The last column triggered an overwhelming response from the readers. Most of the responses were congratulatory notes, welcoming my stepping into parenthood. Few others greeted the column that appeared in their inboxes after a long gap.
All the responses could easily be categorized into the Have-nots and the Have-been.
The Have-nots, those enjoying the fruits of celibacy, had still quite some distance to tread. The writings could only give them a vicarious experience; however, they could not appreciate the real fun involved. However, one young (and wise) lady made an interesting point. She said, "… It was really touching, especially for those who haven't gone through this stage of life yet. I could visualize everything and was overwhelmed with emotions. You are right. Paternal bond takes time but maternal bond is there even before the world knows the baby. But the irony is that men forget the pains women take. You got to remember the pains she had to go through to fill your life…" I never bore any pain. And what my spouse bore was slowly ebbing out of my memory. Her comment was a timely reminder.
This also reminded me what I felt about my parents when I was very young. I thought they had done me no favour in bringing me to this world. It was their moral duty and obligation to take good care of me. After all, I didn't ask them to bring me in. My infuriated parents remained silent to such slanderous comments and hoped that time could bring in some sense and sensibility in their self-indulgent son.
Now, however, I wonder what I would feel when my baby grows up and behaves in a similar fashion - may be even two steps ahead. Immediately, I recall all the moments spent with my baby. The first few months were especially challenging. During this time, when the biological clock understood no night or day, any moment was good enough to seek attention. The eyes remained dreary and one had to sneak outside one's bedroom to savour few moments of rest. The mosquitoes demanded a baby net. But the one I brought consumed half the bed. And so the two adults had to consume the leftovers while the baby - the prince - slept in all luxury. Then the difficult choice had to be made of whether to leave the baby unprotected or to sacrifice some comfort. The father felt it was all too demanding. What about the poor mother who went through the pain and ignominy before, during and after the childbirth?
Some Have-nots are on the verge. Their time is not too far - a year or two at the maximum. The whole idea excites them a lot, but there is also that anxiety for the pain involved.
The Have-been also have to take their steps - little steps with their little ones. Every step, every year passed, providing new lessons. A two-year old father recalls, "…Nice-n-sweet reminiscences.... Enjoyed it reading even more so since today is my daughter's second birthday ... and your column brought back similar memories and joys I had when I saw my baby for the first time. I clearly remember, when for the first time the nurse held her out to me, she winked at me - the nicest, cutest and most loveable wink a lady had ever given me. The first days after her birth, filled with a lot of joy, new experiences and anxieties. Well a great experience…"
Those who have taken five steps with their only kid still find each day a new experience. Every visit to the mall is accompanied by a demand for new toys. It is not easy to refuse. Alibis are not easy to find by. The mother says that the money is in short supply an argument that the kid is not ready to buy. And the granny, who is there only for a while, is too willing to oblige. The not-so-young baby has his wished fulfil. The bribe has done the trick, as the baby is ready to fly back with the granny.
Many have taken steps twice. And one such father laments how his son plays havoc in the life of his son's nanny. The boy is not too difficult to handle. But he is no pushover either. He will always challenge. It is in the fitness of things that he must be given his due respect. And occasionally, plaster his broken leg after a football game or nurse a forehead wounded in the game of hide-and-seek.
Some people however have a different view of things. They are outsiders, yet they play an integral part in our lives. They are doctors who influence and facilitate our lives. And one such distinguished doctor is my cousin sister Puja. And let me have the fortune of having her have the last words, …
"As a paediatrician I have watched these myriad of emotions flash across parents faces so many times it's almost difficult to count...yet each time is different. I've been on the other side from you...knowing a little too much of what's going on. We get called as paediatricians to deliveries whenever there is anticipation for a problem with the delivery so that we can resuscitate the baby if needed. And every time the experience is at once the same and at once very different.
