Back In MY Time

"Sash, Sash, time to get up," a husky, almost gravelly voice pieced my slumber, "Sash, Sasha! Sasha Mabel Killstrom, get up, it's time to go!"

Ugg, Mabel, my middle name. It's bad enough to wake me up from good sleep, but that middle name, it's like a kick in the gut every time I hear it. I mean seriously, who saddles a child with Mabel? I don't care if it was my grandmother's name and her grandmother's name before her. I was born in 1971, not 1871.

But my family has a bad habit of recycling names. Every boy for the past 400 years has to be Edward Something or Something Edward. And every girl has to have Mabel or Hortense tacked on. I suppose I should count myself lucky, you fill in the blanks.

I rubbed my eyes and pushed myself off my pillow slightly. Ouch! I lay my head back down.

"Uncle Jimmy (James Edward, of course), what are you doing here?"

I thought he was dead. Then again, it could have been Gordon or Bobby that died. There are 12 or 13 uncles on that side of the family.

Uncle Jimmy laughed that hearty booming chortle that was characteristically his. His whole body shook as if every cell was consumed with hilarity. His brown eyes twinked, "Girl, don't you remember? We got a trip to take."

I didn't remember and my expression must have relayed that fact to him because he kept on talking.

"You said you wanted to go back," he began, "You said you wanted to see what would happen if she hadn't died that day..."

I pulled the covers over my head. I didn't have the energy to go anywhere. Honestly, I felt awful and just wanted more rest.

"Sleep it off, Uncle Jimmy, I'm not going anywhere right now."

He smirked and that was that.

The next thing I remember is being back at work and being paged to Obstetrics. I'm an Internist so the page seemed a bit odd, but rule #1 in medicine is you come when you're called.

The call wasn't the only thing that felt off. The hospital felt strange too. I've worked at Snowden County Memorial my entire career. I was born there. My mother was born there. And 2 weeks after I was born there, she died there. Yet the place I've spent most of my life seemed oddly different.

I couldn't put my finger on it exactly, it was just wrong. Not bad, not good, just not right. Everything felt old. Well, no, old is the wrong word. Outdated. Yes, that's it, everything felt outdated.

All the staff, all the patients, and visitors were dressed in retro fashion as if it was 1970 or 71. Bell bottoms, large lapels, pin-straight hair. The decor was dated. The walls in the hallway were a sickly beige with a greenish-yellow zig-zag stripe that was reminiscent of baby poop. There wasn't a computer in sight.

I felt oddly out of place with my thick curls and Apple Watch but I had no time to dwell on any of it. Whatever theme week the hospital was toying with to boost morale was none of my concern. I'm sure I received an email about it at some time or another. But I had a patient to see.

I took the stairs down to the second floor. That's something I've been doing lately. I'm over 50 now, with a busy life and career, I have to fit in exercise where I can. And let me tell you, running up and down these stairs 12 to 14 times a day keeps me in pretty decent shape.

I walked into Room 1A. It was a private room. An instant wave of fear and confusion greeted me. The air was thick with it. Four nurses, two doctors, and an orderly were standing around a young woman who had given birth a day before. Another nurse was standing near the bassinet. That kind of chaos is never a good sign.

I started walking toward the baby. It's usually the baby and I could see, even from my vantage point a few feet away that it was small.

Dr. Badden, our resident OB/GYN stepped toward me. "Not the baby," he led me toward the bed, "the mother..."

I looked at him, then at the patient, a tiny, pretty woman in her mid-20s. She was motionless, sleeping. She has a beautiful silver locket around her neck. I don't know why I noticed it, but I did. It was beautiful, but large and somehow out of place on her slight frame.

I was confused. She was resting comfortably, why was I here?

"We've given her something to sleep," Dr. Badden explained. His grey eyes were wide, almost wild. Beads of sweat were slowly trickling from his temples.

"Why?"

He continued, "The birth was uneventful. A girl, 5 pounds, tiny, but full term, an APGAR of 10. Placenta delivered without issue..."

"And?" I interjected. I wish I could take back my tone. I'm pretty sure I sounded way more annoyed than I meant to.

