Our Story: The Most Beautiful Sunrise

                                                                                     

Our Story

                                                                                             

by

                                                                                     

David L. White

                                           

For my beloved wife Tracy, on the twenty-first anniversary of the birth of our sons.

         
























                                                         

*                              *                              *                              *                            *

    "Daddy, who would you pick if you could meet anyone in the whole wide world?"

    "Yeah c'mon Dad, would it be the President or Michael Jordan... well who?"

                             
                                                     Ethan White, Daniel White
                                                     expanding on that day's
                                                     pre-school topic.



















Prologue       

    2003

    My wife Tracy and I live in central Indiana with our twin sons Daniel and Ethan.  For many years, the task of raising our children has pleasantly occupied our time.  The word children no longer applies, though, because our sons will soon have another birthday.  It will be their twenty-first.  The boys commute to college and work part-time jobs between irregular stays at home.  They are very busy now with grown-up challenges and change more every day as they enter adulthood. 

    I sometimes reflect about life with our boys and do so very intently every year, at this time, when their birthday of July 23 approaches.  The month of July always carries me back to the beginning when our boys' lives began. The remembrances come in rushes to ricochet through my mind and to touch my heart.  My senses fill and my emotions sometimes overtake me.  In fact, my thoughts once stirred in me such an emotional dream—so very realistic and memorable—that it resides as an imprint in my mind, as an actual event might remain in one's recollection.

    Until now, I never felt compelled to write about our experiences but this year is certainly different.  This age is a milestone for our boys, but it brings pause for us as parents because we have now reared young men.  No longer are they really children .  We had difficulty with ideas for birthday gifts for the boys this year, possibly because there seems to be an unspoken-about disconnect developing with them.  This hesitation may have been a denial on our part that the boys have grown up.  And we know the time is short until they will move from our home and begin their adult lives.

    Truly, it's exciting to see them mature but much yearning by us for the early years is evident as well.  As Tracy so succinctly stated recently, "The school bus doesn't stop here any more." 

    I had little experience in caring for children during my youth, but when I first held my sons it brought clarity to my life.  Sometimes, I listen to others as they describe the events of their days with their children, and there is always a shine in their eyes during such stories.  And, I often observe parents full of pride and joy with their youngsters.  I agree with others still, who have sons or daughters near the age of our boys, as they express a want for years gone by but eagerly await each new experience to come.  All have that same look, that same shine. 

    My younger sister Jackie, and her husband, attempted to have a child for years.  She must have suspected what I already knew:  this is what life is all about.  Finally, when her beautiful daughter was born, Jackie suddenly exhibited that same shine that will never wane.  Welcome to the club, little sister.  Membership is forever.             

    Although my mind is filled with memories of the past twenty-one years, many of my thoughts, though, turn to the first days and weeks after Daniel and Ethan were born, especially the day of their births.  Those thoughts seem to inhabit the recesses of my mind ready to spring forward at any moment.  Some occur with very detailed and vivid recognition, especially now as another of their birthdays approaches.  Thoughts that are most dominant in my mind fill my senses; not only do I see and hear what my mind replays but I also feel, smell, and taste the experiences repeatedly.

    The twenty-one years since their births seem to have moved by in a flash.  Others warned us "They grow up so fast," and "Enjoy them while they're young."  Although time has indeed sped, we have experienced more happiness than anyone really deserves.  Our children may be grown now but the beginning will live on in my mind forever.

    This joyous life with our sons that continues today almost ended, though, shortly after it began.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

One

    During September of 1981, Tracy and I, both in our early twenties, were beginning to settle into married life.  We had wed in April that year and lived in an apartment in southern Indiana near the town of Seymour, only minutes from Tracy's hometown and barely an hour from mine.  I had originally moved to that location, in the summer of 1979, as a transfer with my job as an assistant manager for a discount department-store chain.

 
    Tracy and I had met in Seymour just ten months before our marriage.  We were fixed up by a young lady from my store who attended a local beauty school where Tracy was also a student.  We dated constantly and exclusively until we acknowledged our love for one another and planned to marry. We first selected a date in June for the wedding--only because it would mark one year from the time we met--but we, eventually, shortened the time and set a date of April 12.  I received some resistance to this plan from my superiors at work since the wedding would fall during the busy Easter weekend, so we backed the date up one week and settled on April 5, a Sunday.  We were married in Tracy's hometown of North Vernon.


    One evening that September, at the end of my workday, I told Tracy I had learned that the company I worked for had acquired four buildings in Michigan and would open stores there by Thanksgiving of that year.  When I joined the company, almost all its stores were located in my home state of Indiana.  I had never traveled very far from the southern-Indiana area and had no interest in moving to another state. 

    I told Tracy I certainly hoped the company wouldn't even ask me to help with the setup at any of the new Michigan stores because, to me, they were so very far away.  She said, "Let's volunteer to move there!"  Her reaction was surprising to me, initially, but her zeal to break out into life and take on such a move was encouragement enough for me to take that step as well.  The more we talked about it, the more excited I became.

    After I submitted my official interest in moving to one of the new Michigan stores, my district manager told me I would indeed be going.  As the days leading to the decisions about specific staffing of the new stores approached, Tracy and I felt great anticipation about what was ahead.  We preferred the city of Port Huron among the four possibilities on the map and I expected it would be our new home. 

    Finally, though, I received news that my transfer would be to Lapeer Michigan and my position would be Associate Manager... a promotion!  The position of Associate Manager meant I was suddenly part of a small group of people to be considered for a store manager's position whenever such a job became available. I was, essentially, now in a pool of managers-in-waiting, next to promote to that level. 

    Tracy and I were very excited about the news.  Lapeer would be our new home.  A place we knew almost nothing about, but it felt right.  I think we were both a little scared, though, (I certainly know I was) but we had each other to carry through and that was what kept me with chin up and moving forward.


    In mid-October, I drove alone to Lapeer to meet the rest of the management team.  Tracy remained in Seymour to pack us for the ultimate move.  I followed Interstate 69 north out of Indiana, through Lansing Michigan, and seemingly on and on.  It was the longest trip I had ever taken clocking nearly seven hours drive to my destination.  As I neared Lapeer, there were signs on I-69 stating "road ends".  Lapeer was the last exit on the interstate just yards from the barricade that marked the conclusion of the highway.  I felt as though I had driven to the end of the earth.       

    Viewing a map, the state of Michigan resembles a mitten and that is quite appropriate for the winter climate. Lapeer is located in the thumb area of that mitten on the central eastern side about an hour north of Detroit.  Not exactly the end of the earth after all. 

    I found the store where I would work and there were already some co-workers on site.  It was early evening.  We greeted one another and walked the building together trying to imagine it fully stocked and bustling with business.  Our job would be very challenging and stressful.  We had to open for business by the day after Thanksgiving only five weeks away.  My group included three assistant managers and the store manager.  We all had dinner together that night at a bowling alley, of all places, where I ate very little as my stomach was in knots due to all the changes occurring so quickly that day.  I gave Tracy a call from a pay phone at the bowling alley.  It was so good to hear her but it seemed like she was a million miles away.  Later, my group and I all checked into our separate rooms at a small, local motel.  Our work would begin the next morning.

    Each of the new management team members of my store took turns checking for housing during the first week of work.  One of the assistant managers who went out earliest found that there were apartments available in a complex within view of our store. That complex was the only place I checked on.  I wanted a place and to get Tracy there as quickly as possible to be with me.  I rented a two-bedroom apartment and set a date for the move.  Two others on our staff would also call that apartment complex home.  We also took turns leaving the project to move and my chance occurred two weeks after I had first arrived in Michigan.

    When I returned to Indiana, Tracy was nearly packed so we finished preparation, loaded the moving truck, and rested for the hours-long drive to our new home.  We bid farewell to our families and left in a U-Haul truck with all our belongings.

    U-Haul trucks at that time had a common message printed on the sides of the trailers:  Adventure in Moving.  We headed out for adventure in our young marriage, more than we ever imagined we would encounter.

    The remainder of the year went quickly as the grand opening of the store and the Christmas season filled my hours.  During that time, Tracy made our apartment into a comfortable home. 

    Although we felt independently distanced from our families, we eagerly awaited our return home for Christmas.  We did travel home on Christmas Eve first to visit Tracy's family, and then later to visit mine.  It was our first holiday season together as a young married couple, but we raced home to see our families feeling slightly homesick and anxious for the familiarity the trip would bring.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Two

    That same December, we decided to have a baby.  After marriage, we had discussed some plans and priorities.  Tracy wanted a child.  "Just a tiny baby," she would state as she held her arms in a cradling fashion close to herself.  She told me I wouldn't even know the baby was around.  I wanted a motorcycle.  The original agreement was a motorcycle, then a baby.  I had no clue then what responsibility a child would be as I compared and debated the merits of a motorcycle purchase to having a baby.  Our discussions continued, and I agreed that we should add to our family, so we made an adult decision to have a child right away.


