Thursday morning at 6:30 a.m. I received a phone call from my father. He had checked himself into a Houston hospital while on his way home from Dallas on Wednesday night. He was driving home to pick up my mother and bring her to Austin for upcoming birth of my son, when he fell ill. Towards the end of his business trip he found thick, copious amounts of blood in his stool. This discovery alarmed him a great deal, as it would anyone I suppose. But the discovery was a little more profound and intimate for my father.
You see about two years ago, around the time of my daughters birth, he was experiencing the same ailment. He underwent a colonoscopy in which they removed some pollups. After further examination, it was brought to his attention that the mass of tissue that the doctors removed contained a small group of t-cells. For those whom are less familiar, t-cells are often found in cancerous tissue. Fortunately the cells were benign, but it certainly put a scare into my family, most notably my father.
This latest incident began his mind racing. What if it is cancer this time? What if I am not here to see my grandchildren grow up?
In typical fashion, my father called me and apologized profusely. He felt bad that he and my mother would not be present for the birth of my second child. They had missed the first birth, and vowed they would not miss the next. Of course I told him that his health was more important. I told him I loved him and hung up the phone in shock. My mind then began to race as well.
In a few hours my son would be born. A joyful occassion by any account. But my father lay in the hospital not knowing if a nemisis which he evaded before, was back to exact revenge.
I am happy to inform you all that the day ended much better than it had begun. My son, Ellis Antonio Hall, was born at 12:17 p.m., Thursday afternoon. I chose the name Ellis, because I admire the jazz musician and former music professor, Ellis Marsalis. Jazz music is profound and soulful. It is artistic and has a certain depth of character that I hope my son will also have someday. Ellis weighed in at a whopping eight pounds and a towering nineteen inches in height. In no time he asserted himself, by urinating over the edge of the glass enclosed warming bed, and onto the floor. I call it the shot heard round the world. It was pure and primal. He surveyed his surroundings, yet out a Howard Dean like yell, and began marking his territory.
Later that day, my mother called me and informed me that my father had diverticulitis. While very dangerous if not addressed, it was a managable ailment and certainly not as formidable as cancer. Sunday, my mother and father finally came to see their new grandson. The picture above is very significant to me. It will always serve as a reminder of the day on which god gave me my son, and allowed me to keep my father for at least a little while longer. I am currently working on a site for Ellis and his big sister Gabriela. Be looking for it over the next couple of weeks.