He softened his voice, "I don't know. She's been screaming in pain since roughly 24 hours postpartum. Lower abdomen, can't find a cause."

I approached the bed, but I couldn't assess much with the woman being asleep. "Get her to Diagnostic Imagining," I barked, "Get an ultrasound, upper and lower GI!" I had a feeling I knew what the problem was.

And about 40 minutes later it was confirmed. The patient, Sandra Jessop, age 26, had a postpartum bowel perforation as well as an obstruction of some sort down there. We scheduled her for emergency surgery and it went well.

I went up to the nursery after the operation was over and looked at the baby girl. She was a pretty baby with her mother's delicate features, a thick head of jet-black hair that fell past her cheekbones already, and deep, deep blue eyes. She seemed older than her day and a half.

Uncle Jimmy sidled up beside me. He was wearing that awful brown suede jacket with the fringe he loves so much. It smelled like the cow that gave its hide for it.

"Mighty pretty baby," he smiled.

"She is," I answered. I wasn't lying. As a doctor, I've seen thousands of babies and she was a beauty. She was smaller than the standard newborn, but her bright, knowing eyes and the way she lifted her head set her apart.

"You feel anything about her?" Jimmy asked in a strange tone that felt like a challenge. Obviously, he wondered how I felt saving the wee thing's mother.

And I felt great. Why wouldn't I? It's the reason I became a doctor, to save people, to rewrite stories that could have been tragic but don't have to be. Because of me, a baby girl will know her mother. And a young, beautiful woman will live.

Uncle Jimmy pressed. He was always liked that. He fancied himself an intellectual, a student of the human mind. It's what he felt separated him from his siblings, that and the high school diploma he managed to get in 1954, the only one his immediate family ever saw.

"Yeah, but do you feel anything special about her?"

I looked closely at the child. She was a gorgeous baby, I couldn't deny that. Her eyes met mine and yes, my heart melted. A person would have to have been made of stone not to adore her.

"Come on," he touched my arm, "time to go."

I shrugged him off. I was enjoying looking at the baby.

"Time to go," Uncle Jimmy persisted and before I knew it we were in a tiny apartment over a bakery. The walls were peeling and it smelled damp. An old woman with tired blue eyes and a heavily lined face was sitting at the dining room table, a cup of coffee in her hands.

There was an even older woman sitting across from her. The atmosphere was warmly tense if that's even a thing. What I mean is, the bond between the women was unambiguously close, but there was a strong air of discontent, maybe even sadness, resignation.

"They're giving classes at The Annex," the younger of the two said, "I was thinking..."

"That's your problem, thinking," the older one groaned, "and while you're thinking, what about your job, what about me? You're worn out as it is! You're no spring chicken, you know!"

The younger one nodded, crestfallen, "Yes. Mama, you're right."

I turned to Uncle Jimmy and asked why we were there. I tried to insert myself into the conversation. It seemed they didn't hear me.

He put his slender arm around me and pointed to the tired-looking woman. "See her?" he asked.

I nodded. It seemed like a silly question given I was standing less than 5 feet from her.

"That's you," he began, "and that other lady is your mother...

I laughed out loud. That exhausted sad sack of a woman sure wasn't me! I wasn't 20 anymore, but I didn't look that bad! And my mother was dead. She died when I was two weeks old from a gangrenous bowel.

"No, she didn't die," my uncle whispered as if he'd read my mind, "She lived, but she was never the same."

I took two or three steps toward the table, excited to touch her, to talk to her. My mother, the one person I longed for my entire life! Right there in front of me, in the flesh! The one person who looked like me, who could have, would have known me, who would have made me make sense. My one biological and cosmic link to the universe. It was surreal!

Nothing. She ignored me. It was like I wasn't even there. My heart sank. I could feel the tears welling up behind my eyes. Even after all these decades, it stung. She didn't choose to leave me the first time, but to ignore me when I was right there? That was worse than never knowing her at all.

"She doesn't know you're here," Uncle Jimmy piped up. "You wanted to know what would have happened if she lived. You wanted to know how your life would have been different..."

I stared at him hard. I was confused. Where was my house on Pettingill Lane? Where were my husband and kids? Why were there no pictures of them on the walls? Speaking of the walls, why were we in this crappy apartment?