    By mid-January, Tracy felt she was already pregnant and scheduled a test with a local doctor (no at-home pregnancy tests existed at that time, as I recall).  I joined Tracy on the day of her appointment.  She was tested and I remember that we then spent considerable time in a waiting room.  A nurse came to Tracy, and without fanfare, set up her first appointment with a Dr. Blankenhorn. 

    As we left, I was somewhat puzzled.  Is she pregnant?  My only experience with such news came from television shows and TV often portrays the announcement of pregnancy as a grand event with soft, sweet music in the background.  I expected something like I had seen on Ricky and Lucy.  I asked Tracy what had just happened and she told me her due date was September 15.  She shined with happiness, all smiles and laughter with a new and different light in her eyes.

                                                                                                           

~~~

    As the early part of the year 1982 unfolded, we experienced much anticipation.  We immediately began to fill our second bedroom with items for the child yet to join us.  Our families and friends were very kind and helpful during our special time as they contributed items to the baby's room like diaper-changing supplies, furniture, and stuffed toys and they entertained us with stories of their own times expecting.
 
    For Valentines Day that year, Tracy and I went out to the nearby city of Flint for lunch and a movie.  Afterward, we went into a shopping mall and found a special event occurring in a department store.  The store had an aquarium stocked with oysters for the choosing and it guaranteed a pearl inside each.  The tank was a standard home aquarium in size and had some gravel on the bottom to give the appearance of the ocean floor.  After a patron made a selection from the tank, the store associate would open the oyster to reveal the treasure.  Farther down the line were choices of mountings in rings, necklaces, and earrings and a jeweler on spot to take care of that task.

    I plucked a five-dollar bill and Tracy pointed to her choice in the tank.  A customer immediately in front of us in line had just witnessed the opening of her selection.  It contained a small dark pearl.  I felt this was a disappointment for that customer and wondered if we had just wasted five dollars.  When the store associate pried Tracy's selection open, though, we saw two glistening, white pearls.  Tracy shrieked with approval.  Then she turned to me and said "This means we're going to have twins!"
 
    Twins "run", as they say, in Tracy's family.  Her grandmother was an identical twin and Tracy's sister, Janey, is the mother of fraternal twins.  Therefore, it was certainly a distinct possibility that we could have twins. 

    I learned during those months of expectation, though, that I had absolutely nothing to do with that possibility of twins.  The mother holds all the cards in that game.  My contribution to the cause was the determination of the gender, as males choose biologically, and most unknowingly.

                                                                                                         

~~~

    We attended childbirth classes at the Lapeer County Hospital every Monday evening during the first few months of Tracy's pregnancy.  The information was interesting to me and I listened curiously.  Tracy practiced the technique of proper breathing during labor and I took mental note of all the coaching tips the instructors mentioned. 

    At one meeting, a zealous couple who already had a child, brought pictures of the birth of their first baby.  The proud father worked the room while showing photos of his wife experiencing her fine achievement including close-ups of all the events during the delivery.  I remember the embarrassment of the moment for Tracy and me, viewing such graphic and revealing photos.  It was quite shocking for me to see how the business end of things looks during the miracle of childbirth.  Tracy made it abundantly clear to me that there would be no cameras allowed during her delivery and, quite honestly, I had to agree.

    During another weekly meeting, we received a group tour of the delivery room and nursery in the hospital.  At the nursery, I noticed one of the employees of the store where I worked as he looked through the glass at his newborn.  He was a young man who worked in the hardware department at the store, but I had no idea he had a baby on the way.  I stopped to speak to him and, while I greeted and congratulated him, I nearly missed something the instructor pointed out: the nursery contained only a single isolette. 

    An isolette is a small mobile incubator, essentially, used for premature babies with breathing problems and other various urgent conditions.  The hospital had only one. 

    It never occurred to me that we would go anywhere but to the Lapeer hospital for the birth.  Besides—I learned as I caught up with the discussion by the instructor—Hurley Medical Center in Flint was only minutes away, and could handle emergencies quickly with a transfer.

                                                                                                         

~~~

    During the winter that lingered that year as all seem to do, Tracy experienced the hunger cravings expected at such a time.  I recall walks I often made at night to a nearby drug store to purchase a chocolate malted ice cream cup for her.  I would trek out on my missions in full winter gear but I never considered buying an entire box to stock Tracy with this treat.  I enjoyed the near-nightly excursions then and remember them fondly today.

    Tracy also experienced morning sickness; in fact, she was ill and uncomfortable much of the time during her pregnancy.  I would worry very much about her but be reassured as she received routine news at each checkup.
 
    The visits to the doctor began monthly but soon occurred every other week.  I arranged to attend all.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Three

    By May, Dr. Blankenhorn told Tracy he wanted her to have an ultrasound test.  He said that he needed to determine if (a) she was further along in her pregnancy than originally determined, (b) she was holding water, or (c) she was carrying multiples.  He told her he expected the test would simply reveal that she was retaining water.  Such tests are routine today but not so often used at that time.  The appointment was scheduled locally and I arranged for the time off that day to accompany Tracy.
 
    On the day of the test, with Tracy taken to a room for the ultrasound, I seated myself in the waiting room.  A sports magazine was my companion as I waited as the only person in the room.  I considered little of what was going on with the test as I read the magazine.  Guys just didn't go in for such tests then.  I was part of a generation of fathers who were just becoming regular participants in the delivery room, but not necessarily for all appointments and tests leading to.

    About 30 minutes later, Tracy entered the waiting room with a huge smile on her face.  She held up a snapshot in each hand and excitedly announced, "Twins!"  The pearls were an omen! 

    In Tracy's excitement to get to me with the news, the medical staff passed on the opportunity to inform us of the sex of the babies, and we just didn't think to ask.  Again, 1982 was a different time, and the big reveal of whether boy or girl was still something that commonly occurred at birth.

    Lapeer was a small Michigan town with only seven or eight thousand residents at the time.  It had a quaint Midwestern downtown area.  Probably no more than a dozen traffic lights hung above its intersections.  However, I couldn't find my way back to our apartment that day as I attempted to drive home.  Tracy laughed and poked fun at me in my confusion, then re-directed me on the streets that had become so familiar to me during the months while we lived there.

    I was happy, worried, excited, overwhelmed, proud, and scared all at once.  Tracy just couldn't stop smiling. 

    Ricky and Lucy should have been so lucky.
 
    Suddenly, we had only half the items we needed for the baby's (make that now babies') room at home.  Our families and friends came to our rescue with assistance.  Many associates at the store where I worked pitched in to buy a second infant car seat as a gift for us.  A new law had just been enacted in the state of Michigan to require such equipment.  A second crib then occupied the bedroom.  All furniture and supplies soon doubled.

                                                                                    

~~~

    That spring and summer was a magical time for us.  The anticipation and purpose we felt made each day special.  Colors seemed brighter to me, sounds more clear—like the thwack each morning outside our apartment door as the daily newspaper was delivered—and each day that passed meant that we were one day closer to the start of an amazing chapter in our married life.

    We shopped the infants' department at local stores and malls constantly studying all the typical items about to become part of our home.

    With Tracy's tutoring, I made a supply of bibs using her sewing machine.  This was quite a gift and memory that Tracy gave me, well calculated in her effort to include me throughout the process.  The same guy who was angling for a Yamaha just months before was working the hum of a Singer instead.  A drawer full of tiny creme-colored bibs with little ducks and bunnies appliques resulted.

    Grocery shopping occurred weekly as we entered armed with a twenty-dollar budget and a pocket calculator to tally the selections.  We'd always get to the last aisles over spent and have to remove items from the cart selectively to be in line with our resources.

    We decorated and furnished to completion in our apartment for the two miracles soon to join us.  Their room was ready months ahead of the due date.  All set.

    For our first wedding anniversary, we had dinner in Flint at a Red Lobster restaurant where we consumed the most expensive meal I had ever been associated with at that time in my life.  Our server, so mechanical with her poise and diction, caused us to giggle each time she left our table.  Later that same anniversary evening we drove home slowly struggling through a surprise late-season, April snowstorm with our first major purchase, a microwave oven, in the trunk of the car.

    We attended a Detroit Tigers game at the old downtown stadium that summer where bygone icons of baseball had once played and where the old black-and-white footage of spectators, wearing 40's-style hats and long coats, seemed to play on.  The catcher for the home team ended the game in the tenth inning with a home run sending us all out happily on a brilliantly bright, blue-sky day.

