonable better dressed than my usual bum/artist/Georgia O’Keefe attire - my drudged- about clothes. I put a bandana on my hair and left my apartment for the hospital. I didn’t care what impression I gave. I guess I never have. I appropriate things but too much weight and concentration on diversities. Freedom dude, it seemed as if fighting “whatever” was useless. I just wanted you to be born safe and healthy - a ‘concentration’, construct of your father and myself. -A.L.W. (Andrew (Frank) Lloyd Weber (Wrightian)). I figured just a check and they will send me home, like they did the previous day. I didn’t expect to stay in the hospital. Everything would be okay, I would come home again feeling like an idiot and you would be born on Sunday as scheduled.

With that in mind, I didn’t take my overnight bag (baby bag, nor did I call for a taxicab. Since it was just a check-up, I would take the bus. I cleaned up, that is I showered and changed and put on my kick about clothes, a pink bandana with black and white designs on my head and left for the hospital. The one I where now is light blue with black designs. I still avoid certain customs they are too stupid. The only thing Hunter to remember, special occasions get dressed up. There are different attires. and clothes serve that purpose. Wear the clothes don’t let them wear you. I t seems certain people like to get trapped in certain beliefs-ideologies. Even after being judge by outer appearance and abused in many different ways and by ‘family’ members. I learned to live freely as possible without judgementers. It’s too tiring or ‘beat’. If I said they altered the pictures. Then that starts a domino effect. Both sides arguing, etc. I am so happy you are my son even though none of any ‘good’ pictures are left for you and the sketches are subjective as well, anyway, I have a couple Great ones hidden, not what your father, etc. want to see. New York or Venice (Venetia)_ never really knew me and as beliefs, just know I think they are nuts. Hopefully after I type in what else happened the pictures will clear somewhat (featurely). Under the name I was born with and go by daily, everyday a lifetime of my name. True and real. In the southwest state, people wore blue jeans to work everyday in politically and municipal jobs. New York, the corporate acumen is still stressed. Which causes their stress; they should wear blue jeans everyday to the stock exchange or C.E.O board meetings. Anyway, stuff you will excel at when the time comes, because believe me I have a name for certain types and you will not be them.

I walked to the corner and caught the bus. At, the hospital I went to maternity. I checked in at the nurse’s station. I sat in the little waiting room area behind the desk. by the copy machines – the charting area. I watched the residents or interns as they are called. Doctors to some. It was change of shift or lunch break. My appointment was for 12:00, noontime. I had reached in time, way in time. . I sat there and watched them. Maybe, it wasn’t until right around noontime that I was seen, not that I don’t know. Certain things stand out. They did the puliminaries, there were two women waiting to be moved to delivery or whatever. The resident was in the room with one woman, they were acting busy, distant. A we are the crème- de la crème attitude (Flamenco- everything is a-t-t-I-tude). The other women were in the examining room that I was to go in. They were having trouble, or so it seemed with the woman at the other end. There was someone in the middle room but I don’t remember that one too much. . The resident came out of the room and spoke with, or maybe he was the attending doctor, nah, he was the resident. He spoke with the nurse and the other two doctors. There was a problem. The woman wanted to leave. She was according to him ready to deliver. The reason I mention this will become clear. The doctor went back into the room. The door to the room across the room I was to go in opened. A girl. Young woman around twenty something in appearance step out. Her mother was in the room and stood directly behind her. She stood at the doorway looking, surveying the scene. Obviously she was wondering what was holding the doctor up. She was blond looked liked one of those Brittany Spears, eminem area types, the ones they always call Lupe and they always teach hip hop dance classes/ Queen of the streets or the Bad girl types ones in charge but a step up from, they have attitudes and know '‘he cool scene- the p-diddy, ll cool j types- that scene. I am wondering who will be the ‘representative’ for the area of life- the hip hop rap not punk trying to think what type white band she would listen to, they usually listen to hip hop rap and country- line dancing stuff – teenage angst types but not really. –Top Forty stuff I don’t like. Since it was new Mexico- texichita or texicana music. Big boned, she reminded of a girl in belly dancing class. Madonna of the street. Ghetto. Type. Not the black Madonna. The Ghettos and streets have more than one color. She was observing me, as well. Not a fashion type but like one of those ‘Deb or those hip-hop street Barbie dolls- star and trey, you know that doll commercial. There was a sense of sizing up from her. I felt a put down in her mind, ‘one of those I am the better or the best – the worth more than you philosodphies -(Madonna syndrome types.) The ‘my man types’, I am sure they will still be around when your old enough to read this. Their mothers are always with them, which are good and their families extended, made–up or real. The nurse went over to them; I think she asked how much longer. I heard something about that they were waiting for a room to be prepared. So the had already been seen but other things and the doctor had too see them. They went back into the room. What really distracted me was about the time the blond long hair tied in a ponytail woman step from her room another intern resident had entered the nurses station. He looked familiar and his attitude was familiar but I couldn’t place him, yet he looked like the Officer Tafoya, who had illegally/falsely arrested, frame and trump up charges on me in Taos. He sat in the main chair at the nurse’s station. Turning around in it. Cocky was his attitude and demeanor. He’s not a doctor, I thought to myself. He cannot be an intern. What is Tafoya doing here? Is he going to try and steal my baby? He’s corrupt enough for anything. He acted the same as that night in the Taos hospital. Subtly threatening the nurses and staff, not the nice how is your kid doing but you know I can make your family member whomever disappear or be beaten up or you or a family member still owe my family for the money we loaned you when little Harry needed a tonsillectomy or needed some kind of surgery, hellos. Then, he was crying like a baby when his rest of the evening entertainment, he had planned for me- like I said he falsely accused0 he was known for accosting some woman in a prison cell – I am a police officer your jailer, etc. Anyhow, an agency came out of nowhere- I wonder if that was staged- yet I was going to be transferred to the –happy vale in Las Vegas, NM. I should have been released. He was still sputtering. That’s not how we usually handle it. Is this something new, etc? His kingdom was falling. There was a change of shifts and another officer came to replace him. He at first refused to leave. And then he bravadoes his way out the door. I am still wearing my pants and still an officer type of attitude. I had slept the night in a nice private room, in the Taos hospital, the quietest hospital in the world. They had no emergencies that night. A Taj Mahal with maybe ten patients and all the well 69 to 77% up to date latest equipment. And was transferred to the Las Vegas- ‘Happy Vale’ the next morning by the sheriffs department. Tafoya was with the local. City of Taos police department. The resident open the door of the other room at the end of the small, narrow hallway (close quarters). He came out of the room leaving the door open, slightly turned. The intern, at the desk said something to him in greeting. The resident while making notes in the woman’s chart said to the Tafoya resembling guy, What are you doing here? are you working this shift?. The tafoya looking dude said that he had come in early and he was scheduled to work that shift. The resident was friendly, a seemingly drinking buddy fun comradery, a polite friendship but grey matter somewhat aloof