Generally we walk into the room of a family we have never met before. Everyone looks up wondering and questioning, but not saying anything because I think to some degree they're too afraid to ask why there are even more doctors in the room than before. We get a history from the Obstetrician and staff and set up the resuscitation station. All this to the background noise of the Obstetrician coaching the mother "Push! Push! Push! Keep going! A little longer!" We keep one eye on the mother, one eye on the progress of the delivery to see how much time we have, and one eye on the baby itself - is the umbilical cord around the neck? How big does it seem the baby is? Will she get stuck? Is the baby facing the right way? And through it all there is the 'Beep... Beep... Beep…' of the baby's foetal heart monitor tracing in the background. Our own heart rates seem inversely linked to that...the baby's heart rate goes down (a sign that the baby is struggling to get oxygen) and ours goes up proportionally. Even when our concentration seems fixated on the chart or the oxygen tank etc., a part of our mind is listening for that 'Beep... Beep... Beep…' because we know that if the beeps slow down and stay down, we may have a very sick baby.
When the baby's head finally emerges, even before she is born, our assessment has begun. Every little bit matters - the fluid the baby was bathing in, which way the baby's face was pointing, where the umbilical cord was - all of these will determine how much help the baby will need. And from the moment the baby's head is visible, a voice in our head is constantly screaming to the Obstetrician "give me the baby...come on give me the baby" because we know that when a baby is really sick 20 seconds spent while the cord is being cut is 20seconds that a baby is not breathing. And finally the baby screams for the first time...and the whole room breathes a collective sigh of relief because now everything will be fine. We congratulate the family...reassure them that they have a perfect baby and we leave the room. We know that we are unlikely to ever meet the family again but for that moment we've been part of their lives in a way that few get to experience.
But of course that is the perfect scenario...when the baby is fine and everyone is happy. Having seen enough deliveries where things don't go perfectly, I'm always so grateful for every delivery where things do. I'm so very glad that in the end everything was perfect for you and your little one! And I can't wait to hear about all the wonders to come …"
Chachu 28/07/2005
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Thursday, July 28, 2005
Monday, July 18, 2005
Chachu's Column #35: Of Have-not & Have-been Parents and their doctors
It has been more than six months since I wrote the last column. This column started on a fortnightly basis, with some even dispatched within a week. With changing times, the unwritten rule of writing this column was about once a month. But this time, familial demands and general lethargy saw me letting me each month pass, probably with lesser pain or agony. It hurt the first time. But then it became a habit. So when three become four or four became six, it just did not hurt any more. In the past, such interruptions were marked by reminders from well wishers, who thought it was my duty to write and reminded me of the same. But this time there were hardly any such interludes even though half of 2005 had disappeared; only recently, a friendly soul dropped a one-liner inquiring about my health and the health of this column. But then, I was to board a train to drop my spouse and new born to my mother-in-law's place. When the job was done, and I was left to ponder over the memories of what transpired in last six months, I knew it was time this column was resurrected to give the anxious souls some peace.
It was as if it was yesterday when I was pacing the aisle of the local hospital where my spouse was admitted-in the operation theatre, and where I eagerly awaited for the first cries of my baby. And as Gods had destined, there was hardly a family member around because within minutes, my brother's marriage party (baraat) had to depart for the marriage venue, and everyone was assembled there. The baraat was in full cry with band party drumming and marching ahead. But my father was anxious. How would be the baby? What if something untoward happened?
The lady doctor had promised a delivery within 10 minutes. But it was now more than sixty. All through the day, she provided my wife courage to hold on and persist. The prolonged labour pains had taken a heavy toll on my wife who was unable to bear the pain any longer. The yet to be born baby (that was to bring millions of smile to us) had became a load too heavy to bear. I was merely a mute spectator and realized why the baby belonged to the mother. For sure!
Attendants and nurses kept moving in and out of the operation theatre. I wanted to know what was happening but no help was forthcoming. Then, one of attendants obliged by saying that the labour had stopped and the patient had no energy left. I wondered at the miraculous process of how babies were born, naturally, without artificial cuts to the womb. Our doctor was famous for her ability to avoid the knife. While it was rumoured that in order to make quick money many private clinics made the patient go through the knife without a sincere attempt, this doctor was different; presumably so. The shouts of the doctor could be clearly heard outside - egging my wife to give one final push. Try once more! Try once more! Try once more!
