Your First Day

It was a lovely crisp morning; fall was descending upon us with a cool thrust. Soon October would return with full decadence of reds, oranges and browns. For the first time in weeks I was feeling good, my broken hand would be good enough to work in the yard and pick up the house before we went to visit your mom and stay with her for the evening. I procrastinated…It had been a couple of days since I had such a relaxing morning. A dog kept barking outside my window rousing me from my tranquil rest. I thought the neighbor’s dog found had his way into our backyard, but when I looked out the window I saw Boo, leaping off our new fence in hopes of catching an unexpecting bird. It made me smile as I crawled back to sleep; it was going to be a lovely day.

Even your sister woke up late, which is always unusual for her. She woke around 8:30am, came into my room and curled up next to me for a half hour before wanting to eat yogurt and watch Dora the Explorer. It was a great morning to be a Dad. We had a good father-daughter morning; we have had too few of those over the past couple weeks with your mom in and out of the hospital. We ate breakfast and watched cartoons; I checked email while your sister played in the bath. I was putting off the yard work. It was a lazy, wonderful morning. And then the call came.

Your mother had been in the hospital over the weekend. We were worried that her condition was deteriorating too quickly and we were praying for you both to hang in there a couple weeks longer. You had just hit the milestone…28 weeks; everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Now if only you could stay settled in for a couple more; fingers crossed and Hail Marys. Mom was spiking at night- her blood pressure would balloon up into the 180’s over high 90’s, and your wee little heart rate dipped a couple times in the wee-hours of early morning dews. This was a constant and expected activity between the two of you, so I felt assured that you would make it a couple more days, at the very least.

A couple more days would never come to fruition. I got the call that morning. Your Mother was sullen with sadness as she tried to break the news without breaking her heart. “They're going to deliver her today” she told me holding back the floodgates. My heart stopped and I misplaced my breath for a moment. It all seemed surreal and like a dream. I tried my best to comfort her, but as you’ll learn, I’m not really qualified. I told her to stop crying, that we knew the possibility that this day would come very soon and not to worry…I would be there soon.

We’ve all seen a lot of movies (trust me on this Verity you will) where the husband of a pregnant mom who is having contractions is freaking out and forgetting things as he is running out the door to get his wife to the hospital. I’ve always thought it silly, but I now know what those Dads are going through and I didn’t even have the pregnant woman with me. I forgot everything, save the clothes on mine and your sister's back.

When we arrived at San Antonio Community Hospital, Grandma and Grandpa Peery were waiting to take your sister so that me and your mom could have some alone time. I was put at ease by your Mom who forgot to mention that they scheduled the operation for 5:30 that evening.

Your Mom’s friend Gia was there when I arrived, she had called that morning to see if she could visit and I told her that it would be fine. In all the chaos, I forgot to call her back and tell her that it might not be a good idea. However, it turned out to be a good thing. Your Mom needed a friend who had been in the trenches before and not just your stern- "stop being silly" Papa.

Then Dr. Leung the perinatal Doctor came into the room and talked with us for a good while about our options. A short time later Dr. Easter and Dr. Chong came in and reassured us that there really was no option. They all agreed that they didn’t have a crystal ball and there was no exact date as to when you should be delivered, but with your Mom’s blood pressure no longer manageable and your heart rate dropping for a long period the night before, today was a good day to deliver.

They left and we watched School of Rock. Light hearted comedies can take the weight of the world off your shoulders, sometimes.

Pastor David came in and shared Psalm 91 and prayed with us. I thought at that moment how difficult a job a pastor really has sometimes. My respect grew for him that day. I mean it must be difficult making hospital visits to comfort where there doesn’t appear to be any. Not every senior Pastor will get his hands dirty by going to visit those that are hurting and in distress. It’s easy to remain in the pulpit and send someone else.

Then Grandma Sandi and Bob came and brought me a Burrito from Baja Fresh…oh sweet pleasures. It satisfied, but my stomach was in knots so it I couldn’t finish it. Afterwards Aunt Stacy and Laura came in with Starbucks…a Venti Iced Carmel Macchiato-upside down with an added shot. And that, darling, hit the spot.

By that time it was 5:20 and the nurses came and wheeled your mom away for her spinal block ( no that’s not a rock band!). I was left alone with my thoughts and to be honest I tried my best to keep those outside the door. I dreaded the minute I would be called into the room. It hurt to breathe and felt like there was an elephant on my chest. I could barely swallow and it took every part of my strength to hold back tears. For I knew that I couldn’t walk into the delivery room with a tear stained face; I am the pillar of our family.

In an instant I was whisked away from my solitude into the busyness and bright lights of the cold operating room. Your mom was on the table stretched out, waiting to be cut open. She was tough and happy. Her curiosity made me relax a little…that and the blue curtain that hid her exposed, ready to be sliced belly from my view. Your Mom of course wanted a play by play. She kept asking her anesthesiologist, "what are they doing now?", but he just kept telling her that everything was alright and not to worry. This answer did not satisfy your curious-cat mother, so she turned to me for a run down of what was happening beyond the blue screen. With as much courage as I could muster, I stood up and peered over the great blue beyond…they had just started cutting and I was getting woozy.

