It was a cold February night and news of the first “SNOW-RICANE” in history was in the weather forecast for New York City.
“Where are you right now?” Rob asks with urgency.
“I’m in Manhattan, why? What’s up? Are you stuck in the snow?” I reply with concern.
“Maria is going into labor right now!” Robert says to me, his sister, on the phone.
“Wow! Are you at the hospital?” I ask.
“Yes, we are about to go into the operating room, but there’s one problem! I don’t have a camera! Do you have one?”
Like every girl that has been living in young adulthood since 2002, of course I had a camera! It was in my purse just in case someone did something funny, I met a celebrity, or simply if I needed to document something worth while. And, I think it’s safe to say, that the birth of my niece was definitely worth while.
“I have one in my bag. I will be there in 15 minutes!” I excitedly answer.
“Ok, but just know that we are NOT in the West Wing delivery room. We are in the REGULAR operating room located in the East Wing! Remember, Cara….THE EAST WING,” my brother stresses.
I hang up the phone, race to my car and head straight to Mount Sinai Medical Center, a hospital with predominately Jewish patients, located in the heart of Manhattan. After driving about 3 miles in the snow from downtown Manhattan to midtown, I arrive and find a parking spot in exactly 15 minutes like promised. The only problem – where was the EAST WING!?
I run to the closest entrance on Fifth Avenue, see the security guard and ask with the few breaths I have, “Where is the EAST WING!? My sister in law and brother are having a baby!! BUT………… I HAVE THE CAMERA!”
“Oh! Let’s get you to the West Wing quick! That’s where the delivery room is,” the security guard said as he picked up his walkie talkie.
Wait. He said West Wing. Oy vey.
“No, it’s the EAST wing. The EAST wing operating room,” I reiterated. The security guard nodded his head to shut me up as if I didn’t know what I’m talking about. In a matter of 30 seconds, a small man in scrubs shuffles into the lobby to take me where I need to go. After schlepping my bag and the camera to the door leading to the most direct route, we start a steady walk, I look at my watch, we start walking faster, I look at my phone, we start to jog, I look at my watch, we start sprinting.
“I’m gonna be an aunt!” I exclaim with my victory arms in the air running down the quiet hallways of Mount Sinai. The few people around looked at me with smiles because now they knew exactly why we were running with such urgency. Finally, the attendant in scrubs opens the double doors to the bright white light shining through from the reflection off the newly polished floors. My eyes are immediately drawn to the sparkles in the white marble; they follow up to the snow falling opposite huge panes of glass and finally rest on a huge sign that reads, “WEST WING.”
“What a schmu…..”
My phone starts to ring. It’s Rob.
“I’m in the hospital, but they brought me to the West Wing! I told them the East Wing! But they brought me to the West Wing!” I tried to explain but reassured him that I was going to be there, by hook or by crook!
“Get here now! We’re going in right now! I need the camera!” my brother says in a demanding, yet calm way.
That’s it! If I’m in the West Wing, maybe if I run in the opposite direction, I will get to the East Wing. Right? Right. I turn around and start running even faster than before. A few bumps into talking nurses, a few slips-in-between a cluster of yentas and a few dodges around slow walkers. I had to use memory re-call of the hospital to my best ability as I run back to the front desk down a seemingly never ending hallway.
All of a sudden, a hand stretches out to grab my arm in mid-run, and abruptly stops me in my tracks. Before I could swat at the 60-something-year-old man to release me or yell some inappropriate language for stopping me, I realize the bearded man was a Jewish Orthodox Rabbi, full dress and all.
“Tell me, Bubala, V-hy are you running?” the Rabbi asks with real concern.
I went into the whole schpiel hoping that maybe he could help me.
“The operating room in the East V-ing! I v-ill take you!” he announces.
Not letting go of my arm, he leads me down the corridor, and finally to the elevator. He presses the button. When the door opens, he looks around, and g
rabs me into the elevator with him – alone.
To break the quiet I proclaim, “I’m going to be an Aunt!”
“Mazel Tov!” he replies with a smile, “so, are you married?”
“What? No, I’m not married,” I quickly retort. Why did he just ask me if I was married?
The Rabbi’s eyes light up and corners me with no escape. The big, hairy, overweight old man comes towards me with an open mouth, getting his tongue ready for the next move. The left over spinach knish from dinner stuck in every crevice of his yellow teeth is all that I can see as I try to swat him off with both open palm hands.
And, then, he kissed me.
I push him off, forcefully slap the schmedrick as the elevator doors open to the 3rd floor. My brother was standing right there, I hand him the camera in shock and complete speechlessness.
I got there just in time, by hook AND by crook.
……………..AWKWARD!
I am Awkward 