He asked about the patient in the end room. The resident briefed the other one- the woman was due to deliver like maybe in a couple hours. She wanted to go home to get her other child from day care. She had a child before – 2^nd pregnancy. Yet the doctor wanted her to stay and be transported to delivery. She had no one to pick the child up. He said, that he was releasing her but she had to come immediately to emergency especially if something happened- sometimes-muffled conversation. That’s pretty much what I heard. She was going to wait until, someone got out of work and then return. The door opened wider and out stepped a short to medium height woman with middle eastern- Latin (Hispanic) coloring, dark hair, etc. She looked anxious, worried nervous. She looked at me. I had an uneasy feeling. The doctors spoke with the woman by the doorway of the nurse’s station. It looked she was making a run for it. The Tafoya like dude, declared just right around time that he was clocking in for work. At the same time, a black woman came over by the copier machine. Supposedly making copies of a file or something, she made a point of looking at me, granted I was sitting by the copier. She was a midwife. I had seen her maybe once on coming out of an exam room on the midwifery floor. I didn’t like her. I don’t know why but Yeah, I thought she would be one of the ones that would try to steal you. She looked like Oprah Winfrey, that black (Afro-American) television talk show host. She made a copy of the papers in her hand; I think it was like one copy of a single paper. But she was making a big deal of it. Granted, Dymphna had told the other midwives to look out for me, since she had the recertification and could not be present or deliver my baby –you Hunter. In the meantime of the copy machine distraction the doctor/resident had taken the chart of the door or from the stack and had gone into the room beside me- the exam room that I would next enter. I cannot remember the nurse on call that night but there was one there. I think a short skinny blond not sure any brunette nurse, just wait. The black nurse may have been the nurse for the pony tailed tall blond hair young woman, nah she left. Anyway the doctor came out. I heard the girl and her mother say thank you doctor. There was a nurse with him but I cannot recall description. The nurse though after the woman opened the door wider said she was going to get a wheelchair or they had to wait for the wheelchair to come and then the girl would be transported to delivery. I remember seeing the young woman wheeled out her mother beside her. The girl was acting like she was royalty or a princess of the street still- attitude (like the girl from dance class). I waited for the room to be cleaned. I think, memory fading, the nurse came up to me and said, and “I would be going to the just vacated room it had to be cleaned first”. There was a woman resident that night, I remember now. Still cannot remember the nurse, but I went into the exam room.

