In A Flash

My oldest son was born in some crazy conditions. I'll never forget that 48 hours in the hospital going back and forth from the waiting room into our personal room and out again, trying to answer questions I had no business fielding from friends and family. We couldn't be more ready for his arrival. When I say "we" I mean his mother considering she was doing all of the heavy lifting. I am certain I was pretty useless in that room but I tried to keep it light with a few well timed jokes and gags. Found out quickly I was NOT funny nor was I cute. But I can assure you of this, I was doing all of the work on keeping ME from passing out. It was tough because no one seemed to care how I was doing and giving her all of the attention.

Selfish.

But that day was pure insanity, 24 hours of labor and he just couldn't seem to make his way for an appearance. It became fairly precarious for everyone involved and started to turn into the realm of concerning. That same worry was on the nurses faces, it was a palpable, tangible air that left me very worried. As that 24th hour started to roll down on us our doctor, a dude that I really liked and trusted that he would do right by my soon to be family, came rushing into the room. Surprised that they were still having my wife push, he took one look at the monitors, belted out and I quote, "What the fuck are you doing?" to the other nurses in the room.

As they stammered for an answer he was already in action getting her into an ER to do an emergency c-section. My son, my first born sons complication was that his head was just too damn big. He was stuck in the birth canal and every time his mother tried to push it was smashing his little head. To make matters just a bit more fun, he decided that a good place for the umbilical chord was freshly adorned around his neck like a scarf. He's always been one for fashion and fancy. So every time she pushed that chord that gave him life was the thing that was slowly taking it.

My doc, he was a bad ass for noticing this on the monitors. His heart rate would drop with each push so he knew immediately what was happening and what needed to be done.

Here's the thing; no one preps you for the carnage that takes place in an ER during a cesarean. I mean, they gave me the scrubs, a stupid cap and the slips over my shoes, which was great. But they took her back first and once she was prepped they brought me in. It was Apocalypse Now. As I walked in, there before me, the nurses and God... The cool doctor that had just dropped the F bomb 30 minutes prior, had a foot up on the table looking like he was trying to pull her apart; working franticly to get to my son. The nurses didn't even glance at me or say "hi" - I couldn't help bu think the bedside manners were less than ideal with this crew, but I thought now wouldn't be a time to question their professionalism. One nurse did, however, notice the rudeness of her coworkers and guided me to the head of the table where my wife's head was which was basically the only thing I could see or wanted to see. They had a canvas type wall set up so I couldn't see anything south of the boarder. Probably for the better. She guided me to a little stool and instructed me to help keep my wife calm and that I could speak to her but she was obviously very sedated. At that point, the room was beginning to spin. I thought, "pull yourself together man, you can't pass out here. Not now." But no amount of deep breaths, nor prayers, nor soothing words from the "head nurse" (see what I did there..? She was sitting just above my wife's head) could stop that room from slowly spinning. That's when I noticed something that was unbelievably helpful - I kept having to turn myself back to face her. Constantly repositioning myself back to her instead of towards the nurses and the doctor behind the curtain wall.

The damn stool I was sitting on was slowly turning me. It wouldn't stay put. But GLORY because I WASN'T about to pass out and was handling all of this extremely well. But even in that moment of chaos, I couldn't even get a good stool to sit on.

I had a lengthy letter to write the hospital after this was all said and done.

It was good that I found that opportunity to keep it together because what was coming up next I will never forget for the rest of my life. They got my son out of there, pulled him out by the ankles, just BOOM, there he was. My eyes couldn't compute what they saw; I didn't realize the doctor was going to be ripping my son out of there like that, like Steve Irwin snatching up a poisonous snake and holding it proudly for the entire world to see... In that moment, seeing him like that, I couldn't help but think, "My son is going to be ACHILLES!!" A very grey, ashy, cone-headed Achilles but, a God nonetheless and one that wasn't crying. Not a peep.

