CALL ME DADDY

 I’ve waited

Anxiously for this day—for nearly ten months.

I’ll be meeting you—in 25 minutes.

Or so they tell me.

I sit. The room is vast

Machines and equipment and

Hospital staff is all around me.

I hold your mom’s hand and whisper I love you.

An hour goes by

Something is wrong.

The quiet O.R. conversation is now

Piercing and tense.

The pace has become faster, urgent.

The surgeon’s work is violent and severe.

The blood—my god—is everywhere.

Can’t someone tell me…what is wrong?

Then it happens.

The surgeon—tall—older …experienced

Steps back from the table—he says aloud

“I can’t get this baby out—

I’ve used up my bag of tricks—

I don’t know what to do!”

He doesn’t know what-to-do!

Then the surgeon dishevelled and thin

Returns to his undertaking

Now shouting at the other doctors—

“Work harder or we’ll loose this baby!”

What? I force those words from my mind.

“Work faster or we’ll loose this baby!”

I’m in a daze. And I begin to prepare myself.

I’m losing you.

No baby can live through this.

Why can’t they get you out?

He doesn’t know what to do.

I feel small and weak and useless.

I’m losing you.

Suddenly you are out.

There is a haunting silence.

You don’t move or breathe or cry.

Somebody do something!

 Your Mom is asking me about you.

But—I have nothing to tell.

I must be strong for her.

You look so peaceful.

It’s too late.

Please, someone do something.

They leave you there—lying on your side.

Motionless—forever.

Do something please!

It’s too late.  

Finally a doctor takes you

And I tell myself you’ll be fine. But…

You’re still not crying.

Why won’t somebody talk to me?

Please be okay….

Please.

You’re on a table.

Many hands are on you, working to save you.

I scan the faces for help, for answers.

No one speaks a word.

It’s too late.

Please.

         Baby.

  Breathe.

             … Now.

I look away.

My mind spins and tumbles

My heart breaks

It’s too late.

I stare at my lap

Tears cloud my eyes

This can’t be happening

My pulse drums in my ears as I pray for you

Please…little man…

I take in long—deep—lungfuls of air

As if this desperate attempt

Could teach you

To do the same.  

Silence.

Then a nurse brings you to me

You’re all bundled and blinking at me.

I’m afraid to love you—

Terrified… I could still loose you.

      But here you are in my arms.

Staring into your deep blue eyes

I whisper Happy Birthday and

I know in my heart that one day you will call me Daddy.