    During one weekly meeting at the hospital, we exited the building at the same time a young couple was first departing with their newborn.  They absolutely shined with smiles and happiness.  As we smiled on them and passed by, I asked "Two?" and held up two fingers to the father.  He just smiled and nodded inquisitively not understanding my question.  Tracy laughed at me and said, "Not everyone has twins, you dope!"  With the obvious joy that couple showed with only one baby, I wondered what bliss must await us.

    It was indeed a magical summer..

                                                                                                  

~~~

    Tracy's appointments with Dr. Blankenhorn became a weekly occurrence.  She began to feel more discomfort than before.  Everything was progressing smoothly but pregnancies involving multiples become a "higher risk" according to the doctor.  The doctor also told Tracy she would probably not carry the babies for the full term.  "Pre-maturity" he told her "is common with multiples."

    I began to take on more and more of the household chores in an effort to allow Tracy to simply take care of herself.  She was clearly more uncomfortable than in prior weeks.  I wished I could be home all the time to help her with things.

    The childbirth classes ended and we settled into what became the final two months of her pregnancy.

~~~

    On a Friday, July 16, the manager of the store where I worked asked me over to his condominium to help move some appliances.  He had a refrigerator in the kitchen and, one floor below, another in the basement.  For a reason I can't recall he wanted to switch their locations.  An assistant manager from our store was also on hand for the task.  We began by moving the kitchen refrigerator to the basement.  As we labored up the steps with the other refrigerator, the manager's wife yelled down the stairs to us that I had a phone call.  The others decided it best to secure the refrigerator on the landing at that point, have a beer during my call, and resume the ascent later.   

    I took the call upstairs.  It was the district manager for our store, and he began by telling me that he would understand if I turned down the offer he was about to make.  He then told me that an opening for a store manager was available in northern Indiana and that I was one of two candidates considered for the job.  I immediately gave him my answer, which was to decline the candidacy.  Because, I reasoned, Tracy was only weeks from childbirth so I certainly had no interest in moving at that time.  We spoke for a few more minutes during which time he told me he understood my decision and he said that another opportunity would present itself someday. 

    My store manager was shocked that I had turned down the offer.  "White", he said, "What were you thinking?  They'll never call you again."

    When the second refrigerator was relocated, I returned home.  Tracy had taken the call from the district manager originally at our apartment and had informed him of my whereabouts. 

    Brilliant Idea #1:  I told Tracy about the offer I had declined.  She immediately broke into tears and told me that she felt she was holding me back.  I assured her I had no interest in the job and that I would have another opportunity someday anyway.  Truly, this was how I felt.  Nonetheless, the stress of the pregnancy seemed to multiply for her at that point.  During the following days, Tracy's discomfort increased; in fact, she experienced a breakout of hives which only complicated her condition.  It was a difficult and exhausting time for her.

    On July 22, a Thursday, Tracy attended what became her final regular appointment with Dr. Blankenhorn.  Again, I had the day off for the visit and accompanied her to the doctor's office.  Things were still fine as he described, and then he said, "You could have those babies any time now, you know."  We left the appointment to spend a very relaxing evening together.  We had dinner out where we spent the remainder of my weekly pay before returning home.  After we settled in for the night, we played a board game on the bed.  The game we enjoyed was Life but we had no idea that we were only hours away from moving full-steam-ahead into the literal game of life.  Tracy felt good but we turned in early on that quiet evening.

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Four

    Tracy woke me abruptly at just past 2 a.m.  She seemed panicked.  When she became fully awake and aware, she realized that her water had broken.  It was time to go to the hospital!  She scrambled to gather the bag that she had packed weeks ago for the hospital stay.  Tracy's bag included clothing and shoes, and phone numbers, and instructions for me... and card games.  During the childbirth classes, we learned that we should bring something along to help pass the time during labor.  Cards was her choice of entertainment.

    I dressed hurriedly but took time to comb my hair.  Tracy immediately informed me that the condition of my hair was a very low priority.  That moment stands as one of her favorite hospital-run stories still today: "I'm going into labor with twins, and he stops to fix his hair!"

    Incredibly, I remembered the route to the hospital, considering the suddenness of the event and my record of navigating Lapeer under duress.  The streets were empty as we raced toward the hospital.  Tracy remained calm and I remained between the lines.  In minutes, we pulled into the half-circle drive at the emergency entrance of the Lapeer County Hospital.  I assisted Tracy into the emergency room where I excitedly announced to the woman behind the desk that my wife was "about to give birth".  The nurse laughed aloud about my proclamation as she greeted Tracy.  I suppose most expectant fathers who enter a hospital for the big day make for good comedy.  In moments, Tracy was wheel-chaired away by another nurse and I followed.  We were taken to a room where we would spend the next several hours.

    Brilliant Idea #2:  I didn't call either of our families to inform them we were at the hospital with Tracy in labor, because I didn't want to leave Tracy's side... for anything.  We weren't prepared for this.  Correction:  I wasn't prepared.  I gave little thought to anything but the two of us and the babies about to be born.

    The first few hours of Tracy's labor were uneventful.  The hospital was very quiet as I sat on a wooden chair next to her bed.  Dr. Blankenhorn visited later in the morning and jokingly told Tracy that although he had, just the day before, told her that she "could have those babies any time" he didn't mean she had to so quickly.  He smiled to both of us, did some additional review of Tracy's condition, and then left the room.

    When I attended elementary school, the teachers told us that our country would switch to the Metric system by our adult years.  I recall the absolute fear of learning a second system of measure.  Only a few things I can think of, though, in my lifetime of now forty-three years, involve practical use of the Metric system.  I sometimes buy two-liter soft drinks, and tools I use and sell come in both standard and metric sizing, but that day... centimeters...  became so very important during the hours of Tracy's labor.  A diagram on the wall across the room from her bed illustrated her ominous dilation goal for us.

    Later in the morning, a nurse rolled a mobile ultrasound machine into our room.  With Dr. Blankenhorn present, the nurse moved a paddle, attached to the machine, over Tracy's stomach.  The device produced a low repetitive, thumping sound.  It was the heartbeat of one of our babies.  Tracy and the nurse smiled at one another with the discovery.  The nurse continued to move the paddle gently over Tracy's stomach as if she was searching for a fragile treasure.  Eventually during the procedure, the nurse seemed anxious.  Dr. Blankenhorn assumed the task and found what became alarmingly apparent to me:  no second heartbeat. 

    In an attempt to ease our fear, the doctor told us the position of the babies could affect the detection of sound.  The doctor and the nurse then quietly left the room.  I can still hear the sound of the machine to this day.  It sounded like a phonograph needle scratching a vinyl record.  What began as an exciting announcement of its presence by one of our babies then brought fear to us with no detection of another heartbeat.  No one, not Tracy or I, spoke another word about the missing heartbeat despite several failed attempts with the machine that morning.. 

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Five

    Tracy felt much more pain as her labor progressed.  The nurses became more business-like as their visits to our room increased in frequency.  Finally, someone removed the machine used to detect heartbeats.  It never fully completed its task.  I sat on the chair next to Tracy's bed and felt very concerned.  We never played card games that day.

    Later, the doctor ordered an epidural injection of medication to ease Tracy's pain.  He asked me to leave the room during the procedure.  I went into a small waiting room across the hall where two nurses were seated and talking.  One of them was eating a sack lunch.  I was very tired and hungry but I had only minimal pocket change so I had no way to purchase anything from the vending machines in the room.  It was payday at the store but I didn't want to leave Tracy to pick up my check.  The nurse who was eating lunch recognized my hunger without a question and offered me an apple.  I accepted it, thanked her, and began to eat. 

    After only a few bites, I dashed into the restroom just aside the waiting area where I threw up the small amount I had eaten and tossed the apple into a trash can.  I wiped my mouth, washed my hands, and returned to the waiting room where I acted like absolutely nothing unusual had happened.  The two nurses politely ignored my presence.

    That Kodak Moment is another story Tracy delightfully describes still today,  "While I was going through twelve hours of labor, ready to give birth to twins, David had to sit on a hard chair, got sick, and threw up... poor David!  If men had to give birth..." 

    When I returned to her room, Tracy was groggy and silent.  The medication seemed to work well for her and I felt this was a great improvement over the pain she appeared to be in prior.

    About an hour later, the doctor told me that Tracy was nearly ready to deliver.  This announcement was very subdued, unlike the chaos and mad, comical dash through the hall that always occurs on the TV shows.  A nurse directed me to a closet nearby in the hall and showed me the appropriate apparel to wear.  I dressed in scrubs and then accompanied the waiting nurse as she escorted me to the delivery room.

    When we reached our destination, the room already contained several people preparing implements at two work stations.  I stood and waited for several minutes before someone wheeled Tracy's bed into the room.  We waited still longer, much longer seemingly, before others entered the room.  Dr. Blankenhorn then appeared.  He mentioned brief instructions in a quiet voice, just above a whisper, to all present.  Then a wise, experienced nurse broke the near silence:  "Get a chair for Dad."  Instantly someone rolled a round stool behind me.  I sat down at the head of Tracy's bed to her right side.  My assignment was to hold a damp washcloth to her forehead during the proceedings.

