Melancholia

Chapter 3: A Mother Dr. Maxine Parker-Hallows

My name is Dr. Maxine Parker-Hallows. I'm from Catty, a small suburban borough out in the Lehigh county of Pennsylvania. Growing up as an only child in such a small town was difficult to say the least. While facing my hardships I still managed to graduate with a doctoral degree in microbiology from Kutztown University. When I was young I was constantly told I wouldn't become anything, nonetheless, I persevered. The rest of my young adulthood was spent working straight out of school at my grandfather's clinic. That gracious opportunity was how I was able to log my hours as a decent immunologist. However, my work never stopped, not for me, not for my boys, it became draining but it's my life.

Though my love for the clinic was strong, my passion for surgery was greater. Still, I wasn't technically allowed to perform surgery but I'd practice for the thrill. Despite seeking thrill I was still careful. Practicing techniques a couple times on dummies and watching old tapes of how classic procedures were performed is how I made sure I wouldn't actually be endangering anybody. No matter how precise I thought my 'secret' routine was, I eventually did get caught. But thank God the person that caught me was family. My grandfather understood my passion and even though it wasn't legal, brought in some patients to teach me different medical methods.

The very first private case he'd have me work on with him was a homeless woman's c-section. She couldn't afford health insurance and was aware that she was in need of a medically induced one. My grandfather knew I had taken an interest in peds and working with babies. He took into account that I always pictured myself having a big family. I made sure to handle this woman like family when I was treating her, but when she began to have an obstetric hemorrhage my grandfather guided me through and assisted as I performed an emergency hysterectomy. This called for me to completely remove her uterus and the surrounding tissues. This was my first time having the outcome of life or death be in my hands and even though it was scary, I was so excited. Whilst delivering her baby and having her finally wake up after taking the necessary measures to save the life of not only hers but also her beautiful baby girl's, the call for surgery that I had was greater than ever. 'This is my passion.' I thought. And I was every bit right.

Performing risky yet beneficial surgical procedures was actually how I met my husband at the time, Jackson. I remember it clear as day, I was practicing sutures in the clinic when everyone was gone, except for my grandfather of course. It was around 11pm on a Friday, when I saw this bloody mess of a man come clambering through the doors. He looked enormous compared to my grandpa and I. He was shot, no exit wound. My grandfather and I made the decision to not put him under, we thought he could take it with some general numbing. We only thought this by using context clues. Telling by the tattoos on his arm he belonged to the neighborhood biker gang. He lasted alright when dealing with the fishing of the bullet. So it didn't make much sense to me when he took his pain like a wounded dog, hollering and wincing at every closing stitch I made. After patching him up and cleaning the damn place I found myself admiring him. Even though he gave me a five year-old look-alike angry face, I thought he was absolutely adorable. I looked past his negative traits, or as most would call them, 'red flags'. But it was for the better in my opinion.

Just one year after Jackson and I had met, he'd made me his wife. He went through the pleasantries and asked for my grandfather's blessing of course. He didn't like admitting it at all but he was a kind-hearted gentleman. It was just six months after our wedding when we found out I was pregnant. And at our first ultrasound I saw him cry for the second time ever. Not only did Jacks make me a mother to a beautiful baby, but he made me a mother to two wonderful twins. We named them Phillip and August. Phillip after my papa and August after Jackson's dad. Their birthing was perfect, smooth sailing the whole way. Aside from the tremendous amount of pain those two gave me. Ten years ago feels like just yesterday when I think about when they were born. Jackson was with me through everything, he'd take care of those boys like they were the last people on this Earth. Even though they haven't seen their father since they were toddlers, they were his world, I made sure they knew that. I'm unaware if his disappearance was intended. It never seemed so though, which is why I never gave up hope. He made me feel so incredibly loved, he was an excellent father and husband but his reason for leaving was a mystery. Hiring countless private investigators was no damn use. I searched for five years before realizing that It was time I decided to finally venture out on my own instead of hiring more shitty P.I.'s. That was what this plane ride was for, to see if I could find their father, to see if my boys could still have a shot at getting to have a dad. One to play ball with them. The one that would come home to me after bar fights asking for the least amount of stitches possible. I miss the crap out of him and I wish I could tell him right now how pissed I am that this stupid plane crash made my wait even longer. Maybe this outcome was God telling me that I never should've gone looking. But I don't regret it not one bit. I'll find Jackson, if not for me then for my boys. They deserve it.