Uncle Jimmy smoothed his dark curly beard, "None of that exists. You and your siblings were raised right here. Your mother lived, you saved her, remember?"

I shook my head, dumbfounded. I tried to let it all sink in.

"Tha...tha...that was her?" I stammered.

"For such a clever girl, you sure ain't real bright," he teased. Maybe I wasn't because none of this made any sense.

"Wait," I started putting two and two together and coming to a terrifying conclusion, "If she's not dead, and I'm over there, am I dead?" That seemed like the only logical explanation.

"She didn't die, but she was never the same," he explained. "She had complications, pain, frequent infections, things like that..."

"But..." I began, "You didn't answer me. Am I dead?"

He winked. "Are you? You tell me, you're the doctor, now listen!"

"Why would you want to bother with classes at your age?" she said to me, well, old me, older-looking me, the me that was sitting with her.

"I don't know, I just..." I/she started, "I'd like to say I finished school."

"And if it weren't for me," Mom whimpered, "If you hadn't had to take care of me, you would have. I know, I know." She raised a pair of bony arms in the air dramatically.

I gasped, horrified. I turned to Uncle Jimmy, confused. I was a doctor. A successful one. I finished school, years and years of it!

"No," he explained, "You saved her, remember? The life you know never happened. No adoption, no husband, no kids, no school, and certainly no doctor. You quit school in grade 11 to take care of her. You felt it your duty."

I was reeling! Duty? What duty? it wasn't my fault. I didn't cause her perforation or obstruction. Sure, it was subsequent to childbirth, but I didn't get her pregnant either.

"Where's my dad?" I asked.

"Long gone."

That sounded about right from what I'd heard growing up.

"Two peas in a pod, you were, a regular Mommy and Me," he quipped sarcastically, "She gave up life as she knew it for you and you did the same for her. Two minds, two souls, intertwined, together till the end.

"That sounds really co-dependent," I said.

"Never mind your fancy doctor words with me, little girl," he stuck out his tongue, "I just report the news."

I stood, silent, as the pair continued to bicker back and forth over their morning beverages.

Then the younger one, me, I guess, got up and walked away briefly.

The mother, my mother, called out to her, "Come on back here! Come back!"

Over and over, her words echoed, "Come back, come on back!"

I shut my eyes tight. I couldn't bear to see anymore. It hurt too much, not just emotionally, but physically as if I just had half my insides torn out, reassembled, and put back in.

"Come back. Come on back..." She wouldn't stop.

I opened my eyes slowly to see a smiling face peeing over me. Not my mother. Not an old face. A young face, in a nurse's cap.

"That's it, come on back," she cooed.

"Huh?"

"Oh, thank God!," she exclaimed, "Dr. Killstrom-Medjuc, we thought we'd lost you!"

I looked around the room and found myself surrounded by the same dreary beige and baby-poop green walls attached to close to a dozen monitors and a couple of IV drips.

I must have looked confused because the young nurse patted my arm and stated what by now was the obvious, "You're in the hospital, Doc."

"Where's Uncle Jimmy?" I asked, "He was just here."

"No," she giggled sweetly, "No silly, nobody's been here. There are no visitors at this time of night, you know that." She poured me a glass of water, "That sure was some accident, Doc., you're lucky to still be alive!"

I nodded, pretending to know what she was talking about but too tired to bother asking. I turned my head, eager to sleep some more.

"What's that on the chair?" I asked, pointing to a crumpled brown piece of fabric.

She grabbed it and passed it to me, "Oh, you want your jacket..."

It was brown suede, with fringe. It smelled like the cow who gave its life for it and looked about as old as time itself.

"That's not mine," I said flatly.

"You were wearing it when you came in," her dark eyes danced as if I were teasing her. "Oh, and here," she reached for something on the bedside table and placed it in my hand, "I'm sure you wouldn't want to lose this, Doc. It looks important. It was in the front pocket."

I held out my hand as she placed a silver locket in my hand, a little too big to wear around my long, thin neck. I opened it. There were 2 pictures, one in each oval, on the right, a dark-haired baby, and on the left, a young pretty woman with delicate features.