    Finally, the births began.  Dr. Blankenhorn and two nurses worked at the opposite end of the bed preparing for the first baby.  Several other people stood poised at the separate stations to Tracy's left.  The doctor soon produced a baby and calmly announced, "Male."  It was 2:19 p.m.  I watched as one of the nurses who had assisted the doctor took the first baby.  She carried the baby to one of the tables where the crew at that station surrounded him and then went carefully and gently about their work.  I watched the table for a few moments and noticed that the first baby received much attention but there seemed to be no concern. 

    I turned to see the birth of our second child and began to feel a chill.  Then I thought the lights in the room were going out.  I quickly realized, though, that I was about to faint.  Since I wore a hospital mask, like the nurses and doctors used, I don't know if the other people in the room noticed the deep breaths I took in an attempt to stay conscious.  Fortunately, there was a stool beneath me.  I remained upright in my seat and began to see the whole room come slowly back into focus. 

    Then I witnessed the birth of our second child.  "Male," Dr. Blankenhorn repeated at 2:22.  Heart clearly beating, just like baby number one!

    Their respective teams then surrounded the babies.  In minutes, the crowd prepared to move out.  "We're taking them for their first checkup," one nurse told me with a huge smile outlined behind her mask.  I felt immediate glee.  They are healthy, I thought, and I turned my attention again to Tracy as the two groups, each with a tiny infant, left the room.  Dr. Blankenhorn and a nurse remained to finish caring for Tracy.  I embraced and kissed Tracy and felt so much love for her.  She was clearly spent but awake as she smiled and whispered loving words to me. 

    We waited in the delivery room for several minutes after the doctor left, while a recovery section was prepared for Tracy.  We were anxious to hold our sons and to call our families. However, we were completely unaware of how terrifying things were about to become.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Six

    When we finally left the delivery room, a nurse moved Tracy to the recovery area.  We were extremely happy.  Our children are born!  A phone was available in the recovery room so I called my parents' house where my sister Jackie, then fifteen years old, answered.  She was so excited with the news I could barely understand her joyous response.  Next, Tracy called her family with the same result.  Word then spread in our hometowns.

    Just moments after we completed our calls, though, a hospital employee came to speak to us.  He said that "as a precaution" the hospital would immediately transfer the boys to the Hurley Medical Center in Flint, which was about thirty minutes away.  He explained further that the boys' lungs were small and underdeveloped (the boys were born nearly seven weeks prematurely), and that better facilities for their care were available at Hurley.  He said they had called Hurley and that Hurley personnel were on their way to make the transfer.  He then told me that I needed to go to the nursery room soon to sign papers.  We would have to find out later if Tracy could transfer to the Hurley Medical Center that day.

    After the man left us, Tracy and I felt some concern but we reassured each other as we repeated his words that this was only "a precaution."  We certainly hadn't expected this turn of events, though.  I told Tracy that I should go to take care of  matters and, as I left the room, I turned to notice the last smile (a nervous and forced smile) that I would see on her face that day. 

    The nursery area was nearby so I simply followed the sound of babies' cries down the hall.  As I approached the nursery, I saw only one person in the hall.  A man in a uniform of some sort, like an EMT, was looking through a large glass pane into a room on the right side of the hall.  I passed him and stopped just a few feet to his side, and then what I saw nearly caused me to collapse. 

    I looked into the same room the uniformed man was viewing where I saw several medical people working frantically in the rear center of the room.  They encircled a baby who was clearly in dire condition.  The urgency of their motions was chilling.  To the right, in the front corner of the room, a nurse stood beside another baby who was in a small bed.  The nurse held a breathing apparatus to the baby's face.  I had never seen a premature baby ever before that day.  The baby seemed to have no ribs at all as his entire abdomen expanded and contracted violently with each labored breath. 

    The babies I had heard crying as I approached were actually farther away down the hall, in an adjoining room.  The room I watched contained only two babies and they were not crying.  If any innocence was still within me that day, it vanished in the seconds when I realized what I saw.  The Hurley personnel were not "on their way" they were already there.  The babies in the room receiving emergency care were our sons.  The call to Hurley had gone out sooner than they told us it had.  This was not just "a first checkup" or "a precaution."  It was clearly a rescue attempt.  Tears began to pour from my eyes.  I have no idea how I was able to continue to stand (there was no stool beneath me this time).

    As I watched the group of urgent people who worked straight ahead, and the gasping baby at the right in the room, the man beside me began to speak.  "Are those your boys?"  I couldn't respond.

    "Oh man, two boys!  You're going to have so much fun... ma'an, two boys."

    I watched a person in the room who seemed to be in charge.  He worked very urgently with the baby at the back of the room.  The man in charge looked much like the actor Richard Dreyfuss, with the same hair, beard, and glasses as in the movies "Jaws" and "The Goodbye Girl."  I wondered then how my mind could make such a meaningless recognition at such a critical time.

    "Two boys, man you are so lucky!"  The man beside me seemed oblivious to the danger my babies were in.

    Dreyfuss moved quickly with certain purpose as many others assisted.  My view to that baby remained mostly obstructed.

    "When we came here you wouldn't believe the traffic.  Some people acted like they didn't notice the ambulance, even with the lights... and the siren!"  The man beside me remained unmoved by what was unfolding behind the glass.

    I watched the baby at the front of the room gulp with rapid, erratic breaths.  His entire body quivered.

    "We'll get them back to Hurley.  They'll be okay there... everything will be okay."  I didn't acknowledge the man's words.  Can't he see what's happening?  He continued by speaking about his own child while I remained fixated on the people in the room.  It was a nightmare before my eyes.  The word surreal is certainly overused, but it matched what I observed and felt during those harrowing moments.

    The urgency at the back of the room intensified as Dreyfuss' moves sped.  I still couldn't see much of the baby that he and the group surrounded because they tightened together as their work continued. 

    "Hurley is a great hospital... they'll be fine," the uniformed man concluded. 

    Suddenly, Dreyfuss stopped his work abruptly and pulled back in anticipation.  All who worked with him stopped and they seemed to watch for a result as well.  After the short pause, they simultaneously began their work again... more urgently!  The baby had nearly been lost, I thought.  I wondered what kept me conscious and standing.  I had never felt so alone in my life.  Tracy was only down the hall but I couldn't call out to her.  I couldn't speak, I could barely stand.  I was numb but I could feel my body tremble as tears rolled down my face. 

    No one in the room had yet noticed me.  The man beside me continued to speak.  At times he laughed and I wondered what he saw.  He was all smiles and encouragement and I was a mess.  I felt so helpless and so alone as I watched our sons seemingly cling to life. 

    Finally, someone inside the room spotted me.  The door opened and a nurse ushered me inside quickly where I acknowledged myself as the father.  Dreyfuss met me instantly and explained that the boys had to transfer immediately.  He spoke a hundred miles an hour.  He presented papers to sign and I choked back the tears as I tried to listen to him. 

    Both babies were on mobile beds and those at the beds were clearly anxious to move out.  One of the Lapeer nurses asked if "the mother" could come to see the babies before they left.  Dreyfuss barked that there wasn't enough time.  He directed someone to take photos of the babies for Tracy instead, and then two shots from an instant camera snapped within seconds.

    I signed the papers and pretended to absorb what I had heard.  Everyone appeared ready to move.  Then the crowd parted somewhat and I saw the second baby from the back of the room more clearly.  He had the same heaving balloon for a mid section but he looked more bruised and beaten, though, and he seemed so very fragile.

    Dreyfuss then stopped and took only the second breath I had noticed him take.  Again, his pause caused me a deep chill as he seemed to contemplate his next move.  "Get the mother down here quickly!" he instructed.  Again, I felt numb.  Just moments before, there wasn't "enough time."  I recall thinking that he didn't believe the boys would survive.  Is he allowing Tracy her only memory?   

    Shortly, a nurse wheel-chaired Tracy into the room.  The gravity of the circumstances had clearly crushed Tracy before she entered because she wept heavily as she glanced at me with the same helpless look I must have mirrored.  Almost immediately after Tracy entered the room, Dreyfuss began the exit.  Tracy touched the hand of the baby from the front of the room when he was rolled by.  The wheels on the beds squealed like grocery-store shopping carts sometimes do; a sound that Tracy hears in her nightmares about this experience to this day.  Glimpses were all we had of the boys due to the many people on the move.  The Hurley team was out and away in seconds with our sons.

    There was silence in the room for a few moments.  Tracy received the two instant snapshots from a nurse.  She held the photos, one in each hand, as she had on the day of the ultrasound test.  Her world, our world this time though, was shattered.  Both of us were speechless and we wept as we looked to each other across the room.  We joined and embraced as the remaining staff supported us with kind, hopeful words.





