May 2nd, 2005 is a red letter day in my life. My son was born at 3:34 p.m. on May 2nd.
His was a surgically assisted premature birth. He was born in the 33rd week of gestation.
It
was after nine in the morning and Ani and I had just had our breakfast.
She went to the bathroom and a little while later called me alarmingly.
There was something wrong with her and she should be rushed to the
nursing home, she said. I was sitting at the computer. The seriousness
of the situation didn't sink in first.
Soon
a taxi was arranged and Ani was rushed to Saluja Nursing Home. We had
spoken to Sister Biji about the development. We had been consulting Dr.
Amrita Saluja since 12 March 2005. The lady from C-20 accompanied Ani
to provide her help and support and care. Ramu, a reliable helper, and
I followed on the bike.
After
examining Ani the doctor said the situation caused much concern and
demanded quick remedies. There was some risk. She was skeptical about
the baby's condition because the gestation was in the 33rd week only.
It required a few more, at least three, weeks for the baby's lungs to
develop. Since the watering had started, there was no way to stop the
baby's arrival so early. The doctor tried to delay the birth by 48
hours by giving Ani steroid and some other injections. But it didn't
work because the water discharge turned green indicating the baby had
motion in the womb. Green flakes indicated that the baby was getting
less or little oxygen in the womb and watering occurred naturally as a
consequence so that it could result in the early birth of the baby and
help it survive. It happened by God's grace, the doctor said. But,
there was the possibility that the baby would swallow the fluid and
risk survival. Time was running out. After discussing with me again,
the doctor decided to do the surgery after 3 p.m. It would allow a
five-hour interval since Ani had her last food (breakfast). The doctor
seemed very particular about this.
I
called up my close friend Mr. Mathew Joseph. He reached with family.
After leaving his wife Ancey at the Nursing Home he left for the
college to admit their daughter there. I also called up S's mom and P's
mom. Both of them reached immediately.
By
3 O' clock Ani was taken into the operation theatre. All of us waited
outside anxiously. I made calls to my home state. I was nervous but
didn't lack the fortitude to face anything. In times of crisis we don't
have many options. This fact weighs down upon us making the situation
even more torturous and unbearable. Yet we've got to act. What then?
Set in a course of appropriate action in accordance with our conscience
and wait. Wait.
The
paediatricion came and opened the door to announce the birth of the
baby, a boy. The time of birth 3:34. But everything was not over. The
baby had to be given premature care at an intensive care unit. He had
swallowed some fluid. It was causing some problem in the lungs in
addition to the distress due to premature birth.
Within
minutes the baby was taken in an ambulance to Basnt Sahney Hospital for
premature care. Ancey and I accompanied the baby in the ambulance,
followed by S's mom (and Rokson, Mr. Mathew Joseph's 12 year old son)
in the car. At the hospital the baby was directly taken into the
intensive care unit. I rushed to the door and questioned the nurse(s)
about the procedures there, how they ensured the babies are not mixed
up, how they would identify each child, etc. Ancey was taken aback and
the nurse was irked by my queries. The nurse tried in her own way to
reassure me about the safety and identity of every child admitted
there. My child would be restored to me upon discharge. According to
Ancey, every baby was precious to his/her parents and no parent would
bear child swapping. No parent would allow it, she kept on repeating.
But the newspaper reports about such incidents in Hyderabad continued
to trouble me.
We were shown the baby at 5p.m. through the glass screen of the P.I.C.U. He was crying - I
won't say with all his might, for he was feeble and tender. His pink
body was trembling, I felt. As I returned to my wife at the nursing
home, my mind was drifting away from me like a kite lost in the sky. I
tried to gain it back by repeating the same thoughts that were alive in
my mind while waiting outside the operation theatre: it's Ani's child
and nothing will happen to the child of her prayers. She had been
praying to Gods for a baby for all these years and her prayers would
save the baby for her.