"A Mother's View"

It was a sunny June morning in the delivery room at the birth of our second child.  While the births were exactly the same (scheduled cesarean), the ensuing moments couldn’t have differed more.  Or at least I thought at the time. 

After our firstborn was delivered, the room filled with the delighted hustle and bustle of my husband dancing back and forth between baby’s bassinette and my bedside, thrilled to have learned he had a son, our midwife filming video, the pediatric nurses helping the new dad trim the umbilical cord, laughter about our sons crooked nose from being smashed sideways against my uterus and his legs folded up to his ears from spending months in breech presentation, and tears of joy from the new mom when, finally, after 9 months of waiting, the new babe was laid on my chest, a vision of perfection.

Two years and four months later, we found ourselves in the same delivery room with the same doctor, same midwife, same video camera, and similar expectations for the birth of our daughter, also a scheduled cesarean due to breech presentation. The only difference, we thought, was this time we knew we were expecting a girl.

As Sophie was being delivered, feet-first, there was laughter and a comment from our midwife that “doc was right, it’s a girl”.  Doug and I smiled at each other through tears.  The next comment from our midwife was, and I’ll never forget hearing these exact words, “Looks like there is something unusual we’ll need to talk about.”  The filming stopped there for several minutes while the collective audience gathered around our daughter in the warmer.  As I looked over, Sophie raised her right hand high in the air so that above all the people surrounding her, I could see that rather than a hand with 5 fingers and a palm, she was extending a single large digit that protruded straight from her arm, as if her arm simply tapered to a point.  I looked away, shocked at what I had seen.  Then, from someplace inside of me that was thinking clearly came this thought, “My life has just changed forever.  I know what I saw.  I’m not going to look back and see 5 fingers on her right hand.  The rest of my life starts now.”  In the clarity of that moment, I felt at peace, knowing that whatever changes were ahead, whatever fears would replace the shock, Sophie was my daughter and I already loved her beyond reason.

There are many more medical details that followed in the 48 hours we spent in the hospital after Sophie’s birth.  We ultimately checked out of the hospital and headed home with a newborn with several missing toes, her right hand as previously described, a soft tissue clefted palate, and a missing bone in her lower left leg that caused that leg to be shorter than the other. But what we also had was a beautiful, healthy, alert newborn with big round eyes, long eyelashes, and a full head of dark hair.  She was, in my eyes, a vision of perfection in her own right.

The following days and weeks were beyond imagine. My husband and I could barely communicate.  He returned to work the week after Sophie was born, barely able to focus, not knowing what to tell vendors and clients who called with questions and congratulations.  The hardest part of sharing the physical details was hearing, “I’m sorry” rather than “Congratulations.”  It was as if the birth of our daughter wasn’t worthy of congratulations. 

My mom was in town for the birth, taking care of our son, Rece, while we were in the hospital.  I called to give her the details shortly after Sophie was born.  I will be forever grateful for her response: “She sounds beautiful (we hadn’t named her yet) and perfect for who she is.  She will still be the princess we already know her to be.  I’m coming right away.”  Mom was at my bedside within the hour, giving me a bio-energetic treatment to calm my spirit and waylay the shock that had set in.

It was nice to hear confirmation of what I had thought in the delivery room when Sophie was laid on my chest, that she was a vision of perfection to me.

I realize that despite the shock I have briefly mentioned, this account may sound rather positive and hard to believe in the face of such unexpected events.  I think shock is actually a blessing in disguise in some situations, helping you go numb before your fears take over. Or maybe it was the drugs still coursing through me from the c-section. Or maybe it was Sophie’s spirit, letting us know that she was going to be alright. Or maybe it was the realization that we now had no idea what to expect.

Now, when I look back at the births and recognize that despite the difference in the atmosphere in the delivery room after each of our child’s births, the overwhelming feeling of love toward my child was the same.

It has been 8 months since Sophie’s birth and I can’t say that there is no fear.  The fear is probably greater now than when she was first born. She will endure several surgeries (cleft repair and amputation of her left foot), which scare me beyond words at most times.  She may experience exclusion, be ostracized, be teased for her physical appearance, be judged by people who don’t know her below the surface.  This makes me sad, but not in a way that is sad or fearful for her.  It will hurt me, just as it will hurt her, but my sadness is for those doing the teasing and judging.  It is a sadness for other people who have broken perceptions of “perfection” and who buy into the societal norm of what is “deformity.” 

I have been blessed with the chance at a renewed perspective, a new vision of “perfection,” and the understanding that we all create our own perfection.

[This item was submitted by the parent of one of our children. If you have thoughts  you would like to share which you feel might benefit others, please email webmaster@unlimbited.org]

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