My cuddly boy
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
A memory triggered by the discovery that the wee girl at the centre of the recent 'life support' case was a mere 5 inches long at birth:
When my son Sean was born, his howl of anguish at leaving the safety of the womb was noticeable by its absence. The attendant doctor examined him and decided that he had some fluid in his lungs and must spend time in an incubator in the intensive care unit. This was hard to take: we knew how important those first hours and days were for bonding and feeding and just feeling the closeness of flesh. There was also the worry that something was terribly wrong. In situations like that I think the tendency is to swing between believing the doctors are holding back vital information and believing they're making too much of a fuss just to cover themselves in case things go wrong.
Sean spent three days in the incubator and his lungs emptied of fluid and suffered no permanent damage. When we went to see him in intensive care we knew he was perfectly well. He looked huge among the premature babies that surrounded him, a real Gulliver in this unhealthy Lilliput. After that first sight of him we had no fears at all for his health and survival. The only rather welcome side effect of the episode is that he is an affectionate and demonstrative boy who still welcomes cuddles and kisses.
When my son Sean was born, his howl of anguish at leaving the safety of the womb was noticeable by its absence. The attendant doctor examined him and decided that he had some fluid in his lungs and must spend time in an incubator in the intensive care unit. This was hard to take: we knew how important those first hours and days were for bonding and feeding and just feeling the closeness of flesh. There was also the worry that something was terribly wrong. In situations like that I think the tendency is to swing between believing the doctors are holding back vital information and believing they're making too much of a fuss just to cover themselves in case things go wrong.
Sean spent three days in the incubator and his lungs emptied of fluid and suffered no permanent damage. When we went to see him in intensive care we knew he was perfectly well. He looked huge among the premature babies that surrounded him, a real Gulliver in this unhealthy Lilliput. After that first sight of him we had no fears at all for his health and survival. The only rather welcome side effect of the episode is that he is an affectionate and demonstrative boy who still welcomes cuddles and kisses.