The nurse came in I think a Spanish woman short. No, I think it was just the resident. I had been in that room earlier in my pregnancy, Braxton Hicks contractions at that time they wanted to induce labor had said it was up to me, I could wait until the due date. It had been just a couple of weeks earlier. It was the nurse first, she checked my blood pressure, it was still high, and then she called in the intern, usual introductions. She did vitals etc. and then they hooked me up to a fetal monitor. The blood pressure cuff was still on. They came in and checked periodically. Ellen, the nurse midwife, my first midwife before Dymphna came in, said that Dymphna asked her to check in on me and that she had mentioned that she would but could not stay because she wasn’t scheduled. I just thought of something- the initial was not scheduled for due date, weekend anyhow. It was her end of shift, and she was not schedule to work that weekend. She was with another midwife. The resident then came in and told me that I could not leave the hospital; they were going to transfer me to delivery. She left. I turned to Ellen and said can’t I just go home and pick up a few things. She sad dogged eyed me, kind of bent her head pitifully, pursed her lips (mouth expression) and said no. This was, you hunter are, my first child. I had never had any miscarriages, abortions, and pregnancies before. The medical reports proved that as well, but the superegos wounded kneeers were still around. Yeah there’s more that was a reference memory lead in note. Ellen and her friend (the other nurse) stayed with me a little while longer. More checks were done, pressure, fetal monitor and heart rate. I asked her if I could get a copy of the fetal monitor heart read out. She asked why and I told her it was for your birth song. Which, I still have to get around to writing. I told her that I wanted to keep your (Hunter) umbilical cord- cord saving, so you would have it if any medical problems came up. I asked her to make sure to write it in the chart or on the chart, because, there would be no one there that was with me through the pregnancy. No midwives, none. There were people staff, techs coming in and out running tests; EKG, etc. I asked for a copy of that as well a personal copy. Someone had quipped, “Oh it will be in your chart”. - One of the nurses. I think it was the delivery nurse that had said that. At that time, I, still and everyone else was thought I would / could deliver naturally. Yours is a natural birth, I meant no c-section (no surgery needed) was I ever wrong. Ellen said her good-byes and wished me luck. I lay in the exam room listening to the sounds outside the door and waited. The biggest thing in my mind was the baby bag and your take home clothes. How would, I get that. No one to call. Except, maybe it would not be too of an imposition (I hoped) plus I really didn’t them to well but she had brightened and hopefully her helping me had eased somewhat. The pain, or (another grey matter) of her husband s passing. Plus, I had met her daughter and her son- in law and they had invited me over to dinner. Their famous spaghetti and homemade pasta sauce dinner. Maybe…..I t was about almost eight o’clock before I was wheeled to the delivery floor. I entered a private room. There was a television, which only played two Spanish soap operas, and an infomercial put out by the obstetrics and gynecology department of the hospital. A doctor and an intern came in and introduced themselves. The intern or resident looked like the lead singer of the group everything but the girl; a dark slick backed shorthaired Irish type. The doctor acted hostile, conceited and bothered. He introduced the staff nurse. While, they made their introductions, I thought further about whom to call. I also heard voices in the next room and when the door was open I noticed a big fat black gut on a cell phone and a gothic looking heavily pregnant woman standing outside the door of the next room. The nurse came in and put a blood pressure cuff on my arm. I was hooked up to the fetal monitor, the, someone came in with an I.V saline and glucose I think. She could not put the needle in my arm. They were acting like they were playing a game. It reminded me of being in happy vale. Yup, the needle slip, she had to reinsert two more times. I now believe that it was lithium in the bags. My arm swelled up like three people. At about this time they asked I asked to use the telephone. So someone could bring me my clothes etc. they gave me something for the pain. I asked the doctor if it was going to be a C-section. I was having trouble and normally this was taking too long plus the hypertension, the supposed nurse not properly inserting the I.V had me worried. He said yeah, no problem you can deliver naturally, no surgery will be needed. He was acting cockily. He then did a vaginal exam to see if my water had broken. I was in a lot of pain and tender and I didn’t know this doctor and I didn’t want some strange man doctor or otherwise fisting me the way he was. He pushed his fisted hand up into my vagina and turned one way pushing something back, then he turned, his fist in the other direction again pushing something back, then he slightly retracted not all the way and exam like in front of the cervix one side and then the next. He had a weird look