Just helps me to type a little bit what happened. Mrs Shida was expecting mid October. I flew to England for the week, my first visit in two and a half years, to see the old country and the family etc. Was also going to meet my friend and squadron mate Danny at the RAF Museum in Cosford. Mrs. Shida was to follow me over for a long weekend and then we would fly back together. Then another six weeks left to work before the three weeks or so waiting time. That was the plan anyway, Mrs. Shida even had a fitness to fly certificate from the baby clinic, as every check up had been absolutely fine.
I arrived in England on Wednesday morning. Returning to my folks house on Thursday afternoon I got the first phone call that something was wrong, that Mrs. Shida's routine check up had revealed a problem and that she was being moved to the VU medical centre at Amsterdam. She told me that they would keep her in hospital until the baby was delivered, which we both thought meant mid October with the limited information we had. I immediately arranged a flight home. By the evening I was Skyping with the Doctors who explained no, the maximum possible time Mrs. Shida would keep the baby inside was two weeks, because her health was threatened also. It was a race, a compromise between the health of baby and Mother. I was told that seven to ten days, maybe two weeks if we were lucky and then the baby had a good chance, any longer and Mrs. Shida would risk organ damage, however each day in the womb was worth three in the incubator. After this conversation I accepted that I would have a premature baby and that I was in the unenviable position of perhaps having to choose between the health of the baby or the Mother, a place no man wants to be.
The next Skype appointment was with the pediatrician, who explained what to expect as a parent of a premature baby. Just at the moment this conversation was concluded, Mrs. Shida later told that five members of staff came into the room and said that the baby was in distress and he was coming out. Now. I got a phone call from the nurse five minutes later, with the seven to ten days still ringing in my head. There was no detail, just that the emergency C-Section was happening right now. My first question was: 'what happened?' there was no information, I had to wait, in England, while Mrs. Shida was rushed on her bed into surgery in Amsterdam a million miles away, clothes being removed as they pushed the bed through the corridor. I dropped my phone, I knew the baby was dead. I had been told seven to ten days and the baby might be alright and then five minutes later he was being taken out. I had to wait an hour, I couldn't sit still, I had to go for a long walk. It was dark, very dark I think it was raining, I can't remember. I knew we'd lost the baby, my thoughts fell to Mrs. Shida, I had to be strong for her, had to calm myself for the horror to come, to help recover from deeply invasive surgery, to grieve for our lost baby. I walked and walked and walked, I couldn't calm myself, all I could achieve was acceptance, this was life, this was nature, this was the nature of things. I remembered that saying, presented often as a prayer, I couldn't remember it accurately but I had the meaning:-
God, grant me the energy to change the things I can, the strength to accept the things I can't, and the wisdom to know the difference.
On that walk I achieved acceptance, some kind of acceptance, even a temporary acceptance, so I could be strong for her, so we could survive this event.
I got back in the hour, to find my Sister-in-law running down the driveway in here bare feet with my phone, it was Mrs. Shida, crying, sobbing, asking if I knew what happened, about the emergency surgery, I knew from her emotions that I was right, the baby was still born. And then she was talking and talking and said: 'I've felt his feet, he's a boy and he's alive'...
...it's been a year now, but no, it was only a week, a week and a day he lives, his lungs begin to work, his digestion begins to work, he sleeps but is responsive, he is strong, has surprised the staff. Every day with no incident is a victory, we pray for boredom.
About life, my biggest lesson from this experience: never worry, never ever worry again, about things, the things one worries about, it is wasted energy, because the big things in life you have to deal with come at you unseen, stalk you at tremendous speed and hit you from the side, taking you out of the world and asking you 'okay, what have you got?'. You realise how strong life can be, and not as the saying goes: 'who your friends are', but rather 'what your friends are'. Even people you don't know, the medical staff who hold the hand of an 800 gram baby, which they don't know, not medical care but care. The volunteers at the Ronald MacDonald house, who look after us, for no pay. Our friends that cook for us, and clear up for us and go to our house and bring things here for us, with thought and care.
Today in an hour I will take his Mother's milk for him again, hold him, watch him. Life, a precious and strong thing.
