The Father's Reckoning

“Sir, are you Tyson Alan?”

Tyson Alan stopped walking.

He was standing beside his car in a grocery store parking lot, carrying two shopping bags in his hands. His phone had been ringing for almost a minute, but he had ignored it because he was struggling to hold everything.

Now, with the phone pressed against his ear, he frowned.

"Yes. Speaking. Who is this?"

"My name is Rachel. I'm calling from the hospital. Are you Sandra Alan's husband?"

Tyson adjusted one of the shopping bags against his hip.

"Yes, I am. Is something wrong?"

There was a brief silence.

"Sir, your wife has been brought to our hospital."

Tyson's expression changed.

"What?"

"She was brought in earlier this evening. She's receiving medical attention at the moment."

He quickly placed the shopping bags on the bonnet of his car.

"What happened to her? Is she okay?"

"Sir, your wife experienced complications and went into premature labour."

Tyson stared ahead. For a moment, he couldn't understand what he had just heard.

PREMATURE LABOUR

His wife was seven months pregnant. She wasn't supposed to give birth yet. They still had two months to prepare. They hadn't even finished arranging everything for the baby.

"Wait. Are you saying my wife has given birth?"

"Yes, sir."

Tyson swallowed.

"What about the baby?"

Another silence followed.

"Your son has been delivered, but he needs immediate medical attention."

Tyson's heart began to pound.

"Why? What's wrong with him?"

"Sir, the doctors are attending to him. We would prefer to explain his condition when you arrive."

"No, no. Please, don't do that. Just tell me what's happening. Is my son alive?"

"He's alive, sir. But his condition is critical."

Tyson closed his eyes briefly.

"Which hospital are you calling from?"

Rachel gave him the hospital's name and address.

"I'm coming right now," he said.

"Please do, sir. And drive carefully."

The call ended.

Tyson remained still for a few seconds, staring at his phone. His wife was in the hospital and his son had been born.

Something was seriously wrong.

He looked down at the shopping bags resting on his car. Inside were groceries, fruits and some snacks he had bought for Sandra. She had mentioned earlier that she was craving them, so he had decided to surprise her on his way home.

He had imagined her smiling when she saw them. Now, he couldn't even imagine what was waiting for him at the hospital. He quickly opened the car door, dropped the bags onto the back seat and got inside.

Before starting the engine, he called Sandra.

It rang.

No answer.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

"Come on, Sandra. Pick up."

He called a third time, but this time the call went straight to voicemail.

Tyson started the engine and drove out of the parking lot.

The journey to the hospital felt longer than usual. Tyson kept glancing at his phone, hoping Sandra would call him back. He wanted to hear her voice. He wanted her to tell him that everything was fine and that the hospital had exaggerated the situation.

But the phone remained silent. His mind began racing.

What could have happened?

Had she fallen?

Was there something wrong with the pregnancy?

Had she been alone when it happened?

He remembered leaving home earlier that morning. Sandra had been sitting on their couch, one hand resting on her stomach while she watched television. She had complained about feeling tired, but she insisted that she was fine.

He had kissed her forehead before leaving for work.

"Don't stress yourself today," he had told her.

"I won't," she had replied with a smile. "Just make sure you come home early."

He had promised. Now he wished he had stayed home.

"Please, God," he whispered, gripping the steering wheel. "Let them be okay."

A few minutes later, the hospital building appeared ahead. Tyson drove into the parking lot, found an empty space and stopped the car.

He barely remembered locking the doors. He hurried towards the entrance.

"Good evening. I need help!"

Tyson approached the reception desk, breathing heavily.

"Are you alright, sir?" the receptionist asked.

"My wife. Her name is Sandra Alan. Someone called me and said she was brought here."

The receptionist began typing on her computer.

"Please, can you confirm your full name?"

"Tyson Alan. I'm her husband."

She checked the screen again.

"Yes, sir. She's here."

"Where is she? Can I see her?"

"Please wait a moment."

"Wait? I've just been told my wife is in the hospital. I need to see her."

The receptionist picked up the telephone and spoke briefly to someone.

A nurse appeared a few moments later.

"Mr Alan?"

"Yes. Where is my wife?"

"Please come with me."

Tyson followed her down the corridor.

They passed several rooms before stopping near a set of double doors.

"Your wife is currently in the intensive care unit," the nurse explained.

Tyson stopped walking.

"ICU?"

"Yes, sir."

"What happened to her? Is she badly injured?"

"The doctor will explain everything to you."

"Can I see her?"

"Not yet. The doctors are still attending to her."

Tyson ran a hand over his head.

"Please, I just want to know if she's going to be okay."

The nurse gave him a sympathetic look.

"I understand, Mr Alan. The doctor will be here shortly."

She directed him to a waiting area.

Tyson sat down, but he couldn't remain still. He stood again almost immediately and began pacing.

Every time someone walked through the corridor, he turned to look.

He had never felt so helpless.

He could handle difficult customers at work. He could manage his bills, deal with rude drivers and find a way through the problems life threw at him.

This?

He didn't know what to do.

A few minutes later, a doctor approached him.

"Mr Alan?"

Tyson immediately turned.

"Yes. I'm her husband. How is my Sandra?"

"I'm Dr Williams. We've been attending to your wife."

"Is she okay?"

The doctor took a moment before answering.

"Your wife experienced serious complications during labour. We've managed to stabilise her for now, but she's still in critical condition."

Tyson's face fell.

"What does that mean? Is she going to survive?"

"We're doing everything we can. She needs close monitoring."

"Can I see her?"

"Not at the moment. We need to make sure she's stable first."

Tyson lowered his head.

Then he remembered something.

"My son. The woman who called me said my son was born. Where is he?"

The doctor nodded.

"Your son is in the neonatal intensive care unit. He's receiving treatment."

"Can I see him?"

"Yes. Follow me." The doctor led Tyson through another corridor and into a room filled with medical equipment.

Several newborn babies lay inside separate incubators. Nurses moved quietly between them, checking monitors and attending to the little patients.

Tyson followed the doctor until they stopped beside one of the incubators.

"This is your son."

Tyson stepped closer.

He stared through the transparent cover.

The baby was incredibly small. His tiny body lay beneath a soft blanket, with medical equipment surrounding him.

Tyson placed his palm against the incubator.

"Hello, little man."

His voice was barely above a whisper.

"It's Daddy."

He tried to smile, but his eyes were already becoming wet.

He had imagined this moment so many times. He had imagined carrying his son around the house, watching him sleep and hearing him cry whenever he wanted attention.

He had even imagined the arguments he and Sandra would have over who the baby looked like. But he had never imagined meeting his son this way.

"Why is he so small?" Tyson asked.

"Because he was born prematurely," the doctor explained. "At seven months, his organs are still developing. He's very fragile."

Tyson looked at the machines.

"Will he be okay?"

"We're doing everything possible to stabilise him. However, there's something else we need to discuss."

Tyson turned towards him.

"What is it?"

The doctor looked at the baby before returning his attention to Tyson.

"Your son needs urgent medical treatment. Without it, his condition could become worse."

Tyson felt his stomach tighten.

"What kind of treatment?"

"I'd like you to come to my office. We need to discuss his condition and the options available."

Tyson looked at his son again. He gently touched the incubator.

"Be strong, little man. Daddy is here."

Then he followed the doctor out of the room. He had come to the hospital hoping to take his wife and newborn son home.

But as the doctor's expression grew more serious, Tyson began to fear that leaving the hospital with both of them might not be as simple as he had imagined.