Somehow I was able to squeeze in time to write a book with Billy Mills, entitled Wokini. Though it would end up being the first work I'd ever publish, I was under no illusions that it had to do with the quality of my writing. Rather, its merit derived from who Billy was.
In September, we rushed to the hospital when labor pains began. It was a fast labor; Cat dilated quickly, and was nearly ready to deliver by the time we reached the hospital. Cat was in back labor--the baby was facing the wrong way--and in immense pain. There was a mad scramble as the room began to be readied, but moments after the doctor arrived, the baby's heart suddenly slowed.
By the looks on the doctor's and nurse's faces, I knew it was serious. There was a chance we would lose another baby.
All at once, the world seemed to shrink; all I could think about was Cat and the baby she carried inside her. There is a panic that comes in moments like those, one that squeezes the heart with a feeling of utter helplessness. I barely remember the heated rush of activity as the doctor swung into action; I stood off to the side, praying as I'd never prayed before.
The doctor was good, and a moment later I was a father. But the baby's skin was gray, and for the longest moment, he made no sound at all. Later, we'd learn that he was anemic and that he'd bled back through the umbilical cord. But at the time, I simply wanted to hear the cry of life.
And then, after what seemed like forever, I finally did.
Within a few minutes--minutes that seem far longer when it's actually happening--the doctor assured us our son would be fine, and for the first time I relaxed enough to realize that we'd actually become parents. Cat held the baby against her. We named him Miles Andrew, and the first person I called was Micah.
"I'm a father!" I screamed into the receiver. "I have a son!"
Micah whooped on the other end. "Congratulations, Daddy! How's mama doing?"
"She's doing great--and thankfully the baby is, too. But you've got to get down here! You've got to see this little guy! He's so cute!"
He laughed again. "I'm on my way, little brother. I'm on my way."
He was the first one to reach the hospital, and after taking one look at Miles, he turned to me.
"Why, he looks just like me."
I slapped him on the back. "You should only be so lucky. You might be handsome, but you don't hold a candle to this guy!"
Despite the new life of fatherhood I was suddenly leading, my brother and I continued to make time to be together. For a short while, he helped me with my orthopedic business, but by the end of the year I eventually decided to give it up. With a new child at home, I needed something more stable, and I took a job as a pharmaceutical representative with Lederle Labs in early 1992. It was the first time in my life in which I'd officially be earning above minimum wage. I was twenty-six years old.
But if the baby--and my radically transformed life--was enough to help me keep from dwelling on mom, my dad continued to experience intense periods of ups and downs. The good mood he'd had over the summer was replaced with a funk, then replaced again with optimism. It had reached the point where we didn't know what to expect when we went to see him, and both Micah and I wondered aloud whether he was manic-depressive.
My sister, too, seemed to be having a rough time, struggling to find herself as many young adults do. Never a great student, she dropped out of college to work full-time, then proceeded to quit her job a couple of weeks later. From there, she wandered from one job to the next, working as a cocktail waitress, an aerobics instructor, a receptionist at a tanning salon. She and Micah got separate apartments again, and my dad helped her with the rent. Physically, she was changing as well. By her early twenties, she'd become something of a beauty. She was quite popular with the opposite sex all of a sudden, but like Micah, she seemed to move quickly from one relationship to the next.
"What is it with you two?" I asked Micah one night.
"What do you mean?"
"You and Dana. Can't either of you date anyone for longer than a month?"
"I dated Juli and Cindy for years."
"Half the time you say you were dating them, you were actually broken up, and you were dating other people. And then you ended it with both of them."
He smiled. "Not everyone wants to be married at twenty-three, Nick."
"I didn't plan to marry that early. It's just that I met Cathy."
"You didn't have to marry her right away."
"Yes I did. Do you know what she said to me when she decided to move to California? While I was picking her up at the airport?"
He shook his head.
"When I met her at the airport, I started telling her all this really sweet stuff--you know, how much I loved her, how glad I was that she'd moved out here, how much I appreciated her courage. Anyway, she let me finish before she finally smiled.
"'I love you, too, Nick. And I'm glad I came. But let's get one thing straight. As much as I love you, I'm not going to abandon my family for a relationship that might be only temporary.' So what does that mean? I asked her, and she patted my chest. 'You've got six months to propose, or I'm going back home.'"
Micah's eyes widened. "She said that?"
"Yep."
He laughed. "I love that girl. She doesn't take guff from anyone, does she?"
"Nope."
"You did the right thing, Nick. You couldn't have married anyone better."
"I know. But as I was saying earlier--what's with you?"
"It's simple, Nick," he said. "I haven't met my Cathy yet. But when I do, I'll marry her and settle down."
By 1992, three years after my mom had died, each of us had somehow found a way to move on. I had a family and a new career; Dana had a new boyfriend and was back in college. Micah continued to date and enjoy one exciting weekend after the next. Though dad was still wearing black, the ups and downs were getting less frequent, and he'd even begun to think about dating again. Our family life, as much as could be expected, was gradually regaining some semblance of normalcy.
In October, Cathy and I eventually came to the conclusion that it would be best if we moved away. While we loved California, practicalities precluded us from being able to create the kind of family life we wanted for our son. My salary, while decent, wasn't enough to enable us to live in the kind of neighborhood Cathy wanted for Miles. Nor, due to rapidly escalating housing costs, could we foresee a change in the future.
What Cat and I wanted, I suppose, was the chance to live the American dream. We dreamed of having a house we could call our own, a decent-size yard for the kids, a barbecue grill in the backyard. Just the basics, but the basics were out of reach, and after a series of long discussions with Cat, I finally talked to my boss about applying for a transfer to a territory in the southeast. My boss wasn't thrilled by my request; I'd only been with the company for eight months, had only recently completed all my training, and was doing well in my territory. He didn't want to go through the process of hiring someone new, since there was alway
s a risk the new employee wouldn't work out. And, of course, the territory would suffer while a new employee was being trained.
That night, I called Micah.
"Micah," I said, "do you want a job selling pharmaceuticals?"
My proposal made perfect sense to me. We'd run together, waited tables together, owned houses together, and he'd been part of the small company I'd started as well. We even looked somewhat alike.
For a moment, Micah was taken aback. Though he'd done well in real estate, it was strictly commission work, and was dominated by the large brokerage houses. Because he was with a smaller firm, finding new listings required endless hustle, and he'd grown tired of the way his firm dragged out paying him what he was owed.
"What do you mean?" he finally asked.
"If I get the transfer, I'll introduce you to my boss, you can interview with him, and I bet he'll hire you."
"You think so?"
"I know so."
He thought about it overnight and called me the next morning.
"Nick," he said. "I think I want to be a pharmaceutical rep."
And lo and behold, after I received a new territory centered in New Bern, North Carolina, my brother was hired, took over my old territory in Sacramento, and I handed him the keys to my company car.
Meanwhile, Cat and I began the process of getting ready for a new life on the other side of the country.
In early November, less than a week after Micah accepted the job, I was at home and beginning the slow process of packing up our things when I got a frantic call from my father.
"You've got to get to the hospital right now," my father suddenly said. He was breathless and scattered, a reprise of that fateful call three years ago. "She's at Methodist. Do you know where that is? Bob just brought her in a couple of minutes ago."
Bob, I knew, was Dana's boyfriend, but my dad's garbled message didn't make sense.
"Who? Are you talking about Dana? Is she okay?"
"Dana . . . she's in the hospital . . ."