31 years ago today, I cut the umbilical cord connecting Nicolai to Jeanine. I listened intently as the doctor calmly talked us through his Apgar score, a perfect 10! Still, something seemed amiss. I don’t know whether it was the power of witnessing his birth and the love you instantly feel for your newborn child, or perhaps I was in a state of shock, but it felt like several minutes before I realized that he was missing a leg. The doctor continued with a more comprehensive examination, starting with his head and working down; eyes, ears, nose, mouth, neck, arms, hands, fingers, …. She commented on the condition of every body part in a very soothing voice and continued in that tone as she remarked on the absence of a right leg and then on further examination, the absence of his right hip. I remember feeling like she took this approach to help us focus on all that was normal before addressing what was not. When she started to wonder out loud about the status of internal organs, however, any shred of relief I was beginning to feel evaporated, and I immediately went into hyper-focused, problem solving mode. Was he in danger? What further tests were needed? Who was the best doctor to evaluate him? At this moment there was no room for emotions. Once it was determined that there was no immediate risk, he was swaddled and placed in Jeanine’s arms and I joined her to say hello to our new son. He remained with us for almost an hour before a nurse came to take him to the NICU for continued observation and testing.
When Jeanine finally gave way to sleep after the physically and emotionally exhausting birth experience, I went out to my car in the hospital parking lot and allowed my emotions to surface. I cried uncontrollably until I had no more tears left. First, and selfishly, I cried for my self. How would my new son fit into what I long imagined our future family would look like? Second, I cried for Jeanine. I feared that she might blame herself for an outcome for which she had no responsibility. The care she took during her pregnancy was text book perfect. Finally, I cried for Nico. At the time, I could not imagine how he would lead a joyful life with a major “birth defect.” Now, I would say “limb difference” and confess my lack of imagination about how adaptable humans can be in the face of challenges.
Next, I struggled to understand why this had happened. The doctors had no theories to offer at the time, and no cause has been identified since. I remembered laughing at a joke, a decade earlier, about a one-legged man trying to kick down a door and wondered if doing so had triggered some kind of karmic payback. The truly funny thing now is that Nico is the first person I would seek out if I really needed a door kicked down.
That day, 31 years ago, I left my grief in the parking lot. Since then, the only tears I have shed for Nico are tears of joy, celebrating every triumph and milestone. Tonight, I will watch him take the soccer pitch against Guatemala as the captain of the USA Amputee Soccer Team and all-time leading scorer for the US, a reality I could not have imagined when he was born.
Happy Birthday, Nico!
