Feb 13 2010
Jun 08 2008
Also available in Orange
I remember when my first child was born. It was a Sunday evening in October, and because the staff that night was short handed there were only two nurses on the floor, and one doctor on call. For the sake of brevity I’ll spare you all but one of the details of that night. My repeated requests for somebody to come to our room and help were ignored because the “professionals” knew that it just couldn’t be happening so quickly. Even a childbirth noob like me knew what a head popping out of that magical place meant, time for action!
I ended up catching my own daughter as she launched herself into this new place of being and straight into my heart. The nurses showed up several minutes later with bemused looks, and I remember one said loudly, “Holy Shit! You weren’t kidding!” The usual frenzy of delivery room antics followed, and once completed I spent every minute of the next 24 hours either holding or staring at this amazing new perfect little person as I was so immediately and completely in love. I knew instantly that I would do anything for her. No matter the cost, no matter the risks, I was going to give her a good life. I was going to protect her. I’m sure these are the thoughts of all new Fathers, and those of us blessed to have been born in developed countries have a damn good shot at making those dreams a reality. But suppose your child isn’t born “perfect”, and that “imperfection” will lead to a lifetime of isolation and cultural shame for your child unless corrected. You have no resources, none.