Anomaly: Chapter 9

"Apples and Oatmeal"

We were headed to Sandpoint, Idaho, chasing yet another miracle. This time, it was a holistic midwife—a fellow believer, someone who understood that hospitals were not an option. Mom would have rather died, would have rather lost the baby, than set foot inside one of those places. But for all her faith, for all the times she had brought life into this world on her own, she knew this time something was terribly wrong. Seven months along, and instead of swelling like she normally did at this stage of pregnancy, she was shrinking. She couldn’t keep food down, couldn’t hold anything in. If she wasn’t gaining, the baby wasn’t either.

The midwife examined her in the dim light of her small farmhouse, her face drawn in concern. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady but firm. Mom had a parasite. A bad one. If they didn’t act fast, both she and the baby would die. There was no time for debate. My parents agreed to whatever treatment the midwife recommended, as long as it was homeopathic. That was non-negotiable. In exchange for her care, Dad would work off the cost, fixing things around the farm, doing whatever was needed to settle the debt.

AI Generated Image by Sarah Centrella

For the next week or so, our family settled into a strange new rhythm. While the midwife worked around the clock to stabilize Mom and save the baby—administering natural remedies, whispering prayers, watching for any sign of improvement—we kids tried to stay out of the way. We lived in the car, sleeping in the backseat at night, waking up stiff and cold with the sunrise. During the day, we helped Dad with chores around the farm, keeping busy, keeping out of the way. The air smelled like damp hay and wood smoke from the chimney of the farmhouse, the mornings crisp as we climbed out of our makeshift beds, stretching our aching limbs before another day of working with Dad.