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My Garden Grows: the birth, part II

Hopefully you’ll never have to be the “new kid” in class. Every single set of eyes in the room watches every single thing you do, scanning you up and down as you breath. When you walk into that room, they’ll make you feel as though you were the biggest freak at the freak show. I had the good fortune to experience that twice as a child; first in second grade as I joined Hinkle Creek Elementary in Noblesville Indiana, and again a few years later mid year in fifth grade at Williamston Elementary, outside Lansing. Those moments, as I learned yesterday, were preparing me for what I experienced as I walked through that door. I flash back. It may as well have been Miss Winkleman or Miss Campbell who walked me through that door.

I’m not sure what I was expecting to see when I walked in there, but it definitely was not what I saw. I stomped dead in my tracks. Had I not had booties on, my shoes would have squeaked. It was straight out of a creepy movie. I let out a soft nervous chuckle. No one else did.The room was the size of a classroom and I think it had 47 people in it (again, exaggeration. but I bet it was over 15). Everyone was covered head to tow in scrubs, bonnets, face masks, gloves, and safety glasses. The lights were bright and there were metal utensils and machines everywhere. All the metal was reflecting into the glasses of the people. I couldn’t tell who anyone one was and if I had met any of them. It was like looking at a room full of “Agent Smiths” from the film, The Matrix. Every single one of them was staring at me. Not just, stop-what-you’re-doing-quick-look-up at me, but, “We’ve been waiting for you, Mr Garrett” sort of look. All stood straight, eyes wide, arms at side, all at their various stations, waiting. No one moved. No one spoke. They just stared at me. I couldn’t see your mother. I didn’t know where to go. I immediately put my defense mechanisms up.

Someone finally could tell I was stumped. They lifted their arm and pointed, as though to say, “Go that way. She’s there.” I quickly turned and shuffled the way the hand pointed. As I walked that way,  I swear someone with a scalpel, still staring at me, raised their arm in a ‘slow motion’ arching movement towards what I could only assume was your momma’s belly. I still couldn’t see your momma. There’s a curtain of blue paper, and I slowly peek my head around it as I’m still not sure if momma is there, I don’t think I’m moving very fast. I’m sure people are talking and telling me what to do, but I don’t hear anything. As I creep around the screen, I spot your momma’s head. That’s all I can see. I immediately drop all my defense mechanisms.

Your mother is now my entire world. That is all I now know. Nothing else exists. It’s just me, and your mother’s head. I sit on the stool, put my hand on your mother’s forehead, and I ask her how she’s doing. “I’m really scared.” Her lower lip puckered and bounced around, and she started to cry.

I wanted to kiss your mother so bad but I had that stupid mask on. All I could do was get as close to her as I could. I held my face right over her face. I tried to keep our eyes locked and I wanted her to focus on me. I attempted to speak to her to sooth her. My lips moved but nothing came out of my mouth. I tried a little harder to speak, and all that came out were tears from my eyes. I’m balling. My voice at it’s regular level wouldn’t work. I tried a whisper, and it sort of worked – it was more of a crackle. She heard me crying and she started crying harder. I was on the verge of snort-crying. Brain kicks in: “Pat! Pull your shit together and take care of your wife!!” I obeyed. I talked to her in the softest voice I could muster in order to get below the voice cracking. I think my lips must have been one centimeter from her ear; most words came out as english, I think. I did my best job to coach her into the relaxation methods we had worked on but at the same time I was sort of cheating and using them as relaxation methods for myself. Your mother focus on me, hears me, and goes into that place she needed to go. I needed to keep myself calm as I was going to be the one watching over you. Prior, momma and I had agreed that I was going to go wherever you went. I was going to be your shadow. I think I was crying harder than I knew. At one point I said “eff it” and kissed your mother on the forehead through my mask. All I got was a mouth full of tear and snot – and I realized it was all mine. I kissed my own snot.  And then I realized that I had been sniffling like crazy and my vision was as though I was looking through water filled swim goggles. Stupid contacts – but as far as I could tell they were still there so that’s good. I was really worried about that. How was I ever going to be able to see you if I had one contact?

While all this was going on, I was simultaneously attempting to listen while not listening to what they were doing on the other side of the curtain. Every now and then I felt your momma’s whole body jar as they tugged on something.  I’m not sure what sound I was listening for, like it was going to make a ‘pop’ sound when your butt came out. But I was listening for it. I have no idea how much time had passed, life was in a time warp and I felt as though everything all around me had slowed down and we were all that existed, without existing at all (probably doesn’t make sense to you, you’re just a baby. It barely makes sense to me and I lived through it).

I was waiting for a cue from doc. I was rubbing momma’s head, I was crying, I was coaching her, I was listening and I was feeling. I think I heard, “there it is, okay that’s it.” “Time check?” “12:25” And then, I heard something different. Not a pop, but a slight gurgle. Not a machine. Not hose sucking something. Not a doctor. I think it was you. Deep breath. Focus. Be strong for momma. I’m not sure what was said next but I think some of it was directed at me. Everyone in that room knew that I wanted to be the one to tell your mother if you were a little boy or little girl. I think they said it’s time for me to look but I think I decided that I didn’t hear correct so I stayed my ground with your momma. I didn’t move. I kept talking in her ear.

