Son of a Pig Farmer

Four years ago, Tina and I were on our way to the hospital, but my mind was not where it was supposed to be. Her water had broke about an hour before, and we were anxiously anticipating the arrival of our little Isabella. As I mentioned, I was a bit distracted.

The night before, I had received a late night call from my dad. Mom was having some serious pain and anxiety. The tumor had grown to such a size that it often pushed up against her lungs, making it difficult to breath and all but impossible to fill the lungs. We had checked her in to Stanford Medical Center to keep an eye on her and make her comfortable.

We really wanted Mom to be in the room during Isabella’s birth because in our hearts, we knew that this would be the last grandchild that she would ever know. Unfortunately, she was at Stanford, and we were at Washington Township Hospital in Fremont. The stars were just not going to align for this one.

Then, I had a brilliant thought.

It was really simple. All we’d have to do was stop the registration process at Washington, and drive over to Stanford. (Did I mention that her water had already broken?) We’d drop into the Emergency Room there and get admitted. I had already mapped it out, and the delivery wing was right below where my mother was staying. Then, when we were in the delivery part of the show, we’d bring my mother in to join in the experience. Please keep in mind that at the time, I considered this completely rational.

Sitting on the bed during the registration process, I described my master plan to Tina, who stared back at me like I was speaking German. In case you were wondering, Tina doesn’t speak German. Oh, man, she was a trooper, trying to be as diplomatic as possible, while driving the point home that I was a complete nut case.

I argued. I guilted. I played some nasty cards. I was desperate.

I think this really underscored how helpless I felt. I knew that my mom was dying, and if could help soften that blow in any small way I could, I would pull all the stops to make it happen. Could you imagine meeting a beautiful grand daughter, knowing full well that you would never be there to watch her grow up? Tina started to budge.

At this point, I wanted to call Stanford to start things in motion, and as I headed downstairs to use my cell phone, I ran into my dad. After I explained what seemed to be the perfect plan, my dad, who by the way had never had a great track record of diplomacy, told me that that was probably the stupidest thing I’d ever said to him. The train to Crazytown grinded to an abrupt halt.

After being dragged to my senses, I decided that the next best thing I could do was to have my mom on the phone while the whole thing was going on and video tape it, so I could bring it to the hospital to show her shortly afterward.

Isabella was brought into the world about 12 hours later. She was a little more difficult than Jenna, but in retrospect was quite easier than Maya
After she was born, I sat at a table next to her while Mamazilla rested and desperately edited footage to bring it to my mother, so I could try to bridge the painful gap as well as I could.

Upon arrival at Stanford Medical Center, we secured a conference room, dimmed the lights and I presented Mom with the story of Isabella’s birth.

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During the section where I impersonate Isabella saying, “I love you, Nana,” my mother started crying and replied, “I love you too, sweethart.”

I’ll never forget that.

When we usually think about technology, we often think of it as cold, sterile and lifeless. Then, examples like this demonstrate the humanizing potential that exists, making the world a bit smaller, even when the distance is only 13 miles.

I’d like to apologize to my wife for the undue stress that I placed on her four years ago, and I’d like to tell my daughter, Isabella Christine, how much I love her. As the years go by, she reminds me more and more of my mother, Christine Ann Nishihira. Her gestures. Her overbite. Her spirit and determination. But, that’s a post for a different day.