#JustWriteIt - The Bronchiole Syndrome ✅

chapter three - chapitre trois

three - a blessing in disguise
contrary to popular belief, a miracle is not gifted; a miracle is earned.

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Four hours, three mental breakdowns, and twelve cups of coffee later, a doctor finally comes to get Ana, Callie and me from the waiting room. As soon as the doctors had wheeled Delilah into the emergency room, they told Ana and me that we had to stay in the waiting room because we couldn't be near Delilah during her stay in the emergency room. As soon as the doctors said this, I knew Ana would burst in a matter of seconds; so, before she could say or do anything, I wrapped my arms around her as tightly as I could and said, "Please, save my daughter..." before literally dragging a sobbing and shaking Ana away from her daughter. Out of all the moments in my life, seeing my family completely torn apart like this may be the worst of them.

As for the return of Callie, she arrives roughly half an hour or so later along with both sets of her grandparents, sobbing hysterically and screaming her sister's name repeatedly. After an hour or two of her seemingly perpetual tantrum, six different types of chocolate bars, and the collective help of me, Ana, my parents, and Ana's parents, Callie is finally lulled to sleep. Her flaccid limbs lay motionless, splayed in an awkward manner across my lap as theman before us, cloaked head to toe in white,begins to speak.

"I have good news, and bad news," he says in somewhat of a monotone, "but the question is, which one would you like to hear first?"

Bad news, he has bad news! Oh God, what could've happened to her in that room? I think, Oh God, oh God, oh God, this can't be happening! This must be a dream, wake up!

Before I can open my mouth to utter a single syllable, Ana replies with a swift, "Good news, please." The doctor feigns the biggest smile that he can possibly have left to give, before saying, "Good news! Your daughter is alive, and relatively well."

The relief shooting through my veins at that very moment in time was almost to the point of unfathomable— my daughter is alive. My daughter is alive and she is well. I still have a chance at being her father; God helped me to keep my promise. I quickly glance over at Ana to catch her reaction, only to be met with a teary-eyed mother enveloping me in the biggest, most passionate hug she can possibly summon, her tears of elation wetting my shirt. I reach down into my lap to shake Callie awake, telling her, "Guess what, Callie! Delilah is alive! We'll be able to see her soon!"

Callie looks up at me with an awestruck expression displayed upon her usually placid features, unable to speak for a second or two, before giving me and Ana the liveliest and most jubilant smile she can give us. She appears to be physically incapable of containing her elation and joy for her sister's life. "Delilah! Delilah!" Callie tries to yell, but due to her young age, she can't properly pronounce the l's. It sounds something like, "Da-why-wah! Da-why-wah!" instead.

Ana gives a smile twice as big as Delilah's, her teeth practically glowing in the bright hospital lighting. I can't help but to smile along with her, for her smile may be one of the most contagious out of all the smiles. "When can we see her?" Ana asks, looking up at the doctor with an immeasurable amount of hope glimmering behind her periwinkle eyes.
The doctor's smile almost immediately drops at this question. "That's the bad news— you can't see her yet. Not awake, at least."

My smile completely collapses at this statement and I feel my hands and feet starting to numb. "What is that supposed to mean?" I ask, adding, "When can I see my daughter again?"
The doctor gives a semi-dramatic sigh before beckoning us to follow him to his office, promising us that it will all be explained in there. My fatherly instincts all flare up simultaneously, telling me that something is wrong; so terribly wrong. I pick Callie up from off of my lap and tenderly set her down on the waiting room tile, soon following a pathetic attempt to get myself up off of the chair I've been cemented to for the past half hour or so. The room is tilting intensely, causing me to stagger every time I attempt to upright myself into a semi-normal standing position. After many attempts at standing normally, Ana's and my parents walk into the waiting room with multiple cups of coffee and rush to help me up. My parents help me catch up with my wife and child, while Ana's parents hold the cups of coffee for us when we get back.