Fatherhood

by Josh Kennedy

In the span of just a few hours, I experienced nearly every emotion that human beings are capable of feeling. The day was filled with excitement, anticipation, and anxiety about the upcoming birth, annoyance with certain members of the hospital staff, and gratitude towards supportive friends and family.

As my wife, Bethany, pushed for two hours without great progress, the excitement turned into frustration and worry. When the doctor mentioned a C-section, my heart sank. I knew that Bethany was absolutely terrified by the idea of a C-section. At this point, my emotions alternated between hope of still being able to deliver normally, and fear that we would not be able to. Before either of those was able to sink in, we were immediately rushed into a C-section. I was stunned.

As I watched tears roll down my wife's face as she heard this news, I felt more disgustingly hopeless than I've ever felt in my entire life. Bethany had a horrified look on her face, and I felt unqualified to try to help her feel better about it. It seemed like a nice gesture to try to comfort her by saying "it's gonna be okay," but for a man to try to say that to a woman who is about to have her body ripped open as a child is torn from it seems somewhat futile. I felt helpless, useless, and heartbroken. Nothing in the world hurts worse than seeing the person I love the most in pain, especially when I am powerless to help ease that pain.

I still hoped and believed that the baby would turn out healthy, but I feared for my wife's emotional and physical well-being. She was whisked away to the operating room, and I was told I could follow in just a moment. I sat in solitude for the longest 15 minutes of my life. Tears soaked the floor beneath me as I prayed the most sincere and heartfelt words I have ever spoken, and pleaded for God's peace and protection for my wife, and for the health and well-being of the baby. I have never felt so alone nor longed to be with someone as much as I did in those 15 minutes. I felt a million miles away from my wife and child. I worried that the physicians and nurses had forgotten about me, and that they were performing this operation without me being able to comfort Bethany. I worried that they had already delivered the baby without me, and that the baby was sick or even dead. I opened my Bible and read one Psalm after another in an effort so console myself with the peace that passes understanding.

Just as I was paging the nurse to make sure they didn't forget about me, someone finally walked into the room and told me they were ready for me. When I walked into the operating room, I was greeted by something I never thought or wished I would see: a circle of doctors surrounding my wife, who was already cut open. Each of the doctors appeared to have a different metal medical device in one hand, and a different organ or body part in the other. I momentarily wondered if I was mistakenly brought onto the set of a zombie film. Why they decided to begin the procedure without me in the room is beyond me. I felt angry, shocked, and betrayed, as I was told just moments ago that I would be in the room for the beginning of the procedure. However, I had no choice but to push these feelings aside as I attempted to comfort Bethany. Luckily, I was able to stay focused on helping her, and I did not faint.

After just a few minutes, I heard the news. "Here she is!" I looked up and saw a swollen newborn baby girl. I watched with delight/horror as the doctors pulled my own child out of a web of my wife's organs and she emerged from the skin. Bethany's pregnant belly, which I had become so accustomed to, resembled a basketball being deflated by a jackknife. I gazed at my child with great concern, as she showed no signs of life during this spectacular emergence from the womb. She did not cry, and she barely moved. The doctors rushed her over to a table and put various medical tools inside her nose, ears, and mouth. I went over to try to look at her and they told me to go away. "We'll bring her to you when she's ready." One in two hundred babies are stillborn, I remembered hearing recently. Several moments passed, and I saw or heard nothing that indicated that I was the father of a healthy child.

Finally, we heard a faint cry from our daughter, and doctors told us she was doing well. The doctors placed bets on how heavy she was. She weighed in at 9 pounds, 4 ounces. They put a beanie on her head and swaddled her in a blanket, and asked if I wanted to hold her. Tears of joy streamed down my face and I reveled in the proudest moment of my life. I was elated beyond words. The agony of the past few hours melted away in one instant, as I beheld my own flesh and blood in the form of a nine-pound child. Blue eyes, just like me. Cute little ears, just like Bethany. Balding on the top, just like me.

The intensity of this plethora of emotions was magnified by the fact that each of them was far and away the most extreme high or low I have felt in my entire life. Today I felt more sad than I ever have in my life (when I saw Bethany's face as she reacted to the news of the c-section), more hopeless than I have ever felt in my life (when I tried to console Bethany and tell her "it's gonna be all right" when I didn't really know if it was), more lonely than I have ever been in my life (as I waited in a solitary room while they began the c-section), more dependent on God than I have ever been in my life (as I prayed for his peace and protection on Bethany and Lael), more worried than I have ever been in my life (when I saw Lael come out silent and motionless), and finally, more happy and more proud than I have ever been in my life.

I have heard from countless people over the last few months that parenthood will change my life forever. In just one day, my range of emotions has been exhausted, and I already feel like a new man. A real man. A father.

Josh Kennedy is an elementary school teacher in Springfield, Missouri. He and his wife, Bethany, welcomed their first child, Lael Olivia, into the world June 13.