The Little Things

The flash is what I will remember the most. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. It was unworldly; ethereal. Everything after that flash will simply remain a scarred memory I choose to forget.

~

I’d been taking pictures that day: an assignment for a digital photography course I was taking. Up in the Blue Ridge Parkway, the natural beauty of North Carolina was surreal. Everything from the animals to the flowers had enticed me to keep shooting throughout the day. Though I had spent almost all day taking pictures of animals, what I’d really been looking forward to that day was a landscape shot from the scenic outlook during sundown.

I’d spent most of the day hiking trough trails and capturing what I thought to be the better things with the world. That is my vision. I didn’t want to take pictures of things that were wrong with the world. I didn’t want to raise awareness about pollution or other ecological problems. My vision is to celebrate everything that is right with the world.

After going through one 8GB memory card I’d settled down by my Jeep and passed most of the early afternoon playing solitaire. Right before sunset—which every real photographer will tell you is the magic hour—I drove down to the scenic outlook and set up my equipment. The birds were chirping just right, the autumn colors were perfect, everything was ideal for a great picture. What I hadn’t been expecting was the explosion.

Usually when taking pictures of objects that are moving, I’ll put the camera in continuous drive mode so that it keeps taking a picture every 1/3rd of a second and that day hadn’t been different. There were a couple of eagles flying in the sky that caught my attention because of how they seemed to glow from the sun’s rays. I’d been about to turn off the camera to change the lens when it happened. First there had been a bright flash towards Pilot Mountain and then came a sound that of like thunder. As soon as I’d seen the flash I’d hit the lock button on my remote and jumped inside of my Jeep. The pictures I took aren’t important to me though. If I wasn’t a photographer by nature, I would burn the pictures.

~
You would think an event like a nuclear attack on the US would send the country into chaos, but luckily, our leaders had plans. Ever since President Truman, the country has had a specific order of procedure in case of nuclear war or other such catastrophic event. This procedure is called COG (continuity of government). Though the attack on the US did include a bombing of Washington DC, killing the current President, Vice-president and most of the congressman, there were already other leaders ready to act. That was part of the plan. We don’t know who these guys are or where they are hidden. We just know they are well secured along the eastern coast. I don’t worry for the well being of the government. The United States is a strong nation and it will see it through. But that day all I cared about was my family. That was another marvel. Even with the world turned upside down, I managed to locate my family. My mother had already been in the hospital even before the attacks. She was pregnant. My father, well, they located him for me.

~

I was sitting in my mother’s hospital room with my brother cuddled in my arms. His body moving up and down with each breath he took. My mother was in bed sleeping, weary from recent childbirth.

With my brother in my arms, I hadn’t been able to resist contemplating the fact that I would never be able to hold my own son in my arms. I would never be able to have a son period. I will never get to pass on the gift of life because I have congenital adrenal hyperplasia. The decease made me hit puberty at an early age, causing many changes in my body normal men don’t go through. One of those changes made me sterile. Even though my newborn brother is only that, my brother, he feels like a son to me. He is the closest I am going to get to have a baby in my arms, who is a small part of me—even if it is brotherhood.

I had my brother wrapped in a blue bunny blanket: it used to be mine. I’d had the blanket stored away hoping one day I would be able to give my son the same blanket I had slept many warms nights in. I’d thought I would never be able to pass it on to somebody after I heard of my condition but after many years my mother had come through. For eighteen years my mother had wanted another boy. We’d all given up hope when she reached her mid-thirties but at the last possible minute, she surprised my two sisters and me. At the age of forty my mother had another son and I finally got to pass on my blanket.

I’d put his hand in mine and was marveled by the clearer picture of exactly how small he was. His hand was the size of my pinky and his whole arms was the size of my hand—palm to fingertips. I’d sat in that room for hours. With the world thrown into chaos I didn’t want to be thrown in with it. I wanted to enjoy the small things in life. Whatever life was left. The potential radiating from him was amazing. I’d thought of the future and the type of force that would be needed to somehow fix what had been broken for so long. Even before the bombs exploded so many things were wrong with the world. How could peace be achieved when the only thing governments were doing was shutting up the other by killing them. Was that peace? Maybe one day my brother will learn from the distraught earth and be the driving force required to fix it back to what our forefathers had imagined it to be.

My mother had then begun to wake from her slumber and I’d tried not to make noise in case she went back to sleep but my brother, sensing his mother was awake, began to whimper. I’d told my mom I’d take him outside for a bit so she could sleep some more but she was reluctant. “He’s probably hungry,” she’d said. I carried him to my mother’s arms and told her I’d be back after she was finished feeding him. I exited the room half reluctantly knowing I still had other places I had to go.

Although it was two in the morning, the hospital halls were as busy as they had been in the afternoon. Normally I wouldn’t have been allowed to visit my mother that late but she had no one else: my father was in another hospital room two stories up. The nuclear explosions had left all the local hospitals over-capacity, understaffed, and running out of supplies. Our area hadn’t been the only one to suffer from an explosion but it was one of the worst after DC. It was estimated there were more injured survivors than there were unscathed people. But then again, that was to be expected.

My father had been working when the bombs made contact with the ground. Even though the building he worked in was a mile and a half from the epicenter of the explosion, the building wasn’t prepared for the force exerted. Nobody had been prepared for it. Who would have thought terrorists would target a low populated area in North Carolina?

