August Anniversaries
I do not know if it is by mere coincidence, or whether it is due to something slightly more cosmic, but, many of the most important, and in fact traumatic events in my life have happened in August . It was in August at the start of my senior year in high school when my parents decided to up and move yet again, ending the Beverly to Salem to Beverly loop by moving to Ipswich. It was in August, 1990 when I received my first diploma. It was in August when my wife and I bought our first home. It was in August when we bought our second home. It was in August when we later sold the first. More recently in August I received my biopsy results. Ten years ago , on the third of August I became a father. Sixteen days later, a stretch of eight days began that would bring me as close to the title of "single dad" or "widower" than I hope I ever experience again.
Our son ,who I am convinced did not want to be born ( he had to be induced twice) finally joined the outside world at 9:45 pm on August 3rd, 2000. Two days later our discharge to go home was delayed as our baby boy came down with jaundice, so we had to wait for a blood test result on him to see if we could go home. Finally about 9 pm they sent us packing , more or less. That is what it felt like. They are just throwing us out? When you are new parents, you feel like every time you pick your baby up you may break him. At least in the hospital, if you do in fact break the baby, they can fix him right there. They have a baby-fixin' toolbox right there. I have seen it. No worries.
Eventually, though,the legally mandated forty-eight hours expires, and suddenly you find yourself escorted to the curb, thrust out into the cold cruel world( well it was August so it wasn't all that cold) entrusted with caring for this really tiny human. Really tiny. Hamster sized. Made out of Christmas Ornament glass. Well not really . But that is what it felt like. And they were keeping the toolbox. Sure they sent us home with a six- pack of Pampers,"just to getcha started", but that is like sending an Astronaut on a space walk with nothing more than a a scuba mask. But it would only be for sixteen days.
Ten years ago, for the most part August 19th was like any other hectic, sleep-deprived day in the life of new parents. At that point, after sixteen consecutive days of sleeping in ninety-minute shifts, Michelle and I were pretty much shells of our former selves. Our son was not what you call a "napper". He would so unwillingly submit to the sandman that I used to think we should have named him Dylan. So the fact that Michelle was not quite feeling herself that afternoon, at first did not seem that odd. Giving birth after a long labor, then a subsequent mild infection, and a baby that refused to sleep would do that to a person. But her unease quickly escalated to the point of horrific pain,so severe that when they asked her later at the E.R. to quantify the pain, had she not just given birth, she told them it would have ranked as the worst in her life.
They admitted her for tests, that would later reveal a massive gall stone attack. She needed surgery. Quickly. The doctors put her on morphine for the pain, then proceeded to explain to us how they would do the surgery. Many words flowed from their mouths. Large words like laparoscopic, hepatic, pancreatitis and not so large words like camera, gas, bile, risks, and death.
After approving the procedure, she was wheeled away a short while later for her surgery. For the first time in my life I was faced with the prospect that were something to go tragically wrong, my newly born son could be left without a mother. A mother he would never know. Comforting thoughts to a new dad. Good book title.
I spent the next few hours waiting, worrying, pacing, processing , and learning how to feed my child formula . Up to that point the plan was that he was going to be nursed. Morphine drips tend to change plans.
After her surgery they wheeled her back into the room, and declared that the surgery went well. Some relief seemed to float into the room alongside her gurney. But it would not last.
Over the next several hours it became harder for her to breathe. Out she went for more tests. X-Rays. CT-Scans. The doctor came back to speak with us. His earlier upbeat face had been replaced. This one was not smiling. This time he used a word whose gravity I didn't fully grasp at the time : embolism.
Up to that point she had been allowed to return to the maternity ward, to be close with the baby. With this new news, she was to be moved into the telemetry unit. More nurses there, he explained. More training to deal with this sort of thing, he said.
So we were taken to the new room. We left the carpeted, wood paneled , almost hotel-like amenities of the maternity ward and soon found ourselves immersed in more traditional hospital decor. It was at this point I began to fully realize what was happening. Then it was made crystal clear, when the nurse in charge at the new unit, informed me that Michelle could no longer breastfeed due to the "clotbusting drugs they are starting her on. So you need to go get yourself some formula for the baby".
Practically in a state of shock, I took my newly born son, left my wife to be tended to by what I hoped and prayed were capable doctors , and headed to the grocery store. I had no idea what was going to happen. At the hospital. Or at the store.
After a few false starts up and down the aisles, I soon located the formula . During my quest , my son began crying. He was hungry. I was lost. Not a good combination. As his screams grew louder I found myself confronted with literally hundreds of brightly colored boxes, each claiming to be the "best choice for your child's nutrition". Yet each named with such unappetizing words like Enfamil. Or Simmilac. Is there an Ipecac too, I wondered. I had no idea what to choose. It was so frustrating. I started to sweat. The baby's cries grew louder. People around us in the store started to look. What is that guy doing to that baby. He has no idea what he is doing. Well, this is not the plan . I would explain to them. The plan was for the baby to be born on time. The plan was that the baby would be nursed. I am not supposed to be doing this. I found myself suddenly feeling angry. Then guilty. The plan was not to be on this roller-coaster ride;one minute taking you up, up up, filled with the incredible awe, joy and wonder of birth, then down, down down , the next turn into emergency surgery, morphine, heparin, medical proxy decisions and last minute formula purchases .
