With her dangerous hands safely strapped down in the operating room, I offered what comfort and assurance I could. I held her, I coached her, but I couldn't take any of the pain away. The doctor cut into her, making what I believe is called a lower segment or transverse uterine incision, and Maria's look turned cold, her body shook, like some people just before they die! The doctor used a kind-of soldering iron to cauterize the blood vessels and control the bleeding...smoke or steam jetted out of her womb! A huge sort-of shoe horn was the next tool I saw, to seperate or move the ribs, I think they said...
I loved Maria now, I worried about her and the baby, I suffered with her. 'I want the drugs, I want drugs'; she begged. 'Just a little more'; the doctor said clinically while he continued working: 'if we give them to you now...it can affect the baby!' He promised: "As soon as we can Maria, we'll slam the drugs into your system!" He ordered the nurse to have everything ready. 'Already set'; the competent nurse assured everyone.
The baby came out...a beautiful young lady who we would name Alexandra-Marie Rosemary Riley...and she had big, beautiful BLUE eyes much to my surprise (genetically, it seemed impossible)! She didn't cry much, she seemed to want to see everything, to look around! Because Maria was being 'worked on' and having the drugs slammed into her system, they handed my daughter to me and as she stared at her dad, I told my little girl: "Okay you're going to be a nun...and if not, you can go out when you're 39 and get married when you're 60." She seemed to stare at me and think: 'Yeah, right dad!'
They wheeled Maria away into the recovery room, but they had to pry Alexandra-Marie out of my arms! I checked on Maria...she was high! She looked at me and said she was sorry. I asked: 'What for?' 'Because it was a girl'; she slurred. "Don't be silly"; I beamed: "I wouldn't trade her for anything!" "She's precious!!!" Maria was already asleep.
I went out to call family, her cousins...who said politely that they were happy, and my parents, who suddenly 'accepted' Maria. I had to call work, and Gene gave me some more time off. I went back to the recovery room and found Maria already trying to nurse our daughter. Both ladies were beautiful to me!
Maria and Alexandra-Marie spent that first night in the hospital. The next day we had a steak dinner in a special room the nurses fixed-up, with champagne (Maria still has the bottle). Then, I took them home.
Maria recovered and our finances improved. But, there was NEVER enough. So, the fights began anew. We moved to the West-Side, we took weekend trips to Palm Springs, we ate at expensive eateries like Chasen's in Beverly Hills, I bought her expensive jewelry...it wasn't enough! She had friends who owned condominiums, "why couldn't we?' People lived in mansions, "why couldn't we?"
My parents, now living in Tustin, California became like indentured servants watching Alexandra-Marie during the week. I would leave three or four hours before work to take her there, and get home three to four hours after work with my baby. Everyone said I should leave Alexandra-Marie there the whole week...to me, we wouldn't have been parents then. To Maria, the idea was just fine. Alexandra and I listened to classical music on those trips, and we 'talked,' or I talked with her. That was our 'special' time together!
I miss the old church, the old, traditional Latin Rite of the Roman Catholic Church, and I miss the beauty of the traditional Latin Mass...so, one weekend, I took my little family to a Greek Orthodox Mass near downtown L.A. They are very similar to what we used to practice...and the pomp, the ceremony, the incense, the candles, the art...it all makes me feel closer to God. They do stand and kneel more...and finally when we got to sit, a choir singing ancient hymns...Maria turned to me and starts to say something...the music ends and her voice echoes in the church: 'Thank God!' I don't think she was ever more embarrassed! To me, it was one of her more charming moments.
Maria wanted to get a maid from the Philippines. "We can't afford a maid"; I told her, putting my foot down. 'Why not'; she demanded. "Because we can't even pay someone minimum wage"; I explained. "We don't have to, we just get her here and take away her passport_then she has to work for us"; Maria shot back. All my feelings came back, and I didn't like Maria anymore. Whatever I did feel, died the night my wife explained she'd be glad to have a slave.
The fights continued, although my passion was gone. Sometimes I'd go to work with a scratched hand, or even a scratched face...and people would ask, 'what in the heck happened?' I'd joke, I'd change the subject, but I was living in hell.
Maria's mother, 'Nanay' came to live with us...she was a sweet, wonderful woman. She shocked me once by telling me, in front of my own parents: 'you shouldn't have married her, you're too good for her.' My mother was a little stunned by that statement too, although she didn't say anything until years later.
For that time that Nanay was with us, our relationship improved, and the fights ended. Her mother tried to teach Maria to make Filipino dishes and tried to talk with her about how to have a good relationship. The day Nanay went home...we started having arguments again. This was the beginning of the end for me, the begining of the end for 'us.'