"Why can't I hear him crying...?" The tone in the voice snapped me back into reality. My wife questioned with a fear in her voice I'd never heard before. She was awake enough and the mom instinct was already kicked in, "why can't I hear him crying...?"

Why wasn't he crying? A team of NICU nurses came flying in and took him from the doctor to a table several feet away from me. I turned to my wife and assured her that everything was fine. That our son was just fine. It was probably only a matter of seconds but there was a panic in the room that was electric. It felt like a sharp mist against the flushed cheeks on my face. Those seconds felt like an eternity. When they said parenting changes you, they weren't frigging kidding ladies and gentlemen. I never knew a level of fear like that could exist. The worst was starting to sink in, those most terrifying of thoughts of, "what if...?" and the longer it took for Lacey to hear his cries the more she began to panic. I couldn't grasp what was happening around me - I was positive they had just brutally murdered my wife and now my son isn't responding. He isn't breathing? Why isn't he crying?

"WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

Loud, screeching cries rang out through the ER. My son was breathing! He was alive! Disappointedly, his first word was "wah", apparently, and I thought, well I hope he's good looking at least.... but he was breathing! He was going to be alright.

The birth had been traumatic for him and for her. He looked like he had been in a bar brawl while auditioning for ConeHeads 2. He was a bit jaundice as well and had to be incubated. I didn't know at the time, but that began about two years of not being able to get a full nights sleep and an anxiety I had never known. He seemed so frail and I was terrified that I was going to in some way damage him. He couldn't speak to me, either, so that freaked me out. But he WAS BEAUTIFUL.

I look back on all of this now and I can't help but to get teary eyed and smile. I think back to that first night we had him in our hospital room and an alarm of some kind went off on his incubator. I died seven times on my way to get to him and literally being able to do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, but I was there for it! I think back to the first time I gave him a bath and he grabbed my finger as I was pouring some of that warm water over him. He'd kick his feet straight up and gave that goofy smile that is still with him till this day.

That all seemed like yesterday. "Why isn't he crying" has morphed into, "How can he be driving?" As I sit here and write this I just can't grasp where the time has gone. I was there the entire time but yet still feel like I've missed so much. I realize attempting to hold on to that time is like trying to grab the wind. The first year of his life he would sleep right on my chest and now in his sixteenth year I look up to him. Literally and figuratively. For those of you that have older children you know exactly what I'm talking about. The hours are long but the years are short and my goodness they are short. I wonder if I cherished them enough. I wonder if he knows how much I've cherished him. I wonder if he knows how he's saved my life. There's a lot of wonder in this position that I find myself now at this stage of parenting with him. For you newer parents or those with younger kids - I plead with you to CHERISH every single last moment. The most annoying of things that they do will be the very things you miss when they get older. I mentioned the nights of not sleeping, I can't tell you how much I loved walking into his room and see him standing in his crib reaching out for me to hold him. For me to make him feel safe and chase those night monsters away.

I miss that rye little smile looking up at me from the tub, or from the floor as he was learning to crawl and just ALMOST, just almost figuring it out. As I said, that rye smile is still there, it's just now wearing a top hat that he calls a mustache. The smell of diapers has been traded for the smell of BO and damp towels he leaves on his bedroom floor because he's an utter slob! I kid, he's actually really picky about the status of his room. Back to that fancy thing I spoke of before.

All of this is to warn you as I was warned - IT GOES BY IN A FLASH. Our responsibility to them, the unspoken contract written in the stars is their childhood. What we make of it is up to each of us. We won't get it right a lot. We will make mistakes and there will be badges they wear from us for the rest of their lives. But if you realize that you'll do nothing better in your life and cherish every last moment then you can keep some of the inevitable hurt at bay for when they go on their own way. WE are prepping them to leave us. It's the most backwards damn relationship I've ever been in.

Our return for that messed up agreement is that little rye smile on their face. That glimmer in their eye as they turn to face a world that we have hopefully prepped them for as best as one can be prepped.

“Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it” Proverbs 22:6

Navigate Intentionally.