Maceo’s birthday
You look at life differently once you have a child.
You look at life even more differently when your child is born and goes straight to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Whether you planned on having the child or not, which in my case I did, you never plan on him arriving in the NICU. It’s not even one of those things that you think about. “Honey, maybe we should pack some extra clothes in case our baby has to immediately get resuscitated upon exiting the birth canal,” is not a thought that ever crossed my mind. Sure I’ve heard the argument about not having a home birth because “something might happen” but I don’t think you really know what this “something” could be and feel like until you’ve experienced it.
And if you had, would you still make this argument? Would you find it compulsory to forward this knowledge to expectant parents? It’s not like it’s a scenario where one could use the old “I told you so”.
The NICU. I didn’t even know there was such a place. I mean I guess I sort of did, but I didn’t know what it was called. I didn’t know about c-paps or nasal cannulas or what percentage of oxygen is in room air or that in a place such it is required to wash your hands all the way up to your elbows for at least a minute before entering it’s bays.
More importantly I did learn that there’s a certain humility amongst the parents and a special camaraderie amongst the dad’s in the NICU. At first I found it heart warming and it made me tear up a bit. When I walked in the first night, there was a dad in Bay 4, Bed 1 sitting with the mother of his child as she breast-fed their newborn. On the street he may have not paid me any attention. I may have returned the favor. But in the evening hours of Friday the 13th, March 09, as I rounded the corner following a slew of nurses, this particular dad saw my tear streaked face and possibly caught my attempts to wipe away any residuals from my cheeks. He didn’t say a word. He just gave a small smile, showing a sliver of his teeth which shown bright against his dark skin and over-sized Celtic green t-shirt. I wasn’t really sure what to feel at that moment. Embarrassed that I was crying? That seemed silly. Self-centered for merely having the thought? I guess. It took a second but I understood what he was saying with his smile – “Yeah, I know how YOU feel. I walked into this same room not too long ago. You’ll be alright.”
I’m not sure if the unspoken sympathy made me feel better or if it was that I understood that I wasn’t the only one there – and I wouldn’t be the last – and that I would be in his shoes in a little while, sitting contently with my wife and my son.
And he was right. I saw him one more time in Bay 4 and then just like that, he was gone. By this point I was settling into my little area – Bay 4, Bed 3 – watching my son lie in a hard-shelled plastic incubator with more wires running from his little 8 pound body that I have running down the wall from my computer behind my desk. So dad in Bed 1 was gone and that was when I started to take notice of the other 6 beds in the bay, excluding mine and where his once was. Others must have occupied these spaces when I first arrived but I couldn’t tell you a single thing about them - not what the parent’s looked like, not the baby’s name, or if it was a boy or a girl.
But as my fear that my son was not going to live started to diminish, I started to become more oriented to my surroundings – at least to my side of the bay, which included the now vacant bed 1, and beds 2 through 4. There was a crib in bed 4. Not an incubator like the rest, but a real crib. Smaller than your typical crib you would find in a nursery in a home but nonetheless a crib. I don’t recall meeting the inhabitants of bed 4, and no sooner had I become cognizant of the fact that bed 4 contained a crib, it too was gone.
Simultaneously, with the exit of bed 4, bed 2 now had new occupants. Had bed 2 always been empty or had those residing there escaped the bay as well? Either way, bed 2 was new and somehow, now, I was the veteran dad on the block.
I knew that one day soon I would be the black man in the celtic green shirt – except I would be the scruffy hipster dad playing the Beatles for my son. Then I would smile at some unsuspecting dad as he walks into the NICU for the first time and I’ll know why I don’t need to say a word to him. Just give him a smile and soon enough, he’ll understand.
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This is so touching, Deez.
Comment by liza jean — October 18, 2009 comment link
Deez, I miss you, mane. Tell HP I miss her too.
And in a way, I miss Mace. Tell him I said well done for making it and growing his little body.
(thanks “Liza” for getting me in the loop)
Comment by E to the C — October 18, 2009 comment link
I get it. Wow. Thank you for this. I love you, all three of you!
Comment by Julianne — October 18, 2009 comment link
What a wealth of love Maceo Mckay has behind him-
i am in no doubt that he is a brave and courageous spirit
and the three of you together- will find and sing his song -loud , true and echoing
and how happy all those ears whom love you guys, will be to hear that song-
If there is any thing i can offer it is
1. all my best wishes and strong magic winds for you three-
2. my husband and i would be honored to help contribute as we can
3. (although im sure you have this covered-) id like to offer my mom as an always friend /terminal
she’s an all around knowledgeable lady about babies and people who know things about things and like that-
margaretmartin08@gmail.com
best
America Martin
Comment by America Martin — October 18, 2009 comment link
Hi guys,
I am a friend of Alexis’ (and also one of his models) and heard your story through him. I want to congratulate you on becoming parents, despite the nature of your unfortunate situation.
A big kudos to you on being proactive and informing yourself of all the options out there. And Joe, your blog entry is very touching. Thank you for sharing such an intimate story.
Before I started modeling I was a behavioral therapist with a company called California Psychcare (funded by state grants), working with children that had psychological disorders such as autism and severe anxiety. I want to share with you a short story with a happy ending, and wish that things will work out as fortunately for you as well.
My first client was a boy of two. I had known the family prior to working with them and they solicited me to work with their son, who had nurses working with him at their house more often than not. He was born with some serious medical conditions and had two major surgeries before he was 6 months old. On top of that, he was a very sensitive boy and for several years of his life (during which I worked with him) would react to events that scared him by holding his breath, which lead him to have a seizure, turn blue and pass out. The physical reaction was triggered emotionally and I was there to work with him on his emotional perception of these traumatic events (such as falling down, or on some days, the doorbell ringing). One day (some time after I had stopped working with him) he had an accidental big fall, and not surprisingly, held his breath, but that was the last time it happened. Nobody was quite sure why or how this disorder worked, but just like that, it was gone. Today, he is totally healthy, gets straight As, and is the sweetest boy in his class. I believe that his parents’ diligence in getting informed and finding access to every therapy they could for him played the integral part in nursing him to health. If you haven’t already, it may be worth while to see if there are any public-funded programs that can assist you as well.
There is also a book about recent discoveries of the brain’s remarkable functions called, “The Brain that Changes Itself.” If anyone wants more information, this is a fantastic read.
Warmest wishes and best of luck to you,
Tatyana Danilchenko
Comment by Tatyana Danilchenko — October 18, 2009 comment link