Yet by now, trying to provide something for my daughter and enough for Maria (who was also working, to be fair), became a cycle that robbed us of our time together. Maybe it was just an excuse to be 'away,' I don't know. I was working 10 to 12 hours a day at a job that I was starting to hate, I was going to school at two different colleges (Santa Monica College, and U.C.L.A.) where I carried a full load, and I was playing soldier in the U.S. Army Reserve on the weekends.
The time that we did spend together consisted of, at most, a quick stop for breakfast, followed by my taking Maria to the mall (any mall). I'd drop her off at one end and Alexandra-Marie and I would go to a bookstore or something, spending the day together until we'd reluctantly meet Maria at the end of the day.
Sometimes she would buy this or that, usually she would pester me and press me on getting something we couldn't afford. Like the biblical Delilah she was relentless, and I could feel my soul dying while my daughter watched helplessly.
Going off for summer training with the Army Reserve to Camp Picket in Virginia...I asked Maria to pack my things. There were the uniforms, and I wanted to take along some civilian clothes too (for my off time). 'Why civilian clothes'; she asked. 'Off time'; I explained: '...otherwise they won't let us leave the base.' She said she would.
I got to Camp Picket and there were no civilian clothes in my bag, the money I gave her to put in my bag was gone too. The Chaplains I worked with bought me some clothes just so I could go eat with them at the officer's club at the Quarter Master's School on Fort Lee. From four thousand miles away, Maria managed to humiliate me.
To keep both Alexandra-Marie's and my soul alive, every Thanksgiving and Christmas...when I'd cook too much food anyway, we would buy plastic plates, utensils, and cups so we could go feed the homeless. Maria never went with us and I was never sure of whether she thought we were doing a good thing or if we were crazy! Anyway, Alexandra and I would bundle up, get some plates ready, and drive around in a city where the homeless and forgotten were, sad to say, more numerous every year. The people we gave food to were always grateful and polite, I hope it's something my daughter always remembers.
My ambitions still kept me busy - in addition to school and work and everything else, I was elected as an Alternate Representative on the City of Los Angeles' Community Action Board. Within another year I was the West Side Representative. We decided issues of funding for various community projects involving federal and local funding.
I was also appointed to the Postal Services' Employee Involvement Team (EIT). The E.I.T. was a labor/management negotiating team on the local level. It was here that I saw the hypocrisy of a union representative, our shop steward, laughing with a manager about another employees problems.
One day...I was delivering mail to my own apartment building. I pulled a bunch of letters out of my bag and noticed a letter from the bankruptcy court. 'Another deadbeat'; I thought to myself, and then I saw who it was addressed to: 'Maria!' I waited impatiently to pick her up, and then I asked her what she was doing. 'A friend told me you could do this, and then you don't have to pay these bills'; she explained. "You don't really believe that, do you"; I asked, and then I tried to explain that whatever we owed, it wasn't enough...not with what it would do to both our credit records. I told her I'd pay out of my checks. I knew I wasn't getting through. But, she said she would stop it. My trust was wounded again!
Gene Barnes was getting promoted, so, in an archaic system where one supervisor selects his successor, he asked if I wanted to be a carrier foreman. I certainly didn't want to carry mail for the rest of my life, we both knew that! So, I began my training as a '204B (Carrier Foreman Trainee).'
All of a sudden, Gene wasn't there! Rumors shot across the workroom floor...he was fired some said, he quit others said, no-one knew the truth...but suddenly, there was a new branch manager (nicknamed: 'the dragonlady'), a new carrier foreman, and I was relegated to unkept promises of next week, that turned into next month, that turned into never!
The stress in our relationship was obviously working both ways...by now Maria was smoking. This made her less attractive to me, and was another strain. She hadn't dropped her bankruptcy either...an added strain. I hated going to work, I hated coming home, sometimes Maria and I wouldn't even talk for a week or more. I'd come home, we'd eat in silence, Alexandra and I might play or watch t.v. if she was up (Maria would go smoke in the kitchen as the gulf between us widened) and then we'd go to bed. We'd have empty, emotionless sex, then turn our backs on each-other, and somehow go to sleep. That was our life, ON A GOOD DAY!
When we were 'talking' we were fighting, both of us showing our immaturity. I'd take off my wedding ring and throw it to the ground saying we were finished, she'd call our daughter into the room to watch the fight, I'd storm out of the apartment! If we were in my car, I'd finally have enough and slam on the brakes, pull-over, and tell her to get out...she'd stop nagging for a while, and we'd drive on. If we were in her car, I'd tell her to let me out and I'd walk home or take a bus. I was hardly a saint, but I sometimes think she would have tested God's own patience!
'...And then what happened Jim?'
I WANT TO KNOW MORE...(next page)
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Created: August 26, 2000r.
Last Updated: April 1, 2001r.