in his eyes and I did not like what he was doing at all. My exams at the midwifery clinic weren’t even like that. They did the vaginal exams just like my other gynecologist. I started to wonder more about what the hell was going on. As the doctor retracted his hand, someone in the delivery room started screaming bloody hell. A scream resembling the ones in horror movies. The nurse checked the monitor while the doctor told me that I wasn’t dilated enough yet. He kept giving me weird looks. This was only the first check on the delivery floor. There would be several more and still only so many centimeters. I asked to use the telephone. I called the woman who had recently lost her husband. I cannot remember her name, for the life of me or the name of the woman who ran the food pantry and is an ordained minister. I had met them when I ran out of food during my pregnancy with you. I did not have any food, no friends or family to invite me over for dinner no family pantries to raid like your aunt would do every time she came home from college no one to lend me money until the end of the month when I got my check. I still didn’t qualify for food stamps. So, I went to the food pantry. Through campus ministries I knew a couple of the students who volunteered there. I t was part of our community outreach. Yeah, Oh how embarrassing and pitiful. I was not going to be pitied though. This just explained or showed me a lot. I know every word before they say it and I know they are making fall guys, and then they run and steal the food. There is an aura about them. I mean their haughtiness is a well-placed facade. Then the others that make like a scurrying thing. Well, years before your grandmother set me up and basically its like who of your children if you had to sacrifice for the good of land country basically for themselves, who would you sacrifice She chose me and have always been choosing me until I said stop and she long since denounced me as her daughter. Your aunt and uncle went on to easy street as they say. I ignore the powers that be. Me, I would have said none and then all of us basically you and me we die or live as a family. A family that can trust in each other especially when the chips, etc, are down or forgotten. A basic premise of life. Well, the girl I knew that had manager the place was not there. I had forgotten that she had graduated and was working as a pre-school teacher. That reminded me of someone else. Why didn’t you still hang out with so and so? My former boss had a name for her. Which I told her when we were sitting by the pool of a hotel, actually they snuck in, I just joined them later not naïve if you don’t tell me something even after (like my former boss) I find out from someone else I am not going to ask you and I didn’t like my old boss me heavy in a lot of ways, bitter, plus if she didn’t like you for whatever reason. You wouldn’t graduate missing file with redone thesis or doctoral whatever or dissertation not handed in on time follow- up professor comments and decision missing, voila incomplete file. So you miss graduation, eventually graduate but after normal time. She was right though about Lydia (calling herself Lisa here, Helene in England). I think they were from the same part of Greece and Italy and I even suspected then that she was related to the girl she was talking about. Really. They claimed the old woman was jealousy I was sick of the bitch. Lydia saying bad money management. It wasn’t. It was theft and the money the girl ‘thinks she has is stolen and is mine’, A little pixie when I came back to New Mexico. She asked me if I wanted my money back. I saw what she and her supposed Indian Prince friend did to two supposed friends of hers. Whenever I say anything about money they come around, you have seen it and hopefully by now they have passed away for one reason or another. The last thing she said to me was that I was fun anymore, since I became pregnant and was a mother now. She would threaten people in a couple of different ways. I mean look at your grandfather, he siced those creepouts on me and has the woman claiming that she is the real me plus he uses children and then takes their insurance policies. Anyway back to the food pantry, they say that I was pregnant and asked me how I was going to carry the box. I said that I was just picking up a couple of bags and would return for the rest, if that were all right. Since, it was just an allotment for a month. The minister struck up a conversation with me. What was playing in the back of my mind though was you all aren’t going to take my baby. I had had enough of the oh I, or we would never do that. I figured if you ever find yourself in a hole you would know what to do and where to go especially in college when they start hazing or saying stupid mentally limited things like I cannot be your friend anymore because I am still in high school in my mind or I am now a member of sigma chi or whatever. I am a gold key carrying ruby diamond holding descendant of Jack Kerouac, Diane Di Prima, or Denise di Palma or Diane di Palma (but jack, Lenore and john) Lenore Kandel and John Weiners myself. Believe they carry that mentality into the work force. They are doctors and lawyers. That was also how some women take root and takes hold of insecurities bravadoes or buried deep within the earth.