                                                                            LAPEER COUNTY GENERAL HOSPITAL
                                                                                          LAPEER, MICHIGAN
                                                                                          MEDICAL RECORD

Patient:  WHITE, Baby Boy A           Age:           Hosp. No: A78062

Unit:  7-23-82  Discharge:  7-23-82 TNF    Room:

The infant was discharged to Hurley Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.

The patient is a newborn baby boy, the first of twins, approximately 34 weeks gestation, weight 3 lbs 14 oz., delivered vaginally with head presentation.  The baby was stable at the time of delivery, pinked up with O2 applied per mask.  There were some strong retractions with grunting, decreased breath sounds noted.  The heart had regular rate and rhythm without murmur.  The physical exam showed the ENT to be within normal limits.  The lungs showed decreased breath sounds bilaterally with marked aternal retractions in grunting.  The abdomen was soft and supple without masses.  The extremities were normal with slight acrocyanosis.  At the time of the birth the impression was  1. Premature birth approximately 34 weeks gestation, 2. Respiratory distress, 3. Ruleout hyaline membrane disease.  At this time blood gases, glucose, chest x-ray, CBC with diff. were ordered and transferred to Hurley Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.  The condition worsened before the Hurley team could come.  Intubation prior to discharge, umbilical vein cut down was performed.  The baby was bagged to the Hurley Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.

FINAL DIAGNOSIS:
1.          Premature birth approximately 34 weeks gestation
2.          Respiratory distress.
3.          Ruleout hyaline membrane disease.

Prognosis at this time is guarded.

Typed          Signed__________________________________________
By:                    C. Kirkland/PDL:dih
                  P. D. Lepor, D.O.
DS








                                                                                LAPEER COUNTY GENERAL HOSPITAL
                                                                                              LAPEER, MICHIGAN
                                                                                              MEDICAL RECORD

Patient:  White, Baby B      Age:        Hosp. No. A78062

Unit:  7-23-82          Discharge:  7-23-82 TNF                    Room:

The infant was transferred to Hurley Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.

The patient is a newborn baby boy, the second of twins approximately 34 weeks gestation with a weight of 3 lbs. 15½ oz. with breech presentation.  Cords were visualized per Dr. Lepor and O2 mask used. The baby was stable at the time of delivery.  The physical exam showed ENT within normal limits.  The lungs had marked subternal retractions with decreased breath sounds... the patient was transferred to Hurley Neonatal Intensive Care Unit for followup of respiratory distress and possible hyaline membrane disease...

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Seven

    Dr. Blankenhorn didn't allow Tracy to transfer to the Hurley Medical Center that afternoon.  He determined that she was physically unable to make such a trip so soon after giving birth.  I had to make a decision so I chose to stay with Tracy.  The choice seemed obvious but still it pained me so.  I wondered what I could possibly do for the boys, but if I stayed, I could comfort my wife.  We felt so sad, though, for our sons to be without us. 

    We learned later that the boys were nearly sent to the University of Michigan Hospital in Ann Arbor.  Hurley had only enough space left for our two newborns, barely.  If the transfer had been to Ann Arbor, it would have required a helicopter to transport them because the distance was greater and the urgency was high.

    Tracy was admitted into a room near the nursery in the Lapeer hospital.  There were two beds in the room but no second patient.  The staff told us that the neonatal care unit at Hurley would call us later with the condition of the boys.  Nurses attended to Tracy's needs as they entered the room frequently.  We felt stunned by the experience to that point, and said little to each other as we rested in the room in anticipation of a call.
 
    The afternoon weather had been quietly overcast but the evening included a rumbling thunderstorm.  Rain began to rattle against the window.  We chose not to call our families until we had more news.  The last time we had spoken to them everything had seemed okay, but we wondered what we would report to them next.

    Midway through the evening, we a received a call from the Hurley Medical Center.  I took the call in our room and introduced myself to a Dr. Chan.  He went straight to the facts.  He told me that baby A was in critical condition with a hole in his lung near his heart.  Dr. Chan then explained to me that the condition was untreatable.  "Brace yourself and your wife for a call in the night... we'll lose baby A tonight," the doctor stated.  My entire body clenched and I remember feeling so heavy and I tasted a sudden dryness in my mouth when I received the grim news.  Then I asked about the second baby.  Without hesitation, Dr. Chan said "Baby B is not much better, we'll lose him too."  I was devastated.  More unseen weight seemed to press down on me and I said little else to Dr. Chan.  He, again, reminded me to "brace" myself.

    Tracy saw the horror on my face and was already slumping when I hung up the phone.  We consoled each other as best we could while I repeated the doctor's call.  With every word that I spoke about the call, I hurt her even more.  However, she had to know.  A nurse was immediately present.  She didn't ask about the boys' condition.  She could see that we were in great despair about the call.  Tracy and I held one another and cried for our sons who we thought we would never hold.
   
    Tracy then acted with amazing clarity by asking the nurse to allow us to name the boys before they passed away.  I am still impressed, even now, by the thought that she was able to consider the situation at hand and to think clearly enough to proceed... and to say those words.  Shortly, another hospital associate came to our room with pad and pen.  She prepared to take note for "baby A":  Tracy stated "Daniel Lawson Edward," (the name Lawson Edward for her late father).  Tracy struggled with the words as she sobbed and trembled in her chair.  "That name is cursed," she said.  After the record keeper verified the exact spelling, she asked for the name for "baby B":  Tracy answered, "Ethan Scott."  We felt some relief with this matter of record accomplished.  It felt good to take control of something... anything.  Our sons had names.  It seemed so very important.  It was important.

    Next, Tracy and I called our families.  When I called my parents' house, my father answered and I reported the terrible news to him.  He immediately offered to come to us, as did Tracy's family during her call.  We thanked our families but asked them to stay at home until more news occurred.  They all lived many hours away and it was very late in the day. 

    Tracy was extremely tired by the late evening.  I felt very sorry for her.  She had experienced childbirth, and for a short time, such happiness that day.  She had given us a great gift and then everything turned on us that afternoon.  She had carried two babies for over seven months and had planned so many things for them.  A beautiful room, with all the softness and colors expected, awaited the boys in our apartment.  Now Tracy was doing her best to rest her body.  I can still see her lying on the bed in that room and I can still hear her crying.  And, I still remember the feeling of complete helplessness that I felt that night.

    Hospital associates dropped in, mistakenly, a few times that evening to bring me a gown as it was feeding and visiting time for the newborns with their parents.  Their job was to see that the dads were properly attired.  They hadn't been informed of our crisis, apparently, and this error only punctuated the desperation that Tracy and I felt.  This was supposed to be a glorious and joyful event including those early bonding moments with our children.  Instead we were separated from them.  We felt isolated and powerless.

    With the boys several miles away in intensive care, we waited.  I finally felt so fatigued that I left Tracy's side to lie on the second bed in the room.  Occasionally, a nurse would look in and sometimes one would attend to Tracy.  I stared at the ceiling and wondered when the phone might ring as I tried to brace myself for the call.  I was so tired that the thought of moving, even to pick up the phone, seemed impossible.  I knew, though, that I wouldn't rest.  I wondered how I could possibly sleep.

    As rain lightly pelted the window of our room with a background of muffled thunder, we lay silent.  The cries of the babies in the nearby nursery filled the hall outside our room.  I continued to stare at the ceiling and relived, in my mind's eye, those terrifying moments that I had spent in that same hall just hours before.  Everything will be okay were the words from the man in the hall that afternoon.  Now his encouragement seemed so inaccurate and even somewhat inappropriate given the circumstances we faced.  But it was all we had.  At some point during that horrific, stormy evening, I succumbed to the exhaustion and fell into a deep sleep.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Eight

    During that night, the course of the rest of our lives was determined.  A ringing phone in our room would mean that we would forever bear the torture of losing a child, or even both children.  Silence, allowing our continued sleep, may mean that we would begin a wondrous journey together as a family. 

    The time that night was marked not by the ticking of clocks, or by the chanting of insects in the nearby woods, or by the drumbeat of the fading thunder; rather, the fragile breaths of our newborn sons pulsed on to pace that fateful evening.

    The miracle of life and the purpose we have, held together for us with only threadbare hope.  Those whose lives our sons might touch in the future were unaware of the crossroad we faced.  The imprint that Daniel and Ethan would make was in doubt.

    The first time I would kiss our sons might never be.  A photo of Tracy with them, one child in each arm, days later was yet to be taken.  The first birthday when the boys would bury their faces in the chocolate cake awaited a decision.  Their first words, their first steps, their first day at school, their first dates... all paused to learn of their own necessity.  The grandparents had picture frames and hearts unfilled.  Somewhere in the misty whispers of the future and what might be, a man who would one day become a T-ball coach, penciled a lineup sheet but stopped short not knowing why.  A high school marching band named the Viking Fury, yet to assemble, stood quietly at attention... incomplete.  A graduation ceremony many years away—with Tracy and me holding hands and fighting backs the tears—was absent two names. 