But then again it is August.
Our son ,who I am convinced did not want to be born ( he had to be induced twice) finally joined the outside world at 9:45 pm on August 3rd, 2000. Two days later our discharge to go home was delayed as our baby boy came down with jaundice, so we had to wait for a blood test result on him to see if we could go home. Finally about 9 pm they sent us packing , more or less. That is what it felt like. They are just throwing us out? When you are new parents, you feel like every time you pick your baby up you may break him. At least in the hospital, if you do in fact break the baby, they can fix him right there. They have a baby-fixin' toolbox right there. I have seen it. No worries.
Eventually, though,the legally mandated forty-eight hours expires, and suddenly you find yourself escorted to the curb, thrust out into the cold cruel world( well it was August so it wasn't all that cold) entrusted with caring for this really tiny human. Really tiny. Hamster sized. Made out of Christmas Ornament glass. Well not really . But that is what it felt like. And they were keeping the toolbox. Sure they sent us home with a six- pack of Pampers,"just to getcha started", but that is like sending an Astronaut on a space walk with nothing more than a a scuba mask. But it would only be for sixteen days.
Ten years ago, for the most part August 19th was like any other hectic, sleep-deprived day in the life of new parents. At that point, after sixteen consecutive days of sleeping in ninety-minute shifts, Michelle and I were pretty much shells of our former selves. Our son was not what you call a "napper". He would so unwillingly submit to the sandman that I used to think we should have named him Dylan. So the fact that Michelle was not quite feeling herself that afternoon, at first did not seem that odd. Giving birth after a long labor, then a subsequent mild infection, and a baby that refused to sleep would do that to a person. But her unease quickly escalated to the point of horrific pain,so severe that when they asked her later at the E.R. to quantify the pain, had she not just given birth, she told them it would have ranked as the worst in her life.
They admitted her for tests, that would later reveal a massive gall stone attack. She needed surgery. Quickly. The doctors put her on morphine for the pain, then proceeded to explain to us how they would do the surgery. Many words flowed from their mouths. Large words like laparoscopic, hepatic, pancreatitis and not so large words like camera, gas, bile, risks, and death.
After approving the procedure, she was wheeled away a short while later for her surgery. For the first time in my life I was faced with the prospect that were something to go tragically wrong, my newly born son could be left without a mother. A mother he would never know. Comforting thoughts to a new dad. Good book title.
I spent the next few hours waiting, worrying, pacing, processing , and learning how to feed my child formula . Up to that point the plan was that he was going to be nursed. Morphine drips tend to change plans.
After her surgery they wheeled her back into the room, and declared that the surgery went well. Some relief seemed to float into the room alongside her gurney. But it would not last.
Over the next several hours it became harder for her to breathe. Out she went for more tests. X-Rays. CT-Scans. The doctor came back to speak with us. His earlier upbeat face had been replaced. This one was not smiling. This time he used a word whose gravity I didn't fully grasp at the time : embolism.
Up to that point she had been allowed to return to the maternity ward, to be close with the baby. With this new news, she was to be moved into the telemetry unit. More nurses there, he explained. More training to deal with this sort of thing, he said.
So we were taken to the new room. We left the carpeted, wood paneled , almost hotel-like amenities of the maternity ward and soon found ourselves immersed in more traditional hospital decor. It was at this point I began to fully realize what was happening. Then it was made crystal clear, when the nurse in charge at the new unit, informed me that Michelle could no longer breastfeed due to the "clotbusting drugs they are starting her on. So you need to go get yourself some formula for the baby".
Practically in a state of shock, I took my newly born son, left my wife to be tended to by what I hoped and prayed were capable doctors , and headed to the grocery store. I had no idea what was going to happen. At the hospital. Or at the store.
After a few false starts up and down the aisles, I soon located the formula . During my quest , my son began crying. He was hungry. I was lost. Not a good combination. As his screams grew louder I found myself confronted with literally hundreds of brightly colored boxes, each claiming to be the "best choice for your child's nutrition". Yet each named with such unappetizing words like Enfamil. Or Simmilac. Is there an Ipecac too, I wondered. I had no idea what to choose. It was so frustrating. I started to sweat. The baby's cries grew louder. People around us in the store started to look. What is that guy doing to that baby. He has no idea what he is doing. Well, this is not the plan . I would explain to them. The plan was for the baby to be born on time. The plan was that the baby would be nursed. I am not supposed to be doing this. I found myself suddenly feeling angry. Then guilty. The plan was not to be on this roller-coaster ride;one minute taking you up, up up, filled with the incredible awe, joy and wonder of birth, then down, down down , the next turn into emergency surgery, morphine, heparin, medical proxy decisions and last minute formula purchases .
But then again it is August.
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