We don't own much in the way of fur nowadays, but there was one fur coat long ago in our lives that we'll never forget.
When my wife Miranda and I were still quite young and just starting out we packed up all our belongings into our little car and headed east to a 100 acre farm in Quebec's Eastern Townships. Everything we had fit into that small sedan, with room to spare. We hadn't done much in the way of preparations, just packed our bags and said goodbyes. I wish I'd thought of installing snow tires, but who ever saw snow in early December? Anyway that's another story. But my wife had prepared coats to wear, just in case the Quebec winters were everything we'd heard and hoped they'd be. She'd knitted me a woolen winter coat, the kind with large collars to keep out the winter gales, with images of animals on them. I don't remember which majestic beast I'd chosen. Beaver? Reindeer? Loon? In any case she'd chosen something warmer for herself, much warmer. She'd gone scrounging in the local Sally Ann (Salvation Army) and found an overly large fur coat. It had no style to speak of, just a blanket coat of fur that hung to the knees with deep pockets and a small collar for those winds. It might have been mink, or maybe beaver? I don't know, but it was warm.** She let me try it on, and Oh my God was it cozy! It fit me just so, but on her it draped luxuriously and completely. This was important as she was 8 months pregnant and needed the room under that coat. You could say she was keeping warm for two.
We drove through a blizzard for two days, having stopped off in Ottawa halfway to our destination for a break and a family visit. They advised us to wait out the storm, but unwisely we pressed on the next day. When we arrived at our snug little farmhouse in our perfect little valley, all was a winter wonderland under a frozen night sky. We couldn't have been happier. I stood outside drinking in the scene of a quaint clapboard farmhouse with a glowing kitchen window splashing electric sunshine across endless drifts of snow. The good side of not owning much meant there wasn't much to unpack. Light a fire, bake some bread, and find the teapot. We did remember to pack the teapot? The next morning I dug our way out of the drive and back onto the road, so we could drive up the valley for a checkup with our local doctor, just to make sure all was well under my wife's winter coat. I stood by while he did this and checked that, and then he announced "Oh mon Dieu! C'est tellement très sérieuse!" He told us maman et bébé were in a very bad way and she should be in a hospital. How soon? Tout suite! Yesterday! The ambulance would be a little late owing to the weather so I said I'd drive her myself, he'd phone ahead to have hospital staff ready and waiting. The hour drive was uneventful and gave us time to talk in wide eyed wonder at our new chosen lives together. The three of us. The radio reminded us that the storm had been the "worst" seen in fifty years, but to us it was perfect. We huddled into the cold vinyl seats, set the car heater to full blast and turned our collars up for the fun long drive. Upon arrival the hospital staff immediately recognized us as per description, a serious little man in a big wool coat, une petite fille in a large fur robe. Miranda was quickly but delicately placed in a wheelchair and swished to the elevator. I tried to keep up. My French was worse than rusty at that time, but I understood enough to be a bit perplexed when we rushed out of the elevator into... Pédriatrie. The Children's Ward? I thought they were rushing things just a little. I mean, the baby hadn't even arrived yet? Miranda was parked directly in front and facing the head desk still in her big coat, a tiny little girl under flowing folds of fur and still toasty warm, while a hushed conversation amongst the crowd of white uniforms took place. It seemed the files didn't match the phone call didn't match the patient? "Obstrétriques? Ah non. Pas possible. Pédriatrie bien sûr!" I gripped the wheelchair and waited. Finally, finally, finally one of the nurses approached Miranda for confirmation of who she was, this petite fille in the big fur coat. Hmm, I overheard the village doctor's name mentioned before one of the medical staff gingerly stepped forward and unfastened the big fur coat. Miranda opened up the coat to reveal our prized baby bump. A room full of shocked faces stared at our future son, and I heard at least one "Ah mon Dieu!"
A hospital porter grabbed the wheelchair and pulled an alarming U-turn rushing for the elevator, this time heading for the correct ward. In the hours and days to follow I came to understand just how close we had come to a more tragic end, but all was right within our world eventually. The nurses treated me with utmost kindness, allowing me to sleep bundled like a pile of rags in a chair in the corner of my wife's room. They brought her attentive care and treatment, brought me juice and coffee. When the big day came I stood in the hallway exactly where I was told to watch and wait. It was all still touch and go for maman and bébé, so I stood awaiting whatever news came down that hall. But I could hear the results before I saw them. Our son had a full set of lungs that was for sure. A nurse carrying a small swaddled bundle to me said "Ils sont parfait Monsieur! Maman sont très fatiguée mais très content." That made two of us tired and happy. But when she handed me the bundle it contained an angry red squirming baby making the worst faces I'd ever seen. I couldn't help myself being shocked. The nurse was not at all pleased when I blurted out the only three words that made any sense to me at the time. "Oh mon Dieu!!"
** She tells me it was rabbit.