    Just as importantly, though, those indescribable times ahead were uncertain.  Those instances when we feel a rush of warmth and serenity that only our children can stir.  Those amazing, mundane moments when it all makes sense... when we clearly understand everything... when we shine... all waited while we slept, while Daniel and Ethan struggled to live.

    I have often wondered how people who lose a child can go on; such souls must be the bravest of all.  They continue to contribute to society, but with what must be the greatest of any pain.  It's so difficult for us to lose loved ones of any age, but to lose a child is so very unfair.  Daniel's favorite music artist has a new song that includes the lyrics "You should never have to bury your own babies."  Daniel and I have enjoyed the song together but I hope he never experiences the same pang I feel with those words uttered.

    There are other brave souls among us as well. Those who raise ill and injured children are also true heroes to me.  Recently, I watched a news segment on TV about a mother who is doing all possible to help her two sons walk someday.  Her sons are teenage twins, both with Muscular Dystrophy.  The boys are bright and happy, and hopeful about their future.  Their mother had an air of determination and grit about her during the interview.  She represents so many just like her who devote their own life to opening the world for their children.  And just days ago, I met a young man with mild Down Syndrome who stated that his birthday is also July 23, but two years earlier than our sons' birth year.  He is very active and happy and is clearly loved and supported by a family that is caring for him through his challenges.
 
    As Tracy and I slept that night, our place in the ranks of parents was decided.  I sometimes try to recall the strength I had at that time of my life.  It seemed meager compared to so many, so strong who I have encountered or learned about since.  And I sometimes think of how my life, how our lives, would be today if the results were different.  I wonder how we could have gone on.  And I try to understand why we were not chosen to carry the burden and responsibility of loss at that time as so many must do.

    Those important hours that single evening quietly elapsed to morning and allowed us to rest for what fortune the new day would bring.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Nine

    I awoke to the morning sunlight peering through the gap in the curtains into our room.  I hurriedly stirred and noticed Tracy just awaking as well.  The phone hadn't fractured the quiet of the night, or our hopes.

    "Was there a call?" Tracy asked anxiously.

    "I don't think so!" I responded.

    We buzzed the nurses' station and frantically requested news.  They told us that they had received no further calls for us.  Moments later, a nurse connected us with the Hurley Medical Center Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). I explained who I was and the person on the other end asked me to "hold" while she collected someone who had information for me.

    "Hello," I heard.

    "I'm Dave White.  Ours boys were admitted there yesterday."

    "I just started my shift and I'm with baby A."

    "He's okay?" I asked.

    "Well he had a rough night, but he's a tough little guy."

    "They told us that there's a hole in his lung?"

    "That healed overnight.  The doctor will explain everything to you when you are here," she answered. 

    "He's... okay?" I repeated.

    "Yes.  I'll get the nurse who has your other baby."  Tracy heard my side of the conversation and saw the relief in my expression. 

    "Hello Mr. White, I'm caring for baby B."

    "How is he?"

    "He's fine but he's very small."  I was elated with the news yet puzzled at the turn of events.

    "Are you and your wife coming here today?"

    "Yes!"

    "Then you can be here for his next feeding if you get here soon."

    I thanked her for the wonderful news, hung up the phone, and took the first comfortable breath I had taken in many hours.  Tracy and I sobbed and embraced in the glow of the most beautiful sunrise I've ever witnessed: ours sons' first.  The moments that followed with Tracy were memorable.  We felt so much hope.  The boys had survived the night and all seemed renewed.  We called our families and reported the news to them.

    We then asked for (actually demanded) attention to get Tracy transferred to the Hurley Medical Center.  The process seemed to take forever but I'm sure it was done as expediently as possible.  The plan was to move Tracy by ambulance and I would follow.  They told us that she should not travel by car.  There was time for me to go to the store where I worked to pick up my paycheck (which we supposed we needed) before we departed.  Tracy assured me it was okay to leave her to do this. 

    Later when I returned, Tracy was packed and ready to go.  I followed her ambulance to Flint in our car.  The ambulance moved slowly, well under the speed limit, as a precaution for Tracy.  It was a standard ambulance and followed the same route taken by the special "preemie" intensive-care vehicle that took our sons to Hurley the prior day. 

    As we approached Flint, we moved briefly onto a bypass and then turned to head into the city.  I carefully memorized the route of the streets.  We eventually approached a large hospital facility in the heart of a heavily populated area.  The ambulance stopped at the emergency entrance of the hospital where the Hurley Medical Center towered above the nearby businesses and homes.  The trip had taken over forty-five minutes. 

    I parked in the lot and hurried inside where I met Tracy, who had been assisted in by those from the ambulance.  After a brief stop at the counter to check in, we waited in a crowded hall in the emergency section. The TV shows and movies certainly have city emergency rooms nailed because it was a Saturday morning but activity was already in full swing.  Numerous people paraded in and out the doors.  The automatic doors opened with a whoosh dozens of times while we waited. 

    At one point, someone parked a body, covered completely on a stretcher, only a few feet from us.  Minutes later a hospital worker passed by, mumbled something about her co-workers' intelligence, and then moved the body into a nearby room.  Tracy looked at me with the same amazement I felt about the goings on we witnessed. 

    We waited for what seemed an eternity before someone came to escort Tracy to her room.  With Tracy finally situated in her hospital room, we immediately asked to be taken to see our boys.  A doctor saw Tracy before we were allowed to go to the NICU.
   
    A nurse then led us through long, winding halls, upstairs... and finally to the NICU.  Tracy remained in a wheelchair.  As we approached our destination, we saw a large room almost completely encircled by windows.  There were people on the outside of the glass looking at babies on the inside.  I could see that there were numerous babies inside the facility.  We approached the entrance door and we saw bulletin boards that flanked the door.  I glimpsed at photos of children of all ages on the boards, and at notes with words of thanks tacked up as well. 

    We then entered a world that became our second home for the next month.  The NICU was an amazing place staffed with dedicated people.  Everywhere there were babies in various degrees of condition.  In nearly every area, there were nurses and doctors busy at work caring for these fragile infants.  I spotted Dreyfuss nearby, but he didn't see us because his attention was with a patient. 

    A nurse showed us to a closet for gowns to wear and then instructed us as to the proper procedure to wash our hands at a sink.  There were two choices of individually wrapped soap sponges for use.  One type seemed medicated with a dark brown color while the other was simply a white, soapy sponge.  I opted for the latter.  This preparation became such a familiar routine that I can still clearly envision that part of the facility and still recall the sanitary scent as each soap packet was opened.   

    Now properly prepared, we were led to a quiet section in the NICU to meet baby B, Ethan .

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Ten

    That first visit to the intensive care unit was very memorable.  We saw Ethan first in a section of the unit back near the entrance.  He was in an open bed and he was very tiny.  His breathing seemed much less strained, but he was so small and seemed very fragile to me.  The name card on his bed stated only White–Baby B for his name, with his weight noted below of barely over three pounds.  It was an index card, handwritten with a fine black marker.

    Tracy held Ethan very closely and I cherished the moment.  When she handed Ethan to me, I held my son for the first time and immediately felt at ease.  I changed forever in that instant.  We spent a long while with Ethan then asked to see Daniel.

    Daniel was across the unit in the other front portion.  He was in an isolette where a respirator assisted his breathing.  He still looked very bruised and weak to me as he had the day before in the Lapeer hospital.  He had to remain in the isolette, but we were able to open a port to touch his hand.  His card read White–Baby A with a weight of just over three pounds noted also.  A nurse told us that Daniel would be on the respirator until he could breathe on his own.

    The boys needed breast milk so Tracy went to a room at the back of the area to produce a supply.

    Later we met Dr. Chan.  He again spoke in short sentences being very concise in his description of the boys' condition.  He said that Ethan was in the clear but was so small that he would have to remain in the hospital until he reached four pounds.  Daniel was still in critical condition.  The hole in his lung had indeed healed but he was unable to breathe independently.  The doctor told us that his hope was that Daniel's lungs would develop enough in a few days to allow him to breathe without the device.  Any time over a week on the respirator would cause permanent developmental damage to him.  Daniel was not in the clear. 
   
    Our stay at the intensive care unit lasted for hours during that first visit before we returned to Tracy's room.

    Later, while Tracy rested in her hospital room that first night at Hurley, I had dinner downstairs in the cafeteria.  I planned to return to see Tracy briefly before I went home to the apartment that evening.  After I ate, I approached an elevator but turned to a gift shop to find a card and a present for Tracy.  There hadn't been time to celebrate the births with a gift or flowers.  I almost immediately spotted a porcelain, wind-up musical decoration of two children playing football, one tangling with the other.  I snatched the item and went to the cash register.