Then I felt a tap on my shoulder.

It was the anesthesiologist.  “Okay you can look.”

You were here, and you were ready for show and tell. Never in my life had that statement been so accurate. It was time for me to stand up and look over the curtain. I suddenly heard you crying. You are in the same room as me, you’re right there.  You are calling for me and your mother. My knees are not responding as they should and I’m not moving fast enough. I snot kiss your mother, then I slowly start to move up. All I see is blue material and I’m focusing hard on it. The world closes down even more and everything around me goes black except for a small circle in the middle, as though I was looking out the barrel of a gun. The only thing on my mind is penis or vagina, penis or vagina, penis or vagina, penis or vagina……

The curtain ends, I see doc. She has you in her hands and she extends her arms to show you to me.

——–

Defining moments in your personal history are what will make you become you when you grow up. Who you will become tomorrow. That’s why they are defining. Each defining moment is connected to the next defining moment: a preparatory precursor for the next huge impactfull moment in your personal character. An event that happens today, or tomorrow, can come into play decades later and help you cope with what’s happening right then at that moment. Those moments most often cannot be seen coming. It’s how you react to them that make them special. They can come from anywhere. They can be good, they can be bad. For example: Having three mentors, three great male role models in my life, three of my favorite coaches, die unfairly at various stages of my athletic career. I believe those moments prepared me to be strong when I was asked to lead a prayer at my aunt’s funeral, by her, before she passed. I believe winning the class B state championship in the 4×1 as a high school senior prepared me to know how to excel as an individual, but know I couldn’t do it without my teammates. Breaking the school record in the 400 in college taught me pride and honor in owning something special. I still hold that record ten years later (as an FYI, we’re pretty sure you’re going to be a fast child). I was given the opportunity to own that pride but it’s time for it to be broken. I’ve learned that’s what records are for: to be broken. Or dropping the baton on the anchor leg of the 4×4 at the college conference championships, while in the lead. That taught me that sport, is not life. Sport is sport. Though at the time I thought my world was over and I let everyone around me down, life will go on. When you don’t get that job even after you nailed that interview, life will move forward. You will come out on top. Or seeing your spouse for the first time on your wedding day when they walk around that corner (water filled goggles), Or meeting them for the very first time, watching them walk up that steep driveway at your friends house (hey, who’s that?), prepared me for meeting you. Or arriving on the scene of your parents accident just as you see the paramedics place a sheet over your mother’s face – only to learn they were protecting her from shrapnel as they began to cut her out with the jaws of life to get her out of the car. I now know that moment was preparing me on how to overcome what I had to see in order to get you out healthy and safe. I’ve known this moment has been coming and little did I know I’ve been preparing for it since that accident during the summer of 1997. Character is the soul of who you are, and who you become. Don’t forget that; that’s lesson number 1 from your father. Many more to come.

———

My eyes are filled with tears. I see you, and I focus on you. You’re covered in white stuff, and sort of purple. There’s lots of blood, but not on you. I need to find my voice so I can tell your mother. I’m not sure if I’m breathing. My mask is very wet.

Focus.

What is that? What am I looking at? My eyes won’t dial in. I’ve just come from behind the dark curtain to the bright room and I have tears pooling at the bottom of my eyes. Is that a vagina, or is that a penis? There’s something in the way. Wait, that’s not in the way, that’s part…. “Ohhhh Sarah it’s a boooyyyyy!” I burst out. My voice is something that I’ve never heard before. It’s mixture of rasp, falsetto, raw crying, excitement and fear all wrapped into one. All 47 people in the room collectively “aawwwww” at me. Your mother and I begin to convulse-cry. My lip is quivering. I think my mask might be concealing a snot bubble. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.

I watch them make sure you are secure and watch them complete their art. Then I look at your momma’s belly and see some really amazing things; I’m blown away by science once again. While I was studying your mother, they took you over to a warming table. I didn’t see you go. “Where did he go!?!”

“He’s over there in the corner getting examined.”

“Can I go over there?” (to doc) “Sarah, can I go over there?” “CAN I GO OVER THERE??” (to doc).

Wife says yes, doc says yes, but avoid anything with blue paper or fabric on it.

I get to the table. There’s four hands all over you cleaning and examining you. I do a quick visual: 10? check. 10? check. 1? check? 2? check (so it looks). Hair? tons! Lungs? working! Screaming? big check. Face? Ohhhhh look at that face! It’s the most perfect thing I have ever seen. Weight? “okay, pull your hands away for a second” You weigh six pounds, 12 ounces. They say you are a big premmie. I don’t know, you look super tiny to me.

“What’s his name?” I’m asked.

I clear my throat. With pride I say, “Carroll. Carroll Padraig Garrett.”

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