“There’s a lot of blood” I said. That was all I was able to manage to get out. The next five or so minutes seemed like an eternity, I thought there must be a problem. I couldn’t hear anything- you crying nor the nervous chatter of failed doctors. Everything went quiet in my mind. Then in a flash, I saw you. Really more of an outline or small shape of matter than you, they wrapped a yellow towel around you to keep you from view and walked you over to the incubator. This of course was exactly what they told us they would do- but now seeing them work and not seeing you or being able to hear you was frustratingly nauseating.

Again, it seemed like an eternity and I thought there must be something wrong. They didn’t pick her up and jiggle her in front of our face and they said nothing as they snatched you up and hid you from sight. I was beginning to panic and trying to think how I would cope with the grave news. How would I tell our families? Then for the first time I heard you. A squeak. Yes, little one you squeaked at the world. It wasn’t mild or meek; there was a fierce strength in that little voice. You’re mother and I breathed and said our ooohhhs and aaahhhs.

I was allowed to walk over and view you as the nurses tried to get your respatory tube down you’re petite pipes. You were red like the devil and scrawny- there was no fat on your little bones. You were a sight to behold; tiny, miniature and a fighter. Even the nurses and doctors took notice.

Nurse Michelle bundled you up and walked you over to your mom and let her kiss you. It was at that moment that you’re mother’s eye-seams burst and the tears streamed like the mighty Mississippi overflowing her banks.

Immediately they removed you from view and placed you in the NICU. I followed close behind to make sure they tucked you into the right bed…I was worried that they might mix you up with another 1lbs 13 oz infant in the hospital. Nurse Lisa took a Polaroid of me so that they didn’t have anyone else claiming to be your Papa.

Afterwards, I walked out into the lobby and was surprised by all the people who were awaiting your arrival into the world; All your grandparents, Aunt Stacy, Laura, Savonna, Uncle Stephen, Uncle Dom and Aunt Becky, and Robin and Stephanie Knapp. The Hollands came by a little later and went and got all the family Chipotle. Gia made another appearance, but I only saw her for a brief minute. To be honest, I was still in shell shock from all that happened. Everyone was asking me questions and I couldn’t think straight. Of course, I forgot to get all your measurements so had to run around finding out what they were.

It took a couple hours, before anyone could see your sweet little face. When they finally allowed people in I could tell they were still working diligently to get you situated-so I only allowed Grandma Faith and Grandma Sandi to visit you, briefly, (and in that order). I believe there is etiquette in allowing the mother’s mom to get the first look.

After a short time the party broke up and I went back to your mom’s room. She was tired and worn out, not to mention drugged up, so I laid on the other bed and watched School of Rock again. It was in Black and White this time and was the two-tone color actually added to the movie.

I couldn’t sleep, so I drove home at four in the morning. It was sprinkling and wet in the September chill morning. Penny Lane by the Beatles was playing on the radio and I began to cry; weep and wail actually. I’m not sure how I feel about telling you that for a brief minute I was a Tear-Jerker, It has been years since I’ve cried. The last time I remember weeping was right before I married your mom, I was stressed out trying to think of how I would provide for my family. Even then though it was a small cry, the only time I ever wailed like I did that morning was when I was a new teenager in a small bathroom thinking that I might lose my sister that had tortured me for the past thirteen years.

Here I was, crying, listening to Penny Lane thinking of your precious face and thinking that I could not protect you and that I might lose you. This wasn’t something like being able to pick you up by the collar and move you out of the way from moving cars, defend you from bullies at the neighborhood park, or helping you keep toys from older sisters or cousins when they think its time to share. Your first day of life and you would have to come out fighting and defending yourself. You alone were by yourself and in God’s hands.

The sobbing and bawling lasted less than a minute; I began to hear my own voice and started laughing at myself. What silliness. So I prayed for you and thought it was a lovely morning to be a father.


Penny Lane- The Beatles

In Penny Lane there is a barber showing photographs
Of every head he's had the pleasure to know.
And all the people that come and go
Stop and say hello.
On the corner is a banker with a motorcar,
The little children laugh at him behind his back.
And the banker never wears a macIn the pouring rain, very strange.

Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes.
There beneath the blue suburban skies I sit,
and mean while back

In penny Lane there is a fireman with an hourglass
And in his pocket is a portrait of the Queen.
He likes to keep his fire engine clean,
It's a clean machine.

Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes.
A four of fish and finger pieIn summer,
meanwhile back

Behind the shelter in the middle of the roundabout
The pretty nurse is selling poppies from a tray
And though she feels as if she's in a play
She is anyway.

In Penny Lane the barber shaves another customer,
We see the banker sitting waiting for a trim.
And then the fireman rushes inFrom the pouring rain, very strange.

Penny lane is in my ears and in my eyes.
There beneath the blue suburban skies I sit,
and meanwhile back.

Penny lane is in my ears and in my eyes.
There beneath the blue suburban skies,
Penny Lane.