    Next, I called our families again for an update, but this time from a pay phone near the elevator. 

    Later in Tracy's room, I proudly presented the gift to her.  She didn't point out to me that the figures had long hair that extended from the back of their football helmets, or that their lips were red.  Years later, I finally noticed that the decoration depicts two girls at play, not boys.

    The hospital issued a breastfeeding pass to me (another of Tracy's favorite stories) so I could make my return visits without having to pay at the parking garage.  I returned home to our apartment alone that night without knowing how many trips to Flint I would make.  I felt so alone but easily slipped into a restful night of sleep after two very exhausting and stressful days.

                                                                                                             

~~~

    I had planned to take a vacation week when the babies were born so I was off work for several more days.  Tracy spent a couple days in the hospital before her release.  After she returned home, we actually spent more time back at Hurley than at home.  We would visit the boys, and then would go downstairs to eat, and then back upstairs to be with them even more.  We took photos of the boys and began to become very acquainted with the staff. 

    We soon realized that some of the babies in the intensive care unit were in far worse condition than Daniel and Ethan, and may never go home.  Other parents of ill children moved in and out of the unit daily.  We spoke little to them as they focused so intently on their own babies, as did we with our own.  We sat in rocking chairs that bore nameplates, dedicated to fallen children.  Chairs donated by parents who had spent time at the NICU before us. 

    We learned later that the staff would wait until we left each day to test Daniel's breathing ability off the respirator.  There were many failed tests.  I wonder sometimes how much more difficult it would have been for us had we known Daniel better then.  And, how it would have been for Tracy had she known that Daniel held within him the same free spirit and humor that she would later liken to her own late father's... Daniel's namesake, Lawson Edward Williams.  The name card for Daniel—the tiny boy with the long name—Daniel Lawson Edward White, seemed to loom.

    Lawson Williams, Tracy's father, left her life ten years earlier when she was a youngster.  On a couple occasions, she has described to me the last vision of her father that she can't erase from her mind, of him vomiting blood shortly before being rushed to the hospital.  He never came home.  Complications from Cancer took him from his family, from his little girl. 

    Lawson was highly respected in his hometown of North Vernon.  He was a star basketball player in high school and spent some time on the University of Kentucky basketball team in college.  He served his country and was among some of the very first United States troops to enter Japan after the bombings there that brought an end to World War II.  He also pursued another sports dream by playing minor league baseball throughout the northeast and Canada.  An injury ended his baseball aspirations and sent him back to North Vernon where he raised his family, managed a local hardware store, served on the school board, and found time for one of his favorite hobbies:  fishing.  A plaque, dedicated in his honor, rests at the base of the flagpole at the North Vernon city building today.  He was a large man in stature and a large presence in his community.  But, most importantly to Tracy, he was simply her "Daddy."  She has some photos, some memories, and a huge hole in her heart for him.

    It seemed only fitting to me then that our children were boys, a doubled gift to help fill that hole in her heart.  I wondered, though, if another loss was eminent to torture her.  As the days moved by we were hopeful, but time for a full recovery and a normal life for Daniel was short.

    Tracy and I were reminded by Dr. Chan of the reality of Daniel's future quality of life should he continue to require the respirator beyond a week.  There was no change for days.

    One day within the first week of his birth, though, we entered the NICU and found Daniel breathing on his own.  There had been no call to us in the night that he was safely breathing without the device.  No one met us at the door.  We just walked in and there he was, without the aid of the respirator, in a small, open bed kicking and smiling.  We were ecstatic with his improvement.  I remember looking around the facility through tear-filled eyes, watching the staff busy at work hardly noticing us.  A life-changing event had occurred for us but it was business as usual in the NICU.
 
                                                                                                       

~~~

    I returned to work after that first week.  Tracy and I would go to Hurley immediately after my work shifts would end, no matter the time of day.  The manager of the store where I worked snapped at me a few days after my return.  He was upset that I had not seen to it that all the school supplies had been stocked.  It just didn't seem the same to me at work then, and never has since... never will again, I suppose.  I had new priorities in my life.

    One evening we found nearly the entire staff at the NICU sitting around a desk playing with Ethan.  The other babies were asleep but our son was entertaining the staff.

    The time passed slowly during our sons' stay at the hospital.  Those weeks of waiting seemed like months.  We continued our daily visits each time anxiously awaiting the boys' new weight posted just below their name cards.  Sometimes they would gain a half-ounce or an ounce, but some days they would go unchanged.  The four-pound requirement for release seemed like such a huge hurdle for them.  We waited and watched their weight increase slowly.  Our home was prepared for our sons and we felt prepared.

    After a couple weeks, some members of Tracy's family visited us.  They went to the NICU with us but they were not allowed inside.  We held our sons up proudly so Tracy's relatives could see them through the windows looking into the NICU. 

    The boys' weight finally began to climb more quickly by mid-August.  Tracy had optimistically equipped a bag with clothes and blankets ahead of time for the boys' release.  We continued the daily excursions to Hurley and anxiously checked the weights listed on the cards upon each visit. 

