Henry's Birth

December 15th, 2007

4:16 pm PST

Elena (our Doula) and I walked down to surgery with Nicole who was on a rolling bed cart. She was brought into surgery as they prepped and we were left in the hallway to put on our scrubs. It was probably only 5 or so minutes, but I tried my best to keep busy, anything to keep my mind off the task at hand, taking pictures of each other in our our scrubs, and the weird portrait paintings of the physicians on the walls. The length of the hallway seemed to stretch forever into infinity.

When they called us in, Nicole was only visible from the neck up, partitioned by a pale blue cloth that was pinned up by clamps onto two rods. There was no way I was going to look beyond that divider screen and see what what they were doing to Nicole's insides. They were already operating at full speed when I came in, coming up from behind Nicole. Nicole was facing foward, lying face up, and I could only see the back of her head. I was in shock and someone motioned me towards her. I scrunched up next to her, squatting onto a small metal stool, with my head next to hers, holding her hand. Her arms were pinned straight out, and her hands were lying palms up. She told me not to squeeze or craddle her hands, she needed them to lie flat. I gently laid my hand on hers and I think the only words I could get out were "I love you", "you're doing great", "we're almost there" or maybe more, I can't remember.

I was trying hard not to focus on the rough sounds coming from behind the curtain. There was a huge urgency to their movements, as if they were pushing and pulling her insides. Things were clanging and being thrown to the ground, I felt like the blue divider would collapse at any moment from all the manhandling, like a spray of bombs would rain down into our little foxhole. At one point one of the doctors said "I can't reach him, where did he go?" "He's way up there!" At the same time, I could hear from the other corner of my ear the sideline chats from the technicians, talking about what they would be doing after work, "Yeah, thank god, this is our last C-Section today."

My mind was reeling and it took all of concentration to stay in the present and pray that Nicole and the baby were going to make it OK. It seemed like hours, and then I heard it. The cry of our Henry, our baby boy, our son...MY son! Nicole smiled at me, but I could tell she was exhausted from the labor. I can only imagine what it must have felt down there during surgery. Someone pulled me over to Henry, and they held him straight up. He was white, pale and powdery, with this vaseline, cheese-like substance (called Vernix) all over his body. I couldn't keep my eyes off him, he was so beautiful.

It was all so unreal, and I felt torn between stealing those first precious moments with Henry, and wanting to see how Nicole was doing. She looked so helpless, just stuck on this table, totally isolated from all the activity. I rushed over to see how she was doing, and the someone said, "Do you want to cut the cord?" Somehow surgical scissors appeared in my hands. I of course wanted to do it, I was just a little stunned. It was all just rushing by now, I needed to take it all in.

I dug in, and was surprised how tough and leathery it felt. I was almost afraid I wouldn't be able to sever it, and at that moment, it occured to me that I was actually cutting through flesh, a little part of Henry. I was so glad when I cut through and was so worried I had done it all wrong until someone said "Great job dad. Congratulations."

They rubbed Henry down, and his skin was so pink and fair, his face so perfect, petite. He had such supple, dainty lips, with his lower lip just sinking into a pursed scowl. And he was so tiny! 5 pounds, 9 ounces. I thought he looked very English and I could see he had the dip of my nose. They put him in my arms and in a daze I brought him close to Nicole, who still hadn't seen him yet. I was crying and fogging up my glasses behind the scrub mask. I could see Nicole was smiling, but still looking tired. I asked her emphatically, "Is it Henry? Should we still call him Henry?" She nodded yes and said hello to Henry, hearing his name for the first time, behind that pale blue screen, with his mommy and daddy, so close together in that tight little space. We were now a family.

Things moved quickly from there, and I thanked as many people as I could in the room who had helped with the delivery. Nicole, Henry, myself, and Holly (who was helping to move the wheeled bed stretcher) were taken to a freight elevator and brought to the recovery room, where they would weigh Henry and check for his vital signs.

When we got there, they placed Henry on a bassonette, with transparent plastic collapsable sides, that was heated from above, and they put a heart heart shaped tinfoil-like monitor on his chest, to monitor his oxygen intake. He was a little wheezy and was having difficulty regulating his breathing. I knelt down beside him, and give him my finger, which he grabbed onto with his little fingers. This was when I first saw him open his eyes. My heart melt, I don't think I had ever felt this much love, this strongly, in all my life. I felt right then, that he was the one who I was waiting for all my life, that piece that was always missing, I finally felt whole. He saved me, and I would do anything from that moment on to love and protect him. It was all over, I surrendered to him with all my heart and soul.

It was those eyes! I had never seen eyes so undiluted and pure, like the first drop of the purest pigment, just as it hits the water. They were a deep, blue-green, hazel, I just can't describe the clarity of that blue. Almost like he had been plucked from the sea, or some extra-terristrial being, like nothing I had ever laid my eyes upon. I couldn't stop staring at him, and he seemed to be watching me intently, discovering, encouraging, understanding. I felt the deepest calm, and I talked to him gently, repeating his name, saying how I had waited so long to meet him.

Without even knowing, I think we both transferred to each other this calming energy, like some type of telepathy. We were falling in love with each other. The technician who was regulating his oxygen intake suddenly sat up and said, "I can't believe it, he just leveled out at 100%! His breathing is completely where it should be. You must have the magic touch."

I wanted that moment to last forever, his tiny hand gripping my finger, desperate to understand and process this new world, but all the while, we calmed each other with our eyes. It was as if we were both telling each other it was going to be OK. This was a new beginning for both of us, and there was no turning back.