Anyway, they invited me to tea. Afternoon tea. I swear to God, It was Lovejoy, Agatha Christie mysteries PBS. Anyway just a couple of sweet people offering me tea. So we sat there, two of her employees an older gentleman and a young woman –older than me I was the youngest and the two older women and myself. In the backroom, employees lounge. A little bigger than a closet sized area with a table, coffee cups a fridge and microwave, they gave me a tour and showed me where everything was.

We had tea and conversation. They did most of the talking. They were surprised that being a University student I didn’t have any friends. I explained that I was a returning older student. The woman that lost her husband I will call her Anne. Her daughter seems like a Margaret. She gave me a ride home. I forgot to mention the other girl that was my friend she lived in a trailer park, was a nurse and was applying to Medical School. I think it was her third or fourth attempt at being accepted in. Her name was Lorraine, I remember now. She threw me a baby shower. Anyway at this time, She had finally gotten accepted to Medical school and had moved back home to Texas to spend time with her family before starting her classes in the fall. She had left just before Christmas break. (John Edwards told me to remember her)

I picked up the telephone and called Anne. I left a message. She was not home yet.”Hi Anne, I said, this is Lois Johnson. Hi, uhm, I am in the hospital. I thought my water broke yesterday and came into the hospital. They told me to come back today- Pregnancy Hypertension. Well, they are keeping in the hospital. I have a favor to ask…beep. I had to hang up and call again, ‘Hi its me again, quickly, I need someone to go to my apartment and pick up my baby bag and things. I have my keys on me so you would have to come to the hospital first and get the keys, hopefully this is not an inconvenience, and my room is etc. etc. thanks. I hung up the telephone. The doctor came into the room again with the intern and checked how much I had dilated. It was getting more painful. I had tried the little breathing exercises that I knew which were nil. I kicked or you kicked me for not taking Lamaze classes but that dude teaching the class looked strange. I am superstitious at times. I still had not dilated enough. He said that he was going to give me something for the pain and for sleep. He then, told me that it was the end of his shifts another doctor or nurse would be there in the morning. The baby was doing fine, according to the monitor and I would be all right until morning so I was to rest, build up strength and “Let’s see if we can get that baby out,”(don’t worry). I asked him again if it would be by C-section or natural delivery. He said ‘Oh you will be just fine, no C section needed

By then, I wanted a caesarean section done. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to push and it hurt/ It felt like my whole insides were going to fall out. It also felt like someone ripped me apart and did not use anesthesia or a medical knife but a butcher knife and my Female parts (vagina) was torn to shreds or was going to tear. Like I was Sigourney Weaver in that Alien movie and I was giving birth to that alien creature, someone said the Abyss anyway but it didn’t come just out of my stomach, okay, painful. ‘Gosh, that looked like it hurt’. I reached for the remote control and watched a Spanish soap opera. I surfed through the channel and finally decided on one. I drifted off to sleep.

During the night there were more screams of terror. I heard the woman in the next room crying. The nurse and her husband was saying something to her, it didn’t sound wholesome. The next morning I awoke. The nurse asked me how my night was. The baby was still doing all right. They check my statistics or vital stats, whatever. It was that time that I remembered the other pregnant woman at my sonogram reading. When I said, I think I may be having triplets actually quadruplets but the sonogram only showed one fetus. She then replied, I am a nurse as well and pregnancy makes you forget the simplest of things and all knowledge flies out the window. I later me another woman in the health department of Newport, Oregon’s office. She said giving birth leaves you with half a brain. I know, as she rummages through her handbag, I am only existing on half a brain, she said smiling. The morning doctor came in and checked dilation. He prescribed more petosin. I tried breathing exercises, but I was not sure if I was doing them right. I wished again, that I had gone through Lamaze classes, even if the guy had some skin disease on his face and hands. I thought at that time to suggest that they just do a caesarean section. The baby was not coming out this way and I was becoming more frightened. There was a knock on the hospital room door. It was Anne and with her was the woman/minister from the Food Pantry. I wish I remembered her name. I will call her Sally. They asked me how I was doing. Did I get enough rest? How the baby was doing. I told her what had transpired in the evening and morning hours. I thanked her for the gift of a camera since mine was still at home with the baby bag. I asked her to pass me my book bag and handed her my keys to my apartment. I told her where to find the overnight bag. They left and said that they would return in a couple of hours. She had to stop by her daughters first. I said thank you. I switched the channel on the television and watched the other Spanish soap opera. I tried to push and rest with every fierce contraction, but nothing was happening and I didn’t want to hurt the baby.

The doctor came in and checked how many centimeters I had dilated. This time he was with the intern. Other medical staff came in and out throughout the day. Anne returned alone with my bags and a calling card. She said for me to call my mother. Sally returned around early evening. I was telling Anne that she should leave, that I would be all right. She had been with me during most of the afternoon. The doctor and the intern from the previous night had returned. I guess their shift started at 3pm. It wasn’t until around 6pm when I saw them. He prescribed a new pain killer which after you were born, hunter… I found out that it was under investigation. I felt no more pain though. I asked the doctor if you were going to be a cesarean birth. No need for surgery he said, you and the baby are doing just fine. You will be able to deliver naturally. I wanted to yell, I don’t want to anymore. Anne came back into the room after the doctor’s exam and patted my hand while Sally asked the nurse and the doctor some questions. Anything wrong I said, they went no you’re doing just fine. Anne and I are going to the cafeteria to get some dinner. Do you want anything? I asked for some soda. Let me check with the nurse. The nurse said ginger ale no Pepsi and more ice than soda. They came back from dinner as the nurse was checking the monitor. Polite conversation was made. We heard screaming from the delivery room again. A worst horror movie scream than the night before. They insisted that I call my mother. I asked for a phone and used the phone card that Anne gave me. I called my mothers’ house first and got no answer. I thought my father would answer the phone since He was living with her at the time. No answer, I dialed my grandmothers’ house. My grandmother picked up the telephone.