                                                                                                       

~~~

    Three weeks to the day after the births, a nurse at the NICU greeted us on our arrival and surprised us with the news that Ethan would be released that day.  Ethan had not reached four pounds but the doctor said he was doing well enough to go home.  Tracy dressed Ethan in a blue outfit and wrapped him in a blanket.  We visited Daniel before we left, and then headed for home with Ethan.  Tracy held Ethan in her arms despite the two car seats that had been present in the back seats for weeks.  It was an incredible feeling to take Ethan from the hospital.  He hadn't been out of the NICU and outdoors for weeks.  It felt like an escape!

    At the apartment, we put Ethan to bed in one of the cribs.  He occupied only a small spot on the mattress.  He lay quietly in a ball.  We stood and watched him, not sure what to do next.  Tracy and I went to bed feeling so happy to have Ethan at home but also so sad to have left Daniel alone at the hospital without his brother.  Tracy took the first feeding later that night.  I took the next in the morning as I allowed Tracy to sleep in (at least I thought she was asleep).  As I sat with Ethan in my arms at our kitchen table, I read the sports page of the Detroit Free Press newspaper to him, introducing him to the baseball standings of that summer.  Tracy soon joined us.  She lovingly reminds me sometimes still of my first morning with Ethan.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Eleven

    Later the next week we learned that Daniel was scheduled to be released on that Friday.  There would be no surprises this time (so we thought) and we anxiously awaited the end of the week to take him home. 

    I worked at the store that Friday and couldn't wait to get the shift over with so we could go to the hospital.  During the afternoon, though, I received a call from the president of my company.  He offered me a job as store manager at the same northern Indiana store I had declined consideration for just a month earlier.  The person who took the job in July had been removed from the position.  My own store manager stood by my side during the call and mouthed his thoughts to me that I should accept:  "You'd better take the promotion, White!"  The job required that I be at the new store on the following Monday; it was over four hours away. 

    Brilliant idea #3: I accepted the position.  The coveted call of promotion from "Mr. Max" was something all assistant managers awaited. 
This development, though, only complicated my day.  This was to be the day that our family would finally be brought together at home. 

    After my shift, I hurried to the apartment and informed Tracy of the news.  My promotion was not our top priority, though; getting ourselves to Flint to pick up Daniel was all we wanted to do.  We made what would be our final visit to the Hurley NICU for nearly thirteen years that evening.  Tracy dressed Daniel in his blue outfit and we rushed home barely taking time to thank those on duty at the hospital.  The trip back to Lapeer was joyous.  We would finally have our family together.  We sped away from our month-long ordeal.  Again, Tracy held a little jail-breaker like she'd never let go.  Ethan was at home being cared for by a friend.

    When we returned home, Tracy sat on our couch with both boys in her arms.  She beamed with happiness.  A female assistant manager from my store joined us to meet the boys.  Then the manager from my store called to tell me that he and several others wanted to take me out to celebrate my promotion.  The annual Lapeer Days festival was occurring downtown and it was the planned destination.     

    Brilliant idea #4: I left Tracy for a while to go to the festival with my co-workers.  There would be other promotions and similar celebrations in later years; however, there was never another first night together for our family.  I regret missing part of it but I know that Tracy enjoyed the evening with the boys.  She certainly deserved the time with them after everything she had experienced.

    At the festival, my group greeted me and congratulated me for my good fortune.  We enjoyed some refreshments.  Later, we walked through the maze of food and craft booths and carnival games.  We stopped at one game that caught my attention where I successfully passed a football through a toilet seat that hung several feet away.  For that accurate pass, I won a Detroit Lions wastebasket that became standard equipment in the boys' room for years to come. 

    I returned home later to find the boys asleep together in one of the cribs.  I hadn't missed much according to Tracy and we retired for the evening to end one of the happiest days of our lives together.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Twelve

    During the next day I began to pack and prepare for my trip to Rochester, Indiana where my career as a retail store manager would begin.  With this news, Tracy's sister, Janey, offered to come to Lapeer to assist her until we moved to our new town.  Janey planned to make the trip to Lapeer from her southern-Indiana home by bus right away.  I spent some time with the boys that weekend but mostly I became consumed with work-related activities (a reality that continues today). 

    On Sunday afternoon, Brilliant (and undisputed champion) idea #5 occurred: I left Tracy alone with our two new babies and drove hours away to Rochester not knowing when we would reunite.

    I began my new job on Monday and took time each day to check for an apartment, but over a week went by with no possibilities.  I wanted a home and my family in place as soon as possible but the local real estate and rental market seemed to have no such urgency.  I kept in touch with Tracy by phone.  Janey had indeed arrived in Lapeer, and during one call, she assured me that everything was under control.  She was a veteran of twin-rearing and was of great assistance to Tracy.  In fact, she felt closely bonded to the boys even before meeting them.  On the day of their births, Janey attended a baseball game played by her oldest son in Monticello Indiana, a few hours from their home in North Vernon.  She experienced abdominal pains during the game and instinctively worried that it must have something to do with Tracy.  Labor pains she thought.  She had no way of knowing that we were at the Lapeer hospital with Tracy ready to deliver.  Janey was the least surprised when the entire family returned home later and found a note on the door stating that our boys had been born that day.

    After several more days, I became even more frustrated with the housing situation so I broke from the phone search and took another drive through town.  Soon I found an apartment building with one unit that had no curtains in the windows.  It would become our next home.

    Tracy and Janey then came to Rochester with the boys.  The boys were so small that the car seats we owned were useless.  Tracy and Janey made their own car seats by securing Daniel and Ethan in laundry baskets loaded with blankets for the long trip.  Janey's husband, Donnie, also arrived to pick her up and they took our boys with them to their home, allowing Tracy and me to make our move back to Indiana.  It was difficult to separate from the boys once again, but I felt we were getting very close to some stability, and Tracy and I certainly knew that the boys were in good hands.

    The next day we rented a U-Haul truck and headed back to Michigan to empty that apartment.  During our return trip to Indiana, we stopped in a southern Michigan town to eat, and as we entered town, the truck began to hesitate.  Luckily, it broke down only a block from a U-Haul rental center.  A man from the U-Haul store towed us in and informed us that the clutch had failed.  We waited, though, for a couple hours while a similar truck was driven in from another site.  When the replacement truck arrived, it was parked back-end-to-back-end against our truck.  The U-Haul workers backed the truck in and then walked away.  I climbed between the trucks, lifted both doors, and began to move all our belongings from one truck to the other by myself.  Adventure in Moving.

    Later, much later, that evening we arrived in Rochester where I called one pre-arranged helper and we unloaded the contents of the truck into the new apartment.  Tracy and I unpacked the next day and set up everything hurriedly so we would be ready to bring Daniel and Ethan home. 

    We traveled to Janey's home in North Vernon a day later to pick up our boys.  Tracy's family had had a wonderful time with Daniel and Ethan.  There were dozens of photos of the boys already.  Someone had taken a photo of our boys lying beside a department store catalog as a reference of their size, the model on the catalog cover only slightly smaller than the boys.  My parents and sister had visited.  Nearly everyone in our families had met our boys and spent time with them.  The atmosphere at Janey's house was electric.  Her own twins and older son had helped care for Daniel and Ethan. 

    It was wonderful to see everyone but they all knew what we so desperately wanted to do.  So we prepared the boys and packed their goods.  Then we thanked everyone for all they had done for us and headed out together to our new home in Rochester.

    Finally... finally on our arrival, we had our new family home to stay.  Our lives together began. 

    We felt so very blessed then and, even now, more blessed with each new day. 
                                                                                       
                                                                                                         

~~~

    When I look back into time and replay the events in that portion of my life, I see myself as such a wide-eyed, naïve young man.  I describe some of my judgments and missteps as brilliant ideas.  However, my feelings about that young man—who later became me—are not self-deprecating; rather, my feelings are actually that of envy.  Allowed the opportunity, I would give nearly anything to do it all over again and again, and always the same way.  Because I understand that the events of that summer ranging from blissful, to terrifying, to embarrassing, to fateful are all part of the fabric of who we are, of our story.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Epilogue

    Daniel and Ethan have grown to become fine young men with no evidence of the peril they faced during their first day of life.  We had no more children.  Ethan is hard working and considerate.  Daniel is a carefree soul.  Each is very loving and thoughtful.  They are our best friends.  They have filled our hearts with joy and our days with meaning for the past twenty-one years.  At another time, I may feel the desire to describe those experiences as well.
 
    For now, though, it's July and my mind is re-living those first days and weeks once again.  The memories are very powerful this year; quite similar to how strong the remembrances were eight years ago.  That July, prior to the boys' thirteenth birthday, we planned a vacation trip to Mackinac Island, Michigan.  En route, we intended to stop at Lapeer and Flint, and to visit the NICU at the Hurley Medical Center for the first time since the boys left at one month of age. 

    This plan brought all the memories of the first days to the surface for me with such intensity that I would lay awake deep into the nights before our trip, unable to sleep for all the emotion churning inside me.  During one of those nights, with Tracy sleeping beside me and with Daniel and Ethan quietly resting in their room, I finally fell asleep as well.  And my mind attempted to understand it all... or any of it for that matter.  Abuzz with thoughts of memories and wonderment, I dreamed an anxious conversation:

    Hurley Medical Center, how may I direct your call?

    My name is Dave White and my wife is Tracy.  Our sons, Daniel and Ethan, were patients at the NICU nearly thirteen years ago. Surely, you remember.

    Oh, yes of course Mr. White. How may I help you?

    Ma'am, we're returning there soon with the boys for the first time since they were born.

    Yes, I heard you'd be visiting.

    Tracy has already checked and we can take the boys upstairs and into the NICU.

    I'm certain they look forward to seeing you.

    And I thought that there might be some people on staff who were there when our boys were in the hospital.

    I'm sure that's possible.

    I'd like to ask about one person specifically.

    Who would that be, sir?

    Would you check for me to see if the man still works there who drove the ambulance to Lapeer that day?

    Yes, I can check that right-
    Because, I really want to meet him... he was so kind to me. He said I-                     
    Excuse me sir.  Do you recall his name?

    No, I don't.  You see, that's the problem.  I don't know who he is.  I didn't say a thing to him at all when he was there... I didn't ask.

    Do you recall just a first or last name on his badge?

    No, but he was at the Lapeer County hospital on July twenty-third, Nineteen Eighty-
    Can you give me a description of him?

    Yeah, ah, he was about my size... maybe in his early thirties then.  He wore a uniform, and I assumed he was the driver.

    Anything else?

    He was very friendly.  He is... oh... about my height.  He's a black man.  And I would recognize his voice because I still hear his words.  He said-
    Sir-
    they drove very fast to get there... and he said some people on the road acted like they didn't hear the siren or see the lights and-
    Excuse me sir-
    while they were caring for the boys, he told me not to worry.  He just smiled and told me how lucky I was.  He said I was going to have so much fun.  And he-
    Sir, but-
    said something else too.

    Mr. White, th-
    I think he said he has a son.  I don't know for certain, but I'd like to know.

    Mr. White, there was-
    He said he would get them safely to Hurley and I-
    Excuse me sir, there was no-
    I-I know it was the nurses and doctors who really saved the boys, but he-
    Mr. White, excuse me... please excuse me for interrupting... but there was no driver on staff that day as you just described.


    But... but that's wrong, I know he was there!  Please check again, it was July twenty-third...  nineteen eighty-two... check again!

    Sir, I remember that day and-
    No, I know he was there in the hall and he said I was so-
    Sir, on runs our drivers are required to remain with the vehic-
    s-so... lucky... he said I was so lucky... he said I would have so much fun... he knew... I felt so alone in that hall, but I wasn't... I was so scared... I didn't understand what was happening... I thought I was watching them die... I think of him nearly every day... I'm haunted by those moments when he tried to comfort me... I want to meet him... I need to thank him.... because he was the only person that day who told me that... tha...

       
   
    That what, sir?


   
    That... everything... would be okay.




    Mr. White.



    Yes.


    Are you alright?



    I, ah, yes... I think so, but I don't understand.  I didn't imagine him.


    Mr. White.



    Yes. 
     
     

    He must have been an angel.





                                                         

*                              *                              *                              *                            *

                                                   

Thank you, Tracy, for your love and for giving me this amazing gift of fatherhood.

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