Smells.
On Sunday mornings at Broadway Church of Christ I would sit in the chair next to my Mom while my Dad led singing and I would look forward to 3 things: 1. Church to be over 2. A piece of juicy fruit gum that would be given to me by OP and Mildred and 3. A hug from a woman named Dot Coffman. I can remember seeing my Dad, his head barely peeking over a pulpit that seemed abnormally large, his little hands waving and voice leading a thousand people in song. And I can remember the taste of that juicy fruit gum, but what takes me back to that place is the smell of Este Lauder perfume that Dot Coffman wore every time I gave her a hug. Years and years later my Mom bought the same perfume and that smell took me right back to being a 4 year old little boy in his Sunday clothes at a church in Lubbock, Texas. It was like I had been transported.
The night before the first day of school is always a tad nerve wracking for Amanda. For the past few years the only thing that can get her to sleep has been playing the film Fantasia on Netflix. She never makes it past Tocatta and Fugue. This year though we tried something different. Instead of attempting to sleep to the sounds of Bach and Tchaikovsky, we put an additional oil into the diffuser: Young Living's Peace and Calming...and once again I was transported to a time that seemed like yesterday but was in fact a year ago today, to a place that Amanda and I would spend the better part of a month, an antepartum room at Scott and White Hospital. I almost wept right then and there.
I don't know if I've ever been as scared as I was when Amanda's OB called and said I had to immediately pick her up from work and have her admitted to the hospital for the duration of her pregnancy. I tried all I could to keep myself together and to be a calm and stable force while she was dealing with such an upsetting development. I hope I seemed calm but I doubt it. I know I probably said weird things that didn't make sense, or got overly sensitive at times, but honestly, that was nothing compared to the absolute pandemonium going on inside of me. I can imagine that my brain looked like the computer from WarGames when it has to play Tic Tac Toe against itself and then stuff just starts blowing up everywhere.
On Sunday mornings at Broadway Church of Christ I would sit in the chair next to my Mom while my Dad led singing and I would look forward to 3 things: 1. Church to be over 2. A piece of juicy fruit gum that would be given to me by OP and Mildred and 3. A hug from a woman named Dot Coffman. I can remember seeing my Dad, his head barely peeking over a pulpit that seemed abnormally large, his little hands waving and voice leading a thousand people in song. And I can remember the taste of that juicy fruit gum, but what takes me back to that place is the smell of Este Lauder perfume that Dot Coffman wore every time I gave her a hug. Years and years later my Mom bought the same perfume and that smell took me right back to being a 4 year old little boy in his Sunday clothes at a church in Lubbock, Texas. It was like I had been transported.
The night before the first day of school is always a tad nerve wracking for Amanda. For the past few years the only thing that can get her to sleep has been playing the film Fantasia on Netflix. She never makes it past Tocatta and Fugue. This year though we tried something different. Instead of attempting to sleep to the sounds of Bach and Tchaikovsky, we put an additional oil into the diffuser: Young Living's Peace and Calming...and once again I was transported to a time that seemed like yesterday but was in fact a year ago today, to a place that Amanda and I would spend the better part of a month, an antepartum room at Scott and White Hospital. I almost wept right then and there.
I don't know if I've ever been as scared as I was when Amanda's OB called and said I had to immediately pick her up from work and have her admitted to the hospital for the duration of her pregnancy. I tried all I could to keep myself together and to be a calm and stable force while she was dealing with such an upsetting development. I hope I seemed calm but I doubt it. I know I probably said weird things that didn't make sense, or got overly sensitive at times, but honestly, that was nothing compared to the absolute pandemonium going on inside of me. I can imagine that my brain looked like the computer from WarGames when it has to play Tic Tac Toe against itself and then stuff just starts blowing up everywhere.
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| This is what happens when you open the wrong attachment. |
And so for the next month Amanda would spend every moment in the hospital, stuck in a hospital bed, poked and prodded, constantly having doctors take her blood pressure and vitals, asking her if she had any headaches or swelling. She got to watch as much basic cable as possible (only Jesus and the President of TLC had the patience for viewing that many episodes of “Four Weddings”) and I would come and bring her lunch during the day and spend the night each weekend on furniture that was built more for structure than comfort. Occasionally, we would wheel her downstairs so that she could sit outside in the Healing Gardens but it never lasted too long because its Texas and its HOT. She had lots of visitors and an impromptu baby shower from her "Mommy Group" friends. I simply can't imagine being stuck in the same room 24/7 for a month. I'm a lazy homebody by nature, but even I can only read so many books and watch so much tv before I need to go outside and get enough nature to decide that I've filled my 5 minute quota of natural light and air.
She also got amazing care from her doctors and nurses, who felt like family after being entrenched with them for a month. They were so kind, so caring, so attentive. They calmed our fears and made us feel like we were in the best hands, and we were. And each and every time somebody new would come in the room they would say "What is that smell? It smells amazing"
That smell was Peace and Calming.
And now it has been a year and we have a healthy and amazing son who spent one month in the NICU and has been making up for it ever since. And I have a beautiful and healthy wife who endured an alternate version of a month in white collar prison, but with better health care and a much smaller amount of food that has to be snuck past security. There is so much about that time that seems like a blur but like most memories there are specific moments when it seems as if it was yesterday and I was just a soon to be father who was 90% sure that every time they took Amanda’s blood pressure that I peed a little.
Every cliche about fatherhood is true, which is why it’s cliche, it’s not an “original” state of being. Fatherhood has been around for centuries, but although its not original it is completely unique to the individual. I think about that man trying to sleep on furniture that was leftover from Hitler’s bunker (If Hitler actually had slept on a Scott and White couch he would have killed himself months before) making a mattress out of pillows and him having just enough awareness to be terrified but also just enough ignorance not to be terrified to the point of full loss of bowel control, and I think about the person I am now and I realize that while I do indeed have control of my bowels ,and now spend most of my time dealing with a chunky monkey who has yet to control his, but that I’m not that man anymore.
I don’t ever want to go through that stress again, but as scary as it was I can’t help but think about it with fondness and appreciation. I mean, I wasn’t the one carrying a baby and stuck in a hospital bed, so it wasn’t nearly as lovely as an experience as it was for Amanda, and maybe thinking about it with fondness is a little messed up, but I think I could sense that this was a real moment in our lives that would shape what came after it, and how can you not feel fondness when it led to this?
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| Yes, I am cute. And I know it. |
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