And then it happened - the first cries of my baby. Just like they show in movies where the first cry of the baby is followed by the maid running in and yelling, "Mubarak ho, aap dada ban gaye (Congratulations, you have become a grand father)!"
The doctor's husband, who ran the hospital, saw my anxiety and took me inside where I had the first look of my baby. It was a boy. All through the pregnancy, I had surmised that I was having a baby girl. Call it premonition, but that was indeed the case. The pervasive female foeticide had meant that the doctors did not reveal the sex of the baby no matter what. My rather modern mother had promised a grand celebration for a boy. The festivities ensuing birth of a baby girl were left unstated. I always asked her, why she being a woman, favoured a boy. She could never give me a convincing answer (an answer which I later got my self). But she always confirmed that I was going to have a boy. Thus, when a boy was born, I presumed that my religious mother, through her mystical powers, had changed the sex of my baby when it was taking shape in its mother's womb.
The phones were ringing every minute, both from my mother now dancing in the baraat, and my mother-in-law, enquiring about the status. And when the much-awaited news was divulged, the marriage bands only grew louder. Currency notes were doled out without much thought. And the news of a grandson meant my mother's joy knew no bounds. Even the gold ornaments were not spared and some beneficiaries became instantly richer by few tolas of the shining metal.
In the mean while, I was taken by the doctors for the first look. The baby was soaked in blood and was being cleaned. The very first look was one of disbelief; I was trying to establish the link. The mother had a natural connection; but what about the father? I tried to tell myself that it was my child - but the paternal bond required more time. Soon, I was handed over the child to be taken to the room for the mother and the child. The baby had a slightly elongated head and I wondered whether everything was alright. But there was nothing to worry. Soon, a tired yet relieved mother joined and the family was complete.
While the marriage party continued, I only gave a brief appearance where congratulations rained from all quarters. And before people realized, I was back with my family. And within 24 hours, after a short and simple sojourn at the hospital, we were back in the confines of our house.
To start with, I was very apprehensive about my baby. I feared that an untidy hand could make my baby sick. Thus, I did all I could to prevent people from touching him. I even did not go to office for two weeks just to ensure that the first fortnight, I was there when the child and the mother needed me most. Then there was the Jalwa function (celebration of birth of baby!) where everyone got a chance to cuddle my baby. I wanted to prevent it, but I was helpless. Nothing happened though.
Slowly, my wife regained strength. It seemed that childbirth took all energies from the mother's body. But there was gradual recovery.
I also learnt many many things. I learnt that it was not as bad as it seemed because kids however delicate had their own immunity. I also learnt how God naturally provided mother's milk for the baby. How the cries of the baby resulted in natural flow of mother's milk. How some kids had their mother's milk till the age of six, while some did not know or like the milk at all. I learnt how the babies did not have their skull joined to start with and how the gap closed with the passage of time. How babies could not hold their neck or even their back till quite some time. Every few weeks there was a new learning - the problem of jaundice or the routine vaccination.
Some of us have already gone through this while others will go through this. Each baby brings his share of joys. Mine brought too. One may ask how was my first experience. I would say that the birth of my princely baby 'Raj' was not an experience. It was the beginning of a life time of experiences - the latest of them being his ability to get up if you hold his hands slightly and pull it gently. His ability to apply force and get up is indeed a sight. Or for that matter seeing him hold a toy in his hand for a minute or two. Simple things but a treat to watch - so pure, so innocent ...
Chachu 18/07/2005
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It was as if it was yesterday when I was pacing the aisle of the local hospital where my spouse was admitted-in the operation theatre, and where I eagerly awaited for the first cries of my baby. And as Gods had destined, there was hardly a family member around because within minutes, my brother's marriage party (baraat) had to depart for the marriage venue, and everyone was assembled there. The baraat was in full cry with band party drumming and marching ahead. But my father was anxious. How would be the baby? What if something untoward happened?
The lady doctor had promised a delivery within 10 minutes. But it was now more than sixty. All through the day, she provided my wife courage to hold on and persist. The prolonged labour pains had taken a heavy toll on my wife who was unable to bear the pain any longer. The yet to be born baby (that was to bring millions of smile to us) had became a load too heavy to bear. I was merely a mute spectator and realized why the baby belonged to the mother. For sure!
