Seventeen years ago today I was eagerly awaiting the birth of my son. I was just getting off of weekend duty (the midwatch no less) on Old Ironsides. I was on the quarterdeck and got the call that the doctors could not wait any longer, they had to do an emergency C-section before my wife's kidneys completely shut down. Within 20 minutes I was signed out on leave and flying down Storrow Drive at literally 90 miles an hour.
When I got to the hospital I was given some scrubs by a nurse and shown to a room to change in. She said they would be back to get me as soon as they were ready for me. I changed very quickly and sat down to wait. I was asleep within 10 minutes. (Did I mention that I had the midwatch the night before?) In their haste to get my son out, the doctors and nurses forgot about me until they were well underway. They only remembered after my wife asked where I was. They quickly came and woke me up, and brought me into the operating room.
I don't think I can adequately describe the feeling of walking in and seeing my wife's insides tied up and held on top of her chest. I had a very primal urge to slug the doctors for doing such a profane thing to my wife. However I went to her side and held her hand as the doctors wrestled with my son trying to get him out. My wife was not taking the whole thing very well and really started yelling in pain. The anesthesiologist attempted to be helpful. He first tried to calm her by comparing what the doctors were doing to playing greased watermelon. (For you midwest folks, this is a rugby-like game played in the water with a watermelon that is greased up with Crisco. I hear it is similar to a greased pig contest, though not as dirty.) This analogy had the opposite effect on my wife however. Her eyes went wide, and she started screaming in earnest. At this point the anesthesiologist pulled out his last trick in his arsenal and gassed my wife with nitrous. This muffled her screeching fairly effectively.
I try to tell this with some humor now because at the time it was terrifying. I am sleep deprived and in a room with my wife opened up. Her blood is pooled on the floor. She is screaming in pain, and I am powerless to help her. All I can do is pray that she is going to be okay, and I have never been much of a praying man. At this point my son is still an abstract thought.
Finally they pull him out and I see him taken over to a separate table. I tell my wife but she is still getting gassed at this point. He is here, but it doesn't seem real yet. After a few minutes they bring him over and put him in my arms. The ever helpful anesthesiologist stops gassing my wife and takes a snapshot of me all bleary eyed as I try not cry looking down at this small bundle in my arms. This is when reality crashes down and I realize I am a father. All my hopes and fears for my wife are multiplied now by my hopes and worries about my son. He has these big bright blotches on his head and body. My wife later calls them angel kisses, but being young and a man I have no clue what that means. I am just hoping they are benign. He is huge, swollen with water weight from my wife's gestational diabetes, but absolutely beautiful.
It seems like just yesterday to me right now. We have gone through a lot with him, but 17 years has flown by. This is his last birthday with us as a child. This is really stinging me now. I hope I have been at least half the father I hoped and tried to be. You are a great kid Ian Jacob. You have shown a lot of character that I never had at your age. Though I will miss my little fishing buddy, I look forward to you becoming a great man. Happy 17th Ian Jacob
