RECOVERY

He hardly had hands. His fingers were stumps. I saw our first child before the nurses had cleaned him, cleared his tiny nose and mouth. In my twilight sleep I remembered asking if he was ok, had ten fingers, ten toes. Did I not hear the nurse’s answer? Did I not see our son’s hands? Had the nurse walked away, unable to tell me the truth?

Barry stood beside my bed when our boy was brought to me the first time. He kissed me but was silent. ‘You’re sure?’ I asked. “We aren’t going to change it once we commit. He’ll be Keith L. Massey forevermore.’ Just as Barry nodded yes the door opened. Barry squeezed my hand too hard. I knew immediately it wasn’t a love squeeze.

Keith was wrapped in a thin cotton blanket. A tiny blue knitted cap didn’t quite cover the scraggly dark hair that was enough for us to know he wasn’t blond. I can still feel my joy when I looked at Keith and told the world how gorgeous he was. ‘Don’ tell me Barry that was gas. I know a smile when I see one. He’s happy to meet us.’

Nurse Fagan had quietly pulled down the blue blanket and had pushed back the sleeves of Keith gown. I saw but didn’t see. I tried to open his left hand. It wouldn’t open. The right opened just a little but didn’t grasp my finger. I felt his thumb, index and middle fingers and didn’t understand at all. Barry covered Keith up to his chin and rang for Miss Fagan. Before she came he was already teary. Large drops fell on the baby’s blanket. Not that we were in competition but when I realized it, I cried harder, longer than Barry.

Almost choking he told me that Keith weighed eight pounds and was strong and healthy. Most of what he said I understood but couldn’t grasp the seriousness of the 2nd part. When Miss Fagan came in, she jabbed my arm with a needle and I stopped wailing, even breathing for a second. Barry held me. It helped. He stayed by my side until Keith was brought in again for me to try to feed him. The moment that sweet little mouth touched my breast a warmth I had never known before enveloped me. I kissed his head, and held his hand that had only three fingers. The other looked like a miniature fist. ‘Barry, look!’ Keith is going to be a fighter in his own way.’

That was the moment of revelation. Ten fingers, three fingers, no fingers, our son, Keith, was going to be our beloved son forever.