IN THE PALM OF MY HAND

IN THE PALM OF MY HAND

We found out that Myrna was pregnant with Tony when we both came down with FLS syndrome (Feel Like Shit). Her case was 10x worse than mine, so we headed to our doctor. The diagnosis was that she was pregnant and the problem was that she had an IUD in place. The recommendation was to pull the string to remove the IUD. This could be done in the doctor's office. The next sentence was jaw-dropping; "…it will be a simple and easy abortion".

To us, that was not an option, so, she was in for a difficult, complicated pregnancy with a high probability of a miscarriage. About 6 months later her water broke and she was rushed to the hospital. The doctor pulled me aside and said: "Your wife is in trouble and we might lose her if we don't get the baby out now." We had two choices, either pull out the IUD, which is technically a late-term abortion. This was dangerous and I could lose both, my wife and the baby or he could induce labor "…which would greatly improve your wife's chances but even if the baby survived the birth it's not likely it would be for long…" he said. I wasn't buying it and neither were his two sisters or my wife. Call it denial or call it faith…we didn't buy it. My sister, Carita, who was a progressive catholic nun back in Detroit started a huge prayer chain that included our entire family and about a thousand people across America and parts of Africa (she was well known for her activism in the catholic church). So, I didn't hesitate: "…. induce the labor," I said.

His birth weight was 1lb & 13 ounces. According to statistics back then he wasn't supposed to be alive, but the doctor said that when he pulled him out his eyes were already open, and he seemed to be looking straight at him. He said that his facial expression seemed to be saying "Don't even think about hitting me, dude" and immediately began breathing on his own.

Through my lenses, he was beautiful, albeit, a miniature baby, but in reality, he looked like a cartoon. He looked like Tweety Bird on crack. He had a big head attached to a teeny-tiny body, I could barely see his itsy-bitty hands or feet, but all ten fingers and toes were there.

For bonding purposes, they let me hold him for five minutes twice per day. He fit in my ONE hand. He had eye patches and had tubes and wires in every hole and needles stuck in both heels. The nurse had to place him in my hand carefully. For the first two months, this had to be done through access ports of the incubator so that he wouldn’t be exposed to any germs that may be in the room.

Tony was known as "The Miracle Baby" throughout the hospital. He lived in an incubator for months which seemed like years. His doctors and nurses were not just super-skilled, but they were literally angels. They made all the right decisions at the right moment.

Even though I didn't buy the prognosis of Tony's ultimate demise, in retrospect I remember a constant undercurrent of anxiety that I was only sometimes aware of. As I think back on it now my mood/affect changed over time and I developed excruciating, debilitating headaches that lasted for years until I discovered how to get rid of them. Cheez, my poor family, and friends…I must have been hard to live with.

FAST FORWARD. They released him when he attained a solid 4lbs. with a warning that he was at high risk for "Crib-Death." At that time no one knew what caused it, they just knew that some babies stop breathing while sleeping, usually at night. My solution was to check for his breathing every 10 to 15 minutes throughout the night. Whenever he would stop for more than 15 seconds, which was often, I would thump the bottom of his feet just hard enough to start the breathing but not wake him.

When this kid wasn't sleeping, he was crying. Most times it was as though he was Richard Pryor on fire. None of our doctors ever found out exactly why. For a while, I was the only one who could keep him quiet for a length of time but soon LaNette and Ronnie worked their magic giving me some relief. They were only 7 and 8 years old, respectively, they would change his diapers, feed him, and play with him…. did I mention…keep him quiet? I was so proud of them as well as thankful.

Myrna was a trooper. She went back to work as soon as she was able (maybe even before). She even worked doubles when she could get it. It was lifesaving because I was between jobs, and selling jokes to comedians wasn't much of an income at that time.

I'm not known to be someone to express much emotion but trust me I feel 'em. There were many more health crises with this kid before he was out of danger and became the handsome, strong man he is today. One morning when he was about 7 or 8 weeks old I picked him up from his crib to take him to Myrna for his feeding. Something wasn't right. He was limp as a wet dishrag and I could feel "popping and crunching throuout his little body. He cried...no...he screamed as though he was in pain. But the crying stopped when he began feeding. I immediatlly got his pediatrician on the phone. Even though I concidered myself a good creative writer, I could not come up with a description of what I felt when I picked Tony up. All I could say was that he felt like a bean bag. She kept asking questions that I couldn't answer, so I finally said: " I can't tell you, but I can show you...we'll be there in 20 minutes".

When the doc entered the exam room she was wearing the happy mood and affect that they put on with their white coat when greeting patients. She looked into Tony's eyes with the phthalmoscope, listened to his heart with the stethascope and said: "He looks great.". I said: "Pick him up." which she did. I noticed her affect changed from happy to 'What the &%*#?. I asked: "What is that?" She said: "I do not know...I have never felt that before". Long story short, we never found out what it was, but three months later it was gone, three more months of monitoring nights for me and three more months of angst for all of us. Did I mention that his two sisters carried a lot more weight than kids that age should have to bear? Even now whenever I feel down and close to the edge, or overwhelmed and anxious, all I need to do is put an image of each one of my kids on my mental screen, ponder on the difficult pregnancy Myrna had to go through, and then bath in the sense of gratitude that wells up. After just a few minutes...I'm just fine.