Attendants and nurses kept moving in and out of the operation theatre. I wanted to know what was happening but no help was forthcoming. Then, one of attendants obliged by saying that the labour had stopped and the patient had no energy left. I wondered at the miraculous process of how babies were born, naturally, without artificial cuts to the womb. Our doctor was famous for her ability to avoid the knife. While it was rumoured that in order to make quick money many private clinics made the patient go through the knife without a sincere attempt, this doctor was different; presumably so. The shouts of the doctor could be clearly heard outside - egging my wife to give one final push. Try once more! Try once more! Try once more!
And then it happened - the first cries of my baby. Just like they show in movies where the first cry of the baby is followed by the maid running in and yelling, "Mubarak ho, aap dada ban gaye (Congratulations, you have become a grand father)!"
The doctor's husband, who ran the hospital, saw my anxiety and took me inside where I had the first look of my baby. It was a boy. All through the pregnancy, I had surmised that I was having a baby girl. Call it premonition, but that was indeed the case. The pervasive female foeticide had meant that the doctors did not reveal the sex of the baby no matter what. My rather modern mother had promised a grand celebration for a boy. The festivities ensuing birth of a baby girl were left unstated. I always asked her, why she being a woman, favoured a boy. She could never give me a convincing answer (an answer which I later got my self). But she always confirmed that I was going to have a boy. Thus, when a boy was born, I presumed that my religious mother, through her mystical powers, had changed the sex of my baby when it was taking shape in its mother's womb.
The phones were ringing every minute, both from my mother now dancing in the baraat, and my mother-in-law, enquiring about the status. And when the much-awaited news was divulged, the marriage bands only grew louder. Currency notes were doled out without much thought. And the news of a grandson meant my mother's joy knew no bounds. Even the gold ornaments were not spared and some beneficiaries became instantly richer by few tolas of the shining metal.
In the mean while, I was taken by the doctors for the first look. The baby was soaked in blood and was being cleaned. The very first look was one of disbelief; I was trying to establish the link. The mother had a natural connection; but what about the father? I tried to tell myself that it was my child - but the paternal bond required more time. Soon, I was handed over the child to be taken to the room for the mother and the child. The baby had a slightly elongated head and I wondered whether everything was alright. But there was nothing to worry. Soon, a tired yet relieved mother joined and the family was complete.
While the marriage party continued, I only gave a brief appearance where congratulations rained from all quarters. And before people realized, I was back with my family. And within 24 hours, after a short and simple sojourn at the hospital, we were back in the confines of our house.
To start with, I was very apprehensive about my baby. I feared that an untidy hand could make my baby sick. Thus, I did all I could to prevent people from touching him. I even did not go to office for two weeks just to ensure that the first fortnight, I was there when the child and the mother needed me most. Then there was the Jalwa function (celebration of birth of baby!) where everyone got a chance to cuddle my baby. I wanted to prevent it, but I was helpless. Nothing happened though.
Slowly, my wife regained strength. It seemed that childbirth took all energies from the mother's body. But there was gradual recovery.
I also learnt many many things. I learnt that it was not as bad as it seemed because kids however delicate had their own immunity. I also learnt how God naturally provided mother's milk for the baby. How the cries of the baby resulted in natural flow of mother's milk. How some kids had their mother's milk till the age of six, while some did not know or like the milk at all. I learnt how the babies did not have their skull joined to start with and how the gap closed with the passage of time. How babies could not hold their neck or even their back till quite some time. Every few weeks there was a new learning - the problem of jaundice or the routine vaccination.
Some of us have already gone through this while others will go through this. Each baby brings his share of joys. Mine brought too. One may ask how was my first experience. I would say that the birth of my princely baby 'Raj' was not an experience. It was the beginning of a life time of experiences - the latest of them being his ability to get up if you hold his hands slightly and pull it gently. His ability to apply force and get up is indeed a sight. Or for that matter seeing him hold a toy in his hand for a minute or two. Simple things but a treat to watch - so pure, so innocent ...
Chachu 18/07/2005
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