The End of Act II

There was supposed to be a window, but there wasn't. She was supposed to be behind it, but she wasn't.

I had seen this in hundreds of movies and there was always a window. My wife and I were supposed to be looking through it, arm in arm, me standing a good four or five inches taller than her, broad shouldered, wearing a wide grin, maybe even doing a little manly wave, pointing through the window with the mouthpiece of my tobacco pipe. My wife should have been wearing something simple but tasteful, a floral-print dress, perhaps, with pearls. She should have looked through the window, then up at me, then back through the window again, her look reflecting her awareness of how lucky she was to be both standing next to me and looking though the window at our new baby, sleeping quietly a good three feet from us.

But there was no window.

My wife? She was in a hospital bed, sleeping, drugged on painkillers, wearing a floral gown to be sure, but one that did not meet in the back, recovering from the abdominal surgery we so casually call a C-section. And I was pacing up and down the hallway of the maternity ward, disheveled, shoeless, unshaven, shrunk back to my normal 5 feet 8 inches, looking like I could protect no one from even the smallest of threats. And our baby was in my arms. Screaming to wake the dead.

It was 3 AM and I was in my sixth hour of learning that I didn't know shit.

Kathryn had been born mid-morning the day before and, after the doctors and nurses stopped torturing her, she had slept almost the entire day away. Grandparents, aunts, and uncles had passed her around all day, each hoping to be the one holding her when she finally opened her eyes. And when she did open them, they crept up with an agonizing slowness, each glimpse of blue eye underneath so much more amazing than anything seen before on earth. Pilgrims should have lined the block to see them.

But nobody was seeing those eyes at 3 AM, her eyelids clenched so tight a crowbar could not have found purchase there. Her angelic face had shrunk to a mere fraction of its former size, all to make room for her open mouth and its screams. The screams had begun at 9 PM. To be sure, they probably weren't screams to everyone. To the nursing staff, I imagine they hardly raised an eyebrow, but to me, they were unbelievable.

Probably the best information I could give a new parent, and something I wish I had known at the time, is that it is millions upon millions of years of successful evolution that allows your newborn to cry at just the right pitch and volume to compel you into action.

But I was all out of actions. Had been for hours. I only knew two lullabies and they weren't working. The first time I had ever held or rocked a baby had been with this very child not but half a day ago. Plus, I was afraid of the nurses. That fear had been drilled into me by the militant breast-feeding commandos who taught the lactation class we had attended months earlier. "Beware the nurses," they told us. "They'll have a bottle in that baby's mouth before you can say 'Lower IQ'! Then your baby will be RUINED FOREVER! She'll be STUPID and UNNATURAL and you'll NEVER LOVE HER like you would a breast-fed baby." Everytime I passed the nurses' station with my little bundle of wails, I hunched over a little more, worried that one of them might try to squeeze a bottle past me. (Of course, I also knew if they were to try, all I had to do was call out "La Leche League! I need you!" and flash my boob-shaped emergency distress signal and the League would appear instantly. They have superpowers. "La Leche League powers, activate! Form of a nipple! Form of a proper latch!")

So there was just me. Me and Kathryn. Back and forth, up and down that hallway, trying to let my wife get some sleep.

Kathryn finally stopped screaming around 5 o'clock in the morning. I had tried everything I knew and nothing had worked. I was beat, crushed, a broken man. My fortitude had been tested and found wanting. That morning, around 8 o'clock, when my parents, knowing only the show-baby Kathryn of the day before, came by the hospital room to announce that they were going to head back home, I lost it. I broke down right there in the hallway, crying in front of my parents like a child lost in a supermarket.

Looking back on it now, I realize two things. The first is that sometimes a person needs to be stripped down to his bare essence before he can be rebuilt anew. Like a bad Hollywood drama, my life had just entered the end of Act II, where the hero's plans are crushed, his dreams foiled, and his enemy is on the move, nevermind that my enemy only weighed seven pounds and drooled. Most really bad evil villains drool. Really.

The second thing I realize looking back on that night six and a half long years ago, is that we should really bring back the window.

Comments

[sasha]

Happy birthday to Kathryn!

(and happy birthing-day to you and The Mom.)

[The Dad]

Oops. It's not Kathryn's birthday. This post came out of a discussion I had last week with some colleages. Re-reading it in light of your comment, sasha, I am kicking myself that I didn't save it to post on that special day. Sorry for the confusion. Maybe the addition of "and a half" to the last line will clarify things more. I'll try that...

[google addict]

Colleages? Is that code for the 3 martini playdate gang?

[Sue]

Our hospital had a window but I'm pretty sure they posted one single baby behind it and told every grandparent that the baby was their grandchild. The plot was easily exposed when I had two babies at once.

[The Mom]

Colleages is code for me and Julio, the cabana boy who lives in our basement (why else would I be down there so long doing laundry).

[The Godfather]

Okay, that was scary! When I read the first comment, I thought that I was certainly the worst godfather in the world to have forgotten my goddaughter's birthday!

