We awoke in the inky pre-dawn October blackness, at 5:00 AM, preparing for the appointment at the hospital. On that October 2nd, twelve years ago, we had been scheduled to arrive at six for what was to be major surgery for my wife. The decision to commit to surgery had been made the previous Friday. We had prepared for this day for many months and now it was here. We were nervous with anticipation and concern. By 7:30 that morning, my wife had begun all of her tests, and we were informed that she had been scheduled to go into the operating room at about 10.
I was pacing, waiting, pacing. Talking to my mom and sister who were there. I donned my hospital greens at about 9:30 and was told to wait outside the main doors of the operating rooms until called for. I had a floppy hospital hat and paper shoes on, my video camera in hand. When the call came from a nurse, I was told the moment was near and to hurry or I’d miss it. I ran behind the nurse and entered the operating room and witnessed a scene of bloody-handed doctors and nurses working on my wife. I had promised her I wouldn’t pass out and I didn’t.
Moments after I arrived, the doctor pulled a living, breathing little man out of my wife’s womb, crying and screaming at full throttle. I filmed it all.
The greatest event of my life: My son, Laurence, was born twelve years ago today at 10:52 AM. He is officially a pre-teen today — God help me. Happy birthday, son. You are the light of our lives and the reason we keep fighting for all the things we hold dear.