“Hi, grandma”, I said.

“Hello Miss Loi, my grandmother said. How are you doing? I hear that I am to be a great grandmother”.

“Yeah, I replied. I am kind of having the baby right now. Well, I am in the hospital. I am calling from the delivery room”.

“Is that so? hold on here’s your mum”, grandma replied.

“Good evening Loiz”, my mother said.

“Hi mommy”, I replied maturely.

A silence descended. “How are you”?

“Fine, I replied. I am in the hospital”.

“The hospital?” my mother queried.

“I am about to have my baby”.

I felt her look at my grandmother. Who I hoped was smiling. I sensed a laugh. “Your baby?”

Now I was starting to feel a little perturbed. Exasperated would be a better term

“Yeah mommy. I am in the hospital and I am about to have my baby”.

She laughed. This was definitely not the response that I felt I should have received.

“Mommy this is serious”, I petulantly responded.

“You’re having a baby? Her laugh stilled. Who’s there with you?” It sounded like a ‘who’s the father’ response which I should have been asked months ago.

“ Anne and Sally. Anne’s the woman I met. The one who just lost her husband?

Sally is her friend”. I answered the inquiry.

I didn’t think it was a good time to tell her that Sally was the manger of the local food pantry and was an ordained minister. Once she got over the food pantry thing, then it would have been what type of religion. No not a good time to mention that. I think I was more saving the father of my babies hide more than me own.

Your having a baby she said, this time excitement was in her voice. I thought you were joking.

“No mommy, I am having a baby”, I quietly responded. A deflated calm had set in.

“For real.”

“Yes mommy”

“Really, really”, she said

“Yes mommy”.

“How is it, what did the doctors say, How are you feeling”. I told her what had transpired so far, about the screaming in the delivery room and that the nurse had attached the saline drip wrong and that I looked like a beached whale or dolphin.

“That’s what happened to me when I had you, you are just like me”.

My mothers’ response and new amount of concern, all of a sudden was getting on my nerves. What had I been telling her for the past nine months? Had she not listened or read any of my letters? This was just pathetic. This was supposed to be my day. What is this, I am just like her crap! What is happening now, to me happened, to her when I was born! This response, now, after all those years of asking when was I born, what time, what happened plus how did I look. You were a miracle baby was all the response ever given. No way dude, this is my life!

“Mommy, Anne bought me a calling card to call you. I don’t want to run the time out. I have to get off the phone now. So that I can call you back after my baby is born.”

“Okay, okay, I really thought you were joking. Rest, don’t worry take care and call me and your grandmother when it is born.”

“Tell everyone I said Hi and that I love them and grandma too, Bye”.

“Good bye, take care, Call”.

I hung up the phone. I thought to myself, ‘How Celine Dion’ not, that whole episodic phone call was. Anne and Sally had migrated towards the hallway during my phone call. They came back into the room as I was placing the phone by my bedside.

“Feeling better”, Anne said.

“Not much, but thanks”, she patted my hand. I turned my head towards Sally. “What was going on outside in the hallway? I heard a lot of screaming coming from down the

hallway.”

“Nothing really, was Sally’s response. They just wheeled the woman in the next room to the delivery room. Basically, I was just making small talk with the father. Was your mother sad not to be here with you, today?”

“I guess she asked what type of minister you were”, the doctor and the intern entered the room cutting off any further conversation.

“We will just wait outside while he exams you”, Anne said.

“Aren’t y’all tired? It way past visiting hours and you especially Anne have been here all day”

“No. No we are fine, unless you want us to leave but I have no problem with staying, a little while longer. Sally, may have to leave though, she has a dog at home and has to let him out. If you are all right with my staying, then Sally and I will go to the cafeteria for a cup of tea”.

“Sure, I would like the company. Isn’t the cafeteria closed? It’s 10:30pm”.

“We’ll find a vending machine if it is. Sally wants to stop by the chapel”.

“Is something wrong, did something happen?”

“No, No Silly”, was Sally’s smiling way of trying to calm a paranoid situation.

They turned towards the door. I turned towards the doctor.

“Sorry”

“Don’t worry”, he said as he bent to exam me. The nurse and the intern were checking the baby’s fetal monitor. I winced as the doctor groped his way through my exam.

“Are you sure I don’t need a cesarean section?” I asked.

The intern handed the doctor the fetal monitor read out.

“Did my water break, I mean did you have to break my water like you said?”

