—Incompatible with life…
—If you haven’t yet, sneak over and read Part One and Part Two and Part Three first. You gotta start at the beginning. It has been such a long time since the last post about Jared, it is probably a good idea to get a refresher anyhow. –JR
She doesn’t walk across the room…she glides.
I remember back in the day when Victoria Fuentez (her name then) first caught my eye. I can take you to the exact spot. The old kitchen chair I was sitting in is long gone. The church kitchen has probably been remolded a few times. But I am pretty sure the building is still standing. It’s on North Polk in Fresno, CA.
I can tell you it was very late at night, August 4, 1995. It might have been some where in the early morning hours of August 5. Not exactly sure. I can even tell you what we were doing. We were making melon balls. Seriously.
I had known her for years, but this night I saw her through a totally different set of eyes.
And I really liked what I saw. (Cue Curly voice) “Woo woo woo woo!”
But beyond the piercing hazel eyes nestled above stunning high set cheek bones, flowing auburn hair, a perfect jawline, and enviable rosy complexion…there was so much more.
Vikki carried herself with a grace and a confidence. Beyond her beauty was a solid foundation that drew me to her, wanting to learn more. And I am so glad I have.
To the common observer, she was a widow struggling to raise two young kids. To me, she was a Queen ready to ascend to her throne. Her name was Victoria after all.
She didn’t just walk across a room…she would glide, almost float. As I said, I really liked what I saw.
There is so much more I could say, but Vikki proof reads every post and will probably object to what I have said already. So let’s go…
Back to the ultrasound room
We were alone. I spoke first.
“She got out of here quick.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a boy. Can you believe it?”
“Finally a boy!”
The door opened. In walked our doctor. Let’s call her Dr. Smith. Her real name doesn’t matter.
I have to break in here and say you may think my words about Dr. Smith are harsh and unfair. And they are. But I have to convey the full emotion of what I was experiencing. Even as I type this post so many years later I have this strange tightness in my chest and throat. Dr. Smith became an outlet for my pain and anger. Though not outright nor verbally to her. Pretty passively actually, but it was still very real to me.
“Hello, Victoria. Josh.”
We replied.
She began to rub her hands together in the most annoying way. As if she was searching for her words very carefully. Fishing for the right terms and the courage to get out what she needed to. A distraction. A nervous habit. An outlet for her discomfort. I don’t know. Super annoying, though.
“It seems baby is not quite where he should be…growth wise.” “There may be some issues.” “We will need to…”
She began to toss out words I didn’t want to hear.
“Incompatible with life.” Her exact words. A medical term? Probably. But so cold, so cutting, so final.
And still she kept rubbing…no, wringing her hands together.
How did she become a doctor? It’s her job to tell us both good news and bad news in a steady polite manner.
“We are going to send you across the hall to the high risk office. They will do another ultrasound and we will know more.”
Thank the Lord! I can’t take her nervous jabbering any more.
She shuffled us across a secret hallway into another office.
Wait…there’s a problem? This is so sudden. First we are having a boy, then radiologist girl goes silent and solemn. Dr. Smith comes in and rubs a her palms so much I am surprised they didn’t burst into flames.
Vikki and I share a glance.
What is happening?
The High Risk Pregnancy Office
We had never been here before. Never had a reason to. We had been through nine pregnancies together. Each one pretty smooth as far as complications.
I mean we have had a few experiences to talk about. Laugh about. Like when the overnight night doctor was a little too slow and the attending RN delivered the little one before he could get there. The doctors name is on the birth certificate, but only because it has to be. He wasn’t even in the room.
Then there was the time when…I have to get permission from the Lady before I tell any more stories. She is my proof reader, remember. I’ll let you know how that goes.
There we were in the High Risk Office.
Vikki had another ultrasound and the high risk doctor was amazing.
But the news was not.
Abnormalities. Not measuring correctly. Under developed.
Probably will not make it full term. If so, severely abnormal.
The words seemed to bounce around the sterile room and through our hearts like pointed barbs.
Incompatible with life.
Some terms I had never heard. Others I didn’t understand. What does that mean? Can it be fixed? What can be done? What’s happening?
I don’t remember saying anything or asking any questions.
But I do remember Vikki replying…
“Yes.” “Ok.” “Ok.” Asking a question or two.
And I remember thinking. How is she being so strong? This must not be really bad, because she isn’t breaking down. She seems to be processing this so well. Maybe I am misunderstanding.
My throat was tightening up, eyes slowly filling, breathing growing heavy.
Yes, she seemed to be the same confident, strong, independent Lady I have grown to love more than life itself.
No tears…no trembling in her voice. Steady.
And at that moment, I was so grateful.
Because inside, bit by bit, this dad’s heart was crumbling into a million pieces.
Incompatible with life? At this moment, I felt as if I may be incompatible with life…
“But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren…that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope.”
1 Thessalonians 4:13