My Troubled Bridges

My Troubled Bridges

By Frances Gaudiano

“I can’t come visit you at university,” I told my daughter.

“Why not?” She wanted me to take her shopping and out for a meal – a bit of pampering to countereffect the pain of living in a dormitory.

“Because there is a bridge between home and the campus.”

Bridges - my nemesis.

I’ve hated bridges all my life. When you think about it, the structure is just hanging there in mid-air. It has to collapse eventually. And I’ve seen plenty of photos in newspapers of crumpled causeways. There was the 1989 earthquake in San Francisco. Front page of the paper – a car tipping into the chasm between the two pieces of the Oakland Bay Bridge. You see, I have good reason to distrust bridges.

If I am on a train, or someone else is driving, I can close my eyes, grip the seat underneath me and survive the journey across, as long as it is a short span. My method of coping involves holding my breath. This makes long bridges out of the question. If I had to travel over The Lake Pontchartrain causeway (almost 24 miles!) I would clearly die of hypoxia. For me to drive myself over any structure than spans a body of water is impossible. The bridge will spontaneously crumble or the steering on my car will malfunction and veer me into the abyss.

I tried hypnosis and desensitization but instead of imaging a smooth transit, I envisioned repeated calamities till it felt like my heart was going into ventricular fibrillation. A handful of Valium might help assuage my phobia but I believe that is contraindicated when one is driving.

And so, I don’t visit my daughter during her first term at university. Sorry kid. I do spoil her extravagantly when she comes home for the holidays making me a tad less guilty - the spa day I took her to cost an arm and a leg. She went back to her studies satisfied.

It was late in January when the call came.

“Are you Marie’s mom?”

“Yes. Who am I speaking with?”

“Hi, I’m Jessica. I live in the dorm with Marie. We just got an ambulance for her. She gave me your number and said to ring you.”

“What happened?” Alarm bells were ringing in my ears, making it difficult to hear the reply.

“I don’t know,” Jessica replied, “I’m not pre-med. Marie was, like, moaning super loud. She was doubled over and sweating really gross-like so I rang for an ambulance. The crew said you’d need to contact the hospital with her insurance details.”

My fingernails had scissored my palms by now. “Which hospital?” I managed to utter.

“St. John’s. I think. I’m pretty sure that is what the paramedic said.”

“Right, thank you Jessica. I’ll call them right away.”

“Are you coming up here? Marie kept saying she wanted her mom. Kind of lame, like she was a little girl or something. You know, it’s probably just monster period pains but it sounds like she needs you to show up for her.”

My only child needed me. I was going to have to get in the car and drive across that damn bridge.

It was St. John’s. The finance department took our insurance details but I was unable to get an update on Marie’s condition, only that she was on the surgical ward. It was explained to me that Marie was an adult and they could not give out information to anyone without her consent. But I’m her mom, I wanted to wail.

The best thing was to get to the hospital as soon as possible. I grabbed my handbag, took a deep breath and set the sat nav in my car. When I turned on the radio, what came on but ‘Bridge over Troubled Waters’. I turned it off and switched to classical music, hoping it would calm me.

The first part of the journey went smoothly enough, though there was a snarl up on the freeway. It looked like they were clearing up after an accident. I avoided gazing at the affected lane as I drove by. I didn’t need anything else terrifying me.

My phone buzzed a few times but I didn’t dare take my eyes off the road to check the messages. I was on my way. If it was Marie’, driving there directly was the best I could do.

The signs for the bridge began to appear:

Bridge in one mile.

Left lane for the bridge.

Have your credit card ready for the toll.

Fifty yards to the bridge.

I felt myself go light-headed and forced myself to breath. In and out. Stare straight ahead. Grip steering wheel to keep it from gyrating into the railings.

“Please don’t let me die,” I prayed. “I have to get to my baby girl. Please let me get across.”

I was on the bridge. My car kept moving forward. My hands sweating so much that the wheel was slick. My vision began to blur. I was going to faint. I was going to faint and cause a terrible accident killing dozens of people.

And then it happened. A voice came through the radio, “I have heard your prayer.” It sounded like Morgan Freeman. Maybe it was God! Although, I was tuned to classic FM. It could be Bach. Or, I was hallucinating due to lack of oxygen.

“Keep breathing,” said the voice. That was good advice, from whoever it was coming. I took a deep breath. Had I accidentally clicked on Headspace? No, my phone was still on Google maps.

“Relax. I’m taking over now. Your car will be safely steered to the other side. The bridge will not collapse. Let go and let me be your guide.”

It sounded like a good deal. I did as I was told, deciding it would be foolish to argue with a voice of unknown origin. My sweaty palms released the steering wheel and I watched my car move forward, across the bridge to the other side.

I’m not a religious person, only bothering to pray when I need something. But someone, somewhere heard me. I survived the bridge. I got to the hospital. Marie had her appendix removed. There were no complications. All was good in the world. At least my world.

“Mom,” she said, reaching her arms out to me. I gave her a careful hug, not wanting to squeeze her too hard after the surgery. She grabbed my hand and held it. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was scared.” Then, as realisation struck, “You drove over the bridge for me.”

Well, someone did. I wasn’t ready to tell her a force from afar reached down and took care of me. She’d laugh and that might pop a stitch. One day, I’d tell her there are more things in this world than our philosophy can dream of. Sorry Shakespeare – that is a bad paraphrase but you get my gist.

I stayed with Marie for three days, returning her to her dorm and getting her settled back into her university routine. I thanked her dorm mate Jessica, but not effusively. Good thing for the medical world that Jessica isn’t joining their ranks. Period pains indeed! I did Marie’s laundry (when had she last changed her sheets?) and bought enough groceries to keep her going for a month. An envelope of cash was tucked between the pages of her English Lit compendium. It isn’t easy growing up.

Then it was time to drive home. Another passage over the bridge. I got in the car, set up the sat nav and then took a moment.

“Thanks for listening to me, whoever you are. It’s good to know that when I’m afraid, someone will hold my hand.”