The doctor looked up from what he was reading. He gave me a perturbed expression and said it was dry. The way he said it was like some roughnecks comments of dried up old prunes. You know; the old scenario of the grabbing old woman desperately trying to hold on to her young lover. The rich billionaires hurt womanly wounded by her hot stud when he said. “I never wanted you anyway, you swiveled up old prune I just wanted your money”, Thank God for Harlequin romances. Well that was the last straw; I had just about enough of this inept doctor.

“I am going to prescribe another pain killer for you”.

“Will it hurt the baby? You already prescribed the pecosin and that new drug”

“Da, It should be okay and no it will not hurt the baby. I will be back in to check you dilation it is still at centimeters”

I had a feeling it wasn’t going to get further than that. My mother was small and it seems that I am small as well. My brother sister and myself were all c-Sections. Hereditary?

The doctor, intern and the nurse left. A tech came in and checked my blood pressure and the glucose and saline drips. The doctor had sped up the check to about every 20 minutes or so. I sat and watched the Spanish woman on the television tell the Spanish dude that she was seeing the stable boy. The nurse came back into the room and checked the fetal monitor again.

“Is something wrong? I repeated the question I had asked earlier

“No, the doctor will be in shortly to check you again. How are you feeling?”

“Anxious, my baby should have been born by now”

“Long labors are to be expected, this is your first child, just relax and do your breathing everything should be just fine.”

The nurse left the room. Long labors, I thought. The longest labor I had heard of was 18 hours this was going on three days. A woman was crying in the room next door, exactly like the previous evening. I wondered what time it was 12:45am. I heard Anne’s and Sally’s footsteps and voices outside in the hallway. The door opened and the nurse, intern and the doctor rushed in. The doctor quickly checked the fetal monitor as he spoke with the intern. Then he turned to me and said we are going to check your dilation again and if not still fully dilated we are going to do a Caesarean section. Your baby just had a mild heart attack. The doctor examined me again and stood up

“Doctor.” The nurse called the doctor over towards her and the intern. He looked at the monitor and then he looked at the read out again.

“Send for a crash team, and prep her for surgery”.

The nurse came over to my bed as the doctor rushed out of my room.

“We are going to prep you for surgery”.

The intern was still there. She held my hand and said,”don’t worry you and the baby will be just fine”.

Anne and sally stood by the doorway. “Can they come into the delivery room with me?”

“No, but they can wait outside in the hall way until its over and then enter”.

“ But, I thought it was just a c-section that he was going to do?”

“Yes, but as a precaution, they’ll have them just wait outside”.

“Well, Anne was supposed to take pictures of the baby coming out of me”.

“I can do that for you”, the intern said.

“ Well, I want pictures of everything from start to finish, the baby’s head cresting or his body with umbilical cord attached coming out of me but still in me, you understand. Then a picture of his umbilical cord being cut and him handed to the nurse for weighing and clean up”.

“Uhm, uhm, yeah”, was the intern’s response. I reached over to the side table and handed her the camera. All during/through that conversation I kept looking at the fetal monitor trying to remember all what my mother and her EKG friends/coworkers had taught or had shown me during my visits to her office.

The tech came in with a surgery gurney and transferred me, placing me on it. All of a sudden the room was filled with very excitable people. “Hurry, hurry”.

Another voice, “is the room ready?”

“Yeah we have someone in there finishing up, hold a second”.

“How is the babies heart rate…. Something.. something.. something”. As they wheeled the gurney stretcher around the corner I saw the same big fat black dude from the night before sitting on a chair kind of lounging and then he stood up with his cell phone in his hand still talking to someone but staring at me as the stretcher made its way by. That’s what I thought of him in my mind big fat stank black and a few more choice words. I wondered if I was picking up on his wife having just delivered their baby. I did not like the looks of him either In the room next to the one I had just vacated was an very huge native American or Mexican woman pale faced almost maybe welsh, she looked hostile. His wife probably. I was wheeled down a hallway and into the delivery –surgery room. There were several nurses and tech people milling around. They transferred from the stretcher onto the surgery table. The nurses and the anesthesiologist and the other people introduced themselves. The anesthesiologist and another person had the same last name as myself except one ended in ‘-en’ instead of ‘- on’. There was a lot of fluttering around and rush rush emergency procedure about to begin activity. The doctor and assitant hurried into the delivery room. A different doctor than who had been attending to me. A woman.The surgeon rather than the attending physician, They placed a blue guaze surgical panel in front of me. I could not see and tried to raise my head to see. I wanted to see you come out of me. There was a circular hole in the guaze panel/ I realized, that it was one of those dressing gowns that the doctors have the patients put on. The anesthesiologist gave me more drugs. I definitely was feeling no pain. I didn’t feel anything and that kind of worried me. The anesthesiologist pushed my head back onto the surgery table. He actually pushed me down.

“I want to see my baby coming out of me,” I said. Yeah I actually said those words.

