Ears and Tears
By: Mounira Gad
Tags: Baby, Pregnancy, Misconception, Mothers And Daughters, Slice Of Life

We were proud of ourselves and smiling. My boss could not contain herself as she released her profanities of joy. Pure delight at having solved a problem that had been picking our brains for months. I shook her hand. “Well done!”

She beamed. Victory. Sweet victory!

My cell phone rang. Glancing at the screen, I could see it was my daughter. I ignored it. It could wait a few minutes.

It rang again. I answered. When your daughter who is seven months pregnant calls you twice in a row- you answer.

She was crying. Did I say crying? She was wailing and bawling as she sputtered. “Mom! oh my God! Oh No! I think I broke my water,” I heard her say. She sounded like the end of the world.

“What? Oh no!” My face grew pale. Did she say her water broke? Oh no! Seven months. Would the baby make it? Will she be alright?

“Get to a hospital right away! Call an ambulance and get to a hospital!”

My boss was nodding. She was horrified- as was I.

“Can you come get me?” Her voice reminded me of when she was six.

“Farida! That would waste time! Get to a hospital now!” She was in Newark and I was in Hackensack. What was she thinking?

“I’m not taking an ambulance! I hate ambulances!”

“Listen to me! Listen to me! Call an ambulance now!”

“I’m going to take an UBER!.”

“Farida! Get an ambulance. Do you have a friend with you? Someone to go with you?”

“Erica is with me. I’ll call you back. Let me figure this out.”

My boss had a few questions.

“How many months?”

“Seven”

“Beginning or the end?”

“Beginning.”

I called her back.

She was calm and resolute as she shared her plan. “I’m getting an UBER. I’m going to Hackensack Hospital. I want to be able to get my doctor if I need her.”.

There was nothing I could do.

I could only say one thing. “I’ll meet you there. I’m leaving now.”

My boss nodded. “She’s doing the right thing. Let me know what happens.”

Gritting my teeth, I walked swiftly to my office, took my purse and speedily went down the stairs. As soon as I got in the car, I called my husband. “Tarek! It’s Farida. Her water broke!

“That can’t be! What happened?”

“She called me. I’m heading to Hackensack hospital now. She won’t take an ambulance. She’s taking a Lyft.”

“That’s crazy! She should take an ambulance!”

“I know.”

I’m on the bridge. I’m coming.”

I could picture him making a u-turn in the middle of George Washington Bridge, just like the police, but that would be impossible. He would reach New York and have to take a few local streets before turning back.

Why did this happen? We were too excited, that’s why! We were planning a huge baby shower two weeks from now, and having everything ready for his arrival. Oh God! He’ll probably be in an incubator for months! I hope he makes it. I hope she’ll be ok.

A few minutes later and the phone rings. It was my Tarek.

“I called her husband. I think she lied to him. He says she’s ok. It’s just her pinky. No big deal!”

“She doesn’t want him to worry.”

“I don’t like her lying. He should know what’s going on.” Tense voice.

After this is over we should talk to her . Not a good way to go through marriage.” I tried to be calm but failed. We hung up.

I pulled into Macdonalds. I had a few minutes to spare. Sustenance is imperative at times like this. When I’m nervous, I eat!

As I wolfed down my Egg McMuffin, I called her.

“Is anyone with you?”

“No, we’re understaffed. No one could come with me.”

Here was my daughter having a baby in the back of an UBER and no one could go with her? It was just horrible!

“How far are you?”

“About 10 minutes away.”

“How do you feel?”

“It just hurts a little.” She was much calmer now.

I gritted my teeth. I had to ask. “Is the baby moving?”

“Yes.”

I pulled the car into the entrance of the hospital, deciding to use the valet parking so I can be at the emergency ward before her. There was little I could do, but pray for the best. She would be here any minute.

“Are you feeling ok?”

“It hurts, but I’m ok.”

I got out of the car and handed the valet the key.

“What hurts?”

“My pinky of course. What else could it be?”

The valet looked at me. “Ma’am, are you ok?

For the second time that day, I could feel the blood drain from my face.

“I’ll get you a wheelchair. Sit in the car until I get you a chair.”

I sat.