NYC CRAZY SUBWAY RIDE
April in NYC and everything was in bloom and a warm breeze blowing. I was about 26 at the time. It was the first blast of warm weather in the city after a brutally cold winter. What happens on NYC’s first blast of spring (which usually happens in April), is that the temperature cranks up to 80s and 90s, really humid, lots of thunderstorms, and maintains this behavior for only three or four days. Everyone comes out form hibernation. I returned from Los Angeles on the red eye flight with my internal time zone clock all messed up. Exhausted. I got back to my apartment at 8am and fell asleep. Woke up at 3pm and decided to call a friend.
I’ve been invited for dinner and I’m still west-coast east-coast disoriented, when my other friend calls and wants me to come over and take a look at something at his workplace in mid-town on the east side. I rush over, take a look, and at 5pm, start making headway for my friend’s apartment way up on the upper-upper west side. The city is packed with people. I get on the ‘red-line’ train in Times Square and head on up. Past 72nd street, past 90th street, up and up, and everyone’s getting off and off, until somewhere around 112th street our train comes to a complete stop, and the conductor yells ‘Last Stop’. ‘LAST STOP’?! What?! I’ve got 30 more blocks to go? As I look around at the empty cabousse I realize, “Ooops: I’ve taken the wrong subway line!” Sure enough, check the map, and there it is: a fork in the red-line paths and I’ve taken the one that dead ends. Now I’ve got to ride this train ALL THE WAY back about 20 blocks and change over. I sit down in what feels like my personal cabbousse because it’s just me and no one else in this subway car. I wait for the conductor to get us moving. A businessman walks in at the other end and sits down. He unfolds his newspaper. Then, a Puerto Rican woman, mid-30s, staggers in, looking overweight and pretty rough (a few glances over reveal here face looks swollen on one side), and sits down a few seats down across from me. She’s mumbling to herself and totally pre-judging (perjudice) on my part, I’m thinking “poor heroin addict, she’s all messed up.”
Suddenly, the doors close, and we start rolling back where we came from. We go a few stops, then the Puerto Rican lady’s mumbling starts to become louder. She’s holding her stomache and growling and I’m thinking that she’s high. At this point, 5:30pm on hot Friday night in Manhattan, there is still only me, the grumbling lady and the business guy in this cabbousse and the other cars aren’t too full either. Then, as I’m standing in the doorway, watching things go by outside, holding on to the railing for balance, I start to hear what I think I hear. It’s the Puerto Rican lady saying “My water broke” in a grumbled, jarbled accent. YEOWWW!!! Did she just say ‘My water broke”? Yes, she just said “My water broke!” Quickly I look at her and now it sinks in that she is holding her stomache because she’s having a baby!!!! And she’s in total pain!!! Yes, I am thick! “Mam, don’t worry, we’re going to get you off this train. Hold on.” So I pull out my cell phone and ask “Where’s your husband?” Yes, in my white picket fence idea of America, I still think, hey, if the woman’s pregnant, she must be married. She blurts out a name “Tyrone”. Then she blurts out his number that I punch in my cell phone, but as the train goes into the tunnels I can’t get reception. Then, we get to a stop. The doors open, and I get reception, Bam, I call Tyrone. A lady picks up. “Hi, is Tyrone there?” “No, he’s out.” “Oh, well can you tell him his wife is having a baby and she’s stuck on the train.” “WHO?” “His wife.” “WHAT!!!” At this point, I mildly realize I’m talking to the woman who may be Tyrone’s woman. “What’s her name?” I look over to the pregnant woman. “What’s your name?” “GRRRRRGGGGHHHAA” Okay, I try again. “What’s your name?” “Cynthia”, she mumbles in pain. “Cynthia. Her name is Cynthia!” “That’s Tyrone’s sista!!!” Woops. Okay. “Well can you tell him she’s having a baby and is headed to the hospital!!” No response, then finally the woman on the phone says, “O KAY.” “Thank you.” “BYE.” She coldly hangs up, and by that I mean slams the phone down..
It’s back to me, the pregnant lady whose about to explode and drop her baby in the car, and now there’s about 20 New Yorkers in the caboose who could care less. They’re in their own worlds. I realize we’re at 60th street, and soon we’ll be at… Times Square! TIMES SQUARE! Another stop. More people get in the subway car. Woman’s grumbling holding her stomach. 6pm. Friday. Hot April night. Times Square. About 1 million people heading home for the weekend. Doors close. We’re headed to… Times Square! I yell over the car “Is anyone a doctor because this lady is going into labor?” No one looks up. Nobody. Total New York classic. There business man reading his newspaper hasn’t even flinched. Just sits there reading. Half the people don’t even acknowledge I said anything, or the fact the woman’s grumbling is becoming louder and louder. The train keeps going, speeding towards our desintation. I call out again “Is anyone a doctor? Because this lady is going into labor!” One woman, well-dressed, mid 40’s, raises her hand like we’re taking attendance. “I’m a doctor.” (I eventually learn she was visiting from North Carolina! She’s just visiting.) We hit time square, I pull the emergency stop button so the train doesn’t go anywhere. The doctor lady and I put the pregnant woman on our shoulders and help her off the train. Another woman steps up to help and I run ahead to the station attendant and tell him that we need the special needs gate and ambulance called. The doctor woman keeps telling the Puerto Rican woman “Keep breathing. You are NOT having your baby here in the subway station!”
it’s only 6 o’clock. People dash from every direction when suddenly this construction worker appear before us. He looks at the pregnant lady and says, “Hey, is the lady having a baby?” Totally calm, as if he sees this five times daily. “Yes, and her water’s broke.” “Oh, yeah?” Immediately he moves ahead, clearing people out of our way, and helps us shoulder carry the woman up the stairs. He opens the gate for us as we get to street level. We sit the woman at the top of the steps to keep her breathing. The Doctor from NC is instructing every move. We’re on the corner of Times Square and thousands of people scurry past.
The pregnant woman’s been carrying a blue folder with her the whole time. This we learn contained all her health papers, and a fat leather wallet. The ambulance arrives, and just as the team load her in the stretcher, we realize her wallet and blue folder are gone. Gone. She’d put them down, and in that brief moment of all the hustle and bustle, someone stole them. She’s calling for them the whole time they push her into the ambulance.
Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes you get on the wrong subway car on a Friday night in April headed to Times Square with a woman whose water just broke.