“You will. The nurse will hand him to you. We need you to lay flat.” Suddenly, there was no more running around, no more rush- rush activity.

“What’s the hold up, the doctor said, what are we waiting for? The woman who looked like the intern was at my feet. I tried to see what was going on. The anesthiologist pushed my head down again. I angled myself in such a way that I could see my feet and not disturb the position of my body. The intern stood with her hands clasped folded against her abdomen.

“Calm your nerves Madonna”, the doctor said. She was looking in the direction over my abdomen and then me and then my feet. Whoa, that pain killer. I wonder what it was. I was told but I forget. I wasn’t sure if the doctor meant me. I was nervous, anxious and worried but… Madonna? I thought to myself what is the rock singer not even thinking holy mother, Madonna doing here. No, the doctor called someone Madonna. I didn’t hear her wrong. Did the surgery team take some of the drugs too? They were acting too cavalier. Tug Tug. I flattened my head back on the table. A flash or something like an out of body experience happened next. A brief transmission, it was more than a quick second, though. I saw a woman lying on a table in a morgue. The room was clichéd steel and gray. A floor to ceiling window centered the room. It was in between the steel cabinets and a cloudy area directly opposite to the cabinets and the woman’s head. The room felt cold. A cold Burroughs feeling. The window faced north from my view and was to the side of the woman, who lay on the morgue table. The table was steel as well no linen. No hospital linen, no tubes or IV’s, were pictured in my mind. This was an aftermath of something. The woman’s abdomen was cut open. I finally understood the term a gaping maw. There was nothing inside of her. All of her insides had been cut out. A huge hole was where her stomach should have been. Head, breast, legs feet and arms were still there but no belly. Nothing lay on the floor, no guts or glory (gory). A surgery had taken place. A clean surgically cut area with nothing in it. No flies or macabre scene to suggest or signal a great amiss, yet something was amiss. She lay there dead.

My eyes registered again. They were still looking towards the end of the table. I wanted to make sure that you were not switched with another baby. I hung out with members of a band called switched at birth grooving computer engineers and geeks. I met them at the Lutheran ministry. I commented on their name. The leader of the band had told me a story about the name but I forget. It did have something to do with babies being switched at birth. I think he said he had been. I saw a figure raised above cord hanging one minute the he was carried over to the changing table. I watched people enter and leave still craning my neck in your direction but making sure nothing fell on the floor and was put in a towel and then the shelf of a machine and wheeled out and nothing put in a towel and hidden within a lab coat. No that was you Hunter on the changing table. There was a lot of excitement. A delivery gone well. Yet one of the surgery nurses was sarcastic. She was yelling what am I supposed to do with the umbilical cord. She was waving it around over her head, actually doing a little dance, repeating the question she had asked, just three seconds ago. I tried to find my voice to say I want it saved. But nothing came out. I was not sure if she was causing a distraction. They wrapped you in hospital blankets and handed to Anne, that’s when I knew I kind of missed something because I didn’t see Anne come into the delivery room. Yet, I kept my eyes on you. She brought you over to me and placed you in my arms. You stared at me and me at you. Your eyes looked into mine and mine looked into yours. I could not say anything. I just stared, not because I didn’t love you at first sight , I did. My first thought was so small, so tiny, cliché ,but the truth then…… Ohmigod is Patrick the father ? But nah. Your height and coloring are your dads. You looked so cute. I was also making sure that that trip that Dymphna took wasn’t to get illegal Mexican babies that they could switch with you. Except for not seeing Anne come in I kept a pretty good look out for any potential or unseen baby switches. So, I made you. You are mine. You looked so cute. You are two shakes of a lamb’s tale. They wheeled us both into post-op before taking me to the floor. The intern held my other hand. Continually patting it without saying anything. She stared off into the distance, as if she had bad or unpleasant news to tell me. I just kept staring at you. You were so tiny. Holding you gingerly,I felt that if I held you any harder you would break. The nursery nurse came to take you for your bath. I wouldn’t let you go until the intern said they would give you back to me.

“She has to bathe and weigh him up on the floor”,she said. I thought they would let me hold you in my arm until we reached my private room.

” Your baby had big beautiful blue eyes”, the nursery nurse said after introductions were made.

“ What”, I looked into your eyes. They are brown, Had? What is she talking about? I thought to myself. Speech was still shocked. I watched as the nurse took you upstairs, still worried that someone would try to steal you. I decided to figure out what the nurse meant. I wondered if the nurse had read, the poem I had written about you growing inside-within me. The color of your eyes, in the poem, were golden because I didn’t know what they would be. The Nursery nurse had me worried and confused.

“Are, you okay?” asked the intern.

“I can’t move my legs” The intern laughed and smiled at me, then responded.

“It’s just the anesthesia. It will wear off”. To this day Medicine amazes me.