Doubt Him and Be Doomed

My wife never went into labor. In the week prior she had felt the baby’s motion become limited and gone into the emergency room only to be told everything was fine. This time felt similar. Was she overreacting? Was this another false scare?

We would later learn that the umbilical chord to our daughter had become constricted, and that the flow of oxygen was slowly being reduced hour by hour. Had my wife delayed any longer, the baby would have died quietly in the night.

So it was, shortly after my wife’s “just a precaution” trip to the hospital, a startling phone call when she informed me that she was going to have a c-section at any minute, and that I would need to pack Charlie up and get to the hospital as quickly as possible.

I approached Charlie, who was stimming on his iPad. “Mommy is at the hospital. Your sister is going to be here tonight.”

He went pale, and looked as though somewhere somebody had yanked out the power cable that controlled the muscles in his face. His finger slowly turned off the iPad and he set it beside him.

“I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. But we need to go. I need you on this, Charlie. Are you ready to do this?”

He took a deep breath.

“Get your things and meet me in the car.”

Charlie got dressed. Put on his shoes. He was buckled in the car when I ran out frantically to the garage with a handful of luggage and bags.

When we arrived at the hospital we were taken to my wife’s room. Except the bed was empty. They were already proceeding with what was now an emergency surgery. Children aren’t allowed in the OR. They also aren’t allowed to be left unattended unless they’re of a certain age.

Charlie is 5. Much younger than any responsible hospital would allow a child to spend more than a minute sitting alone in a cold, empty room. And family was still over a half hour away. But Charlie looks old. Much older than 5. He’s often mistaken for 8 or 9.

The nurse tossed me a pair of surgical scrubs. “Put these on. And is your boy old enough to be left alone? Could he be fine just sitting here for the next hour or so?”

For a moment I worried the way any parent does. I imagined Charlie fleeing, as he had months prior at Great Wolf Lodge, to go ride up and down the elevators. I imagined him tucking himself into a laundry cart and falling asleep, or wandering into some operating room. God knows what trouble this boy could get into.

As Charlie had done minutes prior, I took a deep breath. “He’ll be fine.” I told the nurse.

I stepped over to Charlie and held his shoulders as tightly as I could. “This is your moment to be a big brother. I need you to sit here. Be quiet. Use the potty if you need to. But you can’t leave. Okay? I believe in you. This is your moment to shine. I love you, Charlie.”

“I wuv you, Dad.”

And then I left him.

His sister was born 20 minutes later. When relatives arrived shortly after, they found Charlie in his mommy’s hospital room. Alone. Sitting quietly. Waiting.

When I doubted he could learn to dress himself, he proved me wrong. When I doubted he could learn to speak, he proved me wrong. When I doubted his capacity to express love, he proved me wrong. When I doubted he could become the five-year-old who could stop what he was doing without question, get himself ready and buckle himself in his father’s car he proved me wrong.

But I never doubted he would be a great big brother.