Entry 4
My Two Bytes ... On Ben (an article from the company newsletter)
Contractions. At about 2:30am on the 5th, my wife began having contractions, which isn’t all that unusual when you’re 9 months pregnant. Except these were the real ones. They steadily increased in strength and duration until we went to the hospital about 5 hours later. The hospital quickly admitted her and gave her an internal checkup (to which I’ll spare the details) when they realized that she’d already dilated to 6 centimeters. For the un-initiated, the goal is 10, at which point the mother-to-be can begin pushing what’s been compared to a watermelon through a hole the size of a cucumber. They quickly gave her an ultrasound to ensure he was upside down (which is really right side up when you’re coming full speed out of a uterus). During the ultrasound, I thought I saw a second head on my baby. But then, I’m not an ultrasound technician, so I might have been wrong.
Doctors. Next we were taken to the birthing suite. She was at eight centimeters. Enter anesthesiologist. Have you ever seen the movie 9 Months? Robin Williams plays a pivotal role as a Russian obstetrician that has trouble with his English and had previously only delivered animal babies. "Ma’am, please lay down on the bed so I can have a look at your Volvo." I’m not sure which Eastern European country Dr. Besmond was from, but he looked and sounded as if he had auditioned for the role and only marginally lost it to Robin Williams.
Except he wasn’t acting. It took no less than twenty minutes to insert the epidural. On the first attempt, my wife jumped and screamed, "Ouch". He had to try again. After the second attempt, he actually had the audacity to blame me for moving my right hand, which was tightly gripping my wife’s (actually, hers was gripping mine). But you know what they say, third time’s a charm. Before he left us, he started the flow of anesthesia to her spine via a small box that he ‘programmed’ to release the fluid in increments.
Pain. For some reason, the programmed box didn’t work. For a while, Kara could still feel her left leg. Then she could feel both legs. She was at nine centimeters and could have used a bullet to bite. We called in our nurse, who called in a more experienced anesthesiologist. He glanced at the controls on the box with a bewildered look and said he was going to deliver the chemical manually. Which he did. Once again, the legs got heavy and the pain ceased.
Peace. Everyone left us to ourselves for a while. There was some pressure and Kara said, "Dan, he’s coming right NOW!!". It took a little convincing on her part, but I finally conceded to call the nurse. Within a minute or two, the nurse, Dr. Dietrick (our OB), and the good anesthesiologist had entered the room and sure enough, the baby was coming ... NOW!!
The life changing moment. She only had about 3 more contractions before we had our second son. It was somewhat unnerving to actually see what I thought I saw during the ultrasound. On the right side of Ben’s neck was a cist about the size of a baseball, which was slightly smaller than the boy’s head. Dr. Dietrick handed Ben to the nurse and called for the director of the pediatric center of the hospital, all the while reassuring my wife, saying things like, "He looks good, we just want to see what the little lump is." From her angle, of course, she hadn’t seen any of what the rest of us saw. From across the room, the anesthesiologist mumbled, “It looks like a Cystic Hygroma.” Kara remained amazingly calm until a few other doctors busted in and crowded around the miracle she’d just produced.
I recall the feelings that I had had with my first son, Harrison. My eyes welled up with tears, and so help me I cried. However, this time was different. For some reason I held back the tears. Strangely, I felt as if there was some mistake. He wasn’t the perfect little man that we’d been envisioning for the previous forty weeks. He couldn’t be my son.
The crying begins. From the opposite side of the birthing table, watching the doctors crowd around Ben I contemplated the feelings I was having, not even realizing that he was wailing. He was no doubt afraid, never having met any of the doctors before. Heck, he hadn’t even met me yet, formally. Somewhere in there, I cut his umbilical cord, but that was a far cry from a hand shake and a "howdy do." Kara had to ask me two or three times to check on him and let him know he was okay. I was somewhat hesitant. Maybe because I didn’t really know for myself if he, indeed, was ‘okay’.
He was still crying. So I drew close, patted his tiny tummy, told him he was ‘okay’. At the time, it might have been a fib, but I have come to realize that my wife, doped up as she was, was far more in tune with reality. Then I joined him in tears, realizing for myself what a miracle he really was. He had his father’s dark complexion and dark hair, his mother’s ears.
After a few little checks, the pediatricians that crowded around Ben dispersed and gave us the ‘Okay’. It was, indeed, a cystic hygroma: Essentially a little pouch of lymphatic fluid that hadn’t drained correctly which occurs in about one out of every thirteen-thousand births. As hygromas go, his was a small one and a safe one. In some cases, they can close off the trachea and make it difficult to breathe or eat. His was in no way detrimental to his health. And at 3 months of age, he can have surgery to remove it (for the most part).
As the two of us bonded, new emotions entered my mind. Rather than denial, I felt acceptance, but it was mingled with fear and anxiety for my son. What would his first day of school be like? What would the kids say? Would he fit in? Play sports? Would he ever meet that special girl and get married? Go to college?
I know Ben will have a lasting impact on my life, but I’m not sure he’ll ever influence me more than he did at the moment that I realized this: Greatness is ALWAYS preceded by adversity. He will be more than ‘okay’ simply because he has an opportunity for extra-credit growth that only one out of thirteen-thousand of us will ever have. And with his proud parents’ incessant love and support, his first day of school will be a breeze.
Right now, though, we still need to work on sleeping through the night!