My father hadn’t seen his son yet and was doubtful he will. He suffered a broken back, broken neck, massive blunt force trauma to the head with implications of serious brain damage. The neurosurgeons said that if my father survived he “may have profound deficits.”

I hadn’t had the best of relations with my dad at the time but with what was going on, everything that had driven me from him seemed little. All I cared about was his health and well being. As walked towards the elevator I couldn’t help but look at the carnage around me. I was in the area which had been sectioned off for pregnant mothers and less critical patients and still it looked hopeless in some cases.

As I walked past a room I caught a part of the ongoing conversation:

“…operation could lead to massive bleeding…we simply don’t know if he will be able to withstand losing so much blood…” I assumed that was the doctor speaking.

“Can you do a blood transfusion?”

“I wish we could. We are in short supply of blood and your son is type O negative.”

“That means he can receive any kind of blood right?”

“No ma’am that means he can only receive type O negative blood.”

I felt so sorry for the woman in the room. Even though I hadn’t seen her yet, I know she must have had face of defeat at that moment. I wanted to see my father, but I knew there was something I had to do. If I didn’t, it would haunt me for years.

I knocked on the open door and stepped inside. I excused myself for interrupting and again after I told them I’d accidentally overheard their conversation. I offered to donate some of my blood: I am type O. The woman’s face of defeat slightly warmed up and a shine was noticeable in her eye. The doctor looked at me and then at the mother. The doctor said it would be time consuming. Paper work would need to be filed. Permission from the parent must be given. I believe it was just a way for him to say he doesn’t need my blood. The mother said she approved of the idea on the spot and would give full permission. Then the doctor explained that my blood would have to be tested to see if it was O negative or positive. If I am positive I wouldn’t be able to give the little kid my blood. The doctor didn’t say it but I knew they also wanted to test to make sure I didn’t have any STD’s. No problem there I’d wanted to say. My condition had left me sort of an outcast. Lust and sex had been one of the least important things in my life.

I was led to a small room with a nurse. The nurse asked me a few prescreening questions I could have basically answered no to without even hearing the question. No I don’t do drugs. No I don’t engage in homosexual activities. No I haven’t been outside of the country in the past 3 years. No I have never had Hepatitis. With the questioning done, she pricked my finger and took a sample of my blood. She left the room, leaving me behind with my thoughts.

After a few minutes she returned and gave me the good news: I was type O negative. Of course I knew that though. Donating blood was something I’d picked up when I turned 18. Every possible donation day after that, I’d given blood.

The nurse then cleaned my arm and tied a tourniquet around my bicep. My veins popped up and became clearly visible. She brought the needle out and I almost lost my breath for a second. It was bigger than I imagined. The ones at the Red Cross had been big but that needle had been enormous. My fear of needles hadn’t helped much then. I would see it through though. She gets closer to me with the needle and the predominating thought in my head is: Oh my God. This is going to hurt.

Once the needle was in, it was all down to the time it would take the blood to flow into the plastic bag. The whole process took a little over 20 minutes in which all I had to do was squeeze a black handlebar like tube. Once finished she took out the needle and bandages my arm in purple gauze. I knew the 2 pints of blood I had given would help but it wouldn’t be enough if the boy lost a lot of blood. I’d done all I could though so I’d carried on.

On my way out of the room the mother stopped me and thanked me for donating blood so her son could have his operation. She extended her arms and wrapped them around me. At first I was confused but then I hugged her back enjoying the little things.

When I was finally heading back on my way, I found myself with a deep desire to see my father. After seeing my brother it made me realize I will always be my dad’s little kid. No matter how old I get my parents will always see me as their child. I might be a man but in their eyes they still see my running around with the same blanket I’d given to my brother. Although my father may not be able to hear me, I still wanted to thank him for everything he’d done to make my childhood the best and for raising me to the best of his ability.

I walked towards the elevator with sweaty hands. My stomach felt weak and my face cold. I began to see yellow dots which turned into nauseating blurs. I’d grabbed for the wall for support but fell to the ground anyways.

I woke up in the same room I had left earlier. The same nurse was waving an alcohol soaked cotton ball in front of my nose. My speech was a little garbled but I think I’d made my point that I was okay and wanted to leave. She’d nodded her head and put her hand on top of mine. It wasn’t a sexual advancement. Of that I was sure. She was a young nurse—maybe early twenties. In the world we were living in, small connections with total strangers really made an impact. I’d smiled at her and then left the room. I walked back down to the elevator and rode two stories up.

On the 5th floor, I saw and heard a scene that made my stomach hurt again. I heard screams of pain from patients and I saw doctors doing the best they could to soothe the pain with medication. All their best efforts were not doing much in some cases. It was obvious that the fifth floor had been assigned for the “not going to make it” patients. Struggling to keep going forward, I’d reached my father’s room. I knew he wouldn’t hear me but out of courtesy I’d knocked on the door. As I walked into the room I heard a sound I had been trying to push out of my head since my first steps in the hospital. I didn’t cry; I didn’t feel angry. I had accepted the fact that my father might not make it out alive. Listening to the steady tone of the machine had brought calmness to mind. My father was in a better place. Anywhere would have been a better place at the moment. Heaven or hell. I sat down in a chair by the bed and turned off the monitor.

~

The flash is what I will remember the most. It was otherworldly. It was surreal. It was a reality I had never expected to see in my life time.

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