The Turning Point

Writing depends much on timing. I know. I do this for a living. That doesn’t mean though that I do it well; although, I do it well enough that I get paid; well enough that people (sort of) put up with my eccentricities and shortcomings. I can be a problematic writer sometimes. And time has been my main problem when writing, because there’s just never enough of it. When I write, I should be in the right mood, right place, and right state of mind, and these factors should meet in a particular moment at the same time.

Now, with the telling of this story, the timing is a bit off. I should have told it weeks ago but I never found the time. Work’s been hectic. Oddly though, now, while waiting for you to arrive, inside a hospital room at 3am, while you and your mom labored at the far end of the hallway from where I am, I feel like I have all the time in the world. Now, with nothing but you in my mind, I guess there’s no better time to tell you about the story of when you turned.

It was mid March, and wet mornings alternated with blistering afternoons. It was the start of summer but it already felt like the rainy weeks of June. It was always foolish to expect the outcome of the day’s weather; come to think of it, it’s always foolish to expect anything.

That march afternoon, I vividly remember when I picked up your mom from the office and she was unusually quiet, lost in a daze. It was obvious that she was at work building something inside her, it seems that she's retrofitting her resolve and putting-up support inside her heart where she would finally hold up her inner-strength. Her eyes were lost in deep thought, her chest was heavy, her lips had a forced smile, and something was stuck in her throat.

She just came from a check-up that time. I couldn’t come with her since I had an important meeting that day. I would have wanted to be with her. She could have leaned on me, and that could have made things easier when the doctor said that things would not go as planned with the pregnancy.

We had an ultra sound done on the fourth month. We found out that you were a girl and that you were in a breech position, which means that your feet are facing the exit route instead of your head. We were hoping for a normal delivery but it’s not advisable for a first time mother to normally deliver a breech baby. But it was only the fourth month and a lot could happen. You could still turn. The doctor said we had nothing to worry about.

We had another ultrasound done when you were seven months old inside the womb. We found out that you had ten fingers and ten toes, and you are perfectly healthy, but you’re still in a breech position. Still we kept our fingers crossed that you would turn.

On the eighth month, you’re still the wrong side up. The doctor said that you are already too big to turn. With little room to move, it’s just too late. The odds are you’ll have to come out through a slice in your mom’s tummy and not the normal way.

Your Mom and I had a talk. We figured that it doesn’t matter whichever way you come out as long as you do. And besides breech babies have special powers according to folklore. It’s just a matter of accepting what’s what.

They had us chose a date for delivery. We chose April 1. April fools day, a day of tricks and pranks. I imagine myself playing tricks on you on your birthday. And perhaps someday you’ll play tricks on us as well. I bet you would… you’re my daughter after all.

On the last week of your eighth month, we had our final ultrasound. We weren't hoping at this point but we were surprised to see that you have turned. Once more you’ve beaten the odds. The doctor said it was too late, but you turned anyway. I guess you’re just like me, turning in despite being a little too late.

April 1 came and passed. I guess, even if you’re still unborn, you already played a joke on us.

-0-

Yesterday, the bloody show happened, and when they checked your mom they said that you’d be probably coming out in three days. Once again, you defied expectations and assumptions. Now it’s 4:45 in the morning, a day after the bloody show, and I’ve been waiting for you. I've been here since 9PM, I don’t know where you are and what’s happening to your mom in the labor room. They just give me short updates every two hours. They estimated that you’d come out at around 7AM. It could be true. It doesn’t matter. Just take your time. You always do.

-0-

It's now 5:30. I asked to be with your mom inside the labor room. They wouldn't let me. They asked for my camera. I gave it to them. They said you'd be coming out any moment. For the first time tonight, my heart beats fast. You'll be coming any moment now, and I can't wait.

It's time.

Prelabor Pains

It was already 1AM, April 7— A black, lazy, Saturday. My last memory of that night was finishing a chapter in the ‘Witches’ volume of Fables, a graphic novel that I’ve been following the past few years. In this volume, an evil character – the physical aspect of all that is dark and evil, aptly called the DarkMan-- has escaped from the fantastic homelands and into the real world, threatening humanity and fablekind (characters from the fairy tales and myths who decided to make earth their new home) alike.

With this looming threat, it’s now up to a witch-- (the witch who cursed beast to turn into a beast, Cinderella to fall asleep, and lured Hansel and Gretel into the ginger bread house) to save the day… that is if she could, considering that the DarkMan is one of the principal powers of existence and she’s but a witch from fairy tales. It’s fun stuff, the sort that would keep me awake and hooked till dawn. This particular night though, after a chapter, I blacked out and fell asleep.

Daylight was already blasting through the windows when your mom nudged me into wakefulness and told me that ‘it’s time’. Her water bag just broke, she said. I nodded and told her to take a shower so that I could prepare the bags. But instead of getting up, I stayed in bed chained by a heavy laziness. I just grabbed the comic book from last night and resumed reading. Your mom finished washing herself and came out of the bathroom. She quickly reported that about half a pint of pinkish fluid from inside her dripped into her legs. I asked her if she’s been having contractions, she answered that she’s been feeling some tightness in her tummy but it was painless. I mustered and stirred my will and heaved myself up and dragged myself to the sink and brushed my teeth and told her to make sure that we won’t forget anything.

Then my stomach grumbled. I told your mom that I was hungry. She told me she’s hungry as well. She suggested that we should pass by a fastfood drive-thru on the way to the hospital. Sounded like a plan.

I was thinking of getting a cheeseburger and spaghetti, your mom said that she wanted to munch on some fries. On the way, we talked about potatoes and fast-food fat while rock music played on the radio. But then, the Doctor texted and told us not to eat and head to the prelabor room right away. So we did. My stomach continued to grumble. I looked at your mom and was a bit worried. You should know that she falls into a really dark mood when she’s hungry.

At the pre-labor room, they checked your mom and found that she just had her ‘bloody show’. I know it sounds cool and scary, like a metal band concert, but it just means that the mucus plug inside her broke and her cervix is now prepared for your passage, and when that happens, things get a little bloody. But the thing is, you are still floating inside the uterus and has no signs of engaging yourself to the passage, that and her contractions are still too far apart from each other. It turns out, her water bag is still intact and delivery would not happen for about two to three days. They said that we could still go home and wait for things to progress.

After we left the hospital, we quickly became hungry again. We decided not to eat fastfood but instead grab a bite at one of those eateries serving home cooked meals. Hospitals make people conscious of consuming unhealthy transfat, I surmised. At the eatery, I ate bopis (which isn’t healthy, to say the least) and your mom ate nilagang manok. We also shared a strawberry fruit shake. After eating, we drove back to the condo.

I picked up my comic book again. Your mom lied down beside me and asked me what was happening in the story? I told her that the old witch made herself young again and left the world.

“She left?” She said with a hint of shock. “I thought she’s going to fight off the DarkMan and save the world?”

“Supposedly, but that didn’t happen. And I don’t know what will happen next…”

She reflected for a bit and said: “Well, whoever actually knows what happens next?”

“Precisely.” I said with my know-it-all smugness. “But it’s still a fairy tale, so things will be all right no matter... What sort of 'all right' though is anybody's guess.”

She thought for a bit and looked at me. Her stare meant something but I couldn’t decipher what it meant and I was too lazy to ask. It might be that she’s figured something out and refuses to share it with me. She just opted to close her eyes and remain quiet.

I reached out and held her hand, by then she was already lightly snoring. She was fast asleep. I snuggled close and felt you move inside her. I closed my eyes and waited for you to move again. But you kept still. I waited, but just then, again, I blacked out. And in my sleep, I waited.