Actually, the breastfeeding people are really the evil ones-- at least they were when our little one was born! They sent one lady first, and she told us how wonderful we were and how great mom and baby were to be trying so hard and that it was going very well since baby had come a little early. (the evil part is next) Then, the next day, they sent two consultants, and I don't think they agreed on a single thing the whole time, except that mom and baby just couldn't do it right. Baby was crying, mom was crying, I was crying... Consultants were frowning and harumphing. Luckily our NICU doctor told us to take everything anyone tells you with a shaker-ful of salt and that we'd have to figure alot of things out on our own.

[The Dad]

Colleages. Yes, colleages. I have colleages. Are you implying that I am not colleage worthy, GA? Hmm? Just because they are two feet tall and look like garden gnomes does not mean they are not colleages.

[Kate]

I admit, I thought it was my birthday for a second there too. No wait, wrong Kathryn. I'm so confused.

I have no idea if my hospital had the window or not, my boys stayed in my room the entire time.

[Jennifer]

Happy bday and a half to Kathryn! When are you visiting Texas again? I just had a brunch/meet-up for Amalah, and it would be equally awesome to meet you and all your Texas readers. Any plans to visit Austin??? Pretty please??? You are my favorie dad ever.

[You can call me, 'Sir']

I'd be careful with that boob-shaped emergency distress signal. It might lead the wrong sort of people to your door looking for, well....boobs.

[Liesel Elliott]

Our hospital had a window. And after waiting six hours for them to return our baby to us, we hobbled (ok, I was the only one hobbling) over to said window to look for our kid. Except we couldn't find him. We stood there, peering through the window and I started to bawl because I couldn't figure out which baby was mine. My husband went to the nurse and asked her to please give our baby back to us, while I stood behind him blubbering.

And then we waddled back to our room sans baby. They finally brought him to us over an hour later. And what's worse? Neither one of us slept a wink during our baby-less time. Which means that when they finally handed him over, neither my husband or I had slept in about 36 hours. Good times.

[sasha]

Oh fine then, happy unbirthday. And un-birthing-day. Don't C-sections suck?

[EOMama]

Sasha: As Beavis and Butthead might say, C-sections suck more than anything has ever sucked before. Huh-huh.

Dad: Beautiful post today. Happy un-Birthday to my fave 6-yr-old, Miss Kathryn!

[RachelJoy]

I believe that should be "Form of a nipple! SHAPE OF of a proper latch!" Oh, but them something has to be made out of water . . . "Form of an ice boobie . . ." Oh, whatever.

[TSM-Truth, Sincerity, Madness]

Wonder Twin Powers! LOVE it! Oh that brings back memories...

That and Battle of the Planets. But nobody seems to remember that when I say it. I was the one in white. And I flew baby!

That post was a fantastic view of the daddy's perspective. I wonder if my husband would read and relate. I bet he would...

[Sharon with J and N]

Now that's blog-writing! Nice.

We had one better than windows for the twins. We had two shining pristeen incubators which only allowed in sanitized hands during selected times of the day. As much as it was difficult having the girls in NICU, it was a bit of a relief to be considered too clumsy and unclean to possibly care for these precious and oh so new babies on our own. We had 3 weeks of careful instruction from the NICU nurses to learn to bathe, feed and diaper them. That kind of easing into it certainly didn't prepare us for everything to come, but it sure beats them kicking you out with your newborn after less than 24 hours which is the common story I hear from new moms these days. You can definitely add my name to the "bring back the window" petition.

[Ellie's Mommie]

How absolutely sweet! I almost teared up thinking about Darling Daddy feeling the same anxiety & frustration 9 weeks from now. I say almost, b/c then I remembered that I have to deliver her and I just read that Lindsey had a 10 POUND BABY BOY!! See, that really does make me want to cry! Pregnancy hormones SUCK!!!

This is just stupendous, LD. That's all I can say, stupendous, since my own fortitude is being tested, and is found wanting a whole lot.

I would say more if I didn't have to go to sleep now and rummage around behind my eyeballs for some forti-something. And as soon as I wake up, and she wakes up, I will chant to my lactating beloved: "La Leche League powers, activate! Form of a nipple! Form of a proper latch!"

Um, that was me right up there. Your pal Polly P, aka the other LD. Demonstrating, via the namelessness of the comment, my lack of fortitude.

[The Godfather]

So, you never said, did your parents stay in town a little longer?

[The Godfather]

I second the post by "Sharon with J and N". We only had one baby, but NICU nurses deserve a special place in heaven. It's like having a "Baby 101" class when you go to visit your baby.

[DebiD]

I still think the key to a happy hospital stay is to make the nurses just a little bit afraid of you.

[The Gmama]

Yes, yes, The Godfather, Gmama and Gdada did indeed stay. Arriving the next AM at the hospital, we found Kathryn sleeping blissfully on The Dad's chest. All was